Sugared Harpy

This is what your boyfriend’s purse dog, Meko, looks like after a day of wearily eyeing cats who are pointedly eying her.

I’ve been enduring training for the possibility of teaching some online classes. Really as supplemental income to my regular teaching…and I’m curious about it. The training is three weeks, all online, and the assignments are simple, more of a way to teach you the software and the university’s expectations for instructors and students.

Okay, so.

One assignment called for me to respond to particular scenarios posted. As in, what would I do as an instructor?

This is one such scenario (edited down a bit, it was longer):
You give your students the usual bio assignment at the beginning of an introductory English class. One student, Jerri, responds with this post: “Straight up – I’ll duke you out for class English chicken…no really. Hair pull to the knee…. WHACK! That’s Phat!

Whack! That’s Phat! Those don’t even go together, but oy.

I doubt if “That’s cool,” is posted it would be considered a problem.

Another scenario got me irritated because of other trainee responses, not the thing itself:
A graduate student asks for an extension on a paper. When he does turn in the paper, you find that it is exactly the same as one turned in by another student. The other student turned his in on time.

My response was something along the lines of (1) It’s possible the the students exchanged papers to see if they were on the right track, and the late student accidentally uploaded the wrong paper. A quick email should fix that right away, seeing that they would have the correct paper readily available. (2) If the late party is clearly guilty, the former party may or may not have realized that their work was being used but should have exercised caution before sending out their paper. (3) Both could have used the same paper-writing service, which is not acceptable.

My actions, however, for most of the above situations are pretty much the same. Copy both papers for my records, file and incident report with the school, and contact the students.

Here’s what got my goat. Most of my fellow trainees could not understand that I was seeing multiple situations and still adhering to school policy of filing an incident report.

“As long as these papers were not originally shared in the distance class, then someone email the other student the paper. Sorry but that is the situation.” (Typo not mine)

“Melissa, students need to learn “early on” that rules and regulations are important. That should be taken into mind.”

“Melissa, no question between two students, academic integrity is violated by each student. We need to stick to rules of plagiarism without a doubt.”

And yet their own answers were: file an incident report. Just like mine. My answer just didn’t come with the automatic assumption that students are out to get me. Some totally are, some just aren’t.

My children are home! My children are home! For now!

Because they are going to Nana’s tonight. And tomorrow. And Mike’s the next day.

And they just spent the last week, and a total of 17 days this month with their father.

Yes, folks, this is how a full custody single mother lives when her kids are blessed with lots of love from near and far.

Gotta go get some snoozling time in before they’re off again…

So, over this past week a huge thing happened in my household. My laptop, she died.

I mean, it flashed IMMINENT HARD DRIVE FAILURE and then failed. It never was able to boot up properly again. NB is going to look at it, but gah.

Gone.

Everything on it is gone. Unless he can get it back, that is. And then I really would love him forever. That’s how you win my love around here, service me.

Thankfully, THANKFULLY, a few months ago the thing started overheating and then just shutting off. NB took my laptop, performed some magic and it’s been fine ever since (um, except for that dying part). The THANKFULLY part is that when he did that, he backed up all my files.

HOORFUCKINAY!

Now, whatever I’ve added to my computer since then is possibly still gone. But it could have been so, so much worse. Years of my teaching work, writing work, my WORK, would be lost. People, do you know how long it takes to put together a semester’s worth of powerpoints?

Forever. It takes forever. And I do not have forever until August.

After spending a buttload of time trying to make my laptop work again, I gave up.

And by the time I called NB about it, I had already bought a new laptop. I NEED one.

This (waves hands around) is my office. This is my workplace. My workplace has a corner desk nestled up to my bed, with a cat lying behind the screen and one on the floor at my feet. Today I have NB’s puppy here (acclimating the cats and her, you see) on the bed, backed up to my chair.

I can’t go without a laptop until it’s maybe fixed. This is where I make my living. Yadda yaddah teaching, but it’s summer. I’m researching and writing. And hells, when it is August again and I am teaching again, I’ll do the grunt work here and not at the schools. Have you seen how adjuncts work?

Mama needed an excuse for a new laptop anyway, a six year old model that crashes with all her files is a good enough reason. So she got a pretty one:

Shuttlecock, that is!

Grounds of the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, Kansas City (Rodin’s The Thinker and Oldenburg and van Bruggen’s Shuttlecocks):

Thanks to a super spontaneous trip, as suggested by the boyfriend right when we were walking in for dinner Friday night.

My younger son started playing the trombone this year.

His school does this awesome thing where they set up all the different instruments in the common area during an informational meeting close to the beginning of the school year. Kids walk around blowing their germs into various mouthpieces, then decide if they really want to go into band and then think about what they want to play.

Brett deposited his germs quite faithfully on a multitude of mouthpieces and as one of the tiniest kids in his class, he ended up turning me that day and saying,

“I want to play the trombone.”

“Um, schwaaaaa?”

“Trombone.”

“How about this nice little clarinet?”

“Trombone.”

“A trumpet?”

“Trombone.”

“I see.”

To the band director: “Is he too small?”

BD: Sticks a trombone in his hands. He can barely do the furthest pull. “Nope, he’s a fine fit.”

(To Brett) “Watch this. See how all the other instruments just sit there quietly as they play, watch the trombone! The slide shines and BOOM BOOM BOOMS back and forth during a concert! It’s a showman’s piece.”

“Mom, TROMBONE!”

“Trombone it is.

So, he started playing his new, expensive hunk of personal treasure and with the very good fortune of a competent, tough, but super fun teacher, he’s loved it. Each instrument is in its own class, meaning the throughout the entire year, Brett has only played with other trombones.

His teacher believes that this early concentration on their own instruments is key to future success. She figures that muddling it up under and over other instruments takes away some focus when they should really be learning what THEY can do first. So none of these band members have been playing together, not until the few rehearsals before the concert.

Brett was quite surprised to learn the trombones had some solo parts, and also quite pleased, and not scared to “really go for it” as his teacher had instructed. He was also a bit surprised that hey, the songs sound REALLY different with the full band.

His teacher also has the belief that first year students should not play a mid-year concert with the rest of the grades’ bands. She wanted them to have the time in and utmost confidence to really enjoy that first concert.

Naturally, I found this most awesome. Setting up kids for the best possible outcome rings true for me, and so I waited and waited and waited until the very end of the school year for his first concert.

Can you spot Brett?

Can you tell that we live in a white flight suburb?

Let me tell you something, I was totally blown away by this sixth grade band. I mean, sure, they made a few mistakes heres and theres but holy crap, I don’t even know if I heard one clarinet squeak. They sounded better than my twelfth grade band ever could have. Their eight grade band? AMAZING. Man sized, footballer-looking, eighth grade boys played this super cool song on the BELLS. They won top honors this year at competition.

Without further ado, I give you the unasked for, unsolicited sprinkling of sixth grade band music you know you were dying for, at least what my camera could record before its stupid batteries died.

I want you to be aware that this is their FIRST performance and the third time the entire band had ever played together:

Brett’s band director was correct, the trombone is indeed made for this budding showman.

I don’t care what line of bullshit is being fed to us, THIS tells me something.

When the only ones making money around here are the gas companies, I can’t help getting madder and madder at the gas pump.

This is quite possibly the greatest song ever made with the greatest first and last lines. Ever. We all need a little jolt of woman power sometimes and Erykah Badu always, ALWAYS fits the bill.

I just opened my inbox to find I’d received several emails from a couple I know getting married in the fall.

Emails that all said, “HEY! We’re registered here. And here. And here! And HERE! Here’s how to buy us these gifts and if you have questions about our gift preferences and gift getting, just ask us. Also! Buy us these gifts!”

I can’t help but find this very tacky. As you know, I’m all refined and shit.