The Orange Project: Week 1

I got this orange in my lunch at a seminar last week. The bad thing is that I don't like oranges. Orange juice, I like; other foods made with oranges are also great. I just don't eat oranges themselves. Why go to all that trouble when you can juice the hell out of them?

So I'm just going to let it sit here on my desk at D2U and see what happens. I guess I could stick whole cloves into it and make a pomander out of it, but Christmas was over a month ago.

The electric cattle prod is not an option

How can a teacher motivate a dispirited, resistant class?

In my years of teaching, I've had quite a few ho-hum classes. The combination of personalities simply works out for the worse in those cases, and I have to do my damnedest to get students to even speak up in class. Usually, in a for-credit class such as Composition I or II, I can force students to start taking part when they realize their grades are at stake. But it's much different when the class is remedial, and the students earn no academic credit from it.

One of my Regents' Essay Exam classes meets three mornings a week at 9:00. These 16 people are the toughest group I've ever had. Half of the students have to take this two-credit-hour class because they've failed the Regents' Exam; they will have to take this class again and again until they pass the essay portion of the exam. The other half is in the class because they failed to sign up for the exam before they'd completed 35 hours of coursework. One half feels the material is hopelessly above them; the other, hopelessly below them.

Four weeks into a ten-week class, nothing I've done has worked.

A few sit with their arms crossed all class long, as if to say, "I dare you to get me to participate in this class." A few stare at their notebooks, as if to say, "I'll never get it, so why even try?" One sleeps most mornings. (He's the one who's in my class for the second semester in a row.) A few have already missed their allotted number of classes and will probably end up receiving a grade of "U" (unsatisfactory) that will prevent them from taking the Regents' Exam in mid-March. These students, strangely enough, are the ones who were most likely to pass it on their first try had they signed up in time.

When I ask the class a question, it's met with silence. You will not get us to play along, they seem to say. Few will meet my gaze; perhaps they're hoping not to be called on, afraid that they don't know the right answers to the exercises. And I don't feel as if I have the authority to "crack the whip" on these students and say, "Participate or else!" This class isn't even for credit. (As a teacher, I'm embarrassed to admit that.)

Even I know it's a dumb class, and an even dumber test, to have to take. The Regents' Exam is a waste of time and doesn't truly measure what Georgia college students have learned. Can the students sense this? Perhaps they can. Perhaps it was something I did or said that has made them sullen, taciturn, lifeless.

They're the opposite of my Tuesday-Thursday Regents' class. That class meets at 8am, and while the students in there are still sleepy, they wake up after 15 minutes and a can of Red Bull, and the class is lively and active the entire period.

True, not every class can be an awesome experience. Maybe this is just one I'm going to have to write off as a failure.

In praise of English teachers

This was passed along to me by a colleague yesterday, an excerpt from Tobias Wolff’s Old School. Rarely do we read or hear open admiration for English teachers. This made my day.

Compared to the men who taught physics or biology, what did they really know of the world? It seemed to me, and not only to me, that they knew exactly what was most worth knowing. Unlike our math and science teachers, who modestly stuck to their subjects, they tended to be polymaths. Adept as they were at dissection, they would never leave a poem or a novel strewn about in pieces like some butchered frog reeking of formaldehyde. They’d stitch it back together with history and psychology, philosophy, religion, and even, on occasion, science. Without pandering to your presumed desire to identify with the hero of a story, they made you feel that what mattered to the writer had a consequence for you, too.

All in all, it's just another noise in the wall

I'm posting from my morning Regents' Exam remedial class here in Bosley Hall*, where the students are writing another practice essay today. D2U is fairly technologically savvy, as most of the classrooms on campus, new and old, have computer/multimedia stations and T-1 internet access. IT department, I [heart] you.

There is a bizarre noise coming from the wall and ceiling of the classroom. It sounds like water, running at very high pressure, through a pipe. Or out of a pipe. A small crack in a pipe. The Student Deli is down the hall from this room, as is the ladies' restroom for this floor; maybe the noise is because there's a lot of activity in either/both of those areas today. Or maybe not. I don't see any leakage through the floor or ceiling, but it's still a little unnerving. Perhaps it's all leaking under the building, and tomorrow morning we'll all arrive on campus to find that Bosley Hall has disappeared into a huge sinkhole. It could happen.

The students seem to have adjusted to the noise, at least for right now. Then again, this is a laid-back bunch. An atomic bomb could detonate right outside the building, and this group would simply fan themselves with their notebooks and say, "Man, it's hot out today."

The letting go

It’s that time of the semester: when almost all composition classes begin discussing the oft-dreaded first essay. This term, I’m doing something different, something very unsettling to a classroom control freak like me: letting my students choose their own essay topics, as long as those topics are somewhat related to our readings.

For many years, I went to a huge amount of trouble every few weeks to write up/beg/borrow/steal essay topics for my students. The bad thing was that the students rarely, if ever, responded very well to the essay questions (see Student Essay Insanity #5 for an example). D2U’s new Director of First-Year Composition, Dr. Rhettencomp*, had a suggestion: “Why don’t you let them come up with their own topics? It’d be a lot less work on you, and it’d force them to flex their intellectual muscles.”

“Do what?!?”

“Let them come up with their own topics. It works really well in my classes,” Dr. Rhettencomp replied.

“You mean...you...let them choose what they’re going to write on?” This was heavy material for me to consider. “But I don’t trust my students to come up with write-able, decent topics.”

He understood my hesitance. “I used to be the same way. But I realized that students need to learn how to figure out the most important things to write about—the most important lessons to take out of the readings. Think about it: in the ‘real world,’ nobody’s going to hand them a list of topics and say, ‘Write.’” He paused for another sip of coffee. “For the last six or seven minutes of every class, I ask the students to write in their notebooks about the most interesting idea, concept, or issue that we talked about that day. If they do that for, say, two or three weeks’ worth of classes, there is no fucking way they’ll be without material for essay topics of their own.”

I laughed at his inclusion of the “no fucking way.” And I also laughed at my own reticence to trust my students. This would save me hours of worry and trouble, and it’d make my students think and reconsider the material. It would force them to talk with me before and after class about potential topics, about introductions and conclusions, about how to say what they mean and mean what they say. It might even force them to make trips to see me during office hours. Or trips to the D2U Writing Center. Damn. My Comp classes were movin’ on up like George and Weezy Jefferson. Fish don't fry in the kitchen, y'all.

In class today, I introduced this new concept. My morning Intro to Lit students were wary of choosing their own topics for their poetry papers, having never been given this sort of freedom in an academic setting. While they were mostly enthusiastic, a few whined a little. I told them to suck it up and pick a damn poem (but not in those exact words). My afternoon Comp I students were even more wary of this choose-your-own-topic stuff. Okay, maybe wary isn't quite the right word. A few of them simply stunned me with their complete apathy. “Can’t you just assign us a topic?” one asked. “I mean, like, I really can’t think of anything to write on. Like, I’m just...you know...blah.” Ah, I love the inarticulate ones best of all.

“I can,” I replied, “but I can also guarantee that you’ll absolutely hate it.”

“No, really, Professor Kitty,” the student continued. “Just assign me one.”

“All right.” I took a deep breath. “Your paper will be on The Scarlet Letter and—"

“Okay! Okay! I’ll think up my own!”

Student Essay Insanity #5!

Your favorite E&P feature is back with a vengeance! That’s right—it’s yet another installment of hilarious bloopers and unintentionally funny sentences from real college students' essays.

Today’s essay tomfoolery comes from one essay, an essay I received in a Spring 2005 section of Comp I at Division II University. It’s not so much hilarious as completely nonsensical and...well, average. I’ve included two particularly mushy paragraphs.

The essay prompt, from the textbook Language Awareness, asked students to consider whether the use of cursing in movies and on TV had made Americans numb to the impact of crude language. Students were to write an essay in which they took a position and defended it. They were also to answer the related questions that the issue brought up.

Foul language has become a part of the American way of speaking. Foul language has spread across America with television and movies and the use of such language is no longer considered unusual here. Throughout history America has been known for immoral and unjustly acts towards man and God, so it is not that much of a surprise of such practices to occur here. “…the wrath of God is coming. You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. But now you must rid yourselves of all things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips (COL 3:6-8).

.........

In most conversations about the appropriateness of the use of foul language the subject of children being exposed is often addressed. It would seem that although many people accept the vulgar language in movies and television the majority of them stand firmly against their children being subjected to the harsh languages. I find it very odd that people will commence with this sort of behavior. The logical view of the situation would be that our children follow what adults do. To say that they shouldn’t watch or listen to cursing and violence would be hypocritical since many adults take part in the involvement of the entertainment that contain so much foul language. Child or adult, we as a people should not be involved in these acts. “Obscene stories, foolish talk, and coarse jokes—these are not for you” (EPH 5:4).


Sadly, I see this sort of writing rather often. On the surface, it’s mostly mechanically sound, but it says absolutely nothing. I’m still not sure why the student included the Bible verse. I try to warn students away from that kind of writing. It only works if you’re preaching to the converted…and I try to get them not to preach at all. (But this is the Bible Belt, so I try to warn students against this kind of writing very early in the semester.) It’s probably another symptom of the half-baked theology that Joel at Crummy Church Signs and Gregory at Kinda Kitschy frequently lampoon.

Grade earned: C-minus. I think that was rather kind, actually.

Why Architects Drink

No, I don't know why they drink. I'm just telling you the name of my sister's new blog!

Why Architects Drink

You may know Sis as MileHighPixie, a regular commenter on E&P. She's just started up her blog and is adding content with each passing day. So pay her a visit, and keep checking in. She has plenty of crazy stories to tell. And no, she won't draw you a doghouse.

It's a Southern thing, and I still don't understand

I was horrified to see on NPR.org that today’s Kitchen Window installment is about that pillar of country Southern cuisine: pimiento cheese. This is one foodstuff that I have long hoped would at last give in to the onslaught of other cuisines and DIE...but, no. Pimiento cheese is the Kevin Federline of snack foods. No matter how we try to eliminate it, it returns by the grace of toe-jam, solely on the sheer strength of its gooey stinkiness.

It is mayonnaise, cheese, and pimiento peppers, finely ground together into a spreadable paste for sandwiches, crackers, and crudités. Fine, fine, let them take away my Southerner ID Card. To paraphrase James Brown: Say it loud—I’m Southern, and pimiento cheese is nasty.

I hear the naysayers: “How can you not eat pimiento cheese? It’s a Southern tradition!” But seriously, now: we’re the same people who think pickled pigs’ feet and Pabst Blue Ribbon comprise a four-star meal. So I’m going to take that culinary admonition and toss it in the hogs’ slop trough.

The pimiento cheese Pod People have even suckered in poor John T. Edge, preeminent Southern food expert. Heavens to Mergatroid, he and the Southern Foodways Alliance are having a Pimiento Cheese Recipe Contest on their website. Alas, John T., I knew ye well. Maybe we can get to him before he’s completely gone.

Don’t get me wrong: I want to like pimiento cheese. I want to be a good Southern girl and eat this stuff. But I’ve tried the gooey, lumpy orange mess dozens of times over the last 33 years, and still no go. Processed or homemade, it grosses me out every time. So I guess I'll have to be a kitchen Jezebel on this one, a harlot of the homestead.

Many regional delicacies are acquired tastes; I understand that. I didn’t enjoy fried okra until I was well into my 20s; barbeque was not my favorite meal until I hit 30. I wouldn’t even look at a slice of buttermilk pie until just last year. These realizations remind me of a conversation I had with my dad when I was a teenager. Daddy (God rest his soul) was reflecting on his culinary tastes when he was younger...

DAD: I used to not like a lot of foods. Like butterbeans.
ME: Bleh.
DAD: No, really. When I was a kid, I just didn’t like it. But as I got older, I discovered I really liked the taste.
ME: Well, you don’t have to worry about that happening to me and butterbeans, that’s for sure.
DAD: And I didn’t like turnip greens until I came home from Vietnam.
ME: Daddy, that’s proof that you have PTSD.
DAD: What?
ME: Vietnam messed you up so bad that now you eat turnip greens. Can't you see the self-destructive spiral? Stop it before it's too late!

Blogiversary

Today marks E&P's first anniversary. Many thanks to all of you who continue to read about educational tomfoolery (plus the occasional chicken or cat).

Today is also the 10th anniversary of my father's death.

When I have more energy and brains, I'll write more on both of these topics.

A little help from my friends

For the last three days, I've been trying to put together a long post. This used to be relatiely simple, but no more. Hello's BloggerBot no longer exists [sniff], and Blogger's own photo upload is awful. Many readers have complained that the pictures and text sometimes disappear when I compose posts with Blogger's picture uploads; they have to scroll up and down wildly to get even a little heading text to appear. Grrrrr.

How do you other bloggers upload photos? I've noticed on many of the sites I frequent that bloggers update with photos easily and seamlessly. Can you offer any suggestions or links? I'd appreciate any help you can offer.

I promise to blog lots of interesting stuff--and new chicken photos--once I get this stupid picture/post thing worked out.

I'd take offense

Shame on this sign, saying bad things about those poor little kids!

The family that eats together...

Everyone eats their daily Special Kitty cat food on the back porch. Left to right: Prue, Elvis, Kigi, and Myrtle Mae.

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. Since all my schools have started back, I've been experiencing serious stress headaches, and have had little energy. But once I get back to my normal self, I'll be posting more.

Absolute something!

Mr. Greenjeans and I spotted this sign Saturday night on the way home from his family's post-Christmas party. Priceless!

I promise that I had nothing to do with the creative rearrangement of the letters. I see 'em, and I post 'em--that's all.

Seek shelter immediately

That's what we're doing. Severe thunderstorms are on the way, and somewhere near here a tornado's been spotted. Cats and I will be hunkering down in the hallway until further notice. This was going to be an interesting post...but that'll have to wait!

UPDATE: The worst seems to have passed us by, thankfully. Lots of wind, rain, thunder, and lightning, but no damage. The kitties acted very strangely for about half an hour; perhaps they could sense the changes in air pressure.

One more weekend of freedom (sort of)

This weekend is the last before the new D2U semester begins on Monday (AM4C started on January 3). I'll be spending the weekend alternately hanging around with Mr. Greenjeans' family and working on updating my Comp I syllabus. It needs an overhaul something awful. Very little seemed to work last semester.

At 11:00 last night, I decided to check my D2U e-mail, since I hadn't since December 19, when grades were due. Waiting for me was a message from Dr. Pepper* (head of the English department) letting me know she'd had to cancel one of my Comp I sections due to low enrollment; there were only six students signed up for the 1:30 section. Were I on salary, I'd rejoice. Fewer classes = more sanity! Alas, I'm a part-timer who gets paid by the section, and this was a serious downer. Dr. Pepper* promised me--and she generally makes good on her promises--that I'd be the first to get another Comp I or II section if the need arose, which it may well, seeing that most D2U students take Comp II during Spring Semester. I'm also teaching two Regents' Essay Exam remedial classes, and if those classes grow beyond 35 students, I get paid double. (These Regents' classes' workloads are pretty light, and the courses only meet for ten weeks; hence my not being very worried about having 80 students spread out between two sections.)

Lately, I'm finding it extremely tough to write. Anything. Syllabi, lesson plans, blog posts, thank-you notes, grocery lists...anything. Not sure why that is, either. I don't think it's always supposed to be easy, but damn, this is crazy.

I've been working on a book for a couple of months now, and until the last few weeks it's been fun. But now I'm getting into the part where I really start having to do legwork (interviews, research in the County Archives and local libraries) and my excitement drops off significantly. The book is non-fiction, about a sex scandal that blew up (no pun intended) here in Small Town 25 years ago, and it's a very worthy project. But writing on this, as well as on everything else, takes every little bit of effort I can muster. I hope it's just a phase.

Hugs to you all. I'm grateful to have this space to write...and grateful to have all of you reading.

Bad chicken; or, Myrtle Mae's Other New Year's Resolution

Regular E&P readers may remember my post from a few months ago about Myrtle Mae eating her own eggs. Well, she's still doing it, for reasons that I can't figure out.

Poultry will eat their own eggs for one of three reasons: lack of protein or calcium; serious boredom; or that they've just acquired a taste for eggs. My guess is the first two for Myrtle. She does need some sisters pretty soon. And there aren't nearly as many fun and tasty things to eat in the yard, now that it's winter. She had all the slugs and Japanese beetles she could stand over the summer.

The first time I caught her eating her own eggs was when I was out of town for the weekend. I returned home to find she'd laid three eggs in the yard and pecked in the shell of each one. It's very disconcerting to be met at the gate by a chicken whose beak and head are covered in her own albumen.


I read in Backyard Poultry Magazine that sometimes giving chickens their own eggs, hard-boiled, will help improve egg-eating habits. So I cooked up a couple and chopped them up for Myrtle. We've already established that she likes the taste of eggs. What could it hurt?

And she loved the hard-boiled egg--she ate almost the whole thing.

With Prue looking on, of course. "You gonna eat all that?"

Prue finished up what Myrtle left behind. I'm surprised neither animal is extraordinarily gassy today. Thank goodness I'm here in the house most of the day.

Happy New Year to all

Thanks to everyone for your New Year wishes. It was really nice to come home early this morning after the party at Mom's to find your comments awaiting me. Thank you for reading E&P!

A few people have asked me today whether I made any resolutions. The answer to that is: yes, sort of.

In the past, I've made long lists of resolutions only to break every one within a few days. Whenever I've decided to make a real, permanent change, it's never started with a New Year's resolution. However, the two things I decided to change were things that are important to my health and my wallet, so the chances of my breaking the resolutions aren't as great as they might normally be.

I've resolved to:

Brush my teeth twice per day, and floss once per day.
Our dad always made sure we brushed and flossed when we were kids, and his efforts paid off--I had no fillings until the age of 26. But in the years that followed, I slacked off in the dental hygiene routine that I kept up as a kid, and it returned to haunt me last fall. My dentist informed me in Fall 2005 I needed almost $1200 in dental work. No fewer than 11 of my teeth would need special fillings along the gumline to repair the damage done by too-infrequent brushing, flossing, and check-ups. Thankfully, I was able to get my teeth fixed one by one, but my dentist warned me that if I didn't take good care of these fillings, they'd need to be replaced sooner than normal. And seeing as to how I really, really hate needles, and really, really like having extra money in my wallet, I owe it to myself to stay the hell out of the dentist's chair.

Exercise for 30 minutes, two days per week.
When I quit my bartending job two years ago to work at D2U, I gained 15 pounds in just a few months. It was nice not to be on night shift any longer, but the running around and lifting heavy buckets of ice and cases of liquor all night long had kept off the Late 20s-Early 30s Weight Creep. Exercise will help me feel a lot better, and two days a week is a really easy goal to start with, one that won't get me discouraged right away. It'll work pretty well with this semester's schedule, too, since most of Monday and Wednesday are free.

If you've made a New Year's resolution, what is it? What did you decide had to change in 2007? how will you go about keeping your resolution? Or are you the kind of person who just puts his/her mind to something and does it, no matter what the calendar says?