Sad news

Diesel, a frequent commenter here on E&P, has lost his brother-in-law in a terrible on-the-job accident. Please keep Diesel, his sister and her kids, and their whole family in your thoughts and prayers.

Diesel: if there's anything we can do to help, please let us know.

Why my students don't think they need to write well, Part 2

CopyRanter: Puma ad's lack of punctuation

Man I sure love CopyRanter so glad I found it via Gawker and its great to know I can write all I want and never have to use punctuation and still get a high profile high paying job YEAH

Why my students don't think they need to write well

Defamer: Britney Spears' Book Report Reveals Pop Stardom Only Thing Keeping Her from a Career at the Drive-Thru Window

Nitwit Brit's summary of Antigone is along the lines of what I get every semester: all plot summary, no critical thought involved, and with a plethora of silly spelling mistakes.

Student Essay Insanity #2!

Before I get started, let me say that I am suffering with stomach cramps this morning during my D2U office hours, and this is making me rather cranky. I can't figure out whether it was something I ate (Mr. Greenjeans, Mom, Steve, and I grilled out steaks last night) or something I drank (an eggnog-and-whiskey toddy makes grading go rather pleasantly). But I woke up four or five times last night with abdominus-searing, colon-twisting, don't-you-dare-get-between-me-and-the-toilet pain, and only a hot water bottle against my stomach allowed me to get some fitful sleep. Few things humble a person more than crushing intestinal distress. I feel very humble today. Pain, you can go away now.

Thank you. Potty humor is my metier. My raison d'etre. My allez vous sortir la poubelle, parce que j'ai deja deguelee. That last one just kinda slipped in there, I know not how.

Several readers (OK, all ten of you) e-mailed or commented last week that the bloopers from actual student essays were really funny. My goal is to make this a weekly feature that appears on Mondays, when many of us are most in need of a laugh.

This week's gems come to us courtesy of the Georgia Regents' Exam, which I had the pleasure [sic] of grading a couple of Saturdays ago. These are actual sentences from actual Regents' Exams. I couldn't make this stuff up even if I tried.

The day I graduated high school was a day of infamy.

The most important thing about the South is SEC football.

It is imperative, and exceptionally detrimental, for students to find out who they really are.

Pets are smelly, co-dependent, and a lot of work.

In all honesty, I am the biggest fool.

Not my yard...yet!

Aunt Becky's chicken yard in the country near Battle Creek, Michigan. Photo taken by my mom during her visit home in October 2006.

One day, I'll have this many feathered friends in my yard. I counted 23 chickens...how many do you see?

Pimp My Coop, episode 1

It's not (yet) as pimped out as I'd like, but Mr. Greenjeans and I made Myrtle's coop a little nicer right before Thanksgiving. We raised up her food and water on an old litter box (so she can keep each dish cleaner) and put two layers of plastic sheeting over the window to keep things warm. We also got a big galvanized-steel trash can for storing her layer mash.

A quick poultry lesson: chickens need layer mash during the winter months when they don't get enough vitamins and minerals from their daily foraging. During warmer months, chickens eat plants, bugs, and anything else they can get their beaks on, including vegetable and fruit leftovers (Myrtle Mae loves peaches, nectarines, watermelons, and tomatoes). This way, they get 100% of the nutrients they need for strong eggshells and healthy eggs. It's only in the cooler months, when there's not much green and/or crawling around in the yard, that chickens need supplemental feed.



We put down a full bale of hay on the floor and dusted the whole coop with Sevin Dust, which kills poultry lice dead.



And we put in an old clock radio for noise to keep out varmints, such as possums and raccoons. The sound of human voices scares them off, even if the voices are just coming from a radio.

FarmGirl has her coop radio tuned to classic hard rock 24 hours a day. My aunt Becky in Michigan has her coop radio playing country music.

Myrtle's radio? It's tuned to NPR. Informed chickens lay tasty eggs.



And she rewarded us right away with a free-range hen bullet.



"Well, just chicken poop in here. Let's go."



"Don't make me peck you, dingleberry!"

Note Lewis's bottlebrush tail. Hahahaaaaa! I think Myrtle caught her seriously off guard. I apologize for the wonky picture quality; I'm not sure what Picasa's problem is this evening.



Alone at last. The bugs around the old kitchen sink seem mighty tasty.

Mr. Greenjeans is back from Chattanooga, Tennessee; he went to see his family during the Thanksgiving holiday and is visiting me until the work week calls again. We're all fat, happy, and full of leftovers.

We're also making plans to add onto Myrtle's house. I wanted to get a few more chickens before Christmas, but I don't feel right doing so unless the coop has a fenced-in run and some real nesting boxes and roosts. There's one chicken farmer in middle Georgia who raises Barred Plymouth Rocks, Black Australorps, and Buff Orpingtons--all the breeds I want for my own flock. So I'll be making a trip over there once the coop's ready.

More good news: there are three ads in this week's Farmers & Consumers Bulletin advertising Mille Fleur chickens for sale. Chickens with fluffy, feathery pants! Hooray!

Lewis doesn't like Black Friday, either.

Because you know what that means: the obligatory family Christmas photos!

I just had to share this one. None of the pix I took of the two of us--with at least one of us wearing a Santa hat in each shot--turned out very well. But this one was especially hilarious. Love that pissed-off little face!

Yes, I'm wearing a Denver Broncos sweatshirt.

Me? Shop?

Nope, I won’t be shopping this day after Thanksgiving. It’s National Buy-Nothing Day.

Don’t get me wrong—I enjoy the holidays. But it’s the unthinking, robot-like purchase of cheap goods that disturbs me. The heavy knot of "holiday blues" in my stomach forms right after Halloween and doesn't go away until the first week of January.

Many people say they feel depressed from Thanksgiving through New Year’s, and I think it’s the commercial crap that does it to them. But advertising and consumerism are so deeply intertwined with American life and culture that people can’t see the source of their sadness. “I am American, therefore I buy stuff.” Few of us, if any, question this mantra.

Maybe having been desperately poor just a few years ago has me exceptionally conscious about money issues. Once upon a time—back when I had more money than sense—I was a spendthrift, and I’d snap up whatever gadget or piece of clothing or [fill in the blank] I saw that I thought would fill that big empty place in my heart. But when I was almost bankrupt, sitting in a house full of beautiful things with no electricity or water and $5 to my name to put gas in the car and head to my dead-end job—I finally saw through the illusion of American spendomania. Things neither could nor would make me happy. Ever.

Let’s start HERE and NOW. How much better would Christmas be if we weren’t so worried about presents? How much more fulfilling would the holiday be if we simply celebrated the holiday (however our family does so: church services, meditation, volunteering, etc.) and then spent the rest of our valuable time with family and friends? How much saner would the holidays be if we didn’t fight day-after-Thanksgiving or Christmas-eve mall traffic? How much better would we feel about ourselves if we didn’t have to see that big credit-card bill in the mail in January?

I, too, am having a tough time getting past the buy-buy-buy aspect of our culture. I don’t tell too many people I know about how little I try to buy during the holidays; so many folks just don’t understand (yet), equating how much money one spends with his/her Yuletide happiness. [deep west Georgia "country" Southern accent] "Y'all didn't give Christmas presents?!? Whoever heard of that?!? I spent at least $500 on each of the kids, and $1000 on Bubba Joe! What an awful holiday y'all must've had! Oh, Kitty, I'll pray for you!"

I always want to say, "Thanks, but perhaps you should pray for the strength to break the bonds of mindless mass consumerism." But I don't. Perhaps I should. Just to mess with people's minds. Small Town's minds sure could use it.

Much as a recovering alcoholic fights the temptation to drink again, I’m taking it one day at a time with buying useless stuff...during the Christmas season, and all year long.

A Hobo Thanksgiving

Tal and Kasia have been my friends since my professional theatre days in Atlanta, and I feel very fortunate to have gotten to know them. They've encouraged me when it seemed as if I'd never, ever get any theatre work. When I was nearly bankrupt, working a dead-end job, and barely keeping my head above water, Tal and Kasia encouraged me to keep plugging away. When they formed their own production company, they believed enough in my talent to employ me on a couple of projects, both as an actress and a production assistant. The experience I got on these projects was invaluable, and I got to work with two of my favorite people on the planet.

A few years ago, I stopped doing shows in Atanta, so I didn't get to see or talk with my friends very often. But we kept in touch sporadically, and Kasia occasionally employed my mom with set and costume work for another big film or theatre production. It was always fun to work with Tal and Kasia, and always a refresher for my creative soul...even if I wasn't using it much in my current job. I'm thankful and happy to count them among my friends.

I was thinking of Tal & Kasia the other day, wondering how they were doing, and telling myself that I should give them a call or drop them an e-mail. Isn't it funny how, when we think of a friend, sometimes that person suddenly calls us? It seems as if it's out of the blue, but I think that somehow we send messages--don't ask me how--to that person, letting them know we'd love to hear from them.

So last Thursday, I got an "out of the blue" e-mail from Tal and Kasia. They needed a favor, and fast.

Three years ago, a scared little kitten roamed our little street, looking for garbage to eat. Everyone on the street started to leave food out for her. We spent a few nights a month trying to hand feed her and domesticate her.

A year later, she stopped being a scaredy cat and started letting us pet her. Then she started running into our house when the weather was cold out and trying to bring her kittens inside.

Our neighbor went on a spaying/neutering rampage and caught most of the strays on our street, one of which was Hobo Kitty. Hobo wasn't too happy about it, but she still came back.

Hobo Kitty decided that we would be the right people to be her new parents. After another cat scratched her eye, we were forced to take care of her...which made her realize that there are benefits to being a house kitty. She started coming indoors to sleep, and eventually she warmed up to human company so much that she jumped into our bed at night.

Now the Hobo has become a full-fledged house kitty. She meows at the door to be let out for bathroom breaks and meows to come back in. We've taught her not to scratch the furniture, and she loves her scratch pad and catnip mousie.

Unfortunately, we're moving to New York City...and Hobo Kitty can't come with us.

We've been trying to find a home for her around here, but we've been worried that she'll just run away or get hit by a car. Plus, we'd like to give her to someone we know so that we can get updates on how she's doing.... She's a lovely bright-orange kitty, speckled with black & white spots, and she loves to sleep on people's crotches. She doesn't scratch the furniture or pee inside. She'd really be quite perfect for us if our dog didn't want to eat her.

We were wondering if you had room in your life for one more kitty? We thought that your sleepy street in Small Town would be a safer place for her than Atlanta, because she does like to play outside.

We were hoping to find our little hobo a home before we leave for NYC. Hobo Kitty doesn't like many people, but we thought that she may love you...because you are quite the cat lover. Please let us know if you can help us out and give the Hobo a home.

Love, Kasia & Tal

So, without further adieu...ladies and gentlemen, I give you Hobo Kitty.



Beautiful girl, isn't she?

She's staying in the guest room, separated from the other cats, until she gets a little better adjusted. She yowled the entire 90-minute trip from Atlanta, and this whole adoption thing's been traumatic for her. But she's adjusting pretty well. We're taking things one step at a time as she comes to understand that this is her forever home.

And with this story of friendship, home, and new beginnings...I wish all E&P readers a happy and blessed Thanksgiving.

Go here! Just GO!

Furniture Porn

You know you want to.

Student essay insanity!

The last few weeks have been Prime Time for collecting awful and unintentionally funny sentences from student essays. If I didn't laugh, I'd cry.

I'll post some Georgia Regents' Exam gems later this week; for now, I give you my own students' bloopers from rough drafts:

• Like most things in life, my next point might seem contradictory.
• With corporation profits reaching into the billions if language was just a 3rd sting factor, these billions would have been lost.
• When children grow up too fast, they end up immolating the wrong adults.

Why do today what you can put off 'til tomorrow?

From Dictionary.com:
pro‧cras‧ti‧nate  [proh-kras-tuh-neyt, pruh-]
–verb (used without object)
1. to defer action; delay: to procrastinate until an opportunity is lost.
–verb (used with object)
2. to put off till another day or time; defer; delay.

Procrastination is a joke in American culture. We chuckle when we hear a colleague say, “Well, I’ve procrastinated long enough; better get to work!” We smile when we see a funny t-shirt that reads, “Top 10 Reasons to Procrastinate” with a blank list below.

But what many don't realize is that procrastination works much like a willow tree growing near septic lines—its roots grow deep into our work and personal lives, aggressively taking over everything they come across, clogging up the pipes of our lives so that nothing good can come in, and nothing bad can flow out.

At age 33, I have realized that I must change my ways, or face professional disaster. I am practically paralyzed by the overpowering urge not to worry about it now, to do it later when there’s more time, when I feel better.

All my life, to varying degrees of severity, I’ve been a serious procrastinator, and I’ve mostly gotten away with it. There was a time in my life where I procrastinated much less than I do now (graduate school), and I earned almost all A’s there. Sometimes, though, I still look back and ask, "How much better would I have done if I hadn’t procrastinated?"

The papers have finally piled up to the point where I can hardly see over the stacks; my free time, what little there is, has been so compromised that I’m always resentful and angry at my students, my colleagues, myself. This has got to stop. So I'm beginning my New Year's Resolution a little early, because Necessity has reared its ugly but just-in-time head. I want to overcome my crippling procrastination habits, one little step at a time.

A lot of people think procrastination is simply a matter of willpower. If you want to overcome it badly enough, you'll get your lazy ass in gear. But I venture that it's much more complicated than that. It has to do with perfectionism, anger, low self-confidence, fear of failure...and fear of success. All of which are true in my case.

E&P readers, how do you deal with procrastination? Has anyone out there ever suffered from it? Has anyone overcome it? Does anyone still struggle with it every day? What tips and tricks do you use? I'd love to hear what you have to say as I embark on my journey.

Huey Lewis and the News: '80s bar band, or Satanic cultists?

Biblical exegetes should probably stay away from Huey Lewis songs.

Feature? Did she say "feature?"

That's right, folks, there's a new feature here on E&P...

Classes I’d Give My Left Arm to Take

Yes, my left arm. Because I have to have at least one hand to take notes and type papers, and I'm not ambidextrous.

About every two weeks, I’ll spotlight a college-level course that is of significant interest to me, and that might be to my readers as well. The (rather loose) requirements for a class to be worth giving up a limb are:

• The course must cover a topic that does not usually get much attention in university course catalogs.
• The course must take an interesting angle on its topic.
• The course must take into account diverse viewpoints and ideas.

Our first CIGMYLATT comes to us from the University of Mississippi (Ole Miss) and the Southern Foodways Alliance…

Feast and Famine: The Culture and Politics of Food - Dr. Melissa Booth-Hall

From the course description:
“Are you a good eater or a picky eater? Are you a budding gourmet cook or can you barely boil water? Do you ever wonder why you eat what you eat and what your food choices say about you? Come to class prepared to see food as more than just what is on the table in front of you.”

Oh, but Dr. Booth-Hall is just getting started with this tantalizing introduction. This class explores the intricate relationships between people and what they eat. More from the description:

“We will read about food, talk about food, think about food, eat a little food, and ultimately, write about food. In the process, we will explore how food shapes regional and cultural identities – especially that of Southerners. We will delve into food’s complicated relationship with race and class – exploring how who sits around the table is as telling as what food is on the table.”

Praise the Lord and pass the buttermilk biscuits! For so long, I’ve thought I was the only person who thought there was a connection between who we are and what we eat. Many of the foods I like are considered “low class” or “poor people’s food” by upper-class people. There is no way I could sit at a la-dee-dah dinner party and pretend to enjoy caviar or pate foie gras. But some of the same people who love those foods look down on pickled hard-boiled eggs, sardines in mustard, and fried chicken livers! Were I suddenly wealthy (and I think we all know the chances of that happening), I reckon my Friends in Low Places and I would have to sit home at my million-dollar estate and enjoy our black-eyed peas, cornbread, and Pabst Blue Ribbon in private. Pour me up a Dr. Pepper-n’-Jim-Beam chaser, while you’re at it.

Dr. Booth-Hall's mention of social class and how it's intertwined with food reminds me of a conversation I overheard between my longtime friend Mr. B*, a native of Savannah, Georgia, and his partner John*, a native of the urban Northeast…
Mr. B: Damn, but I’ve got a craving for a pimiento-cheese sandwich. I’m gonna make some from scratch this weekend.
John: Eeeeuuwww!
Mr. B: What?
John: Pimiento cheese?!?
Mr. B: Yeah, pimiento cheese.
John: But only poor white trash eats pimiento cheese.
Mr. B: So what’s your point?

Last year, as I was preparing to visit my sister in Denver, Colorado, the subject of good restaurants came up. (Food and drink play a prominent role in our visits; FarmGirl, for one, can relate.) Sis told me about a great soul-food place just a few blocks from her office. This restaurant is popular not just with displaced/transplanted Southerners, but locals and in-the-know tourists as well. The line stretches out the door at lunchtime, despite the gruff demeanor of the waitstaff (if you don't already know what's in neckbones and rice, you don't need to be ordering it, anyway). We made plans to visit this place on a Thursday for their Fried Catfish Special. When I excitedly mentioned our plans to Mom, however, she asked, "Why would you go all the way to Denver to eat greasy Southern food?" My reply: "Why not?" But Mom's query got me wondering why one of the first places where my sister and I would eat way out West was a Southern-food restaurant. (For the record, we also ate a lot of excellent Mexican food and nouvelle cuisine brunches.)

It’s exchanges such as these that have piqued my curiosity about how our food choices affect how others see us…and how we get along with one another. Dr. Booth-Hall, I [heart] you. You have read my mind!

The rest of the description:
“Finally, we will examine the politics of food – looking at food production, distribution, the fast food industry and the lawsuits being filed against the food industry. John T. Edge, food writer and Director of the Southern Foodways Alliance, will be the guest writer and lecturer for this course.”

John T. Edge is the guest lecturer? Good sawmill gravy, where do I sign up?!? Two of my favorites, politics and food, all wrapped up together in one class--what a deal.

I’m ready to fill out my Ole Miss application and move to Oxford solely so I can take this class. Happily, the Southern Foodways Alliance will soon be offering online classes, and I hope to cheese grits that this is one of them.

Southern food, Southern writers, Southern people…it can’t get much better than that. What a happy and FULL way to spend a semester.

It's not tuna, you silly cat.

Some cats have to be in the middle of what's happening, no matter what it may be. Little Guy is one of those cats.

Yes, that's a can of Hunt's Diced Tomatoes with Juice. He insisted on being the first in the kitchen to lick the inside when I set the can in front of the recycling bin.

What is it with these cats and tomatoes?



Now DeeDee gets in on the lycopene-filled action.



This is MY tomato can, you little fartknocker!

She's reaching into the can with her paw and licking the tomato juice off of her formerly-white little toes. Sadly, I couldn't get her to be still long enough to let me snap a picture of slightly-pink foot fur.

The post-DeeDee kitty foot funk in the can didn't seem to bother Little Guy. After this shot, DeeDee walked away and took a bath, and my cross-eyed little kitty went right back to licking the inside of the can. Sheesh, some folks and hygiene, I swear.

For the record: the can had nothing but tomatoey goodness in it. No meat of any kind! The final product, FarmGirl's Hearty Lentil Soup with Smoked Sausage, was out of this world. Mr. Greenjeans, who visited for supper, had two big servings of soup, which means that the soup was beyond good. If he'll eat more than one helping, it's golden.

Home alone...and lovin' it

Now that classes at AM4C are over, I have Mondays and Wednesdays all to myself, for which I am eternally grateful. I have a couple of important errands to run today in the rain--west Georgia is expecting heavy rain from major thunderstorms today--but other than that, I'll be snuggled up here in the Happy Kitten Cottage grading papers.

Hooray for some extra time to grade! Just a few more weeks to go in the semester, and my only true break of the year will be here. The winter break for Christmas is the only time during which all of my colleges are on break. It is so nice during this time not to have to answer frantic phone calls or reply to freaked-out/angry e-mails. I enjoy all 2.5 weeks of it.

NCTE's new blog

NCTE Literacy Education Updates

Hooray! NCTE (National Council of Teachers of English) now has a blog presence on the web, and theirs is a Blogger site, too. This is in addition to their main Web site. Very interesting!

It's been a wonderful birthday week!

Sis sent this box of Godiva truffles!



Mr. Greenjeans gave me some spiffy new Isotoner gloves with Thinsulate. No more icy hands!



My students at AM4C threw me a surprise birthday party during class Wednesday night!



Mr. Greenjeans also put up a new motion-sensing front porch light here at the Happy Kitten Cottage...



...and he ordered a gorgeous new composite bathroom countertop/sink and faucet! (We'll be installing it next weekend.)

And so many wonderful E&P readers either left comments or sent e-mails wishing me a happy birthday. THANK YOU!

You have all made this a wonderful birthday week. I appreciate every one of you, and I hope to have your love, friendship, and readership for a long time to come.

HOW 'BOUT THEM DAWGS!

The unranked Bulldogs earn a 37-15 victory over Auburn...IN AUBURN!

MSBNC Sports: Hot Dawgs! Georgia stuns No. 5 Auburn

Tailgate parties and an orderly campus: mutually exclusive?

NPR.org: Universities Crack Down on Tailgate Tradition

This NPR story is interesting, and pretty fair toward both university officials and tailgating football fans. My alma mater, the University of Georgia, is prominently featured in the piece.

The UGA campus (and much of Athens) turns into one big tailgate party on football weekends. It's paradise if you're a fan or returning alum, and absolute hell if you're a current student living on campus. When I was still living in the dorms, in the early 1990s, the fans and their monstrous RVs would show up Thursday night before a Saturday afternoon game. They parked anywhere and everywhere in the large commuter parking lots, way out on the edge of campus; when those were full, they'd roll their near-tractor-trailer-length Winnebago Super Deluxe Gas-Hogs into the central campus dorm lots, very inconsiderately blocking in student cars for days on end. No, the University Police weren't much help back then. I think this was because many of the tailgaters with huge RVs might have been big-ticket Athletic Program boosters. But that's just my guess.

I learned early that if I didn't plan on attending that weekend's home game, I should be in the car on and on the way out of town at least 24 hours beforehand.

Campus was usually completely, literally trashed after home games, especially against big rivals such as Auburn or Georgia Tech. After one game where Auburn beat the crap out of us, I remember walking to the library Sunday morning and seeing a sea of trash--almost carpeting the entire Quad on North Campus (about a three-acre area). Grass was visible in only a few places. And that was just North Campus. The poor UGA grounds crew would be busy all Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday cleaning up the mess, as the campus party/tailgate areas cover a total of about 150 acres.

It was wise of UGA to implement some restrictions on tailgating, as so many of those parties get crazy and interfere with the daily lives of current UGA students. I can also understand where the tailgaters are coming from, now that I'm an alumna. Unless there's a city ordinance prohibiting it, I don't want to be told where I can and can't drink a beer before the game.

Hopefully, the fun tailgate atmosphere won't be lost. I still hope for a safer, cleaner, and more orderly campus for the people at UGA who matter most right now: current students.

It's Miss Kitty's birthday!

Note the old-style PBR can, circa 1977! Yeah, we start early here in west Georgia.

No playing hooky today; I've already been up for three hours grading papers. Today's a work day. But Mr. Greenjeans is taking me out to dinner Friday night for a late birthday celebration. Hooray!

Why Teachers Weep

Printed last week in Small Town's local advertising circular--no author listed.

Then Jesus took his disciples up on the mountain and taught them, saying:
"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are--"

And Simon Peter said, "Do we have to write this stuff down?"

And Philip said, "Will this be on the test?"

And Mark said, "I'm sorry. Could you repeat that?"

And Andrew said, "John the Baptist said he didn't have to learn this stuff!"

And Matthew said, "Huh?"

And Judas said, "What does this have to do with real life?"

Then, one of the Pharisees, an expert in the law, said, "I don't see any of this in your syllabus. Do you have a lesson plan? Is there a summary? Where is the student guide? Will there be any follow-up assignments? How will this affect the bell curve?"

And Thomas, who had missed the lesson, came to Jesus privately and said, "Did I miss anything?"

And Jesus wept.

Video posting?

Does anyone out there know how to post video clips to a Blogger blog? At long last, I can make my cell phone's camera take short video clips, and I have poultry-feline hilarity to share with you.

For the record: I have no idea how YouTube works, nor how to post video there. But I want to learn.

I thought it might happen. I just didn't know when.

Myrtle Mae is eating her own eggs.



My longtime friends Lois & Roger critter-sat for me this weekend while I was away at Mr. Greenjeans' house, and they called to say that Myrtle had laid four eggs under a bench in the yard. One egg had a hole in it.

"It was probably a possum or a snake that made that hole," I told them. "I'm not too worried."

Early this morning, I arrived home to find Myrtle beneath the bench in the yard, pecking furiously. I thought she might have found a new treasure trove of bugs. But no.



I'm still researching what's making her do this. From what I've read so far, either 1) she's got a protein-calcium deficiency and is eating her own eggs to make up for it, or 2) she's bored.

In any case: here come the supplements and extra grains, and a couple of fake wooden eggs in the old nesting box. And perhaps I'll finally get off my duff and get Myrtle a couple of sisters.

This week is going to be a very, very busy one. That's just fine. Last week was a really shitty one. I'll post about it in a few days; I had to let it all sink in first.

Awesome Methodist Four-Year College (AM4C) finishes up the Fall term Thursday; final exams are next week. This quarter's AM4C class has been a great one, and has responded very well to my efforts to make colonial American lit exciting. D2U and SBCC each have five weeks to go, as does Tiny Tech.

Why can't I shake this nagging feeling that something bad is going to happen soon? It's completely irrational, but I can't get rid of it.

About that 15 minutes of fame...

A few weeks ago, I got an e-mail whose subject line read, "ABC News 20/20." I was immediately suspicious; it was probably spam. But I opened it anyway. Maybe it was an E&P reader e-mailing me a link to something I'd be interested in seeing.

It was for real. Jim DuBreuil, a producer for ABC's 20/20, had seen the content on E&P about college athletes and wanted to know if I could contribute (off the record) to a feature he was working on. He gave his phone number at the New York bureau, and asked me to call if I was interested in helping out. I was curious, so I rang him up the next morning.

Jim had found E&P through a super-specific Google search; he entered "University of Georgia," "athletes," and "professor" as his search terms, and my blog came up first in the search results. He and his team were working on a feature about college athletes and how "privileged" they sometimes are; after all, I blogged about the professor at Auburn who got in trouble for giving football players (and many other students) A's and B's in a directed reading course for very little work, and the University of Georgia has just opened up a $7.5 million Student Success Center--solely for athletes--in the heart of Main Campus. Jim wanted to know if I could direct him toward anyone at UGA who had horror stories to tell of athletes getting out easy in classes.

I told him, "Well, I left Athens in 1998, and many of the people I worked with up there have moved on to other schools. You might just want to ask around in the English department, and maybe psychology, history, math...you know, the 'core curriculum' departments." I also mentioned that I was lucky not to have had any bad experiences either with athletes in my UGA classes or the athletic department. "Post-Jan Kemp," I told him, "Georgia coaches and ADs know they can't just tell an instructor, 'Hey, you gotta pass this player, or it's your job.' That kind of crap doesn't fly any more." I was very surprised that he didn't know the story behind Dr. Kemp's firing from UGA when she refused to pass football players who were failing her remedial reading classes, or her successful lawsuit against the university.

The segment was supposed to have aired last night, but I can't find it mentioned on the ABC website. Perhaps there weren't quite enough people who had an ax to grind with the UGA athletic program?

My next five minutes of fame will be spent on the radio, which leaves me with seven minutes of my allotted 15. More on that next week.

"Woman, thou art tagged": Five Funny Blogs

Several of the blogs I read every day have been participating in a feature called Five Funny Blogs. Greg was kind enough to mention E&P in his list (thanks, Greg, for making my highly crappy day better!), and thereby tagged me.

So here are the guidelines for the blogs I now choose:
1. They are funny.
2. They are made up of mostly original content (not links to other blogs, YouTube, etc.).
3. They are updated regularly.
4. There is a good chance you've never heard of them. That means they don't have a gazillion other links to them, hundreds of readers leaving comments, and so on.
5. At least one of them isn't already on my blog roll.

Drumroll, please! [rattattattattattattattattattattattattattattat!]

Crummy Church Signs
Joel's sharp, snarky (and uniquely Christian) commentary on atrocious church signs usually provokes involuntary bodily reactions from me: spitting Diet Coke all over the monitor, uncontrollable drooling due to intense laughter, etc. It is because of Joel that I am considering an investment in Depends. At age 32.

Wide Lawns and Narrow Minds
The blogger known as "Subservient Worker" is employed by an exclusive South Florida country club, and her job gives her unique insight into the lives (and utter insanity!) of the rich and infamous. Rarely do I read anything on this blog that doesn't make me either 1) laugh out loud, or 2) tremble in fear for the future of our civilization. Rich people are crazy. WLNM's title comes from a quote by Ernest Hemingway on the depressing sameness and bourgeois-ness of the suburbs.

Farmgirl Fare
In 1994, Farmgirl Susan said "so long" to her life as a chef and bakery owner in California and moved to southwest Missouri to become a farmer. She blogs regularly (with fantastic pictures!) on the small-scale organic farming life. With a menagerie that includes "sheep, chickens, 2 dogs, 7 cats, & an adorable donkey named Dan," there is no shortage of laughter and craziness here.

Kinda Kitschy
This blog is the one that's not already on my blogroll (but will be after this post is completed). Greg's mission is to deconstruct and thereby mock "Christian merchandise." He's a Christian himself, which gives him extra-special authority to do so. Anything found in Christian bookstores is fair game: figurines, candles, clothing items, housewares, video games...you name it. As Greg's byline proclaims, "Only the Devil cannot abide to be mocked." I am sure he'll soon start catching some flak from Christians who can't handle a little mockery. My advice to them: stop marketing cheesy stuff, and it won't end up on Kinda Kitschy.

Skewed View
SpookyRach is a probation officer in a small Texas town, which gives her an incredible amount of material for her website. If it's been done by someone on parole, Spooky has seen it...and will blog about it. One of my favorite recent posts is the one where she uses Caller ID and *69 to nail a parolee who calls (from the local hole-in-the-wall bar!) to tell her he can't make his monthly meeting. Another fun feature of Skewed View is Friday Cemetary Blogging; Spooky's an accomplished photographer whose pictures of old cemetaries around the Southwest are always gorgeous, and often darkly funny.

Of course, these five are not the only ones I read. If yours isn't on here, it's only because the feature is called Five Funny Blogs, not 496 Funny Blogs That Miss Kitty Reads Every Week. But I'll get to yours, don't worry.

Knowing is half the battle

Several weeks ago I posted about telling my supervisor at Small 'Bama Community College that I could no longer conduct the online English Comp I class. He agreed to find someone new for next semester, and all was well. I'd graded and returned most of my class's essays, except for the random few people whose papers managed to disappear in my Inbox. Of course, I got those people to re-send their papers. I thought I was doing an all-right job for this very last semester at SBCC.

Oops! Spoke too soon.

It seems that even when I try my darnedest to keep up with papers and assignments and e-mails, some student, somewhere, is unhappy. Dr. Murphy* called a little while ago to let me know that three of my online students had come to him complaining that they hadn't yet gotten any feedback, and it was late in the semester. Dammit.

I told him I'd get right on that, and that someone else would be replacing me for the online class in the spring--I'd already told the department chair that he'd need to replace me. Dr. Murphy replied, "Oh, I see. For what reason did you decide not to teach online anymore? Just overworked?"

"Yes, that's about it," I said. "I've just got so much on my plate that it's impossible to do a good job."

"You've made the right decision, then. Will you be doing any in-person classes for us in the Spring?"

"No, I sure won't," I replied. "But I asked Dr. ------ to please keep me in mind for summer."

So that was that. I don't know why Dr. Murphy asked about my reasons for not doing online instruction anymore, or whether I'd be teaching Spring classes; I'd thought he'd just be happy that someone else was going to do it, someone about whom there'd be few complaints. He did seem a little sympathetic when he found out I've been teaching nine and ten classes per semester at four different schools, though. Dr. Murphy's a pretty nice guy, and SBCC doesn't give him nearly enough leeway to run the Humanities division as it needs to be run.

Tonight, when I return home from teaching all day at D2U, I'll do a marathon grading session of SBCC papers and get them in the mail Friday. Only four weeks to go, and I'm done there.