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!

If I learn how to throw a football & hit people, can I make $1,000,000 a year?

he following graph originally appeared on my previous pog, in which I fell victim to a multi-paragraph verbal storm regarding the academic job market. But then I kind of thought the graph deserved its very own post because, let’s face it: something is monumentally f*cked-up when those who transmit prolate spheroids earn a bajillion times more than those who transmit intellectual power.

Still… once I do the math and realize that football coaches “earn” $2,896.73 per day (!)  to teach a team of wildebeests the most successful methods for whacking into each other and severely decreasing the team’s overall brain cell count, I think I’d be willing to sweat it out with the meatheads for, say, a week or so? One week with them would already guarantee me more than I make in an entire year with my fellowship (shoot me now). Plus, the coaches are kind of exempt from the brain cell reductions, right? From what I can tell, the worst violence that befalls a football coach involves a keg full of Gatorade being dumped on his head in the event of a super stellar win. And I could totally suck that sh*t up.

Especially if it were Grape Gatorade. 

Now, excuse me while I go fling my academic self off a building.

Top 5 reasons for why my frontal lobe hates me

y Monday list centers on the headache that throbs right through my skull. I’m pretty sure that, were you to stand in front of me from one foot away or less, my current headache would knock you senseless. It’s throbbing that hard. I swear. It’s like my brain-womb is pregnant with some horrific wildebeest that can’t or won’t stop rampaging around my frontal lobe, kicking me into submission. 

You could say it hurts.

There are plenty of reasons for why my head despises me right now. Good ‘n plenty. It’s quite brutal to whittle down my list of potential causes to just 5 things, actually, but…hey, I’ll do my best.

Top 5 reasons for why my frontal lobe hates me:

 5. Certain members of my family prefer to play “She said/She said” and act like infants rather than speak directly to one another. What a novel concept that would be. ps) instead of directly speaking to one another, they choose to call me and vent and ask why so-and-so said X, and why so-and-so did Y. Why must people involve me in their crap? LEAVE ME ALONE.

4. Apparently I’m not a good listener (see #5).

3. No matter how many times I tell my students to focus on the texts we have studied ALL FLIPPIN’ SEMESTER rather than the biographies of the authors, they continue to construct (pseudo-)arguments about experiences from writers’ lives. WHY WON’T THEY LISTEN TO ME?

2. Apparently I don’t know how to sink in to others’ brains (see #3)… only my own (and way too much).

1. I have a brain tumor. Or Ebola. Or both.

Happy Monday.

Sincerely,
Debbie Downer
xoxo

3 unfortunate things I am unable to eject from my brain right now

1) Heidi and Spencer eloped in Cabo San Lucas over the weekend. The blonde bandits exchanged “personalized” vows, and I hear that Heidi even managed to squirt some tears down her plastictastic face. My BFF Perez Hilton tells me (and only me) that Spencer’s “self-penned” vows went a little somethin’ like this:

Heidi, from the moment you came into my life, I knew my life would never be the same without you. You are the light in my life like the sun to the earth! Your loving warmth makes me want to be a better person. Being with you, I feel complete. I’m honored to even be able to call you my wife. You are the most amazing, loving and caring woman on this planet. I will love you forever and always. (Source: PerezHilton.com)

Ohhhhhhh, Spencie… Spence-the-Dense… I’m sure you’re probably not really used to writing. Or thinking, for that matter. I mean…seriously, do you even work? WHAT DO YOU DO? WHAT DO YOU DO BESIDES GROW STUBBLE, PROMOTE GUN USE, AND WHORE YOURSELF TO THE PAPARAZZI?!?

Sorry, tangent. My point is that Spencer’s ridiculousness shouldn’t surprise me, but… for some reason, I feel compelled to comment. Couple things:

a) so… your life “would never be the same” WITHOUT HER? Umm… but you’re WITH her. You’re NOT without her. So, are you saying your life *IS* the same WITH her? like, she didn’t affect you in any capacity whatsoever, good or bad? Or are you already foreshadowing your relationship’s end and imagining that your life would not be the same if she left your sorry A? Which, no offense, Spence, but, I mean, DUH. CLEARLY your life wouldn’t be the same without her. Because then you wouldn’t have anyone to act like a stalker-obsessed-childish freak around… and around her bosses, who would then fire her because of what an A-hole you are.

b) are you implying that Heidi’s lovelight does not exist nocturnally? Or, like, when it rains? I mean, what happens when the sun goes bye-bye? Because it DOES, you know. What happens when the moon comes out? 

c) I’m not sure if wedding vows can be brought up on plagiarism charges but, if they could, I’d slam Spencer’s stubbly @ss with charges of knocking off both As Good As It Gets and Jerry Maguire in an attempt to present his betrothed with some personal words never uttered to another human soul. ”You make me want to be a better man” and “You complete me”?!? REALLY?!? REALLY, SPENCER?!? Is that REALLY as good as it gets with your sorry A?!?!?!? 

Anyway, the first photo above (of the happy couple ‘o gun toters) was found here: VideoGum.com. The last photo of the US Weekly cover is courtesy of PH, of course.

OK, next…

2) I know I should be better than this, and I swearSwearSWEAR that I am generally a positive educator and rarely EVER “complain” or talk negatively about students, but… BUT… there’s this one student who has been making my skin crawl lately. Like, just in the past few weeks. Let’s call him Winston. Winston has been challenging me both via e-mail and in the middle of class, in front of everyone. Challenging my intelligence, asking me to give concrete examples of certain theories I mention, criticizing my writing assignments and, just today, he essentially told me that my entire course has been a sham (not in so many words, but…the intent was there. I felt it. I’m very intuitive.). So, yeah… it’s been getting to me. It’s especially been getting to me because I’m not the most confident, assertive person in the world. My skills of self-defense have been inwardly honed (I’m a big internalizer and often emotionally/psychologically protect myself), but… when it comes to confrontation, I pretty much run for the mountains. Preferably the Alps. So… I guess, what’s really bothering me about this is that I actually feel like Winston’s winning. Only, I’m not really sure what the prize is or what we’re even racing for? Control? Ego? I think we’re each fighting for different things. But, whatever it may be, I feel like he’s winning. And that sucks. Because… I should be winning, shouldn’t I?

3) I had to make some photocopies before class today, so I was all “ma-kin’ co-pies” for about 15 minutes when, suddenly, out of my peripheral I noticed that someone else had sidled up to the copier to my left. So, I turned my head to see what colleague it might be, prepared to offer a friendly greeting, when, suddenly, WHOOSH!!!!!!! My head snapped back as if I were one of those unfortunate canine victims of electric fencing. The aforementioned “colleague” just so happened to be my dissertation adviser, whose contact I have successfully managed to avoid THIS ENTIRE SEMESTER. You could definitely say I feel guilty about this fact, and it would not be incorrect. You could also say that I think about writing her daily, but that I ultimately reach wuss status and never click “send.” You could also say that the approach of Thanksgiving means that only about 3 weeks remain in the semester, and I still haven’t made a pen length’s of progress on my dissertation. Have I mentioned that you could also say I feel guilty? Yeah. Lovely.

 

Another Monday, another list. Check out Anna’s list and others here:

ps) One Monday — one Monday soon – I’m gonna do a listy pog all about the mind-boggling universe-’o-estrogen-induced-madness known as: THE BABY SHOWER.

UNM & Its (non-)Attempts To Right the Creative Writing Department

y dashboard has revealed a surge of traffic for the University of New Mexico in the past couple of days. My deductive reasoning skills, masterful as usual, led me to the conclusion that somethin’ must be a-brewin’ over yonder at the You-Enn-Emm. Low and behold: I was right! Another resignation in the English Department! SCORE!

(please note my sarcasm: I really do sympathize with the downward spiral-into-hell that the department has taken over the past year, which clearly SUCKS for current UNM English and Creative Writing students who, of course, represent the true losers here)

So, to re-cap, HERE was my last post (dated 13 September 2008 ) about UNM and the administration’s handling (or lack thereof) of the whole Lisa Chávez/Mistress Jade debacle. At the time, various students were speaking out both in support of and with contempt for Professor Chávez (pictured right), who had posed in compromising pictures with former students of hers on the local PeopleExchangingPower S&M website. What’s more, the Chairman of the UNM English Department, David Richard Jones, resigned, thereby sparking further talks of rifts and divisions among the department faculty members.

Well, here’s the latest, unfortunate chapter, as published in UNM’s independent newspaper, the Daily Lobo:

Creative writing professor Joy Harjo has resigned amid rumors that strife between the department’s faculty and senior administrators cannot be resolved.

Harjo, the University’s only Joseph Russo Endowed Professor, said her resignation was a result of the administration’s decision to retain associate professor Lisa Chávez.

Pictures of Chávez posing with one of her students on a sadomasochism Web site were discovered in spring 2007.

Chávez could not be reached for comment.

Diane Thiel, associate professor in the English department, said Harjo’s resignation is an incalculable loss to the University.

“The administration’s mishandling of the very serious matter regarding professor Lisa Chávez and apparent ignoring of at least eight formal student letters reporting mistreatment has created a learning and work environment that is untenable for numerous faculty and students,” Thiel said. “Faculty and students have resigned and left UNM over this and will likely continue to. The recent resignation of Joy Harjo, arguably the most well-known Native American poet in the world, highlights the seriousness of the situation, many details of which have yet to be reported to the media.”

Harjo said Chávez was retained as a University employee because administrators were afraid of a lawsuit and wanted to keep the problem quiet.

Harjo said she could not continue to work in a program “that has been so deeply compromised” and that she didn’t trust the University to uphold the rights of its students and faculty.

“The Chávez-and-students sex-site debacle was mishandled,” Harjo said. “Because of this, the creative writing program lost face and credibility locally and nationally. Those of us – a majority of the creative writing program – who pushed for a proper ethics investigation based on policies already in place were retaliated against for speaking up. This whole situation could have been handled in a way that was respectful to all parties. As it is, only the rights of one person was considered.”

If you would like to read the rest of the Daily Lobo’s article, please click HERE.

Yeesh. 

Suddenly, my department’s mild pettiness and predictable politics seem much more manageable.

*Note: the photo above is of Professor Joy Harjo, courtesy of www.unm.edu

*Click HERE for more information on Joy Harjo’s writing and music

I’m a slacker nerd, CVS steals Halloween’s thunder, & The Hardy Boys

o, it’s Friday. Just in case you didn’t know. The weekend has officially commenced. Those of you who are/have been grad students, please feel free to tune out for a minute. As for the rest of you, allow me to bestow upon you the knowledge that, for a grad student, the term “weekend” is synonymous with “the days when I can finally be productive and do work.” It can also be synonymous with “the days I catch up on sleep that I lost to class prep/grading/research/etc. during the week.” In other words: we are geeks with no social life.

Ok, I should probably only speak for myself, but… I have found this to be true among many demographic samples of graduate students. We are a nerdy, isolated people.

Anyway. So I had these high hopes of coming home from campus, changing out of “teacher clothes” and into comfy (read: scuz) clothes, and heading either to a nearby coffee shop or to a nearby Barnes & Noble to plop down in a big chair and finally crack open a book that arrived from Amazon.com two weeks ago. Or wait, maybe three? Whatever. The point is: I’ve been wanting to bust it open for a really long time. Oh, and I should mention that it’s a book related to the course I’m teaching… material I may be able to use, but also some sh*t that I just generally get off on.

So anyway… I was excited about this. But then the inevitable occurred: I got home, changed into comfy clothes, had some dinner (aka, heated up leftover pizza), settled on my couch to check e-mail and cr@p, and now…….. I have officially entered near-catatonic state, whereby the energy required to walk to my car proves roughly equivalent to the exertion necessary to climb Mt. Everest. So yeah, that ain’t happenin’. So now I’m writing this pog, but you can safely assume that in, oh, say 45 minutes, I’ll be nodding off to a CNN lullaby or something.

Whatever. There’s always tomorrow. After I grade a bajillion papers.

So yeah, the other thing kicking around my mind today is that I went into a CVS to pick up a few lame things (precisely what a CVS is for), and I turned the corner of the candy aisle only to find a whole freakin’ aisle devoted to CHRISTMAS CR@P!!!!! We’re talkin’ stockings, Santa hats and beards, Christmas-themed socks, red & green M&Ms… the list goes disturbingly on. What the F?!? I thought the unspoken rule of consumerism was that companies wait for one holiday to be over, and then BOOM!, the little marketing elves haul tiny @ss to make the instantaneous switch of products/marketing for the next big holiday. Like, at 00:00:01 on New Year’s Day, BOOM! Valentine’s Day throws up all over our TV sets.

But Halloween still hasn’t happened, and yet Christmas is already infringing upon it and stealing its thunder in CVS stores. That is soooooooooo wrong and soooooooooo rude on sooooooooo many levels — not the least of which is the fact that Halloween is my second favorite holiday (first = Bring Your Grandparents to Work Day).

A.k.a., Reese's Peanut-Butter Menorah

So, instead of buying my sister a Reese’s Peanut-Butter Pumpkin in celebration of Halloween next week, I was forced by some blasphemous See-Vee-Ess b@stards to skip Halloween and buy her a Reese’s Peanut- Butter Tree instead (*note: Reese’s doesn’t call them Reese’s Peanut-Butter Christmas Trees,” because then they’d also have to create Reese’s Peanut-Butter Menorahs, and the Reese’s people apparently aren’t that crafty. I mean, come on, calling their Trees “trees” is being quite generous. So I can only imagine that an attempt at a menorah would wind up resembling one of Matisse’s leaf designs or something. But, like, Matisse’s b@stard step-brother or something.). 

Which brings me to my final story for the day, which recalls an episode of “Writing 100 With Professor Plume” (uh, I just decided to call myself that). So, my students are required to research a tortured poet (one whom we are not already studying), present upon that poet’s life, and then offer a detailed analysis on one specific work that was influenced by aforementioned torture. OK, so one of my students today presented on Thomas Hardy. It proved to be a very interesting and lovely presentation, and afterward Presenter Student took questions from her classmates. This is generally when class can go a bit haywire, but in a uniquely informative fashion — I swear, I learn more from my students through their questions than I do through their answers to MY questions. So, OK, Thomas Hardy… my student L. raises her hand and asks (I sh*t you not): “Umm, this is kind of random, but… I was wondering if Thomas Hardy had any relation to the Hardy Boys?”

I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS. This was an actual question. 

And I proceeded to almost choke myself with laughter. So then the class basically roared and it was hilarious. I made sure to apologize to L. for laughing and assured her that I was not laughing at HER but rather at the thought of the very fictitious Hardy Boys (whom, by the way, I was surprised my students even KNEW, considering that they were popular when I was a little girl) being related to Jude the Obscure. As it turned out, L. didn’t TOTALLY know who or what the Hardy Boys were; she only knew the name. But some classmates knew… in fact, one said, “Dude, that’s like Nancy Drew and stuff…” . Ahahahahahaha… oh my god. Too freakin’ funny…

Happy weekend.

5 things that make me go “Hmm” (today)

1. The term “professorial” as applied to Obama’s tone during rallies and debates… and meant in a negative way. Somewhere along the way, my academic advisers failed to mention that, as professors, we would be viewed in the national media (via Republiconeheads) as the anti-Christ. F*ck. Does this mean I’m going to get a bad rating on RateMyProfessors.com? Are the sitemasters going to change the domain name to RateMyAnti-Christ.com? Instead of doling out an oh-so-scientific chili pepper to rate our hotness, they can rate our satanicness (?) via crucifixes or something.

Good Lord. 

2. How come it’s “conservatism” and not “conservativism”? In French it makes sense to me, because the (masculine) adjective for conservative is “conservateur” — there’s no second “v.” But in English, we use the adjective “conservative,” so… why not “conservativism”? I just don’t get it. Any linguists/more intelligent people than I who wouldn’t mind enlightening me, please?

3. A handful of my students expressed in their response papers (due last Friday) to Goethe’s Sorrows of Young Werther that they felt Werther was “too self-centered” and “whiny.” Interesting. Some students went so far as to question, “Why can’t he just suck it up and get over it?” Lovely. I reminded them that the course title is not “Emotionally Stable Poets Who Can Successfully Suck It Up,” but rather, “The Tortured (suicidal) Poet.” Like, hello?! Welcome to my course. Take off your coat and get comfortable.

Please don’t get me wrong: I love my students, particularly their randomness. Example: when asked for an adjective that might best describe one of Werther’s secondary characters, one outspoken student couldn’t help herself and belted out: “TOOL!!!” Classic.

But, despite the fact that “tool” is neither an appropriate descriptor of this character, nor is it an adjective (Example: “Dude, you are sooooo tool“?? Umm, I don’t think so. Now, if she had said “toolish,” OK. WHOLE different story.), it still totally made my freakin’ day. What more could a professorial professor want?

4.  My canine niece Lucy (a Boston Terrier who just so happens to be the cutest doggy ever — I am not at all biased) currently wears a cone around her head. Basically, she’s a lampshade with a tail. A very SMALL tail. I prefer to call it her “Elizabethan Collar,” but I’m not sure it decreases the pathetic nature of the whole thing. You can put lipstick on a pig, but… Oh sh*t.

5. I went to therapy today, and I basically spent 25 of my 50 minutes (but who’s counting) talking B.S. while what I was actually focusing on was this crazy-@ss flowering plant that sat on her windowside table. This mo-fo had a flaming red vertical “flower” that stretched — I sh*t you not — like, a foot in the air. I couldn’t figure out what was going on with it… Finally, at the end of my session, Therapist said her standard, “Well, we’re out of time for today,” to which I unnecessarily responded, “OKisthataFLOWERcomingoutofthatthing?!?” She proceeded to laugh and then told me the name of the plant, which I can no longer remember because I was too fascinated by this fiery phallic beast that seemed way too ironic in a psychotherapist’s office. Then again, maybe that was the point: see how fixated the patients become by the Phallus in the room. Tricky tricky Therapist!

OK, I think I’m done “hmm”ing.

This has been another Monday List inspired by Ms. Anna of abdpbt.com.

Grad student life isn’t so bad sometimes (like now)

I WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

7 Things I… cr@p, I forgot what I was going to say.

So I’ll just make it up as I go along. I’m my blog creator and, as such, not unlike He-Man, I…HAVE…THE POWERRRR!

1. I am so freaking sick of hearing all the economists and financial experts and Max Headroom-esque talking heads discussing Wall Street and Main Street, Main Street and Wall Street, MainWallWallMainSHUT-THE-F-UP! I mean, as if there are no other streets sweeping the nation. And yes, I fully realize that “Main Street” is meant figuratively to represent the typical American town. I know. I get it. All I’m saying is, it seems rather reductive and dismissive of the pluralistic nature of our society/country/economic system. Plus, I mean, HELLO, what about all the boulevards and avenues and drives and lanes and circles and terraces and…?!?! Not nice to discriminate and force our country into a simplistic, crappy binary of one street versus another street, Max Headroom. Not nice at all. Oh, and furthermore, check this: my town doesn’t even have a stinkin’ Main Street!!!! We do, however (unfortunately?), have a Wall Street. Go figure. 

2. I can’t believe my plants aren’t dead yet. I have six. They are ALL thriving. It’s like they’re mocking me. They’re just sitting there, all passive and needy, soaking up sunlight and air and nutrients in the soil and stuff. Meanwhile, here I am rapidly deteriorating, skin getting scalier by the millisecond, and water and my nutrients-meds seem to help about as much as Russia’s proximity to Alaska aids SP’s foreign policy experience. I wanna just hang out in the sun all day too, but noooooooooooo…! Stupid plants.

3. What’s wrong with Rumer Willis’s face? Too much Bruce, not enough Demi. She must seriously hate life.

4. I totally have a crush on my writing dude. Is “writing dude” vague? OK, I’ll clarify: so, all the first-time writing fellows (such as myself) were required to register for a weekly “class” (which I like to refer to as our “support group”) so that we can air out our concerns, ask for suggestions, and generally pat each other on the back on a weekly basis. We also receive methodology and pedagogical help from our new Writing Program Director, whom I shall call… Aloysius (just go with it). So anyway, Aloysius comes to us from IvyLeagueSchool’s English Department. And he’s nothing if not highly brilliant and highly affable, which are generally two adjectives that are not said in the same breath. Which only intensifies the crush quotient. Also, he has this really cool leather messenger bag+briefcase hybrid, and who can’t appreciate THAT?! Also, he’s (prematurely) bald. And I’m pretty sure that if I ran my hand over his smooth cranium, it would appropriately squeak with cleanliness. Oh, Aloysius, why must you tease me so, with your stellar academic gear and head hygiene? Did I mention he taught a course on the Victorians at IvyLeagueSchool? Yeah. Like I’m ALMOST supposed to be able to handle that.

5. I obsess over the Paper Source and pretty much any other card/stationery store I come across. If you’ve ever checked out my other blog, Words&Eggs, you’re already familiar with this. It’s a disease, really. But not one I ever care to cure. Anyway, yesterday at my Paper Source Church, I bought this awesome leather-bound journal (no lines, please — I am not a fan of lines) which I have since labeled my “Creative Journal.” I have decided to take Paper Source’s tagline “Do Something Creative Everyday” quite literally. Therefore, everyday, I will write and/or draw and/or post found images or mementos or photos, etc. in my lovely little journal. Whatever the heck I want. No holds-barred, baby. Because… I miss my creative self. I miss it more and more as I get sucked into the Limitless Abyss that is Academia. ps) Paper Source has already stocked their collection of holiday cards, which almost resulted in cardiac arrest. MINE.

6. My sister’s pregnant with twins. It’s her first pregnancy. I’m going to be a first-time Auntie!!!! She’s a little over five months along now. And, as her devoted, dutiful sister, I am organizing a baby shower for her. Only, I’ve never attended a baby shower, let alone throw one. Let alone cook anything other than grilled cheese and mac & cheese and soup. Also, what’s up with those lame-and-freaky “baby shower games”?? Just the mention of it leads my mind ‘a reelin’, ultimately spewing out the words “DOES. NOT. COMPUTE.” So, if any of you have any suggestions for low-impact food ideas and/or pseudo-”games” (aka, ACTIVITIES. I definitely prefer the word ACTIVITIES), holla atcha girl. (umm, me)

7. Is it VP Debate night yet? Because I’m throwing a party, so I want to be sure I’m sufficiently prepared. I’m making Pistol-Packin’ Palin (pistol-shaped) Peanut-Butter Cookies. OK, so if you just read #6, then you know I don’t/can’t cook. I didn’t lie. My cookies consist of Pillsbury’s pre-made dough, which I then sculpt and mold into desirable objects… which inevitably end up looking like glorified chicken drumsticks. This is all assuming, of course, that I didn’t hoss all the cookie-dough prior to baking. And fall into a Salmonella coma.

Umm… I think I’m done.

Oh, but I did want to mention that this pointless list has been inspired by the lovely Anna at “abdpbt.”