spring break part two, or, stranger in a strange land

While I fully intended to spend all of spring break either sleeping, writing, or reading (okay, also drinking), I got called back into the world of composition, somewhere I wasn't really planning on venturing. I wanted to have a whole week where I didn't think of school at all, where the thought of student writing never crossed my mind. Of course, it didn't work out that way.

The week before break, I got an e-mail from a book representative wanting to know if I was interested in attending a symposium of college composition instructors. Apparently, my boss couldn't make it, my assistant boss couldn't make it, and they somehow worked their way down to me.

It is one of the strangest elements of my life that, now that I have a full-time position, I am continually courted by book representatives. When they heard that I was on a composition textbook subcommittee, they came out of the woodwork. I have had piles of texts sent my way, I have been interviewed at length about my teaching practices, I have had reps offer to take me out to lunch on them.

College textbooks is a major business, particularly when you're getting into the realm of anthologies, which can average around $75 a book. When you throw in the fact that courses like comp are required of every single student, a company can gain a whole lot of income by convincing a department to use their text. So it's not surprising that they try to latch on to every possible lead.

It does, however, feel weird to be the beneficiary of such behavior. It fits into my fully ambiguous feelings toward my class status. On one hand, I'm very much still very low on the totem pole within this university, this department...but these reps treat me like some tyrant who can change their lives with a nod of the head.

So when they asked me to go to this symposium, I expected either a sprawling "time-share sales pitch" or a pleading "how can we make ourselves worthy of you?" day of fawning. Personally, the prospect looked as promising as a root canal...but it was a line on the vita, they were covering all expenses, and they were paying me...which is always a tempting combination, hard to resist...so I went.

The symposium was at a hotel in Livonia MI...which is, as far as I can tell, a land of strip malls, chain restaurants, and subdivisions, sort of a Edward Sissorhands setting, only outside Detroit. The only other thing I know about the area is that the area UPN channel carries these really goofy ads for some big jewelry warehouse, where every single employee gathers for the closing shot and waves in perfect unison.

The perks of the trip were, on whole, not bad. We ate at a really good chain top-end Chinese restaurant, where I had several drinks and a kickin' lamb stir-fry on them. Afterward, we went to the hotel bar, and I got several Irish whiskeys on them. I then went to my relatively nice hotel room. The free hotel breakfast was so-so, but I guess you can't win them all.

The funny thing is that when the symposium started, the book reps made it quite clear that they were not going to try to sell us anything, and they in fact didn't want us to refer to any textbook or product by name...not even if it was theirs. They were, instead, very interested in getting a "state of the art" of comp teaching from us.

So we talked about composition, the struggles we face in teaching it, our approaches, preconceptions we face, and all that. I met some really nice and interesting people, including the heads of several writing programs...so there was in fact networking.

As much as I learned about composition teachers, I realized that I am not one of them...and I do not really think like they do, for the most part. For me, the main value to the symposium was the chance to look inside their heads, see how they think, see how they view the world. I started to try to formulate how I saw these people, how they say themselves...and I realized it was a pretty big project. I'm thinking that my second big academic project might have to be a full cultural study of the world of composition instruction.

It could be a synthesis of my personal experiences/biography and the full cultural study/serious academic endeavor angle...thus, it would combine the "fun" factor of personal writing along with serious inquiry...which would make it a blast to write. It could be a good bridge between school and the mass market...which might actually give me a name in the publishing biz. Of course, it might also make me unemployable in the comp field, but it could bring me admirers from the teaching ranks.

Who knows? I might end up using a lot of space on this blog to further explore this issue. I might recycle many of these posts. I might solicit more personal stories and research tips. I will eventually find a way to use this blog for actual work instead of the avoidance of...

Now I just need to finish my first book...

post-Spring Break wrap-up 1, or, working in the coal mine

One of these days, I need to actually take a break during spring break...y'know, go to somewhere warm, drink too much, generally be hedonistic. However, when you're a "teaching" academic, any break from school is more about catching up than relaxing. While I did get caught up on sleep, I mostly worked.

The major project of spring break was to get my book revision plan done. Way back in late 2003, I submitted a sample chapter of my dissertation to a good university press, who contacted me at that year's American Studies Association conference. They liked it enough to ask for a book proposal.

So, over the next summer, I banged one out and sent it, along with the full diss manuscript, to their editors. They then asked for some changes...y'see, I wrote a proposal which addressed specifically how I would change the diss in light of them actually having read the diss. But they only read the proposal (which I can understand, being time-strapped myself)...so I had to take another stab at the proposal.

The problem was, I got side-tracked by the thrills of adjuncting. When you're teaching five classes in four disciplines at three different institutions, it's very hard to think about anything other than grading and class prep. Summer 2004, I got 1/2way through a draft. Summer 2005, I worked at the zoo. When I did have free time, it was spent mentally recuperating from the workload. I barely had/have time to stay an active thinker, let alone be a scholar...and this continues to be the case even now that I have a job...because I teach and grade so much.

(okay, I often avoid grading...mostly by writing this blog)

Every so often, I get an e-mail from the very kind, very patient editors, wondering if I'm still working on the proposal. I tell them, quite honestly, that I still care about the project and will get it knocked out as soon as I have the time, which is even the truth...but I rarely have time.

So, task one over the break was to actually get the book proposal knocked out. Reading my diss again was a very strange experience...I had to spend an awful lot of time unpacking stupidly dense language, as well as trying to get back into the same theoretical head I occupied while an ABD. It was a difficult read, and that amazed me, because I've always prided myself on not succumming to academic-speak...I guess I was fooling myself just a little.

I realized that most of my problems in the diss came from following a dissertation format. I was spelling out everything in the beginning, going through the analysis, and just dying off. There was no mystery to the writing, and my diss, as it stands, doesn't lead anywhere...which is par for the course, because you can't really treat that type of writing as an act of discovery.

The questions that the university press had mostly related to "what questions are driving this?" Instead, the diss was driven by issues rather than questions, because I couldn't write using the "and we'll work our way to the answers" format, which would've been preferable. Now that I can do that, I can actually justify the purpose/point to my project and communicate that to my reader.

Realizing all this made everything about the dissertation make sense. I know where the thing needs to go in order to be a book. I know how to get there with minimal pain. So, over spring break, I got 90% of the proposal knocked out. I've got some polish, got to add two chapter descriptions, need to make sure I'm not in academic-speak in the proposal, but it's doable. I plan to have the revision plan done by the end of this week, and I can then solicit opinions from a few friends and my kick-ass diss chair.

It has been a strange trip moving from grad student to full-time teacher, but I think I'm starting to turn it back towards "scholar"...and that feels really good.

"a has-been at a mere thirty five"

Funny enough, the subject line quote (from a Jayhawks song) has been going through my head for a large part of the day. Yes, I turn thirty five today. I'm not normally one for pontificating on such matters, and birthdays generally don't mean much, but I've been thinking about this one.

I thought thirty would be monumental, but nothing (panic, hysteria, the like) really came up. Thirty three was only notable because I could tell people I was "the age of Rolling Rock." I thought about having a 1/3rd of a century party four months after my birthday (when I hit 33 1/3rd years old), but I never got around to it.

A number of years ago, my father said that he was shooting for 70. I thought this needlessly pessimistic at the time, especially when medical science is pushing the age barrier upward. Now that I am halfway to that age myself, however, I can't help but feel a little freaked out at the thought.

What makes the "aging of Mike" all the more surreal is that I don't feel or think of age that much during my normal life. I remember talking to my old Little Caesar boss, and he told me, "Mike, I still feel like I'm in my twenties." Well, I do to...although I am much less of a moron, have more social skills (which isn't hard), and am more confident. I have no real creaks of old age, and my bones don't ache yet. I can't sleep as long as I used to, and I can't metabolize as much sugar as before, but that's about it. I still feel, mentally, like a youngster, and the only real difference is a wider body of experience to guide my actions.

I think part of my good mental age/outlook is that I'm in an occupation which requires being able to relate to those younger than myself. Granted, this does take a conscious effort. When I did pizza, I always noticed how "the kids" listened to different music than I, and at one point, I forced myself to catch up. I found out that by listening to what they did, by watching the same shows and movies, I gained a little common ground, and that made conversations easier...and this also yields positive benefits as a teacher. Plus, I had the added advantage of not being the guy who still only listens to the same stuff he did in high school.

While doing a student conference this week, though, I got the great insight that my student, although I had a trememdous amount in common with him, saw me as an "adult" as surely as he saw himself as a kid. No surprise...some of my younger students/coworkers/friends seem to want to go out of their way to make me feel old. I won't let them, however. I refuse to be defined as "old" by any young whippersnapper. But the conference suggested to me that most of what we define as "old" is defined by other people...we only get old if we play along.

What we need to do is stop using age as an excuse not to change. I only feel old when I feel stagnant. I've been specifically battling this age-stagnation combo this year by branching out...making better friends with some youngsters, listening to different new music, watching some new programs. My parents have finally got internet connected, and I couldn't be prouder...and I think it will be good for them.

Granted, I can say these things in part because I'm still in a relatively transient state. I don't own a house; drive a really beater car; am in a job that, while I like, is not a career position; and I don't have a kid...I have, in other words, avoided a lot of the markers of maturity. But I don't think that any of these things need to necessarily stop me, as long as I keep trying to change, to grow, to improve.

Change is good. Old is a state of mind that can be avoided. Life is good.

Now, I need to make plans to drink...it is, after all, my birthday!

the Mike happenings update

Next week's happenings:

Wednesday 3/1:

related birthday drinking, time and place TBA

Thursday 3/2:

Stimmels tasting: wines from weird places, cider,
and mead. Most likely drinking afterward.

Saturday 3/4:

WAR Wrestling's "March to Glory" in Lima

Sunday 3/5:

Academy Awards viewing party at The Mad Doctor's Laboratory (my place)

Yes, it's a surprisingly full social calendar for me; I'm generally used to sitting in a dark corner of our attic, curling up in the fetal position, and sucking my thumb, so this will be monumental. Let me know if you want in on the action.

beer reporting

The beer tasting last night was a success. Got two of mine and Lori's friends to go with us, and they seemed to enjoy themselves. It was also a nice break from the normal yuppie-ish crowd that the tastings seem to attract. Plus, my wife actually stayed with us instead of wandering around the store, contemplating the various varieties of mustards.

It was also nice to have another level of commentary save the standard beer snob fare. My favorite highlights: of a very nice British ale..."it kind of has an institutional scent" (on a beer I liked); of a stout..." it kind of smells like when you get home from a bar...smokey, with a hint of cigarette ash."

We then went to a local sports bar and downed a few pitchers of Labatt Blue out of plastic cups...just so we could have the baseline comparison.

Next week, they're doing a mead and cider combo or wines from weird places (such as India).

a good student quote

One of my students referred to Appleby's as "the Wal-Mart of the restaurant world.

Every so often, I just love my job.

sampling and snobbery

In Bowling Green, we have a gourmet grocery market place. On Thursdays, they have a beer and wine tasting. I'm trying really hard to make it a normal event with my friends. I really like the concept, but so far, it's mostly drawing middle-aged yuppies. We need to bring some serious drinkers there and undermine the snob potential of the whole schmeal.

Three weeks ago, they did IPAs. Me likee IPAs, and I really liked the one from the Brooklyn Brewery...so much so that I picked up a sixpack.

Two weeks ago, they did Belgian beer. I hate Belgian beer...to me, it proves why the word "Belguim" is the dirtiest word in the universe...no offense to any actual Belgians who might be reading...

Last week, they did Doppelbocks...which I just thought were gross. The only one that really did anything was the Sam Adams, and that was simply less sour than the others...some of which tasted downright vinegary. I really craved salt afterwards.

This week, they're doing Italian wines and Gold Medal beers, in honor of the Olympics. I have high hopes...and I've actually got some people tentatively agreeing to come!

I will report back.

hair today...

For whatever reason, I have noticed an increasing amount of undergraduate women with their hair pulled back into a "Pebbles" ponytail. While I can understand the desire for low maintenance, I can't really understand why someone would want a ball on the top of their hair.

Personally, I'm hoping for a comeback for the "bedhead" look...or "the claw" from my high school days.

I look like what?

My "friend" Bob (and you'll see in a minute why I put that in quote marks) came to my office to tell me that I remind him of Ted Furguson, Bud Light Daredevil...the guy who does "stunts" such as go shopping with his girlfriend or stay at work two minutes late on a Friday.

Personally, I think he's been doing student conferences too long, but I'm open to comment on this one.

For the record, I've also been told that I look like John Denver and Jay Farrar. Any others I'm missing?

10 years gone

A leaked Guns N' Roses demo is floating around online. My review: ish.

make some nnnnooooiiiizzzzeee!!!!!!

"When I grow up, I want to be a rock guitarist."

That is what I would've said if you asked me at age 15...or 18...or 21...or nowadays, for that matter. I love being a teacher, I love being a thinker/scholar (when I can find the time), but I would much rather be a guitarist any day. I'm reminded of this whenever I hear the crunch of Slobberbone, Green Day, Grand Champeen, or a slew of other bands.

This all started a long time ago. When I was in elementary school, there was a teacher who hated me. It worked, because I hated her. I refused to do any of the work or take her seriously. She reacted by sending me to the guidance counselor to be tested...to see if I needed to go into the "special" classes.

I did the IQ test and blew its doors off. The counselor suggested to my parents that (1) I enroll in the "gifted" program, and (2) I take up some kind of intellectual interest, such as learning how to play an instrument.

My dad had a violin...apparently, he was forced to learn some while a kid, and the violin belonged to his stepfather. So I learned violin. I played violin for 3 1/2 years, and technically, I got pretty good. I had a good ear (a must for an unfretted instrument) and could pick up new material pretty well. And it was a fun enough activity.

I never really got the music, however. While I could appreciate it, I couldn't really "feel" it. It showed in my playing, which was rather precise but sedate. It also showed in how little I played once we moved away from my teacher and a school system which funded music programs. Soon, the violin went into the closet.

While I never really "felt" most classical music, I grasped rock at an early age. The first real album I ever bought was AC/DC's live album If You Want Blood (You've Got It), which I bought while in fifth grade. "Let There Be Rock" clicked immediately, as did "War Pigs"...and I knew I wanted to play guitar.

I never really got the support with guitar that I did with violin. I wasn't given an instrument...rather, I had to save up money (which I did by largely skipping high school lunches) and buy my own. I chose a Chicago brand Les Paul copy, which I no longer have...my mother made me sell it when I got a better instrument. I had to buy my own accessories (strings & such). As only so much could be funded with lunch money, I eventually had to get a job.

(of course, parties and a car also played a role in my decision to find work, but that's another post)

When I started working, I got sucked in by the money. I worked a lot of hours...by my senior year, I was doing 35 hour weeks at Little Caesars. As a result, my guitar practice time went down from the pre-employment days of pretty much whenever I wasn't in school to maybe a few hours a week. Where I used to improve steadily (and rather rapidly), I moved to barely keeping from getting rusty. College cut into my playing time even more.

I also had problems getting in bands. I didn't practice enough, and whenever I would get a chance to play, it would often come after a week or two where I didn't touch my guitar...and as a result, I sucked, and everyone would just think I reeked as a player. Some friends still think I'm really mediocre because they always heard me when I was at my most out-of-practice.

When I did get auditions that I did well, the band would either be full of loonies (I will share some stories later), or the band would chug along until a key member quit, or the whole mess would disintegrate for reasons unknown. I had the worst time getting a drummer and a singer in a band at the same time. In short, I never played out, mostly because I couldn't keep a band together long enough to get a gig. This caused me to neglect the instrument even further, which kept me out of bands...it was a vicious cycle.

I moved to Ohio to do my doctoral school, and changing my environment was the biggest marker for me that drove home the fact I would never actually be a professional musician. Strangely enough, my playing got better (particularly on the acoustic) after I gave up on my dream to play professionally, which I still don't understand.

But over the last few years, I've been neglecting the guitar again. My adjuncting period kept me way too occupied to play on any normal basis. My wife, wonderful though she is, doesn't really care for my singing voice, and mindless noodling, plunking, and practice drives her batty...so I tend not to play much around her.

I have several friends who are both musicians and academics, but I can't seem to get them to play with me either. There was one or two times where I started playing with some friends, and we got a makeshift band together. We got about 15 songs down, including a really hip country version of "Shout at the Devil". I was elated, felt unbelievable, and I wanted it to continue. The singer got busy, and we couldn't schedule any more practices...and then he moved. The bass player we were trying to recruit wouldn't commit. The drummer, while still friendly to me, quit calling me and inviting me over, for reasons I've never fathomed. I have other friends who are musicians, but I've only been able to arrange one jam session...everyone claims they are too busy.

Meanwhile, my guitars sit either in their stands or in their cases. When I do actually play, I mostly use my acoustic, because I can accompany myself on vocals...plus the strings last longer...if I break out the Les Paul or Tele, I only get a few touches on the instrument before the strings die.

I've been neglecting my music again, and I don't like it...but picking up a guitar mostly just reminds me that creating music remains a solitary activity, and that's depressing...so I'm slipping back into the role of being a guy who still thinks of himself as a guitar player but no longer plays.

The times I've managed to have normal jam partners were among the happiest of my life. There's something about creating art, and doing that with other people...it's indescribable. I hope my friends who are either in bands or have been in bands in the past appreciate their connection to music. They have created art, performed it for a hungry public, and have felt the gratification of instant feedback to their artistry. People have clapped, tapped their feet, sang along, made some appreciative noise.

I have never experienced such things and probably never will. While I will always think of myself as a musician, I realize that actually being a musician will only ever be a fantasy...which is somehow unbelievably sad. It also makes me feel hollow inside, somewhat.

I think I'll make the effort to take the guitars to the shop, get them tuned up, and make an effort to play again...if only for myself, so I can be a musician again, at least a little.

it's us against the world...literally

The Guardian had an article on the US military's announced plans for future conflict strategy. You should all read this, because it's truly enlightening. Some relevant/scary quotes:

• US commanders envisage a war unlimited in time and space against global Islamist extremism. "The struggle ... may well be fought in dozens of other countries simultaneously and for many years to come," the report says.
  
• The Pentagon does not pinpoint the countries it sees as future areas of operations but they will stretch beyond the Middle East to the Horn of Africa, north Africa, central and south-east Asia and the northern Caucasus
  
• To wage the long war, the report urges Congress to grant the Pentagon and its agencies expanded permanent legal authority of the kind used in Iraq

This of course means:

1. To qoute Kafka (who keeps coming up in my life): "The best you can hope for is infinite postponement."
   
2. We're fighting everywhere except for Antarctica...and those penguins better watch out.
   
3. Law? What law?
   

Am I alone in not having heard any of this from the US press?

I need to set up my computer to play Darth Vader's theme whenever I look at news sites.

another stupid observation

The hosts of exercise videos seem to think that people are morons who can't count on our own. They also won't shut up. This probably makes them very annoying in real life. Imagine them at a bar? "And, drink, two, three, four...it feels good to drink, yes? C'mon, work out those biceps. This is power drinking...feel that burn. Now, I want you to go get our special workout bar munches and chew. C'mon, chew! Let's get four more...and three...and two...."

seating, Kafka, academics, and class...a treatise

Life never fails to suprise. Just when I think that there's no real order, rhyme, or reason, something happens that makes it clear there is an ultimate plan...unfortunately, that plan is hopelessly twisted and deranged.

When I got my full time position, I was happy for many reasons. One thing that I really was looking forward to was having my own office...a place where I can work (or, more accurately, avoid work) in privacy, that reflected my own sense of style...albeit in a more professional, sophisticated setting than normal.

I struggled to get the office the way I wanted. Me and one of the department secretaries hunted the hallway for furniture, and I found a nice blonde wood table. I got the walls painted, abandoning the typical institutional off-white for a color which a colleague says "looks like a McShamrock shake exploded"...but I think it works. After lots of hassle with physical facilities and carpentry I got proper shelving installled. The office is nicely decorated with 8x10 blowups of cool, artsy photos.

My chair, however, sucks. I've been using an office/waiting room chair, which can be comfortable for unfortunately only minutes on end. It is also way too short, completely unadjustable, and whenever I get caught in grading binges (you can tell when I'm in one by looking at the blog, because the posts get more depressive and rant-like), I begin to feel the telltale twinges of backaches and carpal tunnel.

So I started negotiations with the powers that be. After bugging our deptartment secretaries and my union rep, I went to my chair, who gave me money for a new chair...if that makes sense.

So I went to purchasing, and their cheapest chair started at over $400...which means they must be dealing with the same contractors as the defense department; unfortunately, it took about ten e-mails and a missed appointment to find this out. I went to OfficeMax, but they didn't have anything over $170...and why go cheap if someone else is footing the bill? Purchasing refered me to an office supply store...and this is where it moves from Kafka "the best you can hope for is infinite postponement"-esque to weird in a class-based "the working classes must rebel" kind of way.

The office furniture supply people were falling over themselves to take care of me. They've called four times since last Thursday. They've negotiated a fair price and have faxed a spec sheet. In their mind, I am fully a "player"...and I'm not sure if that's just because I have a company credit card or if it's because I have a business card, a title, and all that, but it's clear I'm a person of importance to them.

Maybe this is a sign that as an academic, I immediately have a certain class standing in the eyes of the outside world...possibly so...but the reality of my situation is that I really don't have that much status or importance within my world. College teachers are assumed to be a priviledged class by many, but this is usually by people who (a) assume that class=status and (b) that don't really know about the complexities of class within the academic world.

When I was teaching sociology as an adjunct, I used the internal class structure of university employees to demonstrate how class as a construct--class being related to the nature of work in this sense--operates in the world at large. Most students, it seemed, had very little idea that part-timers were basically the grunt-work laboring slobs of the academic world...more packmules than anything else. They normally thought that as teachers don't work an assembly line (which is often debatable) or physically make stuff, they must be middle class.

But within academic professionals, there is a very real class (work structure) system in operation, if we see "teaching=work." As you rise in title, you do less "teaching=work" and thus rise in class. Deans rarely if ever teach, therefore, they are much higher on the class ladder than the standard prof. Tenure track teach less and do more research (leisure work) than do Lecturers (who bust out classes and thus are assembly line workers), so tenure=middle class.

Of course, no one actually says this, and I've never really heard anyone consciously downgrade the academic underclass. Class consciousness in academics is usually unconscious on the part of those at the top end of the class scale. As someone who spent two years in adjunct hell, I certainly don't mean "packmule" as a derrogatory term, because it adequately describes how I felt while teaching five classes in four disciplines at three institutions, all in one semester.

Elsewhere, Jen asked if I was suggesting that Adjuncts have become an academic underclass...and this is spot-on. Really, outsiders to the academy wonder why us academics are always all about politics, and after really thinking about class within academic employment, I have to wonder why there aren't more politically active thinkers here...at least in terms of worker's rights.

When I got into academics, I did so because in part I wanted to avoid the petty political garbage that seemed to dominate every other job I've ever had. I understand that you will always have to deal with the powers that be, so politics are always there, but when I was at Little Caesars, I always hated people who would kiss up to the supervisor to get better shifts...which was all too common. I hated having to tell bosses what they wanted to hear in order to get ahead. Granted, for the most part, I had good superiors, but every so often, I ran into a manager who ran a pizza place because it gave him a setting in which to unleash his inner tyrant.

Academics was supposed to be a place where ideas, thinking, and merit overcame all that. But while I've had pretty good bosses and colleagues in academia and have experienced none of that kind of office politic, I realize a little more each day I work here that this place, rather than being a refuge from politics, often can act as a microcosm of politics.

I'm at the lower end of the scale, so I notice this a bit more. Those who are in positions of priviledge in the academy never really talk about these matters as real-life situations...at least, I never heard any such talk when I was getting my degree. My ideals are being disillusioned, which would be no big deal...happens to everyone...but this disillusionment always hits hardest when I've been grading for hours.

In the past, I've mentioned that "I got into this field because it was supposed to be a place where I could feel unbound by the real world and its requirements...." What I wanted was to somehow be in a situation where politics and games didn't exist. Unfortunately, I am in a situation that instead reminds me daily that I am that much more of a victim to these politics and games than ever, where my very position may limit my mobility and maximize the amount of class-based games I have to play.

I know that I have working class roots. I want to maintain those working class roots. I don't want to become an oblivious professor who doesn't realize that he's holding a position of priviledge. However, I want to do this while attaining that position of power, of privilege, where I can do that leisure work of research (which isn't really leisure at all) which makes me feel that I'm trying to balance to irreconcilable extremes.

Either I'm very weird, or the world is very weird, and I've been very oblivious to this weirdness...maybe Kafka is still the model by which I need to live. Maybe I've been monumentally naive, but I kind of doubt I was the only one still laboring under the impression that I was in an intellectual meritocracy. I wonder if I would've still gone into academics if I would've known I might get locked into a class position due to circumstances beyond my control.

I probably would've persisted in my academic dreams, though, as all other jobs suck. I'm not going back to killing rats with a nail on a broomhandle.

a holiday observation

When I was single, I thought about marketing black armbands for sale on Valentine's Day.

yet another observation

Out of all the bands that the "kids" like, My Chemical Romance is the best.

another observation

Although I've taught for years, no one has ever brought me an apple. If they did, I'd probably suspect poisoning.

brief observation

It is incredibly satisfying to hit someone repeatedly over the head
with a cookie sheet.

incommunicado and woozy

In case you're wondering, I'm suffering from a cold. I feel dizzy, lightheaded, and I am unable to concentrate on anything. I know people pay good money for drugs that make them feel just like this, but I'm not really digging it.

updates!

Just got into my office to find out that they "updated" my computer. Jeez, thanks. In the process, they lost all my bookmarks (they assumed I used IE and copied those over my Firefox bookmarks), all my backgrounds, all my Word settings (new version...yay), a few different programs. Now, instead of doing all the work I need to do, I get to correct everything they screwed up while updating my computer.

I think I'm going to leave a note on my computer telling them not to touch it without asking me first. I am very bitter now.