In which Piers makes an unexpected purchase

The Runner's computer died two days ago. 

This is her replacement for it, which we hope will be more useful to her while at work. 

There goes the bike fund!

Adventures with Students, Vol. 48

I teach this class on Utopian and Dystopian Thought every Spring.  I take them through More, and Campanella, and then do some Bellamy and Morris . . . and then I have them do some research on places like Oneida or Brook Farm. Then we look at 20th Century dystopian novels like Nineteen Eighty Four, or Brave New World, or The Giver.

So far so good. 

The course works in part because it allows us to discuss many issues under the rubric of figuring out how these authors make these systems work (or not work, as the case may be).  The students have lots of freedom to read and research all sorts of different things.  And, I'll be honest, it at least partially makes them think about the opportunities and costs inherent in personal liberty.

Except this time, I've had a couple of students who have seriously written that the dystopias they are studying are in fact pretty dang good places to live--even emphasizing the extent to which many onerous human burdens are lifted from the populations in the novels. To be unfree is okay, they argue, as long as they are fed and clothed and housed.

I try not to grade essays based on whether or not I agree with their theses, but these have been tough.  They may be trolling me for all I know--just writing in a vein that they know will get my goat.  It has worked, if that's the case.

Monday Update addendum

I should also mention that The Runner got a bee in her bonnet about the kitchen . . . so she painted it on Sunday and Monday.  It's now a very very pale shade of blue.  And yes, we even painted the paneling.  I guess everyone knows what comes next...

*dramatic pause*

Monday Update, SACS Edition

With the visit of the team from the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools, our long regional nightmare may be over, or it may have just begun. I have heard much in the past few days to make me quite nervous about what these various forms of oversight might mean. I do in fact think that accountability is a good and necessary thing, but I have to admit that the coming shape of my profession is a far cry from the dream of academia that I once treasured. I have heard nothing that encourages me in that respect. I expect that if I still work in a university setting in ten years, I should count myself incredibly fortunate.

Because I have no other skills.

Speaking of skills, I am pondering stepping away from my teaching role at the church. The class is going absolutely nowhere, and I'm not the type to make it a warm and fuzzy occasion to be at Sunday school. It just may be that I am not the man that's needed in this instance. And let's face it, I'm not all that gung-ho about church to begin with . . . a little goes a long way for me.

There is a coyote hanging around; it has made a couple of close passes to the house during the middle of the day. Fortunately, The Mutt has been inside both times. Still, we find it odd to see a coyote that close to a people house in the broad daylight. Just about everyone has had the same response:  "shoot it!"

Speaking of The Mutt, she got a two-hour pass today--slipped her collar and spent the next two hours running around the neighborhood and fields close to us. Almost got hit by a couple of cars, nearly tried to follow the van as The Runner went to pick up Number One Son from school.  I was called home to help with the luring of The Mutt.  I picked up the leash & collar, took Little Red by the hand, and we went for a casual walk. The Mutt saw us, and didn't hesitate--ran at me like a missile. I gave her the hot dog I had in my hand, slipped on her collar, and brought her home.

I will also just say that an eight year old boy is an interesting figure to have around the house.

In which Piers wonders about work

Over the past few years, especially during and since the Year I Almost Died, I have been able to count on work--teaching, research, service--to offer a fairly meaningful experience, and I have
believed in what I am doing. If you have read this forum over the past year, you have probably noticed that such confidence is no longer apparent in my thinking. 

I have continued to work at the elements that make up the three-legged stool of an academic career, but with increasing doubt that my efforts will make much difference in the long run. I am planning to submit an application to this wonderful NEH/Folger seminar this summer, but even the necessary step of asking for recommendation letters from colleagues proved daunting: I feel so incredibly small-time, and frankly am not the type to self-promote in the way that institutional climbers usually do. The Imp of the Perverse whispers, "just teach your classes, take care of the family, and hunker down." But I have enough ambition in me to want just a little more...and I think I could actually make a meaningful contribution. If I could find the time and gumption to do it. Long shot.

Meanwhile, with the upcoming SACS accreditation visit, my entire institution is in a tizzy--a full running-in-circles, hands-waving, wide-eyed tizzy. A significant part of this SACS business is the mandated QEP (Quality Enhancement Program -- if this sounds like a thirty-year-old business-speak concept filtering into education circles, then you may be hearing right) on Information Literacy.  The entire SACS visit and our response to it shows how the entire concept is smoke and mirrors. SACS commissars--accountable to no one--create all kinds of work for the campus to do in preparation. The campus creates an office responsible for making these preparations, thereby creating another perpetual administrative office to staff (there's no way the office will not continue to operate after the nominal SACS visit and results are submitted . . . the QEP is meant to last for years, and someone will have to make sure results are found, recorded, tabulated, interpreted, spreadsheeted, powerpointed, etc).

Most distressing moment of the meeting yesterday in which the details of the QEP program were described to our department:  the use of "external assessments" to evaluate the effectiveness of the programs.  Given the way things are going with higher ed, and our abject failure to provide a compelling alternative, I expect more "external assessments" to drive more and more of our curriculum and instruction.  A colleague of mine muttered, "we can teach to the test!" . . . I laughed sourly.

Morale:  pretty dang low.

Monday Update, President's Day Holiday Edition

So Lefty turned three!  He was very excited about his Batman birthday cake, and all the various superhero toys he received.  He was also very excited that all the grandparents were able to come.  The thing that got the most laughter, however, was when Little Red kept shouting "look what WE got!" every time a present was opened.

He is a gift to all of us, but especially to his mother.

I am now working on a new project: an application to a pretty big-time seminar at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington DC.  When I first looked at the application and the descriptions, my heart shriveled up inside me:  how could I possibly qualify for something like this?? Look where I work! Look at my publication record! Look how not-well-connected I am! But lest I should be a hypocrite, I will apply the same logic I proffer to my students:  you can't be accepted if you don't apply, and the worst they can say is "no thanks."  So July will either be really busy in DC, or really busy here in NWTN.

Still waiting on that sign.  The gutter fell off the house yesterday, but I'm not sure that counts.

In which Piers asks for a sign

³⁶ And Gideon said unto God, If thou wilt save Israel by mine hand, as thou hast said,
³⁷ Behold, I will put a fleece of wool in the floor; and if the dew be on the fleece only, and it be dry upon all the earth beside, then shall I know that thou wilt save Israel by mine hand, as thou hast said.
³⁸ And it was so: for he rose up early on the morrow, and thrust the fleece together, and wringed the dew out of the fleece, a bowl full of water.
³⁹ And Gideon said unto God, Let not thine anger be hot against me, and I will speak but this once: let me prove, I pray thee, but this once with the fleece; let it now be dry only upon the fleece, and upon all the ground let there be dew.
⁴⁰ And God did so that night: for it was dry upon the fleece only, and there was dew on all the ground.

The Runner commented last night that I seem to be withdrawing from all the things I used to be invested in.  I could not disagree with her assessment.  Then she asked if I believe in this place anymore.  Silence.  I had to admit what I had been thinking to myself while walking The Mutt: I'm in a state right now where unless I get some clear sign that I need to gut it out here, I'm looking for a way out of this town, out of this institution, out of this region.  

And yes, I am perfectly aware that I am likely to receive no sign, and will have to make my decision all by my lonesome. Grownups don't really get to believe in magic.

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 39

For the record, his valentine isn't quite this creepy.

two items involving Number One Son:

1.  Last night, shirtless, he stood in front of the mirror and showed off his muscles.  It was impressive in its own way.

2.  Today he went to school with a bag full of valentines for his classmates:  blow pops with masks and capes attached.  He had one in his pocket for his love interest . . . on which he had written in pencil, "I love you."  He was so excited . . . I hope it works out okay for him.  Her response will probably be, "Of course you do." 

She's gonna stomp him flat.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 47

Today, because I was teaching Henry Vaughan in my Seventeenth-Century Poetry class, I thought it would be a great idea to bring in an image of the title page and explain the iconography at work. Once I had pulled it up, I pointed out that the full title includes the notion of "private ejaculations," a more or less specific generic term.  Well, in the course of explaining the difference between senses of that second word, I really thought about what "private ejaculations" could refer to if you're thinking that way, and well, I got a bit unglued.  I don't usually stammer or balk when it comes to talk about sexuality, but today I stammered, I lost my composure, and apparently turned several shades of crimson.  Oh my.

This will go down in infamy like the time I described this scene from the Faerie Queene Book 3:

But he, that neuer good nor maners knew,
Her sharpe rebuke full litle did esteeme;
Hard is to teach an old horse amble trew.
The inward smoke, that did before but steeme,
Broke into open fire and rage extreme,
And now he strength gan adde vnto his will,
Forcing to doe, that did him fowle misseeme:
Beastly he threw her downe, ne car'd to spill
Her garments gay with scales of fish, that all did fill.

The silly virgin stroue him to withstand,
All that she might, and him in vaine reuild:
She struggled strongly both with foot and hand,
To saue her honor from that villaine vild,
And cride to heauen, from humane helpe exild.
O ye braue knights, that boast this Ladies loue,
Where be ye now, when she is nigh defild
Of filthy wretch? well may shee you reproue
Of falshood or of slouth, when most it may behoue.

As the time when Florimell had to beat off the old man in the boat. Oh my.

For Ash Wednesday

Church Monuments

While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes
May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
To which the blast of death's incessant motion,
Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust

My body to this school, that it may learn
To spell his elements, and find his birth
Written in dusty heraldry and lines;
Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
These laugh at jet and marble put for signs,

To sever the good fellowship of dust,
And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,
When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?
Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
And true descent, that when thou shalt grow fat

And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know
That flesh is but the glass which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust. Mark, here below
How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,
That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.

--George Herbert

Tuesday Update, Busy Monday Edition

Better a day late than not at all.

As I sat at basketball practice yesterday evening, I thought to myself that I had better start composing the blog entry for Monday.  And then I forgot, and then there were plenty of other things to take care of at home. Mondays tend to be busy.  Speaking of basketball, Number One Son has shown so much improvement over the past couple of weeks, it's really fun to watch. And he love love loves it, to the point where he'll go out to the new basketball goal several times a day to dribble and shoot.  And it paid off--he scored in the game this past Saturday (and apparently to a teensy roar from the little crowd in the gym . . . he is after all the smallest guy on the court).

We got a health report on him the other day from school . . . his BMI was listed at 17%!

Our poor pastor is finished with his series on the Eschaton. And thank goodness. . . he wasn't ready to take something like that on, and it showed.  He spoke with confidence and conviction, to be sure, but his teaching was so intellectually incoherent that I didn't even bother getting upset about it.

With the start of February comes the need to start training on the bike again, and this time added to the fitness class I've been taking with The Runner twice a week.  If I'm going to make the Old Howard 100 this year, I'm going to have to be in riding shape.  Not JULY riding shape, mind you, but at least able to ride a few miles without wanting to croak.

Taught my favorite poet these past couple of class days.  For a sample: 

Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
And true descent; that when thou shalt grow fat,

And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know
That flesh is but the glass, which holds the dust
That measures all our time; which also shall
Be crumbled into dust.

I was pleased that several students saw that there is a kind of simple profundity in what Herbert writes.

The children and the parents in my house have all (mostly) recovered from the recent spate of upper respiratory viruses. This is a good thing, cause February is unpleasant enough around here without midnight breathing treatments, my losing my voice, etc.

The bunch of grapes.

JOy, I did lock thee up: but some bad man
                            Hath let thee out again:
And now, me thinks, I am where I began
        Sev’n yeares ago: one vogue1 and vein,
        One aire of thoughts usurps my brain
I did towards Canaan draw; but now I am
Brought back to the Red sea, the sea of shame.

For as the Jews of old by Gods command
                            Travell’d, and saw no town;
So now each Christian hath his journeys spann’d:
        Their storie pennes and sets us down.
        A single deed is small renown.
Gods works are wide, and let in future times;
His ancient justice overflows our crimes.

Then have we too our guardian fires and clouds;
                            Our Scripture-dew drops fast:
We have our sands and serpents, tents and shrowds;
        Alas! our murmurings come not last.
        But where’s the cluster?  where’s the taste
Of mine inheritance?  Lord, if I must borrow,
Let me as well take up their joy, as sorrow.

But can he want the grape, who hath the wine?
                            I have their fruit and more.
Blessed be God, who prosper’d Noahs vine,
        And made it bring forth grapes good store.
        But much more him I must adore,
Who of the Laws sowre juice sweet wine did make,
Ev’n God himself being pressed for my sake. 

 --Geo. Herbert 

Two things that have made me wonder this week

Should this inspire confidence?





Has a branded TP dispenser ever been necessary?

Adventures with Students, Vol. 46

Yesterday, I was wearing a pair of these pants (a brand I heartily recommend especially for men of my rather slight build):

A couple of women students were walking behind me after class and asked me if I knew if my back pocket linings were patterned differently from the corduroy. I expressed some mock surprise, and made some joke about color blindness.

It wasn't later until I realized I missed the real joke I could have cracked:  "hey, wait a minute, are y'all checking out my ass??"

From Today's Reading

There are wounds we won’t get over. There are things that happen to us that, no matter how hard we try to forget, no matter with what fortitude we face them, what mix of religion and therapy we swallow, what finished and durable forms of art we turn them into, are going to go on happening inside of us for as long as our brains are alive.

--Christian Wiman

Monday Update, Black Dog Edition

The past few weeks have been difficult, especially at work. Given the difficulty, it's probably unsurprising that the ol' psychological immune system had gotten compromised, and the result:




It it hard for others to understand that this sometimes comes on me for no good reason...even when nothing is identifiably "wrong."
But it's not all bad news. In some ways, when this comes on me it is a clarifying situation: I have this-and-this to attend to, and cannot spend any energy on superfluous stuff, distractions from the duties before me. I just accept the reality that my pool of resources has gotten low...and behave accordingly.

We did erect a basketball goal this past weekend. It's small, and would not stand up to slam dunks, but Number One Son loves it...and is not likely to be throwing down a tomahawk dunk any time soon.

Meanwhile, Little Red got totally absorbed in LEGO Batman 2 and actually played most of the way through it. He prefers it if I play with him.

Trying to get everyone well. It isn't easy when all the little ones are sickly.
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In which Piers submits an application for research leave time

Wish me luck.