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.