Grading papers

I'm grading papers. I should be looking forward to a nice holiday break. Instead, I'm grading papers. I have no one to blame but myself. Me and my stupid committment to good writing. When will I learn? Students, for the most part, don't care about writing. They only care if they get laid and drunk, preferably at the same time. Why do I torture myself by making them write? Maybe if I made them write about getting laid and drunk...no, even then, their papers would stink.

That's really not fair. Many of my students seemed to take this assignment seriously. They had to choose an autobiographical narrative written by someone reflecting on the 1960s - 1970s. Then, they had to relate one or two main issues in the book to the longer history that we have discussed in class. In other words, I wanted them to demonstrate that they learned something this semester. Show me that you can trace change over time. Show me that you can use specific examples and not talk in complete vaguery. Show me that you cite a source!!

And, some of them did well. Only a few have managed to state an argument in their introduction, but who needs an argument? Who doesn't want to wait until the conclusion to learn the main point of the entire essay? It's like a nice surprise. Sometimes, I play a little game. I try to guess what their argument is as I'm reading, then I see if I'm right when I get to the conclusion. Sometimes I am, and sometimes I'm not. Well, I am right, but the student heads off on a new tangent in the conclusion and doesn't articulate the obvious argument. Oh, the frivolity.

What really wears me out are the plagiarists. These students piss me off. Not a mild irritation, we're talking white-hot rage. Without fail, they're the little jackasses who have been working my last nerve all semester. I hate, hate, hate, hate having to waste my time tracking down the original source of their masterpiece, printing it out, then marking both copies to show the extent of plagiarism.

Then, I have to take time out of my day to meet with the student to explain why he or she won't be receiving any credit for the assignment, and why they can't have a "do over." I hate that I'll have to sit and listen as they explain that they just didn't know that they couldn't "copy and paste" directly from an online source and turn it in with their name on it. I hate that I'll have to show them that I clearly forbid such behavior on my syllabus. Most of all, I hate that I'll spend 20 times more time with these slackers than I will spend with the students who did the assignment correctly.

They can't say I didn't warn them. I told them on the first day of class (and printed on my syllabus) that I am a professional researcher. That's what historians do - we research. When you start using the Britsh spelling of words and citing sources written in German, I know something is up. When you stop speaking in jibberish and start making sense only to return to jibberish, I know something is up. If you can find it on Google, so can I.

My only joy will come when I tell one hapless jackass that he can't possibly pass the course now. That he will have to repeat this course that he so clearly enjoyed. That he will not be welcome in any of my classes next semester. Then, I can kick him out of class for the rest of the semester. OK, it's only 3 more classes, but I won't have to look at his sourpuss and that makes me very happy.

I refuse to give up on teaching writing skills. I refuse. I do. Really. (sob, sob)

Mad Men

I've developed a new addiction in recent weeks. It's called, "Mad Men." I know that I am late to this party, but better late than never. I'm watching last season in Netflix. With two more episodes to go, I'm hooked.

I know I'm hooked because I have random flashes of Mad Men during otherwise un-Mad Men related activities. The other day, while I was driving home, I thought about how creepy Pete Campbell is. He really upsets me. He's such a snake. Yeah, yeah, I know that I'm supposed to feel sorry for him because his father doesn't love him and he only got married because his wife had money and he thought he had to get married. Well, I don't feel sorry for him. I would be very happy if he fell down the elevator shaft at Sterling Cooper, a la Rosalind Shays on LA Law.

Mad Men has made me fall in love with John Slattery all over again. I loved him in "Ed." I even loved him when he wanted Carrie Bradshaw to pee on him in "Sex and the City." How many actors can you say that about? In Mad Men, he's a real letch - having an affair with the office manager, hitting on employee's wives, getting schnokered at lunch. But he's so charming and endearing, unlike Pete Campbell who is just a sniveling, conniving snake. Something tells me John Slattery's character is not going to survive next season and I'll miss him terribly.

Still trying to figure out if Peggy is pregnant. Don't tell me!! Have to say that I loved the scenes where she tries to explain why women will love the "Rejuvenator."

Also loved the scene where Betty Draper takes a rifle and shoots the neighbor's doves out of the sky, all while smoking a cigarette and wearing a housecoat. Fabulous!

But here's what I really like about this show: Each of the characters is flawed and multi-dimensional. I also love that writers explore 1960s society without beating the viewer over the head with it. Rampant sexism, the malaise of college-educated housewives, the Nixon-Kennedy election, work ethics - all woven into great stories. I particularly enjoy the references to salaries and the cost of consumer goods. "He already makes $35,000/year!" "I'd like a $5/week raise. I currently make $35/week." I'm considering showing episodes of the show in Women's History classes, or classes on the 1960s. It's that good.

Barbecue is NOT a verb

I'm having a very relaxing weekend. I don't have anything to grade and I cancelled my class on Tuesday. The little darlins have a paper due on Thursday and I figured I could use a break before I have to grade their masterpieces. As a result, I'm kicking back and taking it easy this weekend. I've done some thinking about next semester, finished a book, and burned through 2 Netflix movies. Today, I moved on to one of my favorite activities: cooking something that takes a really, really long time. Barbecue from scratch.

I shopped for the ingredients yesterday. Boston butt was on sale at the P-store - a sign from God that it was bbq time. I chose this one, a nice 5.5 pound butt. I also picked up some buns, chips, pork and beans, and cole slaw. As I checked out, the cashier said, "Looks like you're going to barbecue." I didn't correct her, but everyone knows that "barbecue" is not a verb.

Making bbq is a 4-hour process. I started at 3:15PM. I took the butt out of the package and put it in a pot with water to cover. I added sliced onions, bay leaves, and whole cloves. Then, I turned on the heat and waited for the boil. Once I achieved boil, I put on the lid, and let it go for three hours. It smelled amazing! Spicy cloves and bay leaves permeated the house. I turned my attention to my syllabus for next semester and waited.

At 5:45, it was time for the beans. Yes, anyone who knows me knows that I believe that beans are the work of the devil. But, you can't have bbq without baked beans. So, I emptied the can of pork and beans and gathered the necessary ingredients.

Enough of this stuff and you can't taste the beans anymore. The cinnamon is the secret ingredient. Ssshh.

After adding the right amount of each of these wonderful transformative taste sensations, I popped the beans in the oven and turned my attention to the sauce. Can't have bbq without sauce. Without sauce, it's just shredded butt and no one wants that.

I like this sauce. It's spicy but not so hot that you want to die. It's got onion, ketchup, vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, water, brown sugar, chili powder, pepper, and salt. You know it's good when there's twice as much pepper as salt. It simmers for 30 minutes and gets good and thick.

With the sauce bubbling away, I turned to the meat. Armed with two forks, I opened the pot and said, "I'm goin' shred your ass!" I do like to crack myself up while I cook. Then, I set to work. I have to admit that this is the part that I'm not so fond of. Shredding an entire Boston butt with two forks is hard work. After about 20 minutes of shredding, I had reduced the butt to this:

Back into the pot with the shredded meat, add some sauce and simmer for 20 minutes. Finally, at 7:15PM, I sat down to this:
I went with the open face option, with extra sauce. And, yes, those are potato chips. Can't have bbq without chips. In case you're wondering, it was really, really good.

Real Reality TV

For the past month or so, I've spent the middle of the week with Big City friends. The commute from College Town to Big City got to be too much on my weary body and soul. So, I take advantage of my friends' hospitality, paying for my keep in food and good humor.

I've discovered a whole new world at their house. They watch TV shows that I didn't even know existed. For instance, did you know that there's a show where marginally talented hosts discuss the latest tech gadgets and internet videos? The key to this show seems to be the size of the female hosts' breasts. The other key ingredient is the type of videos that they choose to highlight. In one video, a woman inserted a rocket into her backside and her "friends" lit the fuse. The video ended with her squealing as the flame reached her bare backside. I know what you're thinking, "Why would anyone do this?" I think the more important questions are: Why would someone film it? Why would someone post it? Not to mention, Why would someone show it on TV? And finally, Why would someone watch it? All good questions. I'm choosing to avoid the answers because I'm pretty sure that the only explanation is that we're all going to hell.

I also learned that there's a TV show where 2 grown men go around and destroy whatever they can find. They call themselves "Human Wrecking Balls." The show is all about watching these two fellows tear apart houses, boats, airplanes, etc. - all with their bare hands. Oh, and they can use whatever they tear up as projectiles to continue their total destruction. They have an engineer on hand to help them understand the construction, and subsequent destruction, of specific parts of the house, boats, airplanes, etc. I think the engineer is supposed to lend an air of education to the show. They also have an attractive female doctor on hand to tend to their injuries. I believe my mouth actually fell open while watching the promo for this show.

I have developed a true affection for "Dirty Jobs" on the Discovery Channel. Mike Rowe rocks. The show often makes my skin crawl, but in a good way. Who knew that someone got paid to crawl inside a ship boiler and clean it out? Or who knew that someone makes money by rowing out into a lake and collecting leaches? Actually, the collection wasn't the bad part of that show, it was the frying and eating leaches that turned my stomach. Gotta say that I would love to get paid to research potential dirty jobs for Mike, then watch as he cleans out sewers or crawls under mobile homes with a crazy guy whose shoulder pops out of socket. Overall, this show makes me feel so much better about my job.

In addition to these shows, I've watched a fair amount of Tim Gunn's Guide to Style and What Not to Wear (or "What Not to Watch," according to my uncle). Here's my problem with these shows: They take a woman who has questionable fashion sense, take away all of her crappy clothes, then give her thousands of dollars to replace her wardrobe with more stylish clothes. "More stylish" as defined by Stacy and Clinton, and Tim Gunn. By watching these shows, we're all supposed to learn important lessons and be better shoppers and better dressed.

This works great if someone gives you thousands of dollars. My problem is that I don't have thousands of dollars, so I end up buying scattered pieces on sale, hoping that they'll magically form outfits in my closet. They don't. My wardrobe consists of maybe 3 good outfits and lots of other tops and bottoms that don't really go together. And I won't even talk about the stuff that doesn't fit anymore. Damn aging and gravity.

So, in this age where anything and everything makes its way onto TV, I'd like to propose a new show. I'd like for Tim Gunn and Clinton Kelly to come to my house and sort through my closet to find the stuff that I should keep. (I'm not all that fond of Stacy London or Tim's sidekick so they're not invited.) Then, I'd like for Tim and Clinton to use my current disposable income to put a wardrobe together. Good luck! They can show me how to look cute even when I have to wear dowdy shoes. They can show me how to look put together at 4PM when I'm starting my final class of the day. Then, they can give me thousands of dollars.

Toaster & Toast

I had a bit of excitement Saturday night. No, not that kind of excitement, though it was hot. I decided to make a big pot of spaghetti sauce. Spaghetti sauce is an all-day project because the sauce simmers for 3 hours. But, man, is it good. So, while I watched the Dawgs try their best to lose to the Wildcats, I made sauce.

Finally, as darkness descended, the sauce was ready. I boiled some pasta, made a salad, and put some frozen garlic bread in my toaster oven. I just cleaned the toaster oven because I was having smoke problems - the crumbs would smoke and set off the smoke alarm in my apartment, forcing me to throw open the sliding glass door. Then, I would grab the closest piece of newspaper, dish towel, or hot pad and start waving it wildly toward the smoke detector, like I'm trying to signal a ship at sea. The dialogue that accompanies this scenario usually sounds someting like, "Stop beeping, you stupid thing!"

So, anyway, I cleaned out the toaster oven. I put the bread in and knew, just knew, that the smoke alarm would not go off this time. I turned my attention back to the game. I paid little attention to the warning at the bottom of the toaster oven door. You can't read it in the picture, but it says, "In the event of food flare-up, keep door closed and unplug power cord."

I'm not sure what drew my attention back to the kitchen. I think I heard a little popping sound. When I got to the toaster oven, flames were shooting from the heating element. I knew that I'd seen Pirates of the Caribbean too many times, because my initial response was, "Not good," a la Jack Sparrow when the incredibly offensive characatures of indigenous people tried to roast him.

Then, I opened the door. Now, I know why the warning says, "Keep door closed." The flames got bigger. I had a flashback to "Backdraft," and remembered that oxygen feeds fires. Instead of closing the door, I again turned to Jack Sparrow for inspiration and started to puff at the fire, thinking I'd huff and I'd puff, and I'd blow the flames out. Let's just say that I didn't. I didn't burn my eyebrows off, so it wasn't a complete disaster. All the while, I think I was saying something like, "Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap."

Then, like a bolt of lightening from the great beyond, I thought, "In the event of food flare-up, keep door closed and unplug power cord." I closed the door and unplugged the device. The flames died down and went out. In their wake, they left a nice black mark on the heating element of the toaster oven and on my toast. And a really bad smell in my apartment.

But - the smoke detector never went off. Apparently, it only detects smoke, not open flame. I feel so much safer. I'm already planning to buy a new toaster oven.

Change

Today is Friday, or "Hangover Day" as I have come to call it. No, I don't go on a bender every Thursday -though that's certainly an interesting idea. Instead, Friday is the day when I put the long week of teaching behind me and don't put any demands on myself. So far, I've recorded attendance and participation for the week, walked aimlessly through the Red Dot Boutique, and treated myself to lunch at Panera Bread. Now, I'm waiting on the dryer repairman.

I'm also contemplating making a change in my apartment. When I moved into this apartment, I changed the look of my bedroom. Gone were the pastels and daisies of my old duvet cover. In with the red and white. I like the bold color against the pine dresser, bed, and nightstands.

Of course, changing one thing led to any number of problems. I had to change the curtains. Out with the pastel green, in with the khaki. I have yet to replace the pastel green blanket that went with the old bedding. I figure that no one will see the blanket so I don't need to be in a hurry to change it. And, the last time I priced blankets, they were much more than I wanted to spend. Besides, I live in Georgia. I don't need no stinkin' blanket.

The trickle-down effect from the new duvet cover spread into the adjoining bathroom. I've ignored the discordant decorating schemes, but with all the talk about change, I just can't take it anymore. I'll be the first to admit that my bathroom decorating is uninspired. Whatever inspiration there was related to the old bedroom. Case in point:

The green rug worked great with the pastel theme from the bedroom (which is on the other side of the door. You can't tell from this picture, but the shower curtain has a fern pattern on it, also worked great with the pastel theme. Even the basket worked.

Now, not so much. (On a side note: I never imagined that I'd post a picture of my toilet on my blog. I really have run out of things to write about.)

Another view:

This is taken while standing in the doorway shown in the other picture. Yes, my bathroom has two doors. Kind of like the mirror has two faces, but totally different. The two doors only cause problems when guests come to visit. In other words, the two doors never cause a problem. With the two doors, the bathroom becomes a short-cut between the office and the bedroom, and who wouldn't want that?

Anyway, as you can see, decor is sad and depressing. I promise that the colors are more vibrant than this picture shows, but they're still pastel.

So, I'm looking for change. I'd like to extend the warmer tones from the bedroom into the bathroom. I don't think I want to do red necessarily, because then it all feels too "matchy matchy." I saw some really nice chocolate brown towels at Bed Bath and Beyond, so that may be a place to start. My plan is to figure out what I want and get it on my Christmas list and wait to see what Santa brings. Can I change? Yes I can!

(Note that I figured out how to make my camera talk to my computer. It's a good day.)

Good Day

Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows that I tend toward pessimism. So, in an effort to reset the universal balance of my life, I offer the following:

Today is a good day. The sun is shining and I don't need a jacket in this first week in November. The leaves have started to change colors. I wrote a lecture for yesterday's classes, then decided to review instead. My students confirmed that some of them, more than a few, are actually getting it. So, instead of spending my Wednesday struggling through mid-week exhaustion to put a lecture together, I'm relatively relaxed. My hair looks pretty good today.

And . . . change is on the horizon. Tomorrow, I'm lecturing on the civil rights movement of the 1960s. Sometimes, life just works out. I can't help but think about an August afternoon before I was born, when a preacher from Georgia stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and delivered one of the best-known speeches in our history. I can't say it better than he did, and I won't even try.

"With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true."

-----Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "I Have a Dream," March on Washington, August 28, 1963

Today is a good day.