Back on the Grid

I just finished my seminar papers and mailed them off to my professors, which means my semester is officially over and I can return to the land of the living.

I wrote seventy-three pages and then whittled it down to fifty-six. My fingers hurt and I'll probably have weird dreams tonight.

What is my Problem?

I don't know how I did it again, but I ended my technical writing classes a week too early. I even checked the school's calendar this time when I wrote my syllabus.

Man of the People

One of our technical writing instructors had to take a sudden medical leave, and I was roped into taking over her class for the rest of the semester. The first thing that occurred to me as I looked at the instructor’s syllabus was that I don’t assign my students nearly enough homework. In a typical week she had a couple of quizzes, two or three writing assignments, student presentations, and several chapters from the textbook—compared to my typical week, which is to show a Scrubs episode, ask the students to talk amongst themselves about what the connection is to technical writing, and then cancelling class the rest of the week for no particular reason.

I had told the instructor I would try to stick with her syllabus to not upset the students, but one thing I’ve learned over the years is that every assignment I give my students just means more work for me.

I was nervous when I walked into the classroom today. The students were genuinely bummed when I told them their teacher wouldn’t be returning. A student asked if they would still have to take the quiz today. I apologized to them that some of my teaching philosophies weren’t in synch with their previous instructor’s, so they would have to go the rest of the semester without quizzes. This cheered them up rather quickly.

I put my new course schedule on the overhead, and a student noticed that the reading and affiliated writing assignment were no longer due on Monday. I explained that I wanted them to focus on their big team projects (which they’ll be working on for the rest of the semester), and I didn’t want to distract them with busy work. This elicited a few more fist pumps and whoops. I felt like a politician who was finally finding his groove and connecting with the crowd. I then pointed out that one of my conditions for taking over the class was that I wouldn’t teach on Fridays, so they would only be meeting twice a week from now on instead of three.

The whoop-whoops and cheers and high fives continued to escalate as I unfolded my vision for how the semester would end, including no more textbook readings, and cancelling a round of student presentations next week. Three girls were crying, yelling, “We love you, Mike!” I finished by revealing that I was cancelling the portfolio requirement. The crowd roared, and a couple of students hoisted me onto their shoulders. I held out my arms and fell backwards onto the rabble of cheering students. They passed me around the room, chanting, “Mike! Mike! Mike!”

It was pretty cool.

Another Couple of Weeks in Review

• Yesterday I registered for the last two graduate classes I'll ever have to take. After next semester, it's just exams, dissertating, and the job search (which, combined, will still take several years, but at least I won't have to take any more classes!).
• Laura made blueberry breakfast sausages for dinner. Not good. It'll be a while before any of us can eat blueberries or sausage again.
• Miles and Griff signed up for baseball and Caleigh signed up for softball. Between rainstorms, we've been throwing the ball around. Griff has quite an arm, but he has a hard time catching. I won't let him cry when the ball hits him in the face, so he just rubs his forehead and says that baseball is boring and he doesn't want to play anymore.
• Laura's been re-staining our kitchen table and chairs, so for the last week we've been using a giant card table with two patio chairs, a weight bench, a rocking chair, and a broken pink chair with no back. The kids love it and one of them (I can't remember who, one of the shorter ones) asked if we could keep it like that until we move.
• Miles has a girl from school who calls him everyday. They talk for a half hour or so, and Miles keeps asking, "So why did you call? Did you want to set up a play date or something?" Today she told Miles she likes him as more than a friend, but Miles told her he's not cool with that, so she said, "Okay, we'll just be friends." We're proud of Miles for holding his ground. But now Laura frets every time she calls. "I'm not ready for this," she says. "Should we be putting limits to how long he can talk on the phone? Should he be talking to girls?"
• I took one of my old suits in to get tailored. The seamstress, a rotund lady with rosy cheeks and a thick Norwegian accent, looked frazzled as she pinned up the seat of my pants. "This will have to do," she said. "You're no Versace model, but it'll look fine on you." Then she chuckled, looked around to make sure no one was listening, and said, "The secret is that those Versace models don't look that good in suits either. It's a little something called Photoshop." I took it as a compliment. A good back-handed Norwegian compliment.
• I removed a sliver from Griffin's finger. There was a tiny drop of blood, so he asked if he could put a band-aid on it. He insisted on doing it himself, and after five minutes of fumbling around, he finally got the band-aid on. "People say that band-aids make it feel better," he said. "But I think it feels exactly the same." A couple minutes later he looked at his hand and said, "Ah, man...I put it on the wrong finger."

Update

It isn't that I've been too busy to blog lately. I've just been in my mid-semester routine and find nothing particularly interesting to blog about. This is more of an update for the folks back west.

• We had a wicked nasty rain and wind storm a couple of nights ago, which I found out is a cheap and easy way to wash your car (assuming a tree or raccoon doesn't fly into it).
  
• I hit a pothole on the way to work tonight and blew out a tire. The car in front of me did the same thing, so we changed our tires side by side. The other driver had a much fouler mouth than I.
  
• I'm still teaching technical writing, but not exclusively to engineering students this semester. It's mostly seniors in nutritional science and other make-believe majors who waited until their final semester to take the course. I made them give presentations last week, and I threatened to fail them if they said "um." No one said "um."
  
• I have a third job now as a consultant for the University Writing Programs. I'm not sure yet what I do, but I put in a few hours each week in the office.
  
• I won't be teaching anymore after this semester. This summer I'm taking over as Associate Director of the University Writing Programs. Still fuzzy on the details, but my office has a phone and an air-conditioner.
  
• I used to hate peanut butter, but now I like it. Not sure what's up with that. My new favorite treat is "Under the Stars" ice cream by Hood. It has ribbons of peanut butter and little chunks of chocolate and I have to run an extra twenty minutes a day to burn it off, but it's totally worth it.
  
• Elliot has had a fever lately. She sits on the couch looking stoned with glazed over eyes and invites people to sit next to her.
  
• I find it creepy to think that while I was watching Bob Costas fly over Stanley Park with his camera-man last week, the body of Andrew Koenig ("Boner" from Growing Pains) was laying down there in the bushes somewhere.
  
• Miles accidentally locked himself in the garage a couple of days ago and he's still mad at me about it. Yes, I locked the door, but he can't prove it.
• Laura informed me I now have the physique of the Pink Panther.
  

The Danger of Weight Loss

Between meetings at church I went to use the restroom and found a turd and some toilet paper floating in the toilet bowl, which normally isn't enough to gross me out, since I've been attending a public university for nearly fifteen years (which, yes, is as sad as it sounds, since I'm not attempting to become a plastic surgeon) and I've come to terms with America's inability to flush after using a public toilet.

I reached forward to flush the toilet, and my wedding ring, which fit fine 35 pounds ago, slid off my finger and into the already-occupied toilet. It didn't fall directly in; rather, it bounced off the seat with a ping and then hopped to the other side of the seat. Three pings later, it plopped into the water, just missing the turd, and settled at the bottom of the bowl.

I stared horrified at the scene before me and contemplated my options. I bought the ring for fifteen dollars at a state fair, so flushing it really wouldn't put a financial strain on us. But the sentimental romantic in me began rolling up my sleeves, knowing what had to be done. I'll spare you the details of what happened next, but after washing my hands and arm in scalding water for the next five minutes, I decided it was time to retire my silver wedding band.

I found the gold ring Laura bought me when I was a young, skinny groom, which I haven't been able to wear for ten years. It fits great, but I think from now on I'll play it safe and just use my foot to flush public toilets.

The Importance of Sharing Childhood Memories

Yesterday, Miles and I somehow got to talking about a Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal I had as a child. He had a weird case of the giggles, because what I thought was a rather sentimental and nostalgic memory had him roaring as I explained how Santa brought me a giant Pooh for Christmas, and how I wouldn't let anyone else play with my Pooh, and that Matt got one too so sometimes I would accidentally play with his Pooh instead. I told him how sad I would get when I had to eat dinner without my stuffed friend because my mom wouldn't let me put Pooh on the table. And then I recounted how, after finally growing up, I tried to give my Pooh away, but nobody wanted it.

Tonight, at dinner, Miles asked me to tell him some more about my Pooh, but Laura shut us down pretty quickly. "Your mother used to like Pooh, too" I whispered. "Back when she still had a sense of humor."