news from the front: "this should cheer you up..."

Today is 14 May 2014.  The blog post below was published on 22 November 2011.  A testimony to my infernal eternal pertinence!  It remains as relevant today as it did some 2 years and 6 months ago. Note also that we are smack dab in the middle of graduation ceremony season, that the Belovèd Grader Boob, one of my Brother-Units, is foremost in my thoughts today, and you can see that I am cosmically required to republish the darned piece.  The Universe has Its Ways.

we are gearing up for the aspiration under fluoroscopy early this afternoon.  good times.  i am in a world of pain and haven't slept in "i-don't-know-when."  well, that's not true:  i slept soundly between 1:30 am and 2:15 am, at which time i sang out a joyous "good morning" to various people who were stumbling off to their beds.

a professor of my acquaintance sent me something to lighten the mood.

oh, okay, it was my brother-unit, the grader boob.  it's all starting to get to him, dear readers.  the proof?  he forwarded an actual paper from a current student... to me, of all people.  it kills me not to be able to just publish the darned thing, but that would be... wrong.

so i'll just pick out select phrases.  the odds of this young woman landing on this blog?  astronomical.  but it could happen, and while her presence here would be more than welcome, there might be some initial discomfiture over the fact that her freshman comp paper has been featured for its general awfulness and horribleissitudèdness (for which my google auto-suggestion thingy would prefer "horticulturalist").

grader boob explains the assignment to which this student is responding:

This should cheer you up.


I’m sending along a copy of a student draft for Project X, an assignment nobly called “Rhetoric in Action.” It’s the final major work and it aspires to get the students to see that they can apply ALL that they’ve learned from the two Comp courses and go out and affect the world. (It’s really just a variation on the classical argument proposal—intro, background, proposal, justification, refutation, conclusion—but one can get in trouble for noting that point!)


[...]


(And XXX is nothing if not a social activist haven—our Occupy XXX group went from 100s to 5 to 2 over the course of three clear days/nights.)


In the attached, the student is arguing that students should not be forced to take General Education courses, for they’re coming into college better prepared than any group before them. From the first line, you can just watch the paper fall apart—for her logic, and her grammar, is impeccable. I especially like her refutation section which notes that students should take the courses so as not to deny teachers the opportunity to attain their dream job, teaching Comp classes.

hey, my temp is 101 and it's only 11 am!  oops.  it's 11 am and i am still sitting hunched over in my jammies, my legs probably fused with the wheelchair (i know my butt is... ouch.  ouch.  and -- again -- ouch).  somehow i have been reading in this hunched position, immobile in this god-forsaken mobility device, for over 8 hours.  my limit before the onset of terminal edema and general misery is... well, much, much less than 8 hours.

i am telling you this as a feigned excuse for behavior that i know is inexcusable.

you know you want to read the whole composition.  i know i want you to read the whole thing.  if you have to ask why, then you are a big bad meanie.

why?  well, largely, because the unbelievable must be believed. students can easily exit a public education by means of graduating from high school --where they took advanced placement classes, even -- yet not be able to think coherently, construct a simple argument, or express themselves persuasively using a level of grammar and spelling mastery acceptable to a beginning college student.

why?  (for you rick perry fans, this would be instance number 2)  because it illustrates some of the daily frustrations faced by teachers, especially those teaching students on a collision course with college, whose very placement defies any attempt to remediate, to fix what has been broken and duct-taped together for far too long.

why? because this student  raises some good questions about university education, though not the questions she intended to posit.  clearly, she was feeling feisty and competent, and we all hope that this spirit stays with her as she knuckles down and learns, giving that stance some legs on which to stand.

grader boob also wrote recently that the argument surfacing in his upper level writing courses, wherein the students insist that their chosen field of study and future employment (chuckle::guffaw::snort) does not require them to write well.  he responds with stories from his best friend, who runs an academic medical research laboratory, who hires and fires frequently on that specific basis.  the students, he notes, are unimpressed and think he blowing smoke up their derrières (my google auto-suggester would prefer -- i kid you not -- "derrida" or "derrick"!).

[uh-oh, i think i love it:  to blow smoke up the derrida, the old derri-dada, ha!]

if you should ever find this post, composition draft author, i hope you understand that i wish you well.  there are things that will become much easier over time, things that you mention, like time management and research know-how.  you're intelligent and clearly motivated, so i am betting your future will be a bright and accomplished one.  this composition, though, points to some problems about which my brother and many teachers grow frustrated -- but by which they are not cowed, because -- without fail -- they will continue to show up every monday, wednesday, and friday, hoping to make a difference.

though, as you point out, they are also keen on raking in the dough.

thank you for your work -- and enjoy the heck out of your college experience!


Careers Now


Six years of elementary school, three years in middle school and four years in high school is what an average student spends in school by the time they graduate high school, which comes out to be a total of thirteen years we spend our lives in school. Ever since elementary school students we have always heard our teachers lecture to us about that what they are teaching us right now is going to prepare us for college one day, and ever since then we have heard that same phrase until we received our diploma from our principle. 


Considering that most of our childhood years are spent preparing us for college and helping us get into college, so then there should be no reason to why we are paying money for classes that we already took in our thirteen years of school in our first year of college. As college students we should be able to start on our dream careers right away without having the annoyance of picking out classes that won’t help you in your career.


Many universities in the state of X have the policy of freshman college students taking
prerequisites there first year in college and believe it or not XXX has the same policy. As stated by the article of the XXXXXX Time Newspaper, “Preliminary figures show that enrollment is up 1.5 percent across XXX's four campuses compared with a year ago, topping out at 45,585”. Many of us
XXX students are just starting of at XXX and just graduated out of high school this past June of 2011 and went into either the summer school XXX had to offer or just started in the fall time of 2011 With us just getting out of high school we are wanting to start our new lives and work on our future because we all felt like high school was just a bunch of busy work that didn’t have anything to do with your career, so by the time we graduated from high school we thought we were done with all the busy work the teachers wanted to give us, but then we went to orientation and scheduled our classes for the fall time and found out that we have to take pointless/ busy work classes all over again. Many XXX students have taken AP classes while they were in their high school years, many of us have taken it because we want to get the college credit so we don’t have to waste our time and money on a class that doesn’t even bother with the career I’m going into. These high school AP courses were free, the classes were free and the test that we had to past at the end of the course to see if we get the college credit was free. Since college courses in high school are free, college classes in a student’s freshmen year should be free as well considering they are the same exact subject and topic but just taught by a professor and not a teacher, and it may be filled with a room more than twenty students.


Many of us go to college with money that is either from financial aid or from scholarships that we
have received in high school. Many of us don’t have a full ride or pre-paid plan for college, so the way we spend our college money is very important so that we have enough money left for us to finish college and get out degrees. All of us college students start out as freshmen in college at one point and there are over a thousand of new freshmen coming in every year, just imagine how much money XXX is making each year just from freshmen alone. To me that money is a waste, it’s such a waster that it should be applied to other little or pointless things on campus like the chalk that the student government writes on the sidewalk with, or supply paper to the XXXXXX (XXX’s newspaper), which no one’s seems to read. I believe taking prerequisites are and that they are just a big waste of time and money.


Life is short and money is tough to come by in this economy these days and with that being said we
as college students and young adults should have the chance of proceeding with our life and not being held back by taking high school classes all over again. With us being this young and starting our lives completely over again we are learning different ways of approaching time management skills and being independent. Also with college being so different compared to high school there are a lot of things we need to get adjusted to and get adjusted to it right away so we don’t get held back in our classes because of not knowing the skills we need to know to use our time efficiently and effectively. This was even stated by College Board stating that “Almost all colleges have core requirements to ensure that students explore subjects outside their major. These requirements range from math and history to philosophy and lab sciences. The number of required courses, and subjects, varies from one college to the next. You should fulfill these requirements as soon as possible so that you can spend your later semesters concentrating on courses in your major” (College Board). That’s why we should be given our classes for our major the first year so we know how are classes are ran and what is to be expected of us from the professors.


Even though preqrequites could be a hassle for both us students and suck out a lot of time and
money out of us but we are helping other people that have already been in our shoes and graduated
with a degree in Composition I or II because that’s what they’re interested are in they are interested in writing and teaching other people how to write and use English grammar correctly. By us taking those classes we are helping out a teacher/ person that had put their time and money to their school just so they can get there dream career. We are helping them finical wise and there effort and time wise.


We as students have earned our way to XXX through lots of hard work and time and effort. If we want to stop wasting our money on classes that we don’t need to be taking for our major then I say we protest!! We will all gather up around the Student Center and protest for a week or however long it takes to the admisntration of XXX. We need to save ourselves ad save the next upcoming freshmen’s from wasting their time and money as well. Taking prerequites does help other people get there dream goal and dream career but that’s a lot of money out of the thousands of freshmen each year just for those classes. I say let’s do will out the busy work classes and start doing work for our career!!

The Eternal Vagaries of Dwinelle Hall and That Green Bescherelle

This is a very precious Southernism:  I'm having me a day.

I could just leave it at that.

But really, continuing with the leitmotif made famous by elle est belle la seine la seine elle est belle, "whose blog is it, anyway?" -- I feel like telling you the gist of one of my recurring nightmares.  The gist, that's all.  Were "gist" a word favored by Joe Friday, you'd be reading:  "All we want is the gist, ma'am."

Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

So I'm sleeping the sleep of the innocent when the past hijacks my brain and I'm strolling down Telegraph Avenue toward campus.  having just opened a lucrative checking account at the Bank of America, I swing a right onto Bancroft, wiping out an entire Street Vendor Free Enterprise Zone [SVFEZ] with my various forms of rolling luggage.  By the time I hit Piedmont and climbed the steps to the International House, my face is bright red and my curls are fetchingly damp.

There's no rest for the weary, however, so I leave my bags with a pleasant young Arab and head over to Dwinelle Hall for an orientation meeting with a 1970's version of Fabio before teaching my first scheduled Very Important Class on the fourth floor of that austere educational edifice.

You need to know that:

Dwinelle houses the departments of classics, rhetoric, linguistics, history, comparative literature, South and Southeast Asian studies, film studies, French, German, Italian studies, Scandinavian, Slavic languages, Spanish and Portuguese, and gender and women's studies.

Who knows, that might be important to the plot.  I run a tight nightmare.

Yeah, that's how I roll.

[Oh, God.  Yes, I'll stop.  For once, the Reader on My Shoulder prevails... and has gone in search of something for stomach acid.]

[Oh, and, he says, "...and for a headache, for a GD headache..."]

There are a few new details in this recurrence of the nightmare, most notably that I've also stopped at a hair cuttery along the way and am inexplicably blonde.  I'm also carrying a tennis racket and am obsessed with detailing a return of service plan for some tennis match that the dream doesn't yet allow me to fully envision.

Blonde.  I am blonde.
Wait!  There were those odd under hair highlights, of a color yet to be determined. My memory hazes over and my eyes cross when I try to recall the hair of this recurrent nightmare.  But blonde, yes, I was blonde, with something extra twerking below my shimmering outer locks.

[Reader on My Shoulder just left.  Slowly, leaning on the bedside table, grabbing at the wall as if it had handles.  Oh, wait, it does!  "Twerking?  Are you shittin' me?  Twerking?"]

Well, screw my readership, then!  No, not YOU!  Just HIM!  And all of you born-blondes with naturally occuring RHYTHMIC underhair color schematics?

Eat my grits.

I knew I was a little dehydrated, but I didn't think it was that bad. Or is this chronic, degenerative, neurological pain disorder in control of my keyboard, mwa ha ha ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaa!?

Anyway. This is still bothering me, this walk back down the hill, head half full of pedagogical mneumonic lifesavers, but the other half teeming with tennis strategies and freaked out by the fact that I'm now carrying, as I should be, a Brunello Cucinelli triple gussetted briefcase, in which I've that well worn, much loved, long gone, green Bescherelle, and a David Oscarson "Lily" fountain pen... plus a Snauwaert Ergonom (graphite) which ought to be universally, galactically, against the rules of sporting decorum.

Wow.  I had no clue any of that was going on between my ears.  I haven't thought of that Bescherelle, certainly haven't even uttered the word "Bescherelle," in eons.  And do I really care about briefcases or fountain pens?  And tennis rackets?

Well, yes.  But not like THAT!  Except for maybe the tennis racket part...

Much more important? Extra- super- galactically important?

How far behind the damned service line do I need to be?  Or is this a really lousy player, maybe some famous dreamy person competing in their first oneiric tennis competition, who is just going to dink it over the net, then jump up and down, laugh and throw a party?

Yes, well, yeah.  Okay, so I get through the nightmare orientation session, which seems remarkably short (don't you LOVE dream versions of tedious crap?), and get my teaching assignments.  French literature in various forms, mostly, plus a remarkably important French One Grammar class. 

On the fourth floor of Dwinelle Hall.
There is no fourth floor of Dwinelle Hall, a building which anyone who knows it will describe as "bizarre." 

I suppose continuing the narration might take forever, and subject my more devoted Readers, as well as the bevy of forensic psychiatrists analyzing my texts in the name of "national security," to mind-numbing ennui.  So I'll give you what is called the "short" version:

I got kicked out of the International House, and so hit the streets of Berkeley again, bags in tow, searching -- in a daze of nocturnal lighting -- for an apartment, but only finding offers to take in a roommate, which, sadly, I had to turn down.  (For dream reasons unaccessable at the present time.)

My students were unable to be taught, as they were unable to be found, since the fourth floor of Dwinelle does not exist, in my nightmare as in every day University of California life.

My hair required some touch-up trimming and dye action, so I returned to a hair salon.  It was located, not on Telegraph or Durant or Bancroft, but on a Vegas-like section of Shattuck.  Upstairs, the chic salon, where not just the hair stylists consulted on my case, but even hair stylist interns vehemently opined in the large group meeting that ensued... before I did a quick change job and headed downstairs, where there was, of course, a huge installation of tennis courts, styled after the All-England Championship venue, Wimbledon.

Nota bene:  The Wimbledon championships are known, in our neighborhood, as "Wimpleton," a typical variant of the English pronunciation in Tête de Hergé, particularly west of the Lone Alp and when the speaker is in a singularly imperative mood.

My first round match was a breeze, and left no dream impact. However, the beginning of my second round match, which turned out to be the quarterfinals, was marred by the tragedy of the huge hole in my graphite bit of grotesquerie, that twisted Snauwaert Ergonom.

One of the hair stylists saved the day by loaning me an autographed mint condition Wilson Jack Kramer... meaning that I had the smallest head on the courts, both literally, and even more literally, in terms of racket size.  Given that it was a true nightmare (remember the savagely separated and lost professor and students? my eviction from the I-House?), I got to "relive" one of the tragedies of my UNDEFEATED high school tennis career -- being in a USTA regional doubles final and choking, developing back spasms so vicious I could not serve to save my life.  (Or my friendship with my doubles partner.)

The nightmare slowed to a snail's pace during my quarterfinal match, each service fault magnified in my experience, and highlighted for the partiers and hair salon patrons of Shattuck Avenue's hottest night spot.

Interspersed throughout these events were encounters with students, some as I remember them, some now grown to a middling age, on steps, in libraries, Sproul Plaza, at poetry readings, and a few smiling and nodding as we sat together in audiences, listening to important people, smart people, some of whom changed my life...

Except when I am at the mercy of a somnolent past, a hearty ego, and the eternal vagaries of Dwinelle Hall.

It was nice to feel the tiny heft and the equally tangible huge significance of that green Bescherelle *.

From Our Island Home

*****  **********  *****  

* Louis-Nicolas Bescherelle (10 June 1802, Paris – 1883, Paris) was a French lexicographer and grammarian.

With help from his brother Henri, he wrote "Le Véritable Manuel des conjugaisons ou la science des conjugaisons mise à la portée de tout le monde", a reference guide to French verb conjugation, in 1842. The book became so important that his last name is used as a noun to refer to any French conjugation book.




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Noblesse Oblige

One of the Noble Professions?  It doesn't feel that way.  Now it's more of an accusation.  I was just reviewing some of the fond recollections left at an online review site for some English prof to whom I am happily related, and came across an oldie but a goodie:

complete and total dick. thinks english is the most important thing in the world, and like most professors, has his own take on what is good. It will take you the first two C papers to figure out his style and he will fail you on the last paper for over-doing it.

That's okay.  I'm sure such reviews hold no sting for Brother-Unit Grader Boob, particularly given that professing is most ennobled by poverty wages and enriched by a systemic dearth of benefits.

Then, too, there are always the Warm Fuzzies arising from student appreciation.

Grader Boob is a great teacher, funny, caring, and with high expectations.  But, yeah, it's true:  He does have his own take on what is good. Like most professors.


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once an asshole french teacher, always an asshole french teacher

may the gods forgive me, the names have been changed to protect the innocent, but i needed a laugh like this and haven't had one in a good while.

there are a few language teachers who will understand, everyone else, thanks for putting up with more private idiosyncrasies

it's kind of like... for those who teach or who took spanish... imagine, if you will, that you've just taught grammar for five years straight, and you finally get a bathroom break, and five years is a long time to have to go pee, right?  so a student, who has been with you for those five long years -- but got bathroom breaks and nap time and trips to the cafeteria, with showers and changes of clothes -- stops you as you are about to run (probably with a bit of a weird limp) to the facilities, and hands you a large cup of coffee, saying, "i never got to introduce myself during all this time... mi llama es pedro!"

and the spanish teacher dies on the spot.

okay, so that is a little over the top.  and maybe i am projecting, having had too many diet ginger ales this wild and crazy saturday night.  but youse gets my drift.  we foreign language teacher types have to find humor where we can, while not crushing the blazing ember that represents the love of learning alight in the heart of every student, even the kid watching porn in the back row.  especially not that kid's blazing ember.

you'd be amazed at the burning ember stories.  seriously.  i was about to refer a young woman to the counseling service, she was so completely weirded out by any result that was less than perfect, when her friends came to me, en masse, to beg me not to give her anything less than an A+ (which i did not give, to anyone...).  thinking she had quite the devoted posse, i inquired as to why, and was told that her father would lock her in her room for the duration of the upcoming spring break.  kinda incredulous, i set the wheels in motion to check out that strange accusation.  it was quite the revelation to learn it was true, and that she spent most of her time, outside of school hours, locked up in that room.  it was attributed to "cultural misunderstanding." cultural misunderstanding, my ass. both parents were attornies, both had been citizens for over 25 years, time enough, i think, to assimilate that one doesn't imprison one's children for failing to be perfect.  they had, i think, 5 kids.

it's a scary freaking world.

so anyway...

i was online, trying to help a student do her french homework.  she had to write a poem in french. so, of course, in the classic way, she writes it in english and translates it online with Google Translate, with disastrous results.  the following conversation ensues -- and i swear there are no dire consequences in the offing, as i went behind the scenes and sent a french woman with no "school marm" tendencies to translate the damn thing for her.

ME

19 minutes ago

i'm a former french prof, which in no way means i don't make plenty of mistakes myself, but there is one HUGE error here.  you cannot write in english and then attempt to translate into french.  it does not, it will not, it cannot work.  there is no online translator that can do it, and no one can help you -- person-to-person, until you do the writing first in french.  i know that sounds harsh... and you may not believe me... but trust me on this.  good luck and come back with an original french version and then i would LOVE to help!

STUDENT

17 minutes ago

Thank you very much  I will

so there is no way to make  words that say the same thing?

ME

15 minutes ago

there is no way to be grammatically correct by pursuing a word-for-word translation, no.  and in a poem?  absolutely not.

ME

13 minutes ago

for example:  what gender and number are "hands" in french? 

STUDENT

9 minutes ago

I did not want a gender for the hands though so can you tell me how to have neutral hands?

ME

6 minutes ago

every noun in french has gender, and anything that modifies that noun (a pronoun, an adjective) must agree as well, in gender and number. it does not mean that the gender of hands (feminine) becomes the gender of the person to whom the hands belong.

what level of french are you taking?  asking you to write a poem in french seems too advanced if you have not learned that nouns have gender...

STUDENT

14 minutes ago

yes that is what I am asking for help with grammar

ME

12 minutes ago

so take my advice, start over, use your grammar knowledge as well as your dictionary (if you must, start with what you know), and write it only in french... then come back.

STUDENT

10 minutes ago

I will think on it... thanks

A Season of E-Correspondence, Family Style

July 20, 2012

HEY, WAIT!  we're on the internet at almost the same time!  Don't goooooooooo!  I feel so close, so near!  I haven't read your email, even, I am so excited that you sent it a mere 10 minutes or so,  But... did you hear about the dood who killed 14 people and hurt a bunch more at a theatre where the new batman movie was débuting. [débuting?  don't sound right, do it?  shore as shit don't look right, neither.]  now that is pure batshit.

okay.  a brief pause while i read what looks to be one of your more longish emails...

i will respond by that clever technique of changing font color, and being BOLD.

On Fri, Jul 20, 2012 at 7:19 AM, Grader Boob wrote:

Howdy--  well, howdy yourself, handsome!

 

I know it will be hard to believe, but your package is actually rumbling your way, tightly grasped in the talons of the USPS. Should take several days to get there.  ah, but the larger question?  do i WANT it to get here.  am i going to go batshit over it... not in the sense of the batshit shooter in the gas mask.  here is a test.  i do not know what state this happened in, but i am going out on a limb and guessing either florida (sorry) or texas (because texas is fucked majorly up).   oops!  it was colorado, and good news, the death toll has gone down.  i'm not sure how that happens, but i like it.  maybe they can work it down to zero.  maybe it's a skill they can transfer to syria, and other places full of weapons going off willy-nilly.  a 3-month old was shot.  a 3-month old.  yep... good morning, grader boob!  

 

 

back to the package... of course, i want it.  i am dreaming dreams you would not believe -- not horrid, or even, really, disturbing... but i continue to dream of dad's watch in almost all of them.  he keeps handing it to me.  i keep noting that it is not a rolex, that it is silver and that i love silver, that it is clunky, and then, always, i note that time ran out, that i let time run out.  yeah, i'm swift that way, realizing the obvious, and doing nothing about it.  i also have been thinking a lot about k... the last time i saw her (i think), she and mom and i were at the beach, i was visiting from berkeley, thinking that it mattered to tell "the folks" that i was living with jp, the cheatingest jerk ever to declare love for a girl.  the night i got back, before jp even had my luggage in the bedroom, he was telling me about this waitress he had met who liked his poetry... meanwhile, back at the beach? k was the sweetest help to me.  she made it almost painless and i don't remember exactly how, but she had us all cracking up.  i loved her for it... and even that kind of memory-love doesn't go away.  i remember wondering if she had had the chance to live with Mr. Vivacious V, The Soil Scientist, who clearly shared the cheating gene with my jp, The Writer -- maybe she'd not have married El Jerko.  She deserved so much better.  But then... [ARE YOU STILL THERE?  I HAVEN'T HAD ANY COFFEE, AND THAT IN ITSELF IS A STORY!] according to star trek logic, she'd maybe never have met this joe person, who sounds like a neat dood.  in fact, do 100 words on dood joe, right after you do a 1000 on ms. k.  to my great shame, i've no interest (none, i mean NONE -- what is wrong with me?) in nephew brian... not since i found his MUG SHOT on the internet.  it was the middle of the night, i was in my usual middle-of-the-night state, and i simply entered his name.  this is what turned up... and about all i can say is that he IS a handsome lad:  

[link to a mug shot]

 

 

Not much going on here--I'm holding "office hours" as I write, but no one seems to want to log on and chat. I think that if I held them in the evening it would work better for them, but I'd then be at the mercy of the home computer, which is currently residing at the Computer Corner undergoing repairs. What a technological world we live in.  sadly, i've found it cheaper to get new laptops than to have the messed up ones repaired.  of course, you probably don't spill entire cups of coffee on yours... or drop them, repeatedly, on your CRPS-afflicted foot.  same foot each time, same spot each time.  but maybe you have a desktop?  if i spent more time out of bed, i'd go back to desktops.  i'd like to see a desktop fly off my desk and onto my foot!  ha!  is Computer Corner reputable?  do you get frequent flyer miles?  i would LOVE  to have a top of the line, fast, readable (remember, i have the family glaucoma gift, plus cataracts, and the poundage gift from 15 years of steroids... also i don't have much of a chin and my nose is an obvious punk, and who the hell thought giving me rough, curly, uninteresting hair?) 'puter.  make it a laptop that does not heat up, weighs less than a pound and doesn't collapse under the stress of piles of cat hair.

 

Speaking of technology, has it figured out a way to handle your new strain of bacteria? Or even the old one? Hope the regimen you're on has some positive results. Do they tinker with the various percentages of the components in the cocktails they give you?  the last question is easiest.  one of the reasons we practically LIVE at that damned office is so that they can measure the levels of each antibiotic, as well as the many pretty effing serious side effects they cause.  so they sometimes tinker with dosages every 7 days.  a good joke?  in the hospital, i keep fighting with nurses/doctors/janitors that i am NOT allergic to daptomycin, despite it perpetually appearing on my computerized (they're everywhere!) allergy list.  last week, dr. b -- whom you would love -- explained to me that yes, i have one of the life-threatening side effects, usually starting in the second week of administration, but that he doesn't care because he thinks i can stand it and it is the drug HE WANTS.  okay, so, as for p. acnes, no one has told me whether they've even cultured for it again -- not, i am guessing, since the swabs that grew came from "deep tissue" in my arm.  my p. acnes antennna are still going off, based on fever and increasing, instead of decreasing, pain in that former shoulder area.  that's the one he is throwing daptomycin at...  if i may offer advice to you and anyone of your acquaintance who end up getting weeks of i.v. antibiotics:  yogurt, plain, not mixed with fruit, and ridiculously expensive little pills of probiotics.  

 

 

And in answer to your question, Mom is, indeed, staying at the beach house. It's the place that has the most meaning for her, and it has ties back to Mimi.  good for her, god bless her.  does she need help, have help?  since the fix-it folks attended the memorial, i am guessing she's got that covered.  oh, god bless her.  waking up to the sound of surf.  walking the beach.  god bless her.  does she think often of mimi?  all i remember were mimi's final years, so full of alzheimer's confusion.  were you there the day we found her in the closet?  i *believe* she wanted to leave, and had decided to get her coat, and that's about as far as she got.  i used to love going to mimi's on afternoons i was supposed to then go on to st. paul's united methodist church choir practice or confirmation classes.  i often did not end up at st. pauls... but at the library, or walking the mean streets of downtown g'boro.  but mimi would watch her "stories," catch me up on the plots, smoke and cough, tell me funny stories. but she was not my mom, and i didn't have to watch her mind decline.  staying at the beach house!  yay!  gin rummy.  boiled shrimp served on newspaper.  happy hour.  stupid question, but please be honest:  does she need anything (beyond the obvious)?

 One question, Jim R asked me to ask you if he could start swapping email with you. I told him I'd ask.

If you want to start the conversation, his email is x.  um, holy shit, batman.  why would he want to talk to me, and why would he want to swap howdies with me NOW?  but, okay, i will send a pro forma. well, i will AFTER you tell me what he is like.  i'm serious. all i remember is that he had red hair -- probably no longer, eh? -- and that mom once called his wife a whore.

 

That's all from here. Hope you're doing well--worry about you.  i am not doing well and i am worried, too. scared.  and feeling very alone, no matter that someone is around.  i think the best i can hope for is dobby's sweet, loving face cheering me on when i die.  right now, though, he is sitting like a very old guy, comfy in a well-worn [imaginary] la-z-boy, scratching his [imaginary] nuts, looking up now and then to smile at me like a little cat maniac.  

 

Love to all, feline and human, at Marlinspike Hall. and all our love back... 

 

Grader Boob Profderien

P.S.  DO YOU NEED ANYTHING?  smooches and hugs! 

August 10, 2012


Howdy--
Just a short note for ya. Sitting in the office at XXX trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing--which is a full-time job all on its own.
Haven't heard from you, so I do hope that the medicos are helping and not hurting you.
I'll keep a good thought for you, no matter what your situation is--that's just the kind of guy I am.
Pass along a howdy to Fred and the felines.
Love,
Grader Boob

PS. I'm attaching the photo I scanned for Jim R. I've got others that I've yet to get around to. This has Granddad reaching up and grabbing a tree limb. Shot from behind, it's always been one of my faves, so much so that I keep it in my office.

my brother-units, the photographers
granddad, who was, at this point, blind

August 10, 2012 (17 minutes later)


dearest grader boob: a 17-minute response time, gotta be a record of some sort!

let's just say i'm having a hard time, and that i should learn to shut up and get in the "having a hard time" line.  too much pain for me to handle with anything approaching dignity.

funniest anecdote of recent days:  fred and i had two appts to make this week, the most important being making first contact with the hip surgeon, "world famous, one of the finest," via a meeting with his physician's assistant, one susan s.  i should have been more aware of the probability for a screw-up, given the obvious seussian etymology of her name.  we allow 45 minutes of driving time for all appts on the famed beechtree street, yes, the very street that orris du-MAH road up and down, selling milk by horse-drawn cart.  we got caught behind a wreck, and arrived 10 minutes late.  

i should qualify that we arrived 10 minutes late to "the beechtree office" that i have used for the past 7 years.  after another 15 minutes of sitting in the waiting room, a breathless clerk told us we were at the wrong office, that there was another beechtree office, two buildings down.  we rush over there, me cursing the mindless clods in wheelchairs that were moseying along well below 3.5 mph, as i wove in, i wove out, approaching that maximum limit of 5 mph.  we arrive, check in (again), are welcomed nicely and told to take a seat.  a bit later, i hear my name, close my stephen king masterpiece, and roll in the direction of the beckoning noise.  "profderien, you were late for your appointment and the PA decided she will not see you.  your appt has been cancelled."

mwa ha ha!

the next funniest anecdote?  yesterday, meeting with the gorgeous jacqueline j, PA to my world famous infectious disease doc.  i explain why i don't have the testing her boss wanted all set up by the new hip doctor, seeing as how i had my appt cancelled due to tardiness.  jacqueline has no sense of... well, i want to say ANYTHING, but i guess it would be more accurate to say... no sense of what we normal folk go through.  so she says, "but, profderien, didn't you explain that you really needed that appointment, that it was important?" a beautiful woman, except when she has her brows furrowed as she faces yet another idiot patient.  [they think my right hip prosthesis is infected.  mwa ha ha!]

moving right along, i love all the job offers you got, but want to scream out:  trust no one!  

is mom alone at the cottage?  personally, i would want to be, but probably not after just losing my husband...  i hope she finds comfort there, and packs on a few pounds from the milkshakes.

jim r never answered me... i may have said something "wrong," but i don't know what.

lovely photo, grader boob.  thanks for sending it.

to be honest, i am fighting off suicidal tendencies.  i think they are neurologically based, as asinine as that sounds.  whenever a "spell" of crps dystonia/spasms begins, the first 15-20 minutes, all i can think of is suicide, literally.  it's like it occurs in the part of my brain responsible for making-all-this-shit-worthwhile.  after 20 minutes, i am okay again.  i tell medicos, because i find it rather scary, but get The Stare in return.  some of them talk about the limbic system, which is integrally connected, some think, to crps.  i am more on the side, though, of the vast majority that believe there is no limbic system at all, so... there you go!

should i write jim r. again?

tell brute i love her.  how goes the restaurant venture?  (cannot recall if it was a restaurant or catering or bakery... help!)
i'd say tell mom i love her, too, but i think she'd just be insulted.  thanks so much for letting me know how she and "they" are doing.

oh... yeah... and YOU... how you doin'?  smooches and love,

profderien,
treading water



August 11, 2012


Howdy--

Hang in there.

I do have to compliment you on one thing--the lack of cursing and swearing in your anecdote. I supplied those as I was reading. (I've noticed that my swearing is always a union of two themes--sex and intellect; hence, as I was reading your email, my recurring epithet was a variation of "Motherfucking Nitwits" or "Cocksucking Morons". It's never race or gender with me--just sex and intellect.)

As for the darker tendencies, fight through them by imagining that you've killed the medical personnel instead. (No, that would be wrong.)

As for Jim, I'd not read anything into the silence. He seemed genuinely interested when we talked, so unless you told him off, I'd just wait it out. The ball's in his court then.

K and J's venture is called "X," a tasty xxxxxxxxxx concoction, and their target market seems to be the hoity toi or the local rednecks. They seem to be picking up a bit when last I spoke with her about them.

And Mom was planning to send you a thank you note. I think she's not gotten around to them yet. But like I said before, your card and boxwoods were so very sweet and considerate.

What a way with words you have--you have no idea. And I'll not tell you because I can't figure out what to write down!

Well, I think I'll leave this office and waste the day. Why work when you can just fret about it?

Love to those in Tête de Hergé. And don't forget that there's to be a Ryan on the Romney ticket--woo hoo. Jesus.

Grader Boob


August 17, 2012


hullo --

so where do you stand with classes -- none, some, an overabundance?  feel ready?

how's this for a wordsmith such as i?  i'm pooped.

fred got a ukulele! it's real cute and don't you dare ever tell him i said that. his workroom is now making musical space for three guitars, a keyboard, one drum thingy, and the itty bitty uke.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX?   hell, i've got a new swear phrase right there.  XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!

no, i didn't tell jim off, you ninny.  i don't know what i did. given the way things have been going, i just hope he's okay...

i think it might kill me if mom were to write me a thank you note.  may the earth swallow me up.

is she safe there, alone?  is their dog the protective type, you know, one look, and and an evil-doer takes off in the opposite direction?  should i get her a taser for xmas?

god, this must be hard for her.

do you know what i've been watching on the telly, sometimes 4-5 episodes at a time?  LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE.  help!

cat update:
this here is dobby as i find him every morning after i've fetched my coffee.  it's dobby's spa time -- 10 minutes of belly rubs (hence the pose) and combing/brushing.  if you don't do it, he starts knocking stuff onto the floor.  not kidding.

okay, marmy has not forgiven me for administering her eye "goop" when she had an infection. it's been about 2 months, and she'll have nothing to do with me.  this is usually what i see:

buddy, our massive and soon to be massiver maine coon?  it's almost impossible to get between his ears.  so this is what he looks like.  all i know about what he might be thinking is that it likely involves food.

i loves ya.


profderien
fred is plucking away on his uke... but he'd wave or something if he knew i was writing...



August 26, 2010 (just prior to the RNC convention, held in Grader Boob's village)


okay, isaac is in place, what's next?

i just wanted to drop a line to say "good job" on the category 2 hurricane, but do you think that will be enough?  we don't want any deaths, like they had in haiti -- maybe the catering to the convention could be disrupted by old egg salad and the delegates/candidates forced to munch on matzot and lime-flavored bottled water.

or magick cause the microphone to function only when ron paul speaks.

so keep at it... 

but stay dry and safe, too.

all my love,
profderien


September 3, 2012


hey...

just give me a simple "howdy, i'm busy, will write when i can.... but i am basically okay." 
or "things suck majorly, send in the troops."

love,
profderien

September 4, 2012


Howdy--
Sorry for not responding, but I'm tired of sitting at the computer and seeing no end in sight or a solution to the "fine mess, Ollie" that I've put myself in.
Am wrangling with 3 plagiarists as well, two from a XXX semester that's in its first week. What the hell are these people thinking? The time that these will take up is time I don't have.
Will write once mood improves! (Good luck figuring out that nonexistent date!)
Plus, all I want to do is sleep.
If I thought I'd be around more, I'd buy me a dog.
Well love to all in Ukuleleville.
Grader Boob

PS. Sorry for the grumpiness. I have to make a concerted effort not to carry this into class.

October 6, 2012

Howdy--

Haven't heard from you in awhile, so I hope you're doing well.

I'm slowly slipping over the edge, as the grading and the prep consume all of my days.

I've was ill on Monday and Tuesday, cancelling classes at both XXX and XXX. The revelation was that XXX expected me to line up a sub and to pass along my lesson plan. I chuckled and told them no sub but here's half a lesson plan! I then realized why I don't teach at the lower levels. Lost a lot of respect for the school. When I suggested just cancelling the class and that I could reschedule everything that was missed, I got back a line something like "we need to give the students all of the quality time they deserve."

XXX, as always, just cancelled the class for the day.

Either way, my reaction to both was the same--vomiting and sweating, sneezing and honking.

Well, I'm gonna step out of the office now. Came in at 4:30 to finish XXX's 110 papers. DId that and am trying to figure out what to do next. I've got a list but I'm avoiding it.

Many thanks for the too-much gift. Save your money and write me some emails!

(Now don't think you'll be getting it back. But do send those emails.)

Love to all the Tête-de-Hergéites.

Grader Boob

 

PS. Mom's doing okay--some days better than the others. K, or as she likes to say, "the sweet in Sweet Goobers," is doing fine and says howdy to you.

And that's the news.

I didn't see it but did Obama really do as poorly as everyone is claiming? Romney's such a stick figure--I can't imagine him besting anyone in any sort of conversation.

And I never heard back on your reaction to the "It was tense." joke. Huh?

October 6, 2012

you're just going to have to believe me when i tell you that i had TWO emails to you, both awaiting some sort of witty ending, i guess, sitting in my "drafts" folder.

because i LOVE that joke!  hank loves that joke!  it is my favorite kind of joke!  the only joke i ever made up was modeled on that... model.  it goes:

the bartender looks up and sees three guys walking into his bar.  he screams:  "get out of my bar!"

hahahaha! i love it.  sure, i get strange looks, but it makes me laugh.

is mom really okay? i have no right to ask, i know, but what is she doing with her time?  does she feel safe?  does she still have the pooch?  is it a watch-pooch?  (rolling eyes)  do you think it'd be okay if i dropped her a line.  do you think she'd like my joke?

i'm trying to be insensitively sensitive.  i cannot imagine how she must feel.

say "hey" and happy BD to brutus.  is that sweet goober stuff selling?

now... screw XXX  do the make-up classes and show them how it's done in the big boy, grown-up world. yes, i am in a mood.

because you are sick!  if YOU say you cannot teach because you are sick... then you absolutely cannot!  too bad on the spot "vomiting and sweating, sneezing and honking" couldn't have been magically produced upon their desktops.

crucial question:  do you feel better?

moi?  oh... well... i have been kicking specialist butt, just for fun.  i had a revelation, much like the saul-into-paul thang, but not on the road to damascus, on the road to downtown atlanta, to park in another doctor's lot and pay $5 for the privilege. what would i be doing on the road to damascus anyway, do you think i am crazy?

i was badgered into seeing a hip ortho specialist to determine if the p. acnes bacteria had spread to my wily hips, as they hurt a LOT.  he couldn't look me in the face, nor the hip, nor the leg.  he sort of looked at the floor.  he was "the best." everyone of my docs is "the best." he said, "even if they are infected, i wouldn't operate on you." bells went off and a voice came over the invisible loudspeaker, saying, "thanks for playing!"

so i reported back to all the specialists who thought he would help them out, and tried to ignore their discomfiture.

went home, got mad.  thought about who HAD helped me, and it came down to two "practices" -- dr. s, my go-to-guy internist, and dr. d, who did 10+ shoulder surgeries trying to defeat that goddamn bacteria.  thought some more.  realized that EVERYTHING eventually gets dumped on dr. s, and that he never complains.  he also fields ridiculous emails from me -- and i write in the same style for just about everyone.  "audience" be damned.  he is universally helpful, polite, and compassionate.  also, very, very patient.

so... i went to d's PA, whom i like a lot.  his name is bob!  told bob i was done with trying to cure the osteomyelitis. (he actually teared up, the cad)  decided i want good pain control and to be left alone.  he recommended a medication -- mobic -- for bone pain.  and it turned out that that was a splendiferous pick. it does help.  god bless bob.

then i practically demanded an immediate appointment with my hawaiian-shirted, always-sandaled neurologist, barry m. ooooo, he made me mad.  he kept saying, "i wish you would go find a great specialist who knew all about crps,  a researcher somewhere... etcetera." finally, i blew.  "i can't travel.  and i am tired of specialists abdicating their responsibilities and dumping everything on s.  so step up!" 

lo, and behold:  he prescribed an experimental drug i have been wanting to try and a stronger med for spasms.  and though it is too early to tell much except that i am seeing double, i think they might also be helping with pain and spasms, as per The Grand Plan.

Did you know that to reference Quality of Life to a medico, you say "QOL"?  ha!

so that's where i am at... trying to get used to three meds that are kicking my booty.

i will try to call tomorrow... cause i love you and hope you have a wunnerful, wunnerful birthday.  the world is so much a better world for having you in it.

love,

profderien and a big hey from a very sleepy, just up fred. sans uke

Higher Education: The Committee

After serving as the responsible full biological offspring representative at my father's recent death celebrations, Brother-Unit Grader Boob returned to the Land of Erudition last week where he continues the attempt to weave and knit together enough university employment to have a usable oven mitt to remove the pizza rolls from the microwave without blistering His Instrument:  the red pen-holding hand.

He just sent me an email that had this warning in the subject line:  "Get ready for a long one..."

"Ayuh," said the Maine girl in me.  I eyeballed the roughly 4 inches of text I was gonna have to labor through, a good part of which consisted of this:

Well, that’s it for now—but let me end with an anecdote.

On Wednesday evening, the entire ABC online faculty had an ******* meeting to discuss the fact that “some” professors were giving higher grades than had actually been earned. The Center for Online Edification had been “horrified” to discover that a basically illiterate student had worked his way through several classes, actually getting a B- for the second Comp course. (I started chuckling and began yelling at the computer: “I’m shocked, shocked to find there’s gambling going on in this establishment!”)

At first, the group blamed student quality, always a safe scapegoat, especially after it was revealed that 75% of those taking the “entrance exam” end up in remedial courses. (By this time, I was chanting, “Money! Money!” at the screen.)

They then decided that plagiarism was the culprit, even though they do like how Turnitin.com has gotten so user friendly. Moments later, there was a call for an institutional grading rubric and a committee to look into that.

“Money! Money!”

Finally, someone noted that this seemed to be a faculty issue, for they’re the ones giving out the higher grades. Silence filled the chat room.

“Exactly! Exactly!”

The evening ended shortly thereafter, with the standard academic result—further discussion and a committee.

Sadly, no one got fired!

Well, that exhausts my narrative skills, and so I’ll just say ta-ta.

I do love my Brother-Units!  And their emails.  When I get them.  Hint, TW, hint.  ♥

If you feel that others have not graded you keenly enough

I had not heard from Brother-Unit Grader Boob in a week or so, and was concerned.  Happily, he checked in this morning.

Well, not happily.

Since the USAmerican large public university at which he teaches had its state revenue contribution cut by an insane amount (the initial threat was a 58% reduction, from $178 million to $74 million), Grader Boob has suffered from severe underemployment, on the one hand, and aggravated exploitation in every wee aspect of the tiny bit of teaching he undertook this semester, on the other.  In fact, he is thinking of retiring the compound "Grader Boob" moniker, and going with the simpler, eloquent "Boob."  Desperate times, desperate measures.

He has spent his entire adult working life educating the 18-22 year old population of his state, with the occasional "mature" student or young genius to blur distinctions.  He loves his work and is excellent at it.  [Read:  There is only so much, however, that any soul can take.]

The candid nature of his communications to me about the perils of teaching comes from knowing that I spent all my adult working life doing the same thing -- though there at the end of my career, I baled from university education for the more secure contractual arrangement of an urban public high school.  [Read: Better benefits.]

What I like about his recent evolutions, most of all, is that he's extending candor to his students.  (And I am always heartened by his humor!)

Hi there--
Although I'm grateful for the classes I have, I do get tired of the carping about grades.
So, since I'm still smack in the middle of grading, I've cut and pasted below my latest retreat from advocating any kind of standard. After all, apparently they're all A writers.
Hope you enjoy the spelling and grammar errors in the student email. I did. (I also enjoyed the chalk-drawn announcement, warning of an upcoming motivational lecture, on the sidewalk outside X Hall:  The Path to Succes.)
Love to all--and I have to ask: Shouldn't your bacteria have its own wing at NIH? Goddamn.Sound the retreat!
Boob (Not so sure about the Grader part anymore)

Subject:   Grading Practices

English 4,847

Professor Boob

Dear Proffessor Boob,

There seems to be a HUGE gap in the grading practices of the Proffessors at X . It seems this entire class is favoring poorly. I have never received such poor grades on essays. It seems as if the ENG 4,845 and ENG 4,846, did not do a very good job at preparing the students for your class. An essay that I received an A on in ENG 4,845.05, I would receive a C in your class. This gap needs addressed, because it is not fair to the students.

Sincerely,

Eleanor Rigby

Hi Eleanor and everyone else--

I never discuss how other instructors grade, for in order to offer an informed assessment, I'd have to see their curriculum, their grading rubric, the individual assignments, and so on.

But you've hit on a key point. Grade inflation, in which teachers award students grades they've not earned, is rampant in the college system today, and it is an issue that should be addressed. If you feel that I'm holding you to an unattainable standard, be sure to note that when you do the course evaluations at the end of the semester. If you feel that others have not graded you keenly enough to prepare you for upper-level work, mention that as well.

But the key here is to figure out what I can do to help your writing--particularly the Insightful Compositions and the  Edgy Essays. I'm already allowing you to revise 2 of the 3 essays, so let me add the same opportunity to the Insightful Compositions--you can revise 2 of the 3. (Be sure that you have the time to do so, though. Always keep your focus on the current batch of assignments.)

I've posted an announcement, titled "About the grades...", which gives you some hints on how to address your complaints/arguments to me, so that should help.

The key thing, and this is why Ms. Rigby's email is so important, is this: Don't suffer in silence over your grade. Make a case for its regrading or take advantage of the opportunity to revise.