In which I blush profusely.

Near the end of this afternoon's Comp class, I gave out the next assignment. "All right, folks—we'll be reading 'A Good Man Is Hard to Find' by Flannery O'Connor, on page 1203." As I wrote this information on the board, my students began scribbling it in their notebooks. "Now, this is not a story you can skim in five minutes and expect to even remotely understand. My suggestion is to read twice as slowly as usual, and mark things you don't understand or think are interesting."

I paused and turned back around to the board; I was going to tell them something else about Wednesday's assignment. Then I saw what I had written:

Wednesday, p. 1203—
"A Good Man is Hard Man"

All I could do was laugh. "Oh, God! Look what I wrote!" I said as I corrected my mistake. "Umm, that must've been a Freudian slip!" It was pretty funny.

The students laughed pretty hard, too. One said, "Wow, I didn't even notice it." I replied, "And that's what's really scary!"

Off to Atlanta...

...to see Bruce Hornsby and Ricky Skaggs together at Georgia Tech's Ferst Center for the Arts! This should prove to be an awesome show—the CMT special they recorded together last year was fantastic. I've never been to a concert by myself, so this should be a very different experience. And I'll post an update when I return home late tonight.

UPDATE, 12:15 AM: I can't come up with enough adjectives to tell you how awesome the show was. It was bluegrass, it was folk, it was jazz, it was popular music—it was out of this world. (That's probably the best I can do.) Ricky Skaggs brought his band, Kentucky Thunder, and they were tight. Bruce Hornsby's playing was brilliant, as always, and the repartee between him and Skaggs was hilarious. And they even got a 73-year-old grandma up on the stage to clog...all because her daughter left Bruce a "request note" on the stage and told him it was her mom's birthday. What an awesome birthday!

If you have a chance to see these guys in concert, by all means do so. I didn't know what piano-playing was until I discovered Hornsby. As for Ricky Skaggs, he's the master mandolin player, but he can also play just about any other stringed instrument very well: 12-string guitar, dobro, six-string guitar, fiddle, banjo, you name it. I'd even bet that if you handed him an old cigar box with rubber bands stretched across it—"Here, Ricky, try this!"—he'd be playing "Foggy Mountain Breakdown" on it in no time, and making you eat your hat.

The Other Vine That Ate the South

The first, of course, being kudzu.

Spring has sprung in the South, and flowers are blooming everywhere I go. Of course, the pollen down here is outrageous; it is above and beyond just about any other region's pollen. Cars, along with everything else, are coated in a dusty, bright-yellow film from mid-March through late May.

But the payoff for suffering through nasty allergies and the yellow smut on everything we own is that we have all these gorgeous flowers. Here's one of my favorites: wisteria. I stopped alongside the road on my way home from D2U this afternoon to snap these pix.

The purple racemes can be up to 15" long; these are about eight inches.

These blossoms against the backdrop of magnolia and laurel (?) leaves are striking.

It really can climb anything in its path. This pic is of the magnolia tree on which the wisteria in the previous photos is climbing—it's probably climbed about 50 feet up into the tree. Wisteria sinensis, also known as Chinese wisteria, is most of what we have in Georgia, and the vine we see in these photos. It's rather aggressive, and that scares many gardeners away from planting it. It needs ruthless pruning in spring (i.e., nearly back to the ground) and throughout the growing season to prevent it from growing over your entire house. But Wisteria frutescens, or American wisteria, is much less aggressive and just as beautiful as its Asian cousin. That's what I'd love to plant over the fence in my back yard.

And, in case you didn't know, there is also white wisteria:

These were growing in the privet hedge next to an abandoned house on my way home. Of course I had to stop and look. And smell.

Never, ever cut any wisteria blossoms to bring inside. They smell great on the vine (it's hard to describe the fragrance—kind of flowery yet fruity and exotic), but removing them somehow turns their chemistry funky. Then you will be stuck with a gorgeous arrangement that reeks of fresh tomcat urine. No, seriously. Ask any Southerner.

[sigh]

Absolutely gorgeous.

Springtime has just begun around here—rest assured that more photos are on the way.

U R goin 2 fail, no LOL.

Many thanks to my sister for this post title.

******************

As many of you have noticed, the current generation of college students can be petty, careless, and not at all inclined to take responsibility for their actions. And they often have the attention spans of a nest of fleas. (Of course, not all are like this, but a disturbing number are.)

I never thought I'd have to do it, but last year I spelled out on my syllabus very plainly what my attendance policies are. I count students absent if they're not in class, of course, but I also count them absent for doing non-class-discussion-related thing such as passing notes, text messaging from their cell phones, and so on. It's very clearly worded on the syllabus, and most students heed this warning and shut off their phone while in class. It's high-schoolish crap that a college professor shouldn't have to put on a syllabus, and it makes me want to bring an electric cattle prod to class.

Long-time readers will recall how I dropped a young lady last spring for many various in-class boo-boos; I imagine she was highly offended that I hadn't "given her a second chance" or "talked to her first" about her behavior. My response to stuff like that? Bitch, this is college. If you're not aware of your own behavior and need someone to remind you what's appropriate, then you sure as hell don't need to be here.

So this semester, another student has failed to to heed the warning on the syllabus. I've caught Vern* text-messaging twice in the last week-and-a-half of class—he must think I can't see it or don't notice. And, sticking with the policy I set forth in my syllabus, each time I wrote down next to his name in my roll book, "absent/IM during class." These are two absences he can ill afford, since he's now racked up the maximum number of absences. The next one merits a WF (withdrawn failing/excessive absences) from a core class he desperately needs to pass this semester.

Last evening, I decided I'd been way too nice about the whole thing. This morning, I sent Vern* the following e-mail:

Vern:
If you will recall from the section in the class syllabus about my attendance policies, they read as follows:

--You must arrive on time in order to be counted as present.
--You will be counted as absent if you leave class early.
--You will be given 1/2 an absence if you arrive late.
--You will be counted absent if you sleep in class.
--You will be counted absent if you’re talking with your classmates about topics unrelated to class discussion…
--Or sending IMs…
--Or writing notes back and forth to your classmates…
--Or checking your cell phone to see if anyone has called.
--If you’re not here, awake, with your book, and paying attention, you’re absent.

I have observed you text-messaging in my class at least twice in the last two weeks; I have counted you as absent each time. DO NOT let me catch you text-messaging again.

Kitty B. Goode

No telling what I might do next time I catch Vern* texting. Maybe I'll throw his phone out the window. Or shove it up his ass. Then he'll know where the damn thing is.

Quilt marathon

So I ate lunch with Mom and Steve on Easter Sunday, and we had a lot of catching up to do. The last two weeks have been insanely busy for me, and I hadn't been out to the farm in a while. Mom showed me all the projects she's finishing up—including a couple of very cute dresses for me. Her big project right now, though, is a quilt for Aunt Diane's upcoming retirement. Di has taught third grade for over thirty years and will be retiring this June, as soon as post-planning is finished.

So Sophie, one of Mom's other sisters, pieced this fantastic quilt top and sent it to Mom to be quilted. Soph loves to piece, but hates to quilt; Mom hates piecing, but loves to quilt. So it worked out pretty well.

Here's the quilt, held up by Mom.

It's a deceptively simple design.

Aren't these school-related fabrics adorable? I think I need a dress out of the cream-colored stuff with cursive letters on it.

Mom explained to me how she was going to quilt it in an unexpected way. Instead of doing what we'd normally expect—just quilting around the inside 1/4" of each piece—she decided to quilt rays in each of the triangles. As Steve/Seeben/El Seebeno worked across the room on a new cat tree, Mom filled me in on the other neat things she'd quilt on it:

MOM: So in the little white triangles around the print blocks, I'm going to quilt either a number, 0 through 9, or a capital letter of the alphabet.

ME: Awww! That'll be so cute! It fits right in with the teacher/school theme!

MOM: Exactly. And in the larger white rectangles bordering each block, I'm going to quilt small words, just like you'd learn in third grade. Here's my list.

ME: Wow! That's neat!

MOM: Yep, just little three- and four-letter words.

SEEBEN: [turning suddenly] You mean like shit and fuck?

ME: [collapsing into recliner, laughing]

MOM: Is this going on E&P?

ME: [still laughing] It's too funny not to.

HAPPY EASTER!

Hope everyone had a blessed and safe Easter. I'm back home in one piece, and will post more tomorrow.

Still here! No tornado.

But we did have some very heavy rain and wind yesterday. Today is nice and sunny, currently 50 degrees in Small Town.

I'm at home today, getting ready to drive to a conference this afternoon so I can present a paper on Friday. Getting Tiny Tech grades together is proving to be a pain in the ass, but I'm making slow progress. I'm also juggling other things: have to pack, pay for and pick up Boo-Boo from the shop (which will involve calling a taxi to get over there), and dealing with my insurance company's suddenly not wanting to pay for my antidepressants, which are often the only things keeping me from killing my students.

Listen up, Blue Cross/Blue Shield of Georgia: you have two options.
1. Pay for my meds.
2. Pay for 50 funerals.

Which sounds like a money-saver to you?

Is that a tornado I hear?

Because a huge, long, trainlike rumble just rolled through the Tiny Tech campus, and a huge gust of wind just slammed the side of the building. Hopefully not—but with the crazy weather we've had the last week or so, there's no telling what could happen by this evening.

Bored at Tiny Tech

Haven't I used this post title before? Hmm, can't remember.

Anyway, I'm bored to death at Tiny Technical College, and have been since 8:15 this morning. I'll be here until at least 5:00 this evening as I wait for students to straggle in and finish their exams.

A day off sounded good to begin with; all I'd have to do is watch students take final exams, and grade them when I got home. But then I realized why my two or three TTC exam days every ten weeks usually turn out to be pains in the ass:

1. I am stuck in the computer lab almost all day, and run out of things to do before long.

2. Tiny Tech's computers won't let me access my Division II University e-mail, so I can't get anything done for tomorrow's D2U classes until I get home this evening.

3. This computer lab is very uncomfortable—it's either freezing cold or burning hot, and if you don't already have scoliosis, these damn chairs will give it to you.

4. I have no cell signal whatsoever in the depths of this massive old building. Not even one measly bar. I can't check on Boo-Boo the Wonder Truck (who's curently in the shop undergoing major repairs), can't call around and try to get info on using the Country Music Hall of Fame's Library in Nashville, can't call Mom and ask what she's up to today...nothing.

I'm so bored that it makes me tired. To recuperate from having done nothing all day, I'll be taking a nap when I get home.

Myrtle Mae Monday: 03/17/08

During this morning's feeding, Myrtle Mae pecked the hell out of Erngeakura's head three times. Poor kitty just wants to be friendly with the chicken; Kamakura and Stripeakura (right and bottom center), however, long ago figured out how MM rolls.

Damn, it's good to be a gangsta chicken.

Food in Denver: Part 2

If you're just tuning in, here's Part 1.

My sister works with a great group of people. They're kind of like the crazy family you wished you'd had, instead of the certifiably-crazy one that really is yours (if your family's anything like mine). This group of seven or eight people goes out to eat at least once a week, and the week that I was in town was no exception. They went out to eat twice and told Pixie to bring me. (I'm always flattered that these folks say to Pixie, "Your sister's in town? Well, bring her to lunch with us!")

On Wednesday of my vacation week, we went to M&D's Barbeque Cafe, at the corner of Race and 28th. Several months ago, Pixie and this group of friends served on a secret BBQ-tasting panel which visited BBQ shacks all over Denver. M&D's earned their highest rating. And in case you doubt that a BBQ place in Denver, Colorado, can actually be worth a damn—the owners are originally from Texas. They know their BBQ. And it is worth many damns.

Matter of fact, "Damn!" was all I could say when our server brought out this rib tips & fries platter. The tips are the most tender part of pork ribs, and these were mixed in with beef rib tips (also very tender), slathered in M&D's secret sauce, and served over fresh-cut French fries.

The fellow who ordered this could only finish half, and took the other half home. He later e-mailed Pixie to say, "I was still full at dinner-time last night. All I had was a small bowl of cereal and an orange." He ate the rest for lunch the next day.

Another of Pixie's friends got the fried catfish, complete with sides of potato salad and cornbread, and a large lemonade. He said it was amazing; the catfish fillet was fried to perfection in a light cornmeal batter, and was not greasy in the least—WOW. Non-greasy fried catfish? That's damn near a miracle. Next time I return, I'll get the catfish. M&D's calls it their specialty, and I can see why.

But wait—ohh, take my fork, precious Lord...

I was feeling a little timid—or was it BBQ snobbery? Who knows—so I took the safe route and got a pulled-pork sandwich with mild sauce on the side. I did not expect the damn thing to be as big as a dessert plate, nor almost as thick as a birthday cake. My God, it was good. Pixie got the same thing, except slathered in M&D's hottest sauce. She and Guy are all for spicy food, and she says that this sauce is one of the few that meet her test for spiciness: it makes her scalp sweat within three bites. She always orders a glass of milk to go along with it.

On Friday of my vacation week, the same group (with a few new people) met up at Snooze, at 2262 Larimer Street in Denver. It's open early in the morning through mid-afternoon; Snooze bills itself as "An A.M. Eatery." And that's probably a good thing, because if this place were open all day long, the people of Denver would weigh 500 pounds each and would walk around in a perpetual carb-induced stupor.

"Jee-zus Gawd!" as my late grandmother would say.

Pixie got this insane almond-vanilla French toast sprinkled with coconut and garnished with fresh fruit. Whew.

I got the vanilla-almond oatmeal brulee—yes, with a thin layer of real creme brulee caramelized across the top and sprinkled with powdered sugar...and with fresh fruit and cream. It was excellent.

More Denver pictures to come; I think this is mostly it for the food, though. We cooked and ate at home a lot, and at Chipotle at least once. This place, to me, is the closest thing to real Mexican food this side of the border. Forget the local Mexican restaurant that serves faux-Mexican food tailored to bland American tastes; you know, mushy refried beans and wimpy salsa and burritos that give you gargantuan farts. Chipotle, even though it's a chain, serves some of the freshest tacos and burritos around.

Small Town, as you might guess, has no Chipotle. When it does, I'll know that Armageddon is upon us.

Food in Denver: Part 1

Looking back at all my Denver trip pictures, I'm realizing that most of them are of food. Really. Maybe I have more in common with FarmGirl Susan than I'd previously thought.

Probably two-thirds of these pictures involve food. But that's what Pixie and I usually do when we visit each other: cook. And eat. A lot. So I guess you can consider this post and the next a very, very short culinary guide to a few places in and around the Mile High City.

The morning after I arrived, we had a spa appointment and then went to the Rialto on the 16th Street Mall. Above is my Eggs Mazatlan: fluffy scrambled eggs wrapped up in a flour tortilla with chorizo (Mexican breakfast sausage, very spicy), onions, bell peppers, cheese, and covered with red chile sauce and cheese. I ate three-quarters of this monstrosity, and then was stuffed. It was excellent.

On Sunday, we met up with Pixie's friend Dame Judith at Cafe Star, located in what Denverites call "China Town." I loved the colored glass divider separating the dining area from the prep area...

...and the awesome 1970s lights on the ceiling.

Dame Judith ordered caramelized apple-strawberry-banana French toast; I think it's made out of brioche, or challah, or something crazy like that. It looked heavenly.

I was in a lunch-y mood and ordered the pesto & pine nut pizza. Mmmmm!

Pixie had salmon-tomato eggs Benedict with a side of home-fried potatoes. It was so good that I couldn't get a picture before she dug in.

More food to come—stay tuned!

The day is upon us

Today was the big day: the beginning of the Spring administration of the Georgia Regents' Exam—the required-yet-pain-in-the-ass rigmarole will last through next Wednesday. I'll be helping proctor the Writing portion of it tomorrow; I've taught the Regents' remedial writing class for several years now but have never been a test proctor. (I have, however, been an SAT proctor, and that was actually fun.) This will probably be a good experience for me, although it does mean that I have to get up again at the butt-crack of dawn in order to be at D2U before 8am. [zzzzzzzzz]

And to give you a hint of just how inane this test really is, here are all 600 of the approved Regents' topics. Students get a random combination of four individual questions out of these 600, each one as silly as the last.

Thursday evening should be fun for another reason: I've been invited to judge a poetry slam featuring local high-school students. While I've been to a couple poetry slams, I've never judged one, so this ought to be a ton of fun. I've invited my own Comp II students to this evening mostly for an extra "skip day" to put under their belts, but I think they'll really enjoy the crowd-reaction-based atomosphere. I'll be sure to update you on how both go.

And, while I'm having one helluva time trying to put together a couple posts on last week's visit with my sister, I can at least give you a picture:

Ahh, yes: shopping in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, in Boulder, Colorado. The mountains are a gorgeous backdrop to the wonderful Sephora they have outside town. (The rest of Boulder is pretty, too, but this is the only place we went while there, on this trip.)

Truth in advertising

While in Denver, I bought (on sale!) a very evening-wearish blouse and a crazy Puccieqsue-print dress from Charlotte Russe. Many of you may know this store as the way-too-cutesy, let's-make-all-young-women-under-23-look-pregnant-with-our-billowy-tunics-and-babydoll-tops store. I love and hate CR at the same time. The retro fashions they have are adorable, but few things come in my size (a Juniors' L or XL). And I also don't care to look as if I have a bun in the oven when I in fact don't. To top it all off, every time I go to a Charlotte Russe store, the shelves and racks are a complete mess, clothes strewn this way and that by silly twittering teenage shoppers. But I have to admit that they sell some very stylish retro tops, skirts, and shoes reminiscent of the late 1950s and early 1960s.

So I opened my e-mail a few minutes ago to find ON SALE! these satin pumps I've had my eyes on for about six months...


The truth in this advertising? Charlotte Russe is patronized and staffed by careless young people. It has to be.

And it's still too bad I can't use my red pen through the computer monitor.

Myrtle Mae Monday: 03/10/08

Since there's not been a Myrtle Mae Monday in three weeks, I figured it was high time for another.

[excited clucking] Mama! You're HOME!

Yes, pretty chicken—Mama loves you, too.

Two of the usual suspects, Kigi and Elvis, snooze after their early-evening meal on the front porch.

Still working on how on earth I'm going to do the Denver posts, as there are SO many pictures to figure out. I don't think I'll do it chronologically, but instead randomly, and will break it up into two or three posts.

Glad to see you folks still reading, even though I've been gone over a week. Thank you!

Back home!

I've finally arrived back in Small Town—the flight in from Denver was a little rough, but the plane landed safely.

The last eight days have been a lot of fun, and I hated to leave my sister and go back to (as we often say) my boring, pedestrian life. Next time I'll try to stay longer.

I promise a photo journal of the trip very soon, probably tomorrow. Thanks to all of you for your continued readership!

Fun things from Denver

So this WAS going to be a long post, full of pictures and tales of all the fun things Pixie and I have been doing the last few days. But, come to think of it, I'm just going to take a nap, and then I'm going to wake up and bid on a handbag for Pixie on eBay. I'll probably have more energy tomorrow, and I'll write a longer post then.

In the meantime—we did go to the spa on Saturday, and got massages, facials, and pedicures. See?


Tooooooes! BLUE TOOOOES!

In Denver

The trip out was insanely long; my flight arrived in Denver around 11pm Mountain Time last night. I also had been awake for almost 24 hours when the flight arrived, so as soon as we got back to Pixie's place, I fell asleep. But I'm here, and we're having a great time so far. I'll post more on our adventures tomorrow.