I've written what I hope to be my last final exam. Actually I wrote two, because I have two sections, and the group who will take their exam last are slightly less trustworthy in my estimation than the first group. It's really tough to write two different exams. I want to make sure that both cover the topics, but I don't want there to be so much obvious overlap that a cheater can prosper. The goal is to write four questions that result in the same general sets of answers. I'm bearing a slight grudge against the second section, because many of them slacked through the last two weeks and misrepresented their preparedness for many of our discussions. I've decided to give them the sets of questions that are incredibly broad, because these are often the hardest to answer thoroughly. The first section, which I sensed struggled sometimes but had a much better work ethic, will get the questions that are more pointed and establish recognizable parameters for how to answer them. It is my hope that the extra work I put into this will ensure that their efforts are rewarded and being lame is punished appropriately.
Speaking of lame, I dismissed the second section after 5 minutes on the last day of class because most of them had not bothered to do any of assigned reading. I might have carried on if I hadn't been provoked to violence by the guy who admitted that he'd already sold back his textbook. Really? After I told you that the final exam would be a take-home, open-book exam?!? Ridiculous.
But it is all almost over. I had a dream last night that I was a T.A. again and that the professor for whom I worked was Nurse Ratched from "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." We were working at a school similar to Hogwarts, but there was none of that wizardry monkey business going on. No magic, but plenty of illusion. It was very important, Nurse Ratched informed me, that the students think that we are all the crème de la crème of academe, and to say always that I have come to teach there "from Oxford". Sure, yes, but not as implied, "From Oxford, England." It was clear that my state school credentials were an embarrassment, even though I was highly qualified to teach there. It turns out that she was "from Oxford", too. Only for her that meant "Ohio." I woke up with a start when this dream took a crazy turn and I was subduing a meth addict with a grocery cart.
The point? I'm just too jaded to keep doing this. This is not a new song, but to have a dream like this as an articulation of my ambivalence toward grading papers and writing exams is telling, at least to me. My last semester of teaching has been redemptive, as I do not feel embattled. Still, I walk away knowing that I've left nothing that I want behind.
Today I gave the students in both sections of my class most of the day off, obliging them only to take a few minutes to fill out the college's old-fashioned paper evaluation forms. When evaluations are done in this manner, the instructor must enlist a student volunteer to collect the forms after everyone is finished and deliver them to some administrative building for processing. The goal is to avoid the instructor having any contact with the forms until after they've been processed.
I was pleased when my student C____ raised her hand to volunteer for this job. She's a nice girl, if a tad flighty (she comes to class late everyday, and tends to stare out the window through lecture); I didn't think this was going to be a problem. On my way out the door I realized that I needed someone to deliver the department's pencils back to me, and, because my building is in the opposite direction of the one C____ would have to go to, I asked for another volunteer to take care of the pencils' return. Glad I was again, when P____, a very reliable Afghan/Iraq war vet, volunteered to do this.
About 30 minutes later, I sat waiting in my office for P_____ and the pencils. What was taking him so long--my building was only across the quad from the classroom? When he did show up, he had a tale to tell.
According to P______, C_____ was one of the first people to finish her evaluation. Upon completion, she got up and handed him her form. And then she left the classroom. The rest of the class looked up from what they were doing and watched in awe as she casually forgot that she had just pledged to take care of the forms. In her absence, the remaining members of the class discussed who would follow through on making sure the forms were delivered, and P_____ agreed to take care of it. He ended up having to walk from one end of campus to the other to complete the challenge.
Having finished this amusing story, P______ had one question for me, "What was she thinking?" Our shared best guess, "That's what happens when you come to class stoned." The funny thing is that in the other section, the guy who frequently smells like Otto's jacket, volunteered to deliver the forms for me, too. Who knows if they made it to their destination?
It started when I was in third grade. There was this boy named Matt C. who liked me A LOT, enough so that one day he marched right up to me and said, "I wanna f*ck you." My reaction, which I promise has not evolved much in similar circumstances, was to punch him in the stomach. In the frustrating world of elementary school justice, I was sent to the principal, Mr. Willis, who made me deliver a written message advising my parents to talk to me about being a better citizen. Apparently, he didn't believe me that a 3rd grade boy would use such bad language or be innocently guilty of sexual harassment.
[Sidebar: One time someone gave me this pneumonic devise for distinguishing principle from principal: "Remember that the Prince is your pal." This didn't exactly stick, because Mr. Willis was NOT my pal. But, I did learn how to spell pneumonic.]
So Matt C. was the bane of my existence for most of 2nd and 3rd grade, and this event was just one of many in which he clumsily expressed his feelings for me. I guess it was about this time that MTV became part of my morning ritual. My parents, being fully employed people, had to leave for work before my sisters and I left for school. We had about 30 minutes from when my mom left for work to catch our school bus, and usually we spent that time watching music videos. One video that was especially popular during this time was Chicago's "Stay the Night". Here, watch it:
I don't know exactly how it happened, I suspect it was the consequence of a very confusing dream, but I managed to associate this song with Matt C. and his pursuit of my love. Every time I heard the song's chorus, "Stay the Night! There's room enough here for two. Stay the Night! I'd like to spend it with you" I imagined Matt C. singing it to me, and the song actually gave me the willies. I've since gotten over this cross-wired association, but I don't think I've fully forgiven Peter Cetera. Chicago, maybe; but Peter Cetera, not so much.
The song I posted in the previous post by him is a guilty pleasure, but the more I think about how goddamned cheesy he is in the video, I feel disappointed in all of you for not giving me grief over it. Are you just too polite? Don't you see that I crossed some sort of line there? It's Peter Fucking Cetera! Helllo! Wake up people. Who's gonna keep me from turning into a sad middle-aged woman who "enjoys" this kind of stuff? What next, Josh Groben?!?
Anyway, dear readers. I need you to set aside your concerns about internet civility when I slip up like this. The next time I lay anything as devastatingly crap as Peter Cetera on you, say something. Life is too precious and short to let shit like that slide.
I've had a few more shameless moments of lingering in the grocery store to hear songs I don't often hear anywhere else. I suppose I could buy these numbers on iTunes, but there are things in life that are so much better as a surprise. Like when you've gone forever without eating an Oreo; aren't they so much better in small and situationally specific doses? Well, I think so anyway.
Here are some more songs that leave me no choice but to compare prices in the toiletries aisle.
Peter Cetera, "Restless Heart"
Kim Carnes, "Bette Davis Eyes"
Concrete Blonde, "Joey"
Roxette, "Fading Like a Flower"
Note for Josh, Theron, and Paige: THIS is the song I was trying to remember when we were discussing Roxette in Hawaii--they called it "Soy Una Mujer" on a single Josh once put on a mixed tape.
Some of you may already know that our friend, Sweet Pickles, has just adopted a set of puppies (brother and sister) that will probably not grow much bigger than their current size before they are 10 years old. These little brindled gremlins will be the stars of the Sweet Pickles Show for a long time coming, and they need names that will let others know that they need to RECOGNIZE (that they are in the presence of two incredibly spoiled dogs).
Holy Cow.
I expect as the sun rises on this Easter morn, Sweet Pickles is trying a few names out. The pound named them Hansel and Gretl, which are good ones because these are siblings. But, they are also dogs and once they are spayed and neutered, their purported natural relationship is neither here nor there. So let's throw a little drama into the mix! Here are some names I think he should seriously consider:
1. Papillon and Soo Soo (He knows why)
2. Thurston and Lovey (that one was suggested by one of his friends on Facebook, credit where credit is due)
3. Blake and Krystal
4. Hal and Peggy
5. Stanley and Stella
6. Danny and Sandy (or, Danny and Cha Cha)
7. Samson and Delilah (figured there had to be an Old Testament paring in there)
8. Don Cornelius and Cheryl Song (every time they come running, he can shout, "it's the SOOOOOOUUUUL TRAIN!")
9. Isis and Osiris
10. Zan and Zayna (the Wonder Twins)
I'm sure he'll come up with something good, but I don't want him to think later, "Damn! I should have gone with that."
