Myrtle Mae Monday: 06/30/08

It's a pleasant weekday morning at the Happy Kitten Cottage. All the cats and poultry have been fed and petted, and Mama's getting ready to leave for work.

Ernge is enjoying a little alone time on the back patio—her kittens are off exploring the fenced-in yard. She takes her time eating her morning can of Friskies. (Isn't she filling out nicely?)

Little Ernge Kitty thinks he sees another cat through the fence, and gets closer to investigate.

But it just turns out to be fat-ass Davy, who leaps over the fence back into his own yard, almost blowing out an ACL in the process. Little Ernge immediately puffs up and arches his back; his little tail looks like a pipecleaner!

The poor little thing tips the scales at about one-tenth Davy's weight.

Then the growling starts—who's growling at whom, nobody is quite sure. Little Ernge at Davy? Davy at Little Ernge?

Oh, wait—there's a chicken in this yard! She's not happy about all these dad-blamed kitties looking through her fence! And what's this furry little orange thing at the yard's edge?

And what's this huge lilac thing?

MYRTLE: Brrrrrrk! Brrrrk-brkbrkbrkbrkbrrrrrrrk!

DAVY: [hissing] Hcccccchhhhhhhhh!

MYRTLE: Brrrrrrk! Brrrrk-brkbrkbrkbrkbrrrrrrrk!

DAVY: Hccccchhhhhhh! Rrrrrrrrr...

MYRTLE: [ruffles up feathers to look larger] Brk-brk-b'GOCK!

DAVY: [turns and runs back to patio]

But she left Little Ernge alone—Myrtle Mae knows a real challenge when she sees one.

KittehWatch: Day 85

Stripe finally went to the vet on Thursday to get spayed, which left Tiger Lily all by herself in the shed.


She hates being by herself, and raised hell all the time since she had nobody to play with/harass. I didn't think it'd be a big deal, though, since Stripe would only be gone for 48 hours. But there was another problem I hadn't foreseen.

Mom called me Thursday afternoon: "That little house is infested with fleas, now that you don't have five kitties out there for them all to jump on. If you leave Tiger Lily out there by herself and don't flea-bomb the place, her health's going to go downhill fast."

And Mom was right. I arrived home from the Merle Haggard concert Thursday night and walked out to the shed to feed my sassy tabby girl. I was in there for about five minutes, petting T.L. and filling her bowl with food, but came out covered in fleas—I must've picked off 40 standing in the yard under the area lights. They began biting me where they found bare skin, and I felt as if they were digging into my clothing. Good thing all the neighbors had already gone to bed; I ran back toward the house, tearing off my clothes as I ran, trying to get them into the wash so I could drown the little bastards before they infested the HKC.

So I decided that Saturday would indeed be flea-bomb day, and that I'd take Mom's suggestion (as much as I hated it) to give Tiger Lily a bath while the flea spray was settling. I told my sister over IM that I'd bought a flea comb and would get a lot of them off before giving T.L. a bath. And yes, we communicate in LOLSpeak.

ME: gonna try giving TL a bath on Sat. Baffs for kitteh!

PIXIE: ohhhh! baffs! BAFFS!!! Poast on teh baffs!!1!!!!

ME: Lord! You're nutting up over baffs for a little cat!

PIXIE: eeeee! EEEE!!!!!

ME: WTF? I'm gonna TRY, anyhow...
PIXIE: it would be...sho...FWEET!!11!!!!!

ME: Might be too big/old for baffs...

PIXIE: Kitteh nyot det big. nyo kitteh, except Pie and Hook, are too big to be skwuffed. and it needs BAFFS!!

So my sister was looking forward to a small kitteh's bath, and was hoping for an E&P post on said bath. Which, of course, gave me evil ideas.

I brought Tiger Lily indoors, where I had the bathroom all set up for our flea-coming and bath, and then went back out to flea-bomb the hell out of the little shed. (I use Mycodex Plus Aerosol Household Spray, about $11/can from VetAmerica, and worth EVERY PENNY.)

Tiger Lily doesn't do too well with any sort of change. I thought I'd seen her raise hell with her brothers, or when I picked her up, but I had another thing coming.

Meeoooww!

Meeeeeoooowwww!!!

MrrrrroooOOWWWeeeowwww!

Did I mention MeeeeeeeoooooowwwwWWWWW??!?!?!?

I'd set up a litter pan for her in the bathroom, but she didn't quite get the whole clumping-litter thing. It doesn't taste good.

Werird, but Tiger Lily seemed to know after a few minutes that the flea combing, though tedious, was doing her some good. I probably combed 50 of the damn things off of her, and enjoyed drowning them in the soapy water. Heh-heh-heh.

She had to check them out, of course.

And you know what came next, don't you?

Baffs.

I used plain baby shampoo, since I'd be putting a dose of Revolution on T.L. after she was dry—after all, soapy water kills fleas in just a few minutes. And I didn't think two different kinds of strong flea killer (shampoo and then topical stuff) would be good for her health.

Oblivious.

Check what that scale says, kitteh. You'll look like you weigh half that when you're all wet.

Grab. Scruff. Control.

Hmmm. Not too bad, so far.

Oops, spoke too soon.

At this point, Tiger Lily started not just meowing, but screaming—and I mean really screaming, as if someone were killing her. And she probably did think I was going to drown her.

But I just kept her scruffed and tried to keep the soap on her as long as possible. The water turned color pretty soon, sort of like weak iced tea. I could see a lot of flea dirt and dead fleas floating around in there. Bleehhh.

Rinse! RINSE!!!

I will kill u. Kill u till u dy frum it.

But after I towel-dried her, and after her fur aired out, Tiger Lily looked, smelled, and seemed to feel a lot better. I put a vial of Revolution between her shoulder blades, and put some on Stripe, too, after I brought her home.

The fleas in the little shed are now under control, and kitties are quite a bit happier...though still rather distrustful of Mama.

Country Music Class: Interesting Books, Part 2

Here are a few more very helpful country music books I've been using for my special topics class. The first installment is here.

Will the Circle Be Unbroken: Country Music in America, edited by Paul Kingsbury and Alanna Nash. New York: DK Publishing, 2006. ISBN 0-75662-352-9

The Encyclopedia of Country Music, edited by Paul Kingsbury. New York: Oxford UP, 1998. ISBN 978-0-19-517608-7

Lost Highway: The True Story of Country Music by Colin Escott. Washington: Smithsonian Books, 2003. ISBN 1-58834-149-6

The Rose & the Briar: Death, Love, and Liberty in the American Ballad, edited by Sean Wilentz and Greil Marcus. New York: W.W. Norton, 2005. ISBN 0-393-32825-2

KittehWatch: Day 83

The babies are all weaned, and everyone except Tiger Lily has been adopted out. And Stripe will be getting spayed this afternoon! Hooray!

She'll be home Saturday morning. And will probably feel about like that nasty litter box down there.

In other mews...

...there is a plate of kitteh beneath the wood pile.

A sweet, flame-pointy plate of kitteh.

Sing me back home

This evening, I'm off to Atlanta to see Merle Haggard in concert. You read that correctly: Merle By God Haggard, who's playing the Cobb Energy Centre arena this evening at 7:30. The old fart is 71, and who knows how much longer he'll be around—I had plans to see Johnny Cash in concert way back when, and he passed away before I had the chance.

While summer teaching usually means I'm short on funds, I thought it would be well worth the money and hassle of getting to Atlanta to see Merle play. He's one of country music's living legends, and one of the original Outlaws. My students in the country music class were almost as excited as I when I told them where I was going tonight. I told them I'd take as many notes as might be possible during what was sure to be a rocking, rollicking good time. And maybe Haggard will do a few of his famous impressions.

This ought to be one incredible show.

UPDATE, 11:57pm: Merle and his band put on one helluva concert—90 straight minutes of music! I'll post the playlist tomorrow.

Student Essay Insanity #35!

Just when you need the laughs, here's another installment of Student Essay Insanity—and you know you need the laughs. Again, these are from last week's Freshman Writing Improvement Project (FWIP) scoring session.

A refresher: the FWIP essay prompt asked writers to do three things...

1. Identify a belief you held before coming to college;
2. Explain how that belief has been affected by your college experiences; and
3. Interpret for your readers why this has/hasn't been a beneficial experience.

Did the student writers answer the three parts of the prompt? I'll let you be the judge of that, fair readers.

Each blurb below is from a different essay, unless otherwise noted. And as usual—real bloopers, real essays, real students. I neither could nor would shit you about that.

**********

Through many test and trials I have learned how to make "edible" food. Not to mention I spending a lot of money.

[In college] Unlike in schools, students are free for outside help. There are hypocenters, practice labs and all sorts of things where students can practice their skills.

I used to believe that a quicker way to success would be to wear personalities of prodigious men, to escape weakness by skipping it.

It was about mid-day on a Saturday and the truck by us was filling the sky above me with a thick infamous-smelling smoke. ...Questions began to arise and I wanted answers. What type of smoke was that? Why does it come out of the car? What it is doing to the world? The answers thriving inside of me needed answers, so I really gained an insight in the subject of carbon dioxide emissions from vehicles.

Drinking should be done for the legal.

In life it seems that some people want to give us advice.

Country Music Class: Interesting Books, Part 1

Here are a few books that have really been a help as I've been prepping lectures for the class. (I'll post a few more at a time as the semester progresses.) Both country neophytes and longtime fans will get a lot out of these.

Creating Country Music: Fabricating Authenticity by Richard A. Peterson. Chicago: Chicago UP, 1997. ISBN 0-226-66284-5

Real Country: Music and Language in Working-Class Culture by Aaron A. Fox. Durham: Duke UP, 2004. ISBN 978-0822333364

Ring of Fire: The Johnny Cash Reader, edited by Michael Streissguth. Cambridge: Da Capo, 2002. ISBN 0-306-81122-7

Don't Get above Your Raisin': Country Music and the Southern Working Class by Bill C. Malone. Urbana: U of Illinois P, 2002. ISBN 0-252-02678-0

Also a huge help is Country Universe, a frequently-updated blog about all things country. I'm directing my students here as they get started on research for their in-class presentations.

Myrtle Mae Monday: 06/23/08

For the last few weeks, Myrtle Mae has returned to sleeping on the back porch railing, much as she did when she first came to live with me. A possum must've found its way into her coop to scare her like that—there was quite a bit of loud 3AM clucking last month, whereupon I rolled out of bed and found my distressed bird having escaped from her coop and wandering aimlessly around the yard. I scooped her under my arm as Emmitt Smith might a football, and toted her back to her house. For seven nights in a row.

I hate being awakened in the middle of the night, and it's cute to look out the back door late and night and see my chicken snoozing, so I let the back-to-the-coop idea rest for now.

She's kind of pissed off here. I'd just finished giving Ernge and the babies some canned food. When Myrtle's already roosted up for the night, I don't have to worry about her coming along and running off already-bony Ernge from the 9 Lives.

[scratching one drumstick]

[scratching the other drumstick]

Myrtle has Ernge and the babies to keep her company at night. And she's a good "watchdog," too, alerting me to any possums, raccoons, or armadillos in the yard that might harm the kittens.

Lending strays a helping paw

Longtime reader and frequent commenter Syd asked on a previous post:

I've got a mostly feral MomCat living in my yard, and she's working on weaning her 5 kittens...but I want to do a trap-spay-release before she has a chance to breed again. On top of that, we've had a sudden spate of 95-degree weather, and MomCat was panting several times today, despite having plenty of fresh water available. One of my friends does some rescue work and will let me borrow her trap, but I'm afraid that if I catch MomCat first, I won't be able to get my hands (so to speak) on the kittens...and I sure don't want to risk harming them by scaring them off....Any suggestions are GREATLY appreciated!

First of all, Syd, thank you for helping the kitties! You're doing them and your neighborhood a favor by trying to get MomCat spayed before she can have any more little ones. I once read somewhere that just one unspayed queen can be the source of up to 7,000 unwanted kittens (if she has a litter if six and they all live, and each of those six has a litter of six, and each of those 36 each have six, and so on). So what you're doing is remarkable.

I've had a little experience with trying to get feral and semi-feral cats to trust me, and it can be one helluva job. However, my Mom has helped me try to tame Ernge's and her kittens over the last couple of weeks, and while it can be a tough task, it's not at all impossible.

First of all, I assume you're already leaving out food and water, and that's the #1 best thing you can do while you're trying to win the cat's trust. This establishes your place as one where MomCat can go for a square meal, and before long she'll be returning to your doorstep at least daily. It took Kamakura a few weeks to really trust me, and Ernge was the same way. Both finally moved their kittens to the HKC when they realized there'd be at least one good meal a day.

About getting MomCat to let you pet/touch her: this can be dicey, but it's possible. Ernge wanted nothing to do with me, especially after I screwed up months ago when trying to get her into the truck with Moo to go to the vet. Ernge tore my arms to shreds when the truck door scared her, and then I was out of luck until she was forced to come up, starving half to death, and had to let me pet her so she could eat.

Usually, a hungry mother cat will let you touch her at least teensy bit after she gets to know you. Just gently work up to it. Every time you put out a can of food, get a little closer to her. For example, at first you might just watch out the window as she eats, and be sure she can see you but knows you're not going to come out and hurt her. Then, after a few nights of that, you might put out the food and then sit quietly nearby—maybe eight or ten feet away at first. She's hungry, and will eventually get past the fear of your being there. When she's eaten with you nearby for a few nights and figured out you won't hurt her at that distance, you can move a little closer, maybe a foot or so. It takes a looong time, but you'll eventually get to where she'll be right around you.

As for touching her: try winning the kitty's trust first, and then very gently stroking maybe the tip of her tail as she eats, or a light swipe down her spine. Sometimes she'll run away, but sometimes not. If she does run away, don't worry—she probably won't go very far, as she's hungry. She'll come back before long. And little by little, she'll get used to your hands on her.

As MomCat gets used to you, she'll bring the kittens up. They'll probably be tougher to tame than she'll be, as they've grown up with no human contact, but once you've established your house as a place where they can find food even if their Mom's not around, you still have them where you can find them. Ernge's kitties are about average as taming goes. They hiss and spit something awful when you first surprise them and pick them up—maybe cornered around the side of the porch, or stumbling into an empty bucket—but they get the picture once you introduce food.

When trying to catch kittens, it's best to take it one baby at a time. Have some canned food, a dish, and a spoon close by, and when you catch the kitten, scruff it by the fur/skin over its shoulder blades. Holding the little one up like this for a couple seconds will quiet his freak-out reaction; this is how his mama grabs him when it's time to move someplace new. The kitten will also know by this that you're in charge. Then snuggle the kitten close to you, holding him firmly, and get to the food quickly and quietly.

You can put a little food in the dish, or just hold up a few morsels on the spoon, but however you do it, be sure that you have baby in one hand and canned food in the other. Get the kitten's nose and mouth close to the food; he should start sniffing and will probably start to lick and bite it before long. Let him eat as much as he wants. You're letting him know that Miss Syd is a safe, friendly source of food. After he's done, see if he wants a little more. If so, let him eat as much as he wants.

Then pet the kitten gently and talk to him very softly, still holding him firmly. He should be getting the message by now that you're okay. If MomCat is nearby and runs up all worried when she hears her baby yowling and spitting, just show her the baby and let her know it's all right. I put each of Ernge's kittens up to her face when she came running to see about them, and then she was all right. She just lay back down and let me feed the kitties and tweak their irresistible little ears.

I also must add that you should be ready to get the hell scratched out of you. Long sleeves and jeans are a must in case MomCat decides to nut up. (Really, any cat's capable of that; just today, my sweet, fat, indoor Clarky went berserk and left a six-inch-long scratch down my right hip. His claw went right through my nightgown.) With the humane trap, you may never have to pick her up, but it's best to be on the safe side. And old clothes are best in case she pees on you in terror. If you do get scratched or bitten, just wash up with hot water and soap as soon as you're done chasing kittens, and keep a bandage and Neosporin on the cut. (Ernge's little orange boy bit the hell out of my thumb yesterday and actually drew blood, so I'm keeping an eye on this injury.)

Usually, a queen will go back into heat around the time her current litter of kittens is weaned. Chances are that you have enough time to make friends with MomCat and the kids before she's back on the stroll. Once you do trap Mom, the kittens will most likely have already decided you're safe, whether or not their mother's there, and will still hang around and eat while MomCat's away.

Talk to your vet and also with your animal-rescue friend; they're excellent sources of info on befriending and trap-neuter-releasing stray cats. And again, thanks from all of us for helping the kitties.

KittehWatch: Day 78

Yesterday was the day: Mom and El Seebeno were coming to take home their new kittehs. All three of us were very excited.

Kittehs, however, were clueless.


Mom and Steve arrived at my house in the late afternoon when they were done running weekend errands, and we traipsed out to the little gray shed to pack up three of Stripe's four babies. Since she had them mostly weaned, I didn't think she'd be lonely for her babies, but I wasn't sure.

Seeben picked up Yoda first.

Then Mom gathered up Clarence (left) and Orson, whom she called "my little charcoal briquette."

We crammed them in the little kitty carrier and hoped they'd make it the 22 miles back to the Happy Kitten Farm (HKF) without pooping on one another.

Seeben held up Stripe so she could say good-bye to her kitties. "Babies goin' 'way, Mama! Goin' home wif us! What you fink?"

Stripe just purred.

And they were off to the truck.


Mom invited me out for lasagna later on in the evening, and told me to bring the camera. Duh. I wouldn't miss new-kitteh photo ops for anything. And when I arrived at the HKF, things were going pretty well—no major fights or meltdowns yet.

Matter of fact, most of Mom and Steve's kittehs didn't seem to notice or care that there were three new babies in the house.

Seventeen-year-old Teddi didn't care. She sat in her window seat and purred.

Twelve-year-old Cong didn't care, either. He barely budged from the sink.


Poppy, however...

Pissed. off. kitteh.

Poppy's used to being the youngest cat (she's barely a year old). The presence of new little ones did not suit her well. She growled, hissed, and spit all evening.

Orson sat atop the cardboard box, while Clarence sat inside and tried to figure out this new place.

Clarence, who's easily the friendliest of the three kittens, started exploring the living room after a while.

Shy little Yoda hid behind FrankenVac and hoped no one would find him.

Eventually, the kittehs got slightly more adjusted to their surroundings. Orson and Clarence leaped up onto the sofa and let Mom brush them. Yoda ended up either beneath Seeben's recliner or snuggled atop the pile of magazines under the end table.

Meanwhile, back at the Happy Kitten Cottage...

Stripe and Tiger Lily seem just fine. They were happy to see me when I returned home around midnight to feed and pet.

And hoggy little T.L. is happy to have more Tuna Delight all to herself.


Can you believe it was just 78 days ago that the kittehs were born? Time flies when you're having fun and falling in wuv.

Required Listening List: Final Version

After weeks of requests from you and promises from me, here's the list of songs for my country music class. I had to make a lot of very difficult decisions as to what to include and what to leave off; you all gave me such wonderful suggestions. Of course, I’ll no doubt make changes if I get to teach the class again next summer.


**********

“Hungry Ragged Blues,” Aunt Molly Jackson & John Greenway
“Keep on the Sunny Side,” The Carter Family
“Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” The Carter Family
“Ashokan Farewell,” Evan Stover et al. – The Civil War Soundtrack
“Dixie/Bonnie Blue Flag,” New American Brass Band – The Civil War Soundtrack
“Carve That Possum,” Uncle Dave Macon
“Blue Yodel No. 1 (T for Texas),” Jimmie Rodgers
“Hey, Good Lookin’,” Hank Williams
“I Saw the Light,” Hank Williams
“Barbara Allen,” Jean Ritchie
“Wreck of the Old 97,” Vernon Dalhart
“Fox Chase,” Deford Bailey
“Uncle Pen” (1950 single version), Bill Monroe & His Bluegrass Boys
“Blue Moon of Kentucky” (1954 single version), Bill Monroe & His Bluegrass Boys
“Foggy Mountain Breakdown,” Lester Flatt & Earl Scruggs
“This Land is Your Land,” Woody Guthrie
“Wreck on the highway,” Roy Acuff
“Back in the Saddle Again,” Gene Autry
“I Want to Be a Cowboy’s Sweetheart,” Patsy Montana
“Walking the Floor Over You,” Ernest Tubb
“It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels,” Kitty Wells
“If You’ve Got the Money I’ve Got the Time,” Lefty Frizzell
“I’m Movin’ On,” Hank Snow
“Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette),” Merle Travis
“There Stands the Glass,” Webb Pierce
“Shady Grove,” Doc Watson
“I Am a Man of Constant Sorrow,” Soggy Bottom Boys – O Brother, Where Art Thou? Soundtrack
“Heartbreak Hotel,” Elvis Presley
“Blue Suede Shoes,” Elvis Presley
“I Walk the Line,” Johnny Cash
“Hurt,” Johnny Cash
“I Fall to Pieces,” Patsy Cline
“Crazy,” Patsy Cline
“Act Naturally,” Buck Owens
“Streets of Bakersfield,” Buck Owens & Dwight Yoakam
“Kiss an Angel Good Morning,” Charley Pride
“Mama Tried,” Merle Haggard
“If We Make It through December,” Merle Haggard
“Okie from Muskogee,” Merle Haggard
“Good Hearted Woman,” Waylon Jennings & Willie Nelson
“Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way,” Waylon Jennings
“Stand By Your Man,” Tammy Wynette
“Coal Miner’s Daughter,” Loretta Lynn
“Don’t Come Home a-Drinkin’ (with Lovin’ on Your Mind),” Loretta Lynn
“The Pill,” Loretta Lynn
“Hello Darlin’,” Conway Twitty
“Coat of Many Colors,” Dolly Parton
“9 to 5,” Dolly Parton
“The Grass is Blue,” Dolly Parton
“The Year That Clayton Delaney Died,” Tom T. Hall
“Harper Valley P.T.A.,” Jeannie C. Riley
“Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain,” Willie Nelson
“Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys,” Waylon Jennings & Willie Nelson
“Sunday Morning Coming Down,” Kris Kristofferson
“Me and Bobby McGee,” Kris Kristofferson
“He Stopped Loving Her Today,” George Jones
“Ramblin’ Man,” Allman Brothers Band
“Sweet Home Alabama,” Lynyrd Skynyrd
“The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” Charlie Daniels Band
“This Ain’t No Rag, It’s a Flag,” Charlie Daniels Band
“God Bless the U.S.A.,” Lee Greenwood
“All My Ex’s Live in Texas,” George Strait
“On the Other Hand,” Randy Travis
“Fancy,” Reba McEntire
“Whoever’s in New England,” Reba McEntire
“A Country Boy Can Survive,” Hank Williams, Jr.
“Family Tradition,” Hank Williams, Jr.
“Guitars, Cadillacs,” Dwight Yoakam
“Grandpa (Tell Me ‘Bout the Good Old Days),” The Judds
“Why Not Me,” The Judds
“Song of the South,” Alabama
“Mountain Music,” Alabama
“Breathe,” Faith Hill
“Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” Shania Twain
“That Don’t Impress Me Much,” Shania Twain
“Redneck Woman,” Gretchen Wilson
“Wide Open Spaces,” Dixie Chicks
“Goodbye Earl,” Dixie Chicks
“Independence Day,” Martina McBride
“Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy),” Big & Rich
“How Do You Like Me Now?!” Toby Keith
“Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue (The Angry American),” Toby Keith
“Beer for My Horses,” Toby Keith & Willie Nelson

Send me an Angel

I just got word that Tiny Technical Collegeᰬas well as every other tech college in the state—will be switching all online courses to a new delivery platform as of next quarter. We've used BlackBoard for as long as I've been here; the new platform is called Angel. I don't think I've heard of it before.

I didn't see this move coming, but then again, I'm not a full-timer at TTC. As far as I know, I won't need to do much for the content migration, but just in case there are any major faux pas, all online courses will be starting one week later than regular courses. That gives me/us through July 13 to iron out any wrinkles in this new system.

So have any of you heard of or used Angel before? I'll miss some things about BlackBoard, but am looking forward to learning something new. I'm also hoping that Angel is a better platform than the nightmare that is called WebCT.

Student Essay Insanity #34!

That's right, people, it's schadenfreude time! Here's yet another installment of Student Essay Insanity to add a few laughs to your day. Or would that be dry heaves? Hell, I don't know.

These bloopers are from the D2U Freshman Writing Improvement Project, where I've been spending my evenings all this week. Working on this project is great extra money, but a lot of the essays are mind-bogglingly terrible. They make me want to grab these kids' high school teachers by the throats and shout, "Where did you get your teaching certificates? Dollar Tree?!?"

The prompt for these essays asked students to do three things:
1. Identify a belief you held before coming to college
2. Explain how that belief has been affected by your college experiences
3. Interpret for your readers why this has/hasn't been a beneficial experience.

You already know how most of the student writers answered it: not at all.

Each tidbit below is from a different student's paper. And as usual—real bloopers, real essays, real students. I shit you not.

**********

I played [piano] for a few months, and I loved going to the church as much as the church loved having me come.

The media portrays college life as a sexual playground.

American colleges still retain a school-like environment.

However, in similar situations like these, karma will always be present. Therefore, I strated to receive low grades on tests and quizzes. ...But karma took place when tests and grades arrived.

Once college started, those thoughts and feeling have been altering. ...Don't take anything for less than what it's granted. So for the students who are about to embark on a new path, my word of advice is that you should really appreciate what you have before you realize it when it's too late.

College is a once in a lifetime experience. Many people enter college as one person and leave as another.

KittehWatch: Day 74

First of all, Stripe and company are just fine, and will be going to the vet for their checkups and kitten shots on Thursday afternoon. Stripe will most likely get spayed late next week. Hooray!

After dark Sunday evening, I walked out the back door to go to the shed and check on Stripe and her kittens. When I returned, I noticed that Ernge wasn't on the back patio with the babies, as is her nightly habit—she was gone, as were two of the five kittens. The remaining three kittens were huddled fearfully beneath the woodpile, eyes wide at the sight of me.

"It's just me, kitties, um not hurt you," I whispered. The orange one hissed silently, tiny mouth opening and closing again. Awww. So very fierce.

I was a little concerned about Ernge, especially since she's usually around with all her kittens, but I tried not to sweat it. Lately she's been taking a couple kitties off at a time to nurse them by themselves, and that's what I figured was going on. I went back indoors and went to bed without worrying any further.

Monday morning, while getting ready for work, I walked out onto the back patio to feed Ernge and check on her little ones; they're usually out frolicking in the mornings, when it's nice and cool. As I'd expected, Mama and kitties were all on the patio. The babies ran under the woodpile or down into the flowerbed as I fed Ernge in the ratty old chair by the door. When she'd eaten enough for me not be worried that Elvis or Myrtle Mae would steal her food, I walked out to the shed to once again feed Stripe and her bunch. I came back indoors to finish getting ready, after a few minutes of nom-nom-nomming Yoda's irresistible chocolatey ears.


All the outdoor babies were playing sweetly and leaping around, as I'd expected. Cuteness!

But then I noticed Ernge's seal-pointy kitten playing right up next to the side of the house. She had something between her front paws and was chewing on it. There are plenty of things in the back yard that kittens don't need to be chewing on—just the other day, I took a wad of Kigi's nasty fur away from the little gray tabby. So I moved over to see what this little cat had cornered.

The back half of a full-grown rat! EEEEEUUWWWW!!!!!!!

So that's where Ernge had taken those two kittens Sunday night: hunting.

Small. Innocent. Deadly.

Such a proud Mama—her babies learn so quickly.

iPoop

I think—and that's the operative word here, think—that I figured out what I was doing wrong with my iPod. I burned two data CDs as a test, and both played with RealPlayer. Provided nothing else screws up, my students should have all their music on CD by tomorrow.

And a student helped save the day in yesterday's class: she brought in her Bose portable iPod plug-in stereo so we could listen to a few tunes. Bless her heart, she'll be bringing it back today. And then perhaps I can figure out how the hell to get the classroom's multimedia system to let me play my iPod over the room's speakers.

Thanks to all of you for your help and concern. It's not over yet, so I'll keep you posted and may be calling on you for more troubleshooting help.

Student Essay Insanity #33!

Good Lord! Are we up to 33 (numbered) installments of Student Essay Insanity already? It's certainly cause for celebration. Or a seizure.

These are from my Regents' Essay Exam prep classes. The students this time around are a lot of fun, but they sure came up with some silly bloopers on this diagnostic essay. The essay prompt is in boldface type; the funny/bad/poorly-thought-out sentence is below it. And, as always, these are all from actual essays written by actual students. Really. I shit you not.

Should all Georgia public school students be required to wear uniforms? Why or why not?
To me, telling kids they can't wear what they want encrotches on that right to express themselves.

Every applicant for a Georgia driver's license must choose whether to be an organ donor. Would you choose to be a donor? Explain why or why not.
Organs are not very hard to come by, because everyone has organs. But just because everyone has organs doesn't mean they're going to donate them. Which makes a lot of organs hard. to find.

Myrtle Mae Monday: 06/16/08

Cardinal flower? More like chicken flower, if you ask me.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY 2008!

Or, "Happy fuckin' Father's Day!" as we always say around here. It's our family tradition to wish each other a merry fuckin' Christmas, happy fuckin' July 4th, happy fuckin' Flag Day, happy fuckin' Cinco de Mayo. You get my drift.

My dad passed away in 1997, so I'm remembering him today. And of course, I'm honoring my stepfather, Steve/Seeben/El Seebeno, this Father's Day, as he's my "other dad." Friday night, I gave him a card with You're as awesome as a diamond in a goat's ass on the inside, to go along with our "happy fuckin' _______" tradition.

There are two especially funny stories—one about my Dad and one about Seeben—that I want to tell you, but I'm still working on them. Hopefully, they'll be up mid-week. (Tomorrow will be Myrtle Mae Monday again, if all goes according to plan.)

This afternoon found Mom, Seeben, and me at our favorite local BBQ joint. We eat there all the time because we really like it, but all sorts of special occasions find us there, too—job promotions, end-of-semester celebrations, Pixie's & Guy's visits home, good-riddance-to-the-old-ball-and-chain parties, Seeben-got-a-2-cents-per-mile-raise parties, Mom-finished-that-damn-quilt celebrations...you name it, we'll probably be there eating BBQ. I tell the manager every time we walk in that I'm expecting our names to be engraved on one of the tables pretty soon. Seriously. Some weekends, we eat at Small Town BBQ three times. If they served brunch, we might well be there Sunday mornings, too.

Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there!

KittehWatch: Day 71

So I know many of you have been wondering what on earth happened to Stripe and her kittehs, since it's been almost three weeks since I last posted about them. Well, okay—maybe not exactly wondering, but more like, "WHERE THE HELL ARE MY DAMN KITTEHS?!?!?!!"

Never fear. Everyone is just fine, and growing like so many little weeds. And there are more pleasant surprises, too. Like the news that the kittehs are almost completely weaned.

And for poor Stripe, the news could not come any sooner.

Oops. Forgot to put my tongue back in, Mom.

She got to lie down in my lap and snuggle this afternoon for the first time in a long time. For most of the last two months, she's been too busy with baby kitties to be petted and held by her own "Mama."

Yoda is freaking adorable, and gets more so with each passing day.

Sorry about the inadvertent West Virginia shill. I've been to Morgantown a few times and had a really good time while I was there.

I wanted a pic of Stripe and Yoda, but I think I got the camera/flash too close. You see my point, though.

Little Tiger Lily is still rambunctious, still raising hell. She was chewing on the door molding here. So fierce!

Clarence is about as cute and sweet as they come. When you pick him up, he's just still and quiet, giving you a slight little prrprrprr as you pet him.

At first, Mom wasn't going to adopt any of Stripe's kittehs, and that was okay with me. She already has, like, 11 cats of her own, and it was my responsibility to find homes for all the babies. But with all Stripe's problems when the kitties were born, and all the care we had to give them when they were tiny, her point of view changed.

When Yoda's fur started to change color from ivory to seal-point, he started to remind Mom and Steve/Seeben/El Seebeno of Skooter, may he rest in peace—their long-lost favorite part-Siamese cat who was hit by a car a few Thankgivings ago. "Wellll, maybe we'll 'dopt Yoda," Mom said. "He can be our replacement Skoot."

So it was decided that Yoda was going home to the Happy Kitten Farm as soon as he got old enough. The weeks passed by, and Seeben would call home every day, sometimes two or three times a day, to ask Mom, "Did you go check on mah kittehs?!?"

"His kittehs?" I asked Mom, doing the "air quotes" with my first two fingers.

"Yes. His kittehs," she air-quoted back.

"Hmph," I said. "He talks a good game, all right."

So Mom's been stopping by the house twice or three times a week while in town to check on Miss Lucille, Steve's elderly mother. She's dropping in on her way home, ostensibly to "use [my] DSL and pay bills online." Yeah, right.

"I've tum to get mah kittehs," Mom said a few weeks ago as she walked in the door of the kitty shed.

I looked hard at Mom. "Your kittehs? Plural?"

"Yiss. Mah. kittehs."

"And these would be....?"

Mom scooped up Yoda—and Clarence. "I've got mah kittehs. Goin' home now, kthxbai."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, Mommy."

As the weeks went on, though, it got worse. Mom called me at my D2U office one afternoon: "Come home so I can get all mah kittehs! Um takin' dese kittehs HOME wif me! Poppy's bored and wants some little brothers!"

I started giggling. A grandmommy to a T, no doubt. "So, umm, Mom? How many of these kittehs are your kittehs?"

"ALL OF 'EM!!!"

As soon as they get their shots, dewormer, and flea stuff, Yoda, Clarence, and Orson will be going to live with Mom and El Seebeno, and terrorize the other 11 kittehs at the farm. (Tiger Lily will probably stay with me, unless I can find her a home.)

Yes, Mom's new kittehs are all boys. The ear-biting awesomeness will be out of this world. They've all come such a long way, haven't they?

In the meantime, though...remember my mentioning Ernge (that's Southern for "orange"), Moo and Stripe's sister? The one I couldn't catch in order to take to Planned Kittyhood?

She disappeared a few weeks ago, and I was worried something had happened to her. She didn't look big enough in the belly to already be having the kittens. But then she showed up, bedraggled and with a nubby belly. She'd had her kittens somewhere. Just not around here.

Pitiful and skinny.

I gave her a couple cans of store-brand wet food a day; as skinny as she was, I figured she must have had a huge litter. When she dragged up to eat, I'd pet her and ask, "When you gonna bring your kitties up? Hmm? Why don't you bring them here, bebeh? Um not hurt your kitties. Plenty of foods here." But she'd still disappear back across the street and down the block every time she finished eating.

I left for my Nashville trip and tried not to worry about the cats. Mom and my friend Lois were looking after them, and I'd left plenty of outdoor-cat food and instructions to feed Ernge as much as she'd eat, if she came up.

I was on the first full day of my trip when I checked my cell phone. Three new voicemails—oh, crap. One was from the Colonel, which I expected. Two were from Mom. Oh, no, I thought, something's happened to the cats.

"Ummm...ummmm..." Mom's first voicemail was sort of urgent. And cute. "Ummm, you need to come home and stuff. Cuz, umm, Ernge? She brought up her kittehs? And one time, one time, we had pancakes, and kittehs...and there's, umm, two kittehs on your porch..."

I called Mom back. "Umm, I was wrong," she said sheepishly.

"Wrong?"

"There's five."

"FIVE?!? Ernge? Five kittehs?!"

"Yiss. Um gots two in my overalls bib right now. Dey're not old enough to eats canned food, though. Ernge doesn't seem to mind my toting them 'round...umm, and stuff..."

"Mom, you're just as a big a sucker as I am. I don't even wanna hear it."

I returned home late last Thursday evening, but saw only Ernge for the next few days. She was hanging around, and must have hidden her babies under the house.

Until Monday morning, when I was headed to D2U's first day of classes. First two little ones...

...two more little ones...

...a whole passel of little ones! All over the back patio and under the woodpile! Oh! my! LOOOORD!!!!!

All told, Ernge brought up five kittens: one orange tabby like her; one gray tabby like Tiger Lily, but with an orange splotch on her forehead; two flame-point Siamese mix, and one seal-point Siamese mix (sort of looks like Yoda, but with ivory and cappucino blotches on one front paw and both ears).

More little mouths to feed? Yep. And it's awesome.

Ernge's kittens aren't very people-oriented, but there's time to remedy that; they're about five or six weeks old. I'm catching and petting them when I can, and am feeding them a little canned food whenever I feed their Mama. Maybe they'll make the same association she did: Miss Kitty = food + safety.

They're all living under the kitchen for now. And all is well at the Happy Kitten Cottage.

Get your balloons ready

Yesterday, I received an urgent campus-wide e-mail from Tiny Technical College's welding instructor:

Does anyone know where the helium tank is? If you do, please let me know ASAP.

Dude! The English Department has it, and boy, are they gettin' stupid out behind the student center.

Really, though, I was so tempted to call him and leave a high, squeaky voicemail.

The iPod is a joke.

Yeah, it's sacrilegious, but it's the conclusion I've come to.

For the last couple of days, I've been DESPERATELY trying to get music for my students in the country music class. I considered a LOT of options that you readers sugested for getting the music to students in a cheap, accessible fashion. To help with this, I broke down and bought an iPod a few weeks ago; many people had suggested it as an easy way to help my students get the 80 or so songs they'd need. I went ahead and bought these songs on iTunes, transferred them to my iPod, and had planned to burn data CD-ROMs of the songs that students could open and upload to their home computers. I was really looking forward to passing on these songs to my students in a format they could use and understand, and could just upload to their home computers.

However, this has been an exercise in frustration.

What am I doing wrong? Maybe buying it was what I did wrong. I worked from 7:30 last evening until 1:00 this morning trying to get everything straight. STILL NOTHING. Oh, yeah—fucking forget uploading the .mp3s to WebCT. IT DOESN'T WORK.

The things I supposedly "burned" last night won't play (so why did iTunes tell me they'd burned? "Burn complete, you may remove CD"), and my campus computer/Windows Media Player has NO IDEA that my iPod is even there, so there's no way I can play ANY of these goddamn songs for my students EVEN IN CLASS TODAY. I feel like an idiot for buying this goddamn thing, and I hate myself for ever teaching this stupid-ass class. I'd burst into tears, but I have a class in three minutes.

Would anyone like to buy a barely-used joke? $214 and it's yours, shipping included.

Is there such a thing as PREEMPTIVE FAIL?: EPIC FAIL Week #16

For a class that last week was past "overload" status with 27 students, my country music class sure has thinned out. Monday, I counted 22 students on the roll; Tuesday, we'd lost one more. Oh well, I thought, it happens sometimes. And it would be one fewer set of papers and presentations to grade.

Tuesday's class was another good one, happily. Right after it ended, I went to another classroom to teach a Regents' Essay Writing class. The morning Regents' class is a little sleepy, but a good group anyway. After this class, one young lady had a few questions, so she waited as I got my things together and walked alongside me as I went back to my office. "I'm really enjoying this class so far, even though it's for the stupid Regents' Exam," she said.

"Well, I'm glad. Hopefully, it'll help you pass the test so you won't have to worry about it anymore."

"I hope," she sighed. "By the way, are you teaching any Comp II classes this summer, or in the fall? Maybe I can sign up now."

"Sorry," I replied, "I won't be doing Comp II until next spring, probably. The fall is all English 1101 for me, and this summer is Regents' prep and a special topics class on country music."

"Country music?!"

"Oh, yeah. 'Country Music and Southern Culture' is the course title. You'd really be surprised how much there is to learn about it. Scholars have started to take it seriously only in the last 30 years or so."

"It sounds really interesting!" the student said, "And—didn't you used to have a guy in there named Kenny*?"

"Ummm, yeah, met him yesterday. Nice fellow." I figured she must know Kenny* from another class, or maybe friends.

"Kenny's* my boyfriend's roommate," the student explained. "I think he might've dropped your class—"

"Oh, yeah, he might have," I said, trying to think back to what the hell my temporary roster looked like that morning. "Too bad."

The student continued. "Yesterday, I was over at my boyfriend's dorm room watching TV when Kenny* walked in. He dropped his bookbag, slammed the door, and just stared at the wall. I looked at him, like, 'What's the matter with you?' And he said, 'I have just spent 90 minutes in hell. A class on country. music.'"

Somehow, I found this funny rather than insulting. "Oh, really? Well, at least he had the sense to drop now, because if you reeeally don't like country, my class isn't for you." And really, Kenny's* reaction made sense. Seems like he was wearing a P.O.D. t-shirt yesterday in class. Yeah, that was probably the wrong course for his summer elective.

The student laughed and agreed. "Yeah, I think he just saw a bunch of Interdisciplinary Studies classes in the Bulletin and didn't really pay attention to what he signed up for."

"Whoops! He won't do that again, will he?" I laughed.

"Nope!" The student told me that to her the class sounded pretty interesting, even though she didn't really like country music. One of my colleagues taught a class called "Opera as Literature" last fall, and this student took and really enjoyed it, much to her delight. We talked a little about the opera class, and then the student excused herself to go to her next class.

When I returned to the office, I instant-messaged my sister about the whole conversation. "Good thing he dropped, hmm?"

She replied, "Hmph. Sounds like PREEMPTIVE FAIL to me."

A good start

The country music class was a great success for the first day—this looks to be a wonderful group. They range in age from 19 to 66, all different ethnic backgrounds and socioeconomic groups, and many varying degrees of interest in country music. A young black woman told the class of her pact with her brother-in-law to keep their love of country music "on the D.L." so no other family members would find out. A lot of us laughed at that; several other black students and many of the white students also confessed to feeling as if they couldn't often share with others their enthusiasm for twangy vocals, fiddles, and steel guitars. Two students spoke up and said that while they didn't like country music at all, they were taking the class in the hopes that they could at least get a little appreciation for the genre.

This damn PowerPoint presentation I'm doing for tomorrow is kicking my ass. I'm just learning to use PP and make slideshows succinct so they don't make my students dumb...or put them to sleep. We'll be covering the early days of country music—back when it was called "hillbilly music" and nobody saw anything derisive about the term—for the next couple days. The song list should be done by tomorrow evening, and I'll post it here after I hand it out to the students.

Here are the three books I required for the class, complete with Amazon.com links. They're great reading for all kinds of music lovers, and are very informative about the genre.

• Rednecks and Bluenecks: The Politics of Country Music by Chris Willman
• Country Music Goes to War, edited by Charles K. Wolfe and James E. Akenson
• Finding Her Voice: Women in Country Music, 1800-2000 by Mary A. Bufwack and Robert K. Oermann

This is going to be fun for us all.

Myrtle Mae Monday: 06/09/08

The lavender by the back gate is in bloom, but Myrtle Mae doesn't care.

She does care about the blueberries that are just now beginning to ripen on the shrubs beneath the living room window.

I picked a few for myself, but thought I'd give my feathered girl a couple, too. And she really enjoyed them.

Myrtle has also figured out who gets which kind of food, and where. This chair is where I feed poor, skinny, bedraggled Ernge her canned food. She's nursing five kittens and needs all the calories she can get.

Myrtle wants some canned food, too.

Brrrk? Brkbrkbrkbrkbrk?
Mama, where's my Fancy Feast?

NashVegas: Where do I start?

The trip to Nashville, as I mentioned in Thursday's post, was fantastic, and I don't even know where to begin telling you about it. I've never had so much fun doing work—research for my country music class and my own scholarly project. I stayed almost four full days, and each day was crammed with great sights, sounds, and experiences. I still didn't get to see everything I wanted, but that's to be expected. A body would probably need a couple weeks just to visit all the really important places. Seriously, I was just about ready to move up there. (If I managed to get into the Ph.D. program at Vanderbilt, you bet your sweet bippie I'd be there faster than you could say Tom T. Hall.)

The Colonel is originally from Nashville, and had planned to go with me on the trip. Unfortunately, he had to stay home to have a malignant skin cancer removed from his cheek; the doctor thinks he got it all, and the incision looks pretty good. (The Colonel also stayed home to keep the promise he made to his son to help finish painting the son's house—a job that began over a month ago—but that's another story.) He felt really badly about not getting to go with me to show me around town, so he did the next best thing: he rented me a reliable car with A/C for my trip, and put together a detailed map of where I'd be traveling all around Nashville.

So the little Kia Rondo with the crazy-powerful air conditioning really spoiled me, as Boo-Boo only has a 2-70 A/C System (2 windows down, 70 miles an hour), and the Colonel's map of NashVegas was a huge help. I found everything I wanted to find, and more. The Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum, Hatch Show Print, RCA's famous Studio B, the Ryman Auditorium, Printer's Alley, Music Row—wow. I wish I'd had time for the backstage tour of the Ryman, as well as time to go on the drive-by tour of country stars' homes, but that'll have to wait for another time, another trip. (Seems like I remember reading somewhere about a Haunted Nashville tour. That would be awesome.)

Going by myself worked out very well: I got to learn the town on my own, and it made the mental map of Nashville stick in my head. Had I been riding around with the Colonel, I might not have paid much attention to where we were going and how we got there.

All told, I took around 500 pictures. I dread uploading them to the computer and sorting through them, but at least I'll get to relive a great trip. And I have so many earworms in my head. Right now, it's "Carl Perkins' Cadillac" by Drive-By Truckers.

Now back to completing the syllabus for tomorrow, the first day of summer classes.

Is that you, Merle?

There is so much wonderful stuff at the Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum that I just don't know where to begin. It took me three days to take it all in—and that's spending three to five hours in there per day. The Hall's permanent exhibit, "Sing Me Back Home: A Journey through Country Music," is absolutely fascinating and an out-of-this-world tour of the genre for both newbies and lifelong fans. Go, go, GO if you can.

One of the things that especially interested me was the section on country music's longtime presence on television, both for musical performances and comedy. This video, from The Marty Robbins Show, was among the hilarious tidbits. It's a bit grainy at first, but gets slightly better after the first 30 seconds.

Did you know that Merle Haggard is a master impressionist? Neither did I. Watch Robbins' facial expressions—they're priceless.

I am home from Nashville.

And will post a lot more later. It was an awesome trip; I've just now walked in the door.

In the meantime...

--To the lady in the blue-print skirt at the Country Music Hall of Fame who carefully scooped up a stray butterfly and gently carried it back outside into the courtyard: thank you.

--To the people in the red Explorer who pulled over on the side of Interstate 24 West and backed up for 300 feet just to rescue the two skinny, frightened, abandoned dogs I had just seen: thank you.

--To the scruffy, long-haired Willie Nelson-esque guitar player at the corner of Broadway and 4th Avenue who stopped in the middle of a song just to say as I walked by, "Ma'am, you're a very pretty lady:" thank you.

--To the servers at the restaurants I frequented, who made me feel welcomed and not at all weird for being by myself: thank you.

--To all the kind people from Nashville—and from every other corner of the globe!—whom I met while roaming all around town: thank you.

What hath going outside wrought?

Maybe spending most of the day in the backyard is proving good for Davy's temper. He and Hobo Kitty slept like this for an hour—no hissing, spitting, or pooping.

Myrtle Mae Monday: 06/02/08

Oh, don't you worry about that. This is a chickens-only yard.

Unexpected gems

On this muggy evening—it's currently 78 degrees in Small Town, with 86% humidity—I'm grading Tiny Technical College papers. Happily, these aren't at all crappy; I've come upon some good writing in this batch. These examples struck me for different reasons: one for humor, one for honesty and vulnerability.

The first lines of an essay on how to rid your home of mice:
Have you ever had an unwanted guest that just wouldn't go away? Well, other than your in-laws.

From the final paragraph of an essay on the drug-overdose death of a student's best friend:
Even with all the problems Teresa* had, she was still my best friend. When she was alive all the good times we had did not seem important to me. Now I wish I could do it all over again. I would cherish every moment. My friend Teresa died thinking that I did not love and care for her, and I hate that. I really do.