Re-learning an important lesson

When hugging a kitty, don't squeeze it too much around its middle.

Also, FYI: It's snowing on Mars!

Dear Student*

Dear Student: I'm pretty sure that the word you want is "undertow," not "under-toe." Also, when referring to a woman, one should not use the word "female" as a noun. An animal can be "a female," but a woman is not. In short, use the word "woman." Finally, when you send an email to me explaining that you're "not feeling well," don't ask me if you're going to miss "any information."

*Please note that I do not intend for the "Dear Student" posts to be read by my actual students. As such, I limit identifying details and never use a student's name or description. Furthermore, 

nearly every error or problem identified in the "Dear Student" posts comes up in my response to the student(s)'s work—albeit in a much different form. So it's not like I'm just making fun of my dumb students and not actually trying to teach them.

***I am instituting a new class policy, I've decided. Each student earns 25% of his or her grade on the basis of class participation, as described in the syllabus. Clearly, I need to describe more fully what this means. It means that I'm paying attention to who's talking and who's prepared (as measured by our new, required 10-minute in-class writing assignment). Now, you can get a possible 5 points each class period, 2 of which are predicated on the substance of your in-class writing. This more specific method of measuring student performance will, I believe, benefit me and (possibly) the students. Not to make a fine point, but I've had enough. Whee!

A hard slog

I'm still working on the piece of writing that will eventually become my dissertation introduction. It's a hard slog through the first parts: laying out the various arguments between scholars in my sub-sub-field and constructing working definitions of my terms. In other words, the theory parts. (Being a little hung-over from backyard "camping" doesn't help a lot.) It's almost over.

The rest of it should be a lot easier. Because the theory arises from the films I've been watching, conveying how the theory applies to the films is just the same thing but backwards.

I've been confident before in a piece of work, only to get it back with significant, heavy critique, but this time, I think it really will be good. Or it will be horrible. My committee will let me know either way.

At this point, though, (like so many things in life) it's just a matter of doing.

Sorry, but this post is about our cats

My study doesn't get a lot of sunlight, so I keep a lamp on while I'm working. Each of our cats likes to sleep directly under the shade, which leads to some bickering because they don't generally like to be close to each other. Jane will nibble Dave's toes. Or Dave will move Jane out of the way by laying down too close to her. She'll lick the top of his head  (which he likes), then bite his ear (which he doesn't like). Lots of tail swishing happens. 

This time it didn't turn into a full-blown fight, but Dave got Jane to move out of the way and is currently snoring away under the warm light of the lamp. Jane is staring at him, as though she's planning a new stratagem. 

I'm waiting for the full-on, claws-out negotiation. They adopt identical poses: head back, eyes squinted shut, ears down, one paw raised. Weight balanced on the haunches, in case the argument heats up more. The sound of one hitting the other, though, is the best. Pop, pop, pop. Then they growl and yell at each other, which isn't as fun.

I've never seen it get too out of control, but when Sam and I go out of town for a long weekend, sometimes we'll find black Dave hair between Jane's toes.

Op. There they go.

Writing and writing and writing

Gene Fowler: "Writing is easy. All you do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."

yep. 

Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch: "Whenever you feel an impulse to perpetrate a piece of exceptionally fine writing, obey it—whole-heartedly—and delete it before sending your manuscript to press. Murder your darlings."

yep even more.

upside

The upside of the JJ's terribleness was that I used a very edited version of it to drive home the importance of diction. (And I lied a little. I told them that when the angry weird old man swore at me, I told him to go fuck himself.) One should choose one's diction according to the situation and the audience. 

It almost always makes students laugh when I say the word "fuck" in the classroom. They don't expect it. Which further illustrates that classroom diction doesn't include words like "shit," "fuck," "asshole," "goddamn it," "pussy," or "doodoo." Unless the student is quoting a source text.

update

See post below for initial details of weird asshole old guy.

After one of my students left, the guy said, "So are your office hours over yet?"

And I mumbled something like, "We'll see, I guess." Then, I said, louder, "Since you bring up my office hours, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't interrupt me while I'm with a student." A request that I think is reasonable and appropriate.

Asshole says, "What, Vanderbilt doesn't give you people an office to do your shit in?"

Then, there was a stupid little "you were rude to me"; "no, you started talking to me first. you were rude to me." So, yeah, I could have handled it better.

To prevent a yelling match, I left to talk to the proprietor, Sam, about the escalating situation. This little asshole old guy followed me right up there, talking over me, and Sam said to him, "Just a minute."

Then, Sam talked to me about how I was a long-time, valued customer, and he'd take care of it. I went outside, Sam talked to the asshole, and the three of us sat together while Sam basically told us to play nice. Apparently, to the old guy, asking me to plug his computer in was less interruptive than just barging through. What would have been better would be for him to go around my chair and move the power strip so he could plug it in himself without bothering me.

While I appreciate the proprietor's need for diplomacy, the compromise he tried to create wasn't enough. I probably won't be coming here anymore. 

But at least the asshole old guy left. 

working at the coffee shop

I really like working at JJ's and meeting students here. Overall, it's a good experience. HOWEVER (didn't you know that was coming?) there's this older guy who often shows up, and he always sits next to me, which in itself is creepy. It's not like no other seats available near the powerstrip. 

Because of where he sits, he generally has to climb past me to plug his computer in, which also makes me uncomfortable because I don't like to be that close to strangers. He always apologizes for getting in my way, which isn't really an apology because it happens each fucking time.

There's a coffee table on which people rest their beverages. It's pretty big, which is great. So creepiness #3 is that he puts his stuff so close to mine that he has to lean toward me to pick up his coffee cup. Ew. And he tries to make conversation.

Now, if this series of events only happened once, that would be fine. It's easy to be generous and polite if the other person is as well. It's becomes less and less easy the more frequently it happens. I intended to ignore all of this as though this desperate old man just wants a little attention and perhaps camaraderie. The smile of an obviously married woman? The scent of clothes worn a third time, not really dirty but not totally clean either? Ick. Just ick. 

Today represents my last little nerve. I don't know what to do.

I was meeting with a student this morning when he sat down. Then, during an obvious conference (more obvious to someone sitting too close), he interrupts to ask me could I please plug his computer in so that he doesn't have to climb over me. Three things: 

1) don't interrupt my meeting/conference/conversation/whatever to make me do a favor for you. 

2) the favor itself is unreasonable because it is he who sat down after my student and I did. (He left for a moment, and my student leaned over and asked, "do you know that guy?" I explained that I didn't, and she said, "I thought maybe you did, but when you didn't say Hi, I wasn't sure. Yeah, he's weird.") Also unreasonable because the powerstrip is on a long cord, and he could move it so that he doesn't have to bother anyone ever.

3) Now I'm spitting mad, and I would say something, but I didn't at the moment, and now it's been about 10 minutes, and I don't really know what to do. The presence of my student made him sit a little farther than usual, so it's not like I can ask JJ's gunther to help me. When I look up, straight ahead in front of me (as I often do when I'm thinking and writing), he always looks at me. (It's pretty obvious.) I'm mad and creeped out, but I won't move because I don't want to cede my territory. This is where I sit. I shouldn't have to move, and this creepy guy is taking advantage of JJ's overall sense of decorum, so I feel I can't yell at him. Part of me is angry at myself that I didn't tell him immediately that he was interrupting a student conference (with the subtext that he could figure something else out about his stupid computer that didn't involve me plugging it in for him or him crawling over me to do it himself). 

What should I do? What would you do? If you know what to do, would you do it for me?

The pleasure of being anonymous

First: the eulogy of the world was written last Friday. Rest well, DFW. 

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One of the aspects of living in a small town (that I hated) is that everyone knows you. Or your dad or mom. Or your mom and dad's car. At least, they think they know you.

One of the things I loved about moving away from Arkadelphia was that I could leave that misremembered history that others associated with me. I apparently was a mud-flinger in kindergarten. Another girl (who I graduated with) bit someone once, which earned her a 15-year nickname. She might still have it—she never left.

When I left town, adults no longer said to me, "Oh, you're Dr. Murphy's daughter. I've heard about you." Which they had because my dad liked to tell "funny" stories about his daughters, in almost every situation, including his classroom. More than a couple of my teachers had been in one of his classes, and some of them had seen at least one "Murphy girl" demonstration of Piaget's developmental experiments. (It wasn't until I was in college that I realized that the psychologist Piaget was the same person as P-I-J.) I hate to say it, but it's embarrassing for someone to tell a story about how you ran out of a classroom when you were five because you were confused by a test you weren't supposed to pass anyway, and wasn't it so adorable.

Anonymity is glorious. It means you can be no one's daughter, no one's test subject, no one's cute story. It means you don't have to wave at every passing car because one in five people knows your parents or was your nursery-school teacher or some shit like that.

Anonymity on the web is a little harder to achieve. But it is still glorious. You belong to no one, not even yourself because it's not your name. It's a different name, and the difference doesn't matter because you're speaking to strangers anyway. You finally write your worst memories, your worst parts of yourself even, to the world. Who writes back. Because who doesn't like to watch a train wreck? Who never is one?

I don't even know what to call this, it's so awesome.

Now this is the Hillary Clinton I grew up with and loved: