28 October 2003

[Enough or Too much]

I wonder how William Blake would react to Fred Phelps and his Baptist crusade to piss off all rational beings. Where have all the assassins gone? While watching Dubaya today (his broadcast rudely interrupting my viewing of The Price is Right, no less!), I was praying for gunshots: one to his head, two to his chest (Compton style!). Alas, 'twas only a pipe dream.

27 October 2003

[Wanna now what *I* think, Oprah?]

Elizabeth Smart's parents need a good bitchslapping.

27 October 2003

[If it's not plugged in, it won't go down]

[In reference to the toaster] My contribution to dirty kitchen talk for this day October 27th, 2003.

26 October 2003

[What do you mean, I can't use my Sister's Boyfriend's Youth Minister as a Reliable Resource?]

I'd just like to drop a note posing this question: Why is it that my Preparatory Composition (English 099) and Preparatory Writing (English 097) students (they supposedly write below the English 101 level) are writing better essays than my English 102 students? And this: If your professor said a paper needed to be four to six pages long, would you turn in a two and half page paper, hoping she "just wouldn't notice?" Giving. Fs. is. Fun.

23 October 2003

[Why is There *not* a Wheelock's Latin in my Library. Why?]

I am taking what little benefits the University of Cincinnati will offer me. I earned eight credit hours last year as a part time adjunct; and this year, as a full time adjunct, I earn four credit hours a quarter. I've decided that stimulating my braincells via upper level Latin and conversational French would be a good idea, as most Winters -- even without the misery of grading "college" papers -- do nothing but cause fatigue and depression; I think sitting in the classroom -- again -- as student would be beneficial, not only for my sanity, but also for my PhD pursuit, as most English-related programs require solid knowledge of at least two languages. Tonight, after meeting with Jamie and Dr. Williams to discuss Ellison, Sean and I are heading to the new Half Price Books in Northgate. Perhaps there will be a used Wheelock's waiting for me. I'd also like to pick up some Ovid and Tibullus, for fun. Yeah, I'm a nerd.

21 October 2003

[Budweiser Rocks my Ten Inch Dick]

I have the worst heartburn, ever. Plus, I look like I just danced off the set of a GAP commercial. Oh, the agony.

17 October 2003

[Keep on Shinin']

Getting to hear about Ricky Skaggs' mother, whose "fried chicken would bring peace to the Middle East," was only one of the many things that forged a smile on my face last night. Between reliable cab service, surprisingly satisfying five dollar Budweisers, a smoke filled Port-o-Potty, and excellent music provided by Del McCoury and Ricky Skaggs, well, I was in heaven. Let my white trashiness be known: the one thing I like about Cincinnati is that it's still "South" enough -- that Kentucky and Tennessee legend, lore, and music are a-okay and not deemed products of "back-woods" inbreeding. Sean and I caught a cab around ten after eight, arrived at the Public Landing ten minutes later, and made a direct trek to the beer stands closest to the P&G Pavilion. Del McCoury, sporting his most excellent white hair -- air dried and slicked -- led his band in an array of good tunes, originals and "covers" (you can't be certified Bluegrass band without covering Flatt & Scruggs or Bill Monroe or the Stanley Brothers), illustrating the timelessness of the genre. I don't know how many times I heard someone yell "Rocky Top!" from the audience . . . Though Bill Monroe’s been gone for several years now, his spirit was very much alive through Ricky Skaggs. I didn’t get to hear “Blue Moon of Kentucky,” but was quite satisfied nonetheless -- from “Black Eyed Suzie” to “Foggy Mountain Top” and through two encores. And, by the way, Andy Leftwich is officially my favorite fiddle player. Amazing. Thanks to Skaggs’ remembrances of his mother -- especially her lard soaked chicken (skin and all), Sean and I craved Popeye’s this evening. Oddly enough, there was a fire in a Springdale apartment complex last night: caused by someone frying chicken (I guess we weren’t the only folks cravin’). After leaving the festivities, Sean and I caught a cab and headed uptown to The Lab. I drank an Amstel Light, which capped off the sixty ounces of Bud I drank throughout the night. I felt old there. Most of the bar-goers reminded me of my students. But the fact that I was pretty toasted probably kept me from caring too much. So, yeah, I had a bit of a hang over this morning, and, yes, I teach on Fridays.

17 October 2003

[Five Dollar Drafts and Good, Clean White Trash Fun]

Del McCoury and Ricky Skaggs were EXCELLENT. More later.

16 October 2003

[Note:]

After working a twelve hour day, I was hardly in the mood to complete the various tasks on the "To Do" list I created while my prep. reading and writing two students brainstormed ideas for their second formal essay. Cleaning the cat box, vacuuming the living room rug, scouring the bathroom, and putting away clothes that have been clean since Friday night will have to wait until tomorrow. My car's windshield is being replaced early tomorrow, as there is a huge crack on the passenger side, thanks to a zero deductible and the "glass claims" people at State Farm; this will motivate me to wake at a decent hour and undertake the things I need to do around here before I'm forced to sit still and grade like a mad professor. Also, I want to see Ricky Skaggs at Tall Stacks tomorrow night. Sorry if my obsession with Bluegrass is a bit too white trash for you all. I'm fine with my appreciation of music by the likes of Bill Monroe and Earl Scruggs. At least I have good teeth. "You sure do got a perty mouf."

14 October 2003

[99 Bottles]

I have fourteen papers left to grade. Thank God, week five is approaching. Quarters move so quickly, and while I feel like everything must be done in a whirlwind fashion during these brief ten week terms, I appreciate the quarter system as it keeps me organized: seventeen weeks of stuff simply does not fit into a folder well. I can only work so long without a sufficient break. So, all of you college students, who think Professor So and So "doesn't understand" your stress, please know that, well, "yes, we do."

13 October 2003

[Calling it a Night]

As much as I'd like to finish grading these papers tonight, I'm accepting the fact that I'm pooped. Seriously. My eyes are tired and I've come to terms with the fact that I can't write anymore legible comments on my students' papers as my hands are cramped and tired. I guess I could suck it up, load up on caffeine, and pull an all nighter. But, I'd like to hit the gym tomorrow. I foresee a day of being cooped up in a coffee-shop grading English 102 essays. Joy.

13 October 2003

[This Weekend:]

I did laundry. I de-burred Sean's pants and shirt, the ones he wore when he decided to roll around in Burnet Woods. The pants required three soaks in the bathtub and four hours of hand picking dried burrs from the fabric. The shirt required intense spot cleaning, hand washing with OxyClean, and a delicate wash in the machine. My hands were so sore and dry afterwards. But I found the whole process therapeutic. I went to a wedding. And drank four glasses of wine at the reception. Afterward, I drank a large rum and Coke in a Frisch's Coke Glass and a large Seven Up and rum, in the same evil glass, which should never, never be used for serving alcoholic beverages. I fell down some steps. I ate a hot dog.I had very clumsy sex. I chugged lemonade. And threw it up. Note: lemonade BURNS on the way up. I went to Taco Bell with pocket change. I napped away my hangover. Now, I am grading papers and thinking, "What's worse? Reading these things, or puking lemonade?" Ta-Ta.

11 October 2003

[College Football and Coffee]

I have to go to a wedding today. I think it's at six. I guess I should hit Target (pronounced Tar'-jay, of course) and check out the registry. I don't know these people. But that's cool. I'll put on a dress and be pretty regardless. After showering, I think I'm going to head to the Lancome counter at the Lazarus downtown. My sample vial of foundation is running low and I don't have the cash to actually buy a full-sized bottle. Because the people at the Kenwood Lazarus recognize me, I'll go to the downtown store and say something like, "I'm familiar with Lancome products, but I don't currently use the foundation; would it be possible for me to try a sample?" I've been doing this for three months. And I'm really good at getting free makeup: I have tiny bottles and samples of everything. Granted, I'll generally buy something relatively affordable during my visits to Lancome and Estee Lauder; but then, I'll throw in a question about what products would be best for various things, and, as a result, I'm sent away with a bag of fun stuff. I will NEVER use drug store makeup again. That was stupid and a bit incriminating. What the hell am I going to wear: dress or shirt and skirt? Is it too late in the year for open toed heels? Harrumph.

10 October 2003

[Hey Hey, Ho Ho]

It cracks me up when well-to-do teens and young adults (i.e. ones still supported by mommy and daddy) protest about the ills in the world, like they really know what's up. Watching these idiots protest against sweatshops crack me up, cause ya know they own Old Navy and Gap merchandise, just like me. Yes, I have clothes from the Gap. I have no problem with that fact. I like their "favorite" t-shirts: plain, black, soft, and tiny. I think teens should have to work in this country, too. Kick me, if you must.

08 October 2003

[We need shotguns]

I was just given four new students in my Prep. Reading and Writing II class (these folks write, supposedly, at the seventh grade level, which is debatable). The other night section of this course was canceled. Now I am forced, not only to take these students and magically bring them up to speed, but also to give a rat's ass about another four students who don't belong in college (Sorry, there's my elitism mercilessly shouting, again). We are in the third week of the quarter. And a paper is due tomorrow night. I thought access colleges were made to be convenient for Christ's sake. This is convenient for no one. Not me. Not these (poor) students, who -- despite the fact that they'll probably be assholes to me -- are being shuffled around like dead leaves. Pray for me tomorrow night. Tell your god that I deserve a fucking break. And some head.

06 October 2003

[Right-winged protestants and related jockitch-like ailments]

In my English 102 classes, we discussed "The Other," as in those who are marginalized by their outsider status in society. I think I pissed off some white protestant males, particularly when I brought up Dubbayah's comment (which one? you ask! Indeed there are many) about atheists and their "non" American status in his eyes. I don't know how many times I heard someone yell "Rocky Top!" from the audience . . . My big issue with the Ray's Place population is that many of the students have minds about this big (holds tips of thumb and forefinger about a millimeter apart). Many of them are "saved," and -- in my view -- they are the worst. Whoops. There goes me, being a jerk.

05 October 2003

[Crackheads, Cripples, and Crotchcritters]

I spent today grading drafts. I have seventy students this quarter. Which means over twelve-hundred pages of crap to read over the eight weeks. And that doesn't include final portfolios. Pray that half my students drop. For my sanity. Funny how I'm teaching four classes, as I am the high and mighty Annual Adjunct, but "Real" professors, who only have to teach two or three courses, receive full benefits and paychecks five times bigger than mine. I accepted my "promotion" only for the opportunity to teach the extra class and make a measly sixteen-hundred dollars a month as opposed to twelve-hundred, as I did last Fall and Winter quarter. Gah. And yesterday, I bruised my back while dusting. I lost my balance while stepping off my desk and onto a chair after Swiffering a removable bookshelf (the kind that sit on a brace drilled onto the wall) near the ceiling of my bedroom. The whole incident was very cartoonish: my feet fell out from under me and I dropped from about four feet in the air to flat onto my back, removable bookshelf in hand. I could use a Vicoden right about now. One of these days, when I have money -- as my dad predicted, WILL happen (why he has such faith in me, I don't know) -- I'm hiring a housekeeper: dusting is dangerous. A housekeeper is a priority, even more-so than the pool boy -- though, I'm looking forward to being forty-something and flirting shamelessly with a twenty-something stud-muffin.

02 October 2003

[We're talking up the butt. A cigarette is in order.]

Tuesday, I stretched, crunched ran biked lifted weighed (myself) screamed (inside). I need to lose fifteen pounds. But then again, a large portion of my weight gain over the last year has been attributed to the fact that my boobs grew a little and I finally got hips, at the ripe old age of 25. And, my ass looks good. So maybe, only ten pounds. Today, two days later, I'm sore (still). Of course, me not wanting to get out of bed to face the world on Tuesdays and Thursdays probably has something to do with my legs feeling so fucking locked up. In more important news, I've struck fear into the souls of seventy-five college students over the last two weeks. And, there's some nasty bitch on Jerry Springer talking about having threesomes (as a prostitute) with her mother, Gross.