Today I submitted . . .

. . . my proposal for an NEH Summer Stipend, which will amount to $6K, and provide support for my current research on the Elizabethan Church. It's a long shot, but it sure doesn't hurt to ask; if I get it, I'll be able to afford a bit of research at the Folger this coming summer.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 8

or, "The Disgruntled Summer Term Student"

Yesterday I was alerted by one of my students to the following "cratering" review of my early british literature survey on the infamous Ratemyprofessors.com:

He's a horrible teacher as far as explaining his assignments and papers. He uses the textbook EVERYDAY so if you're on of those students that hate buying books, dont take his class!!

Life with a little boy, v. 3

The evidence is in--he is an Edwards:






He'll sleep anywhere!

Hugo Project #1

I've taken on a little project for my trashy reading: I'm going to try to read through the list of Hugo-Award Winners. That way, I feed my sci-fi habit and at the same time can convince myself that I'm not reading absolute dreck.

So, I just finished Alfred Bester's The Demolished Man, winner of the 1953 Hugo (the first one)

Verdict: Better than I anticipated. Some science fiction doesn't wear very well, becoming quaint or silly. In this case, I was surprised that the focus of the "science" part was psychology and Freudian psychoanalysis. It's based on the idea that there is a group of people (called espers) that can read minds at different levels. Bester uses this setup to write a futuristic detective story about a murder committed in an era when murder is almost literally unthinkable. Couple of strong characters--the perp and the detective--and an interesting conceptual take on 'talking' between minds, without words.

Uh Oh: Travel between planets and moons seems to be instantaneous--maybe Bester was better at psychology than astronomy. Also, the Freudian stuff is hard to take seriously.

To Virginia

We're making the annual pilgrimage to Wise, Virginia so I can attend the Medieval-Renaissance Conference up there. This will be something like my 5th or 6th year in a row--I've found it to be a much-needed boost every year. Bonus: we get to visit J and W Adrian!

How to break a daddy's heart

The Little Boy has been a challenge recently, no doubt. Every parent we talk to concurs that a three-year-old, though he doesn't have the mellifluous designation of "terrible two," really deserves the appellation more. It's just him trying out his will and his authority, seeing how far he can go before meeting opposition. There's been a lot of sending him back to his room.

But last night and this morning, he showed me something.

I'm in the midst of an extraordinarily busy period, with multiple essays due from my end to various people. I've been bringing a lot of work home with me, and that's after being in the office all day. Last night, I was finishing a bunch of papers and working on this weekend's talk, so I cloistered myself in the spare room, hunched over stacks and stacks. I did go out to sit with W for a few minutes, since we don't get many quiet moments together. Went back and did more work until bedtime. When I went in to check on the Little Boy, he wasn't in his bed, or under his bed, or on the floor, or in his closet, or in our bed, or in our closet (all places we've found him sleeping). Where was he? In the spare room, curled up in a pile of pillows on the floor, with a book nearby (the one I had read to him before I turned off the light). He had come in there and fallen asleep, and I hadn't noticed.

This morning, after reading him a book or two, he said he wanted to wrestle. Well, that's part of the morning routine: boy time before mom is ready to take over. When we got down on the floor, though, and I picked him up to mess with him, he went limp and just looked in my face. He didn't say a word, didn't even make a face (!), but just curled up in my arms. It was at that moment that I realized why he likes wrestling so much (hint: it doesn't have to do with the wrestling).

Well played, little boy.

The Little Boy now has a cousin

Daniel Tucker Edwards. A beautiful baby boy, born yesterday morning. We here at Luigi's Mansion are thrilled for Nate & Corri! W has already been cooing at pictures.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 7

Is this a compliment?

Heard after class: "This class reminds me of Zelda!"

mmmmmkay, then.

Glad they're paying attention to important stuff.

Prisons Purging Books on Faith. (NYT)

What the hell, excuse my language and no pun intended, do they expect to achieve, other than looking like fools?

Requiescat in Pace

Madeline L'Engle. It's been a long time since I read one of her books, but they've stuck with me--I still remember the first time I read A Wrinkle in Time. It hit me like a thunderbolt.

Life with a Little Boy, v. 2

Hey, this slideshow thing is fun! Let's try it again!

Below, pictures from A Day Out With Thomas:

"Life With a Toddler" now "Life with a Little Boy"

Click below for a brief slideshow.

JDH Summer 07

"Yesterday, while you were out. . . "

We had our annual University and College Faculty Meetings yesterday--I was present for the former, but left before the latter began because, well, let's just say I had a little fuzz-related problem to clear up.

While conspicuously absent from the meeting, I received an award from the College of Humanities and Fine Arts:

Outstanding Junior Faculty Member of the Year

Naturally, I was not there to accept the plaque. Got it on my wall now, though! I did get the "matter" dismissed as well.

"You'll get more of these"

When I got the skin cancer removed from my face a couple of years ago, the dermatologist said, "ooh, you're young to be getting these. . . you'll get more of them."

And sure enough! I have to have a basal cell carcinoma removed from my scalp in a week. Yeee heeew!

Adventures with Faculty, Vol. 3

Yesterday, during our department meeting, we had a "Come to Jesus" about grade inflation. Our department chair had been looking at numbers and reading some papers that didn't seem to match up with gpa figures, etc. So we had an exercise.

The dreaded grading exercise.

Shades of Grad School! Well, I'm game--it's worth reminding ourselves of the nature of our work, of the responsibility we have to give proper feedback, and so on. As the exercise wore on, though, I began to wonder about its usefulness:

First, grading in a controlled setting where the outcome is hypothetical has no relation to the work we actually do, where we have certain pedagogical goals for the grades we assign, where we have the long view, where we have to look these students in the eye and, let's face it, do course evaluations and have our names up on ratemyprofessor. What I put on a hypothetical paper in an exercise has no consequence or outcome.

Second, particularly in a case where one has a wide range of professorial generations present, these exercises become muddled by instructors declaiming loudly the reason for their oh-so-pure standards:

• "I gave it an F! Because the sentence structure could have been better!"
• "Oh, horrors! This student totally misread this passage from Blake's 'Infant Sorrow'! You know, when I have taught this poem, I've made sure to . . . ."
• "This student used 'consequently!' Clearly, that's a D! At best!"
• "The first thing I do when I start a class is tell the students that they must not ever use the first person pronoun!"

You may think that I exaggerate, but I don't. Perhaps a grading exercise is useful when it allows a veteran teacher to orate for a while, reminding us "junior" faculty of a time when Standards were Standards, by George!

I think I was pretty much grouchy and stone-faced for the whole six hours yesterday. I know, you're all amazed that such a thing could happen.

Apreso Classroom

Well, at our department meeting yesterday, we discovered that one of our department's classrooms has been designated an "Apreso Classroom"--a system that automatically records classroom activity. In theory, this makes lecture material available over a system like Blackboard so students can review or catch up.

Woweee! Being recorded automatically when we start a class! And here's the thing--this is a big-time instructional issue, a big time privacy issue, and evidently an issue that no one thought to consult our department about. It has just appeared. I don't know about the rest of my teaching friends, but I'm not at all comfortable with the idea of my classes being automatically recorded. I'm also not at all comfortable with the idea that a change like this can be made with literally zero faculty input, at least no faculty input that any of my colleagues know anything about.

(feel free to make your own "Big Brother" / Patriot Act / NSA / J.J. Abrams jokes)

HP 7

I read the last four chapters to W last night, so we now know that Dumbledore cast down the Balrog, Harry and Hermione took the ship from the Grey Havens, and Hagrid remained the keeper of the Golden Compass. My favorite part was when Ron met Peter, Edmund and Lucy after stepping through the door of the stable.

Seriously, we're done. I think we both felt a bit of loss--there's not any more to look forward to, except the moment when our children discover the books. Hey, that's not so bad!

Without providing details, I will say: I felt most vindicated re: Severus Snape. I didn't foresee the details, but I did more or less peg his place in the story correctly. W and I both really enjoyed the fact that little details throughout this last book referred backward through the previous six--even to Year One.

All Hail the Pigskin

I'm sitting in my chair, watching Dallas play Indianapolis. Praise the Lord, the long walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Baseball is over, and we can finally watch a sport worth watching! A sport in which every game is an event!

And yes, I know, some of you college football snobs will sniff that it's "only" the NFL--but hey, at least the NFL has, you know, a playoff system.

FOOOOOOOOOTBAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!

Shades of Allen Hill

Every once in a while, I come out with a phrase that sounds so much like my father that W and I both stop and say, at the same time, "that's an Allen Hill!"

The most recent one I've been blurting out without thinking about it:

"Golly Moses!"

(the 'golly'--pronounced 'gaaaa-leeee' is the foundational Allen Hillism; various secondary epithets get added as necessary). Those of you who know will laugh; those of you who don't will wonder why the heck I bothered to post this. Ah, well.

Well, I guess I do have One Bit Of News

Due date: March 16.

Sorry

In the midst of major revisions to an article, hoping to get it placed. Plus, it's hot. Oppressively hot. Will-sapping, energy-draining hot. Not much to say for a few days yet.

biking update: 26 miles into the week

I'm getting good. I changed a tire yesterday. Went out this morning at 6:20 or so. 35 minutes into the ride . . .

. . . lost the other tire. Well, didn't lose it as much as have it punctured and go flat.

That means, if you're counting, I'm 2 for 2 this week on getting flats and having to call W to shoehorn the (not so) Little Boy into the car to come rescue me.

Maybe I'll take a different route on Saturday morning.

Book Question for my Bookish pals

Children of Hurin?

Yes?

No?

Anyone?

Good news from Chapel Hill

M Bostrom, good friend and gossip source, has landed a sweet job at NC State. Among other things, it's a pay increase and a way out from under a relatively unpleasant boss. It's also a way to ensure that she doesn't ever have to teach composition again, unless she just wants to.

This puts her on the 'administrative' track in academia, and from close experience I know that she'll be great. She might even pick up that great line From the Master:

It's in your contract.

Weekend report

W and I visited Blakbuzzard and Hambone this past weekend; it's our second trip up to Chicago since we moved. The Little Boy got to stay with Uncle B and Aunt R, and we're thankful they had such a good time while we were gone.

It's hard to know how to describe how good a visit it was. We did some neat stuff: Waited up on Friday night for the Harry Potter book, celebrated the Buzzard's Birthday, played Guitar Hero II, ate deep-dish pizza at Giordano's, went to a late movie on Saturday night, ate cobbler and ice-cream for breakfast. I browsed their bookshelves, we told stories back and forth about old days in Chapel Hill and about what's happened in our lives recently, we played with the kitties. And enjoyed the peacefulness of their flat.

One of the greatest blessings we've had over the past decade is to have had these two as friends, and it's so nice to know that distance doesn't necessarily diminish love.

Thanks, you two, from the bottom of our hearts.

Maybe a big breakthrough

from an email from my youngest brother:

By the way, for those of you who don't know, I was contacted the other day by an "art dealer" who found me through my website. He works for an online art dealer called Art Exchange which markets art to high end buyers (hotels, publishers, etc.). They take presentations and booths to big art expos and fairs to develop contacts, and they have several working contracts such as an art selection deal with the group choosing the art for the Trump Collection (yes Donald Trump). They work with something like 3000 artists, and the average income for their artists is $110,000 a year. Pretty impressive.

Well, this guy saw my violinist painting, and he said that they would really like to have that painting at the upcoming Las Vegas Art Expo. In fact, he was extremely complementary, and he said that my painting would easily be the best painting they would bring. He said "It's an attention grabber. Our other artists will do better because that painting will draw people in to the booth."

Now, I have to pay them just like I would any agent, but they only take 10% commission, and my work would be getting incredible exposure. So all that is to say that with Mom and Dad's help (insert "thank you" to parental units here) I've worked a deal with them that will include six of my pieces in their marketing slideshow, which is the main thing everyone looks at during the expo. They have it going nonstop in the booth, and they take it to meetings and presentations with buyers. In addition, I will have space for 20 images on their website, a 90 day feature spot on the home page, and a continued relationship with them for future events. So with a little investment, hopefully this will pay off. I (We) can't afford how much it would cost for me and my work to physically be at the show because of the enormous cost of framing, shipping, plane ticket, etc., but hopefully having my work in the marketing material will pay off.

The show is Sept 27-29, so please be in prayer about it for me. Even if I get just one good contact, it will be worth it. Also, pray that this will motivate me to paint and remember why I love it so much.

Adventures with Faculty, Vol. 2

I had a political science professor stop by the other day to ask about one of his students who happens to be taking the composition class this term. She's doing fine.

He then asked me if I'd read the Kabbala. I did a double-take, whereupon he pronounced that it was "pretty good, but it'll mess with your mind." Let's see: fabled Jewish mystical/occult text. Yep, that'll mess with your mind alright.

On the other hand,

There is peace to be found, if you know where to look:

Live Earth

Umm, isn't it just a bit strange to be holding massive rock concerts, which will necessarily involve enormous power and travel expenditures, not to mention pollution, for the sake of an environmental cause? Roger Daltrey said "bollocks" to that, and I'm feeling like I'm with him.

It reminds me of those idiotic NBC spots where celebrities like George Lopez explain to us the finer points of parenting. "Aha! I'd never thought of 'hugging, not slugging' my child, but since a TV comedian says I should try it out, I'll give it a shot!" Why should I give a rotten *@&#$%^ what Keith Urban says about, well, anything?

It's almost as if--call me crazy--these people, like the Prius owners featured in the NYT recently, are all about ostentatious displays of their piety. Now let's see if I can remember any teachings about showing off one's religiousity . . . hmmmm. . . I'll get back to you on that one. But really, it's for a good cause. There's no need for this misanthropic skepticism, is there?

Paul, a Mobile Phone Salesman from South Wales . . .

Maybe you've seen this, maybe you haven't, but I discovered it yesterday, and . . . well . . . in case you need an uplifting moment:




The Aerosmith at the end of the clip ruins it, but the female judge's face during the performance speaks most eloquently.

Summer Book Report

Two monstrous books, alike in dignity,
In fair Weakley County, where we lay our scene:

The Reformation

Anna Karenina

I can't put either one down, and it looks like it'll be several weeks before I'm done with them. I need to read the history book anyway, and this is my third try with Karenina (this time, a new translation). Consider this a recommendation if you need poolside reading.

It's no fun doing ESL Composition

By far the biggest pain this summer term has been my personal struggle over how to treat my ESL students in this advanced composition class. I have two Saudi men, a German woman, and a Japanese man in the class, each at a different level of proficiency.

I know I complained earlier about the Saudis, but they are both performing much better. One of them thinks he can play me, and adamantly refuses to take any advice, but I can pass each of them without any qualms.

My Japanese student, though . . . oh dear. He doesn't belong in this class. He doesn't even belong in basic composition. His command of English is poor even at the most basic level. I'm in the position of having to fail him (he has already asked me to tell him how to get a "better grade," and I'm lost for words) if I'm to be at all consistent. I don't want to levy "punishment," since it's hardly his fault that he's not fluent in English, but there is no way he can pass the class.

And of course, our university has very little in the way of options. He has evidently "passed" all the required ESL and previous comp classes, so I'm stuck.

"Carolina isn't a 'basketball school,'"

Quoth the inimitable Dean Smith, "it's a women's soccer school."

And recently, a baseball school.

Go Heels

"Come Clean"

The world's a wonderful place
If you don't mind laughing at your mistakes
If you don't mind feeling like you've lost your breaks
and if you don't mind
a touch of Hell
every now and then.

--Jason Harrod and Brian Funck.

(you should really have all their albums, you know)

Follow up on that outdoorsy stuff

So now the government and the whole nanny-state apparatus wants to get involved in getting kids out of doors.

Oh, hell. The last thing advocates of good old-fashioned childhood play should want is getting congress involved. That'll kill it for sure.

I'm with Ann Althouse:

Back in the old days, it was just your mom saying get out of the house. Now, it's the whole government. The government wants me to get out of the house? That would have made me even less likely to leave the house. The real question is what would make a kid love to go outside. Don't we want kids to go outside because we believe it is good? If we're right about that -- are we? -- why don't the kids think it's good?

Holy Sonnet 19

Oh, to vex me, contraries meet in one:
Inconstancy unnaturally hath begot
A constant habit; that when I would not
I change in vows, and in devotion.
As humorous is my contrition
As my profane love, and as soon forgot:
As riddlingly distempered, cold and hot,
As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none.
I durst not view heaven yesterday; and today
In prayers and flattering speeches I court God:
Tomorrow I quake with true fear of his rod.
So my devout fits come and go away
Like a fantastic ague; save that here
Those are my best days, when I shake with feare.

--John Donne

Roaming

We've noticed that The Little Boy is perfectly happy spending all his time outdoors.

I've also noticed that partly due to the popularity of The Dangerous Book for Boys (still haven't got a copy, but it looks awesome), there's a boomlet of discussion about kids' need to just get out and play in dirt hills, climb trees, fall down, scrape knees, etc.

Cool link from Boingboing about how the range of places children are allowed to go has shrunk so severely. I remember roaming all over the place on my bike (in elementary school) and then by foot (in high school). And this was in Manila!

I hope we can keep getting him outside as he grows up. Maybe if we make the house as boring as possible, he'll not need to be urged! Quick, Piers! More Loeb Editions!

Two of the Deadly Sins

In Spenser's Faerie Queene, Book One, the fourth canto is devoted to the House of Pride and a long procession of the Deadly Sins. We talked about it in class today, and to help the students get a feel for how these sins might be depicted, I tried to find some images. Thanks to Wikimedia Commons, a couple of really incredible images from Pieter Bruegel the Elder:

Lechery:
















Avarice:

For Pappy

Some of my favorite memories are of those times Dad would take us fishing. He'd always pretend to be satisfied with the cane pole, since we boys always wanted the fancy rigs. Yet it was Dad who baited the hooks, took the fish off the hooks, unsnarled our lines, and patiently endured every kind of childhood clumsiness we could dish out. "We" went fishing, and Dad did 90% of the work, down to cleaning what we'd caught.

I always associate fishing with North Carolina, because on family vacations to see my grandparents, we spent an awful lot of time at various fishing spots. It wasn't until a few years ago that I realized why we went out so much--Dad wanted to get out of the house!

Thanks, Dad.

Adventures in Rural Healthcare

A student of mine got a call in the middle of the workday on Thursday. Turns out her brother had been in a stump-burning accident and was in the Emergency Room at our hospital here in town. Second-degree burns up & down his arms. His face had been ON FIRE and appeared to be third-degree.

The ER doctor sent him home after smearing Neosporin on his face and arms, and after assuring him that he'd have no scarring and would be "back at work" in ten days. They did not check his airway, his nasal passages, or inside his mouth.

Thanks to a phone call to Vanderbilt Hospital, he's now in the ICU at the Burn Center at Vanderbilt; they were shocked that he'd been sent home, considering his condition--the term "malpractice" has been thrown around a good bit.

I'm not sure what to make of all this, but it does make me just a bit nervous about any emergency featuring, say, The Little Boy.

To Buzzrd and Hammie

Awesome. You've had better and worse and all stages in-between, and there's no sneezing at 11 years.

Good to see your faces, too :)

Astrophil #10

Reason, in faith thou art well served, that still
Wouldst brabling be with sense and love in me:
I rather wished thee climb the Muses' hill,
Or reach the fruit of Nature's choicest tree,
Or seek heaven's course, or heaven's inside to see.
Why shouldst thou our thorny soil to till?
Leave sense, and those which sense's objects be:
Deal thou with powers of thoughts, leave love to will.
But thou wouldst needs fight both with love and sense,
With sword of wit, giving wounds of dispraise,
Till downright blows did foil thy cunning fence:
For soon as they strake thee with Stella's rays,
Reason thou kneel'dst, and offeredst straight to prove
By reason good, good reason her to love.

--Sir Philip Sidney

Chaucer . . .

. . . defeats me yet again. Every time I try to teach anything by him, he eludes me; I find that I have very little to say. I know when I've been beat; he confounds me in a way that almost no other author does, at least among those that I normally work with.

Adventures with students, vol. 5 and 6

#5: I had a conversation yesterday with a woman, a non-traditional student, who lives--get this--in Arkansas. She commutes to school 2 hours one-way every day, getting up at 4:15 to have her 3 kids at the neighbor's (she pays for their care). She's taking summer courses at 7:30, 9:15, 11:00 and 1:00. She home-schools the children, and (of course) she's a single mom. She has been buying sub-$1000 cars to get her back and forth (the last one actually rusted and fell apart on her while she was making the drive). She is, in short, making a heroic effort to get her degree. I'm in awe.

#6: Student comes into my office yesterday afternoon to get my feedback on a rough draft for Monday's assignment. I read and begin to critique the paper, suggesting that he explain himself better in a passage at the bottom of page one.

"I did that after the quote," he says.

That's fine, but it would be more effective if you were to move it over here directly after the sentence that needs explanation. He looks at me like I'm stupid, repeating what I've said to him. Bemused at his skepticism--he did come to me for help, yes?--I repeat the advice, and he smirks. "Okay," he says.

This scene is repeated with every recommendation I make, including when I suggest that he might want to include some more examples from More's Utopia (the putative topic of the paper). He argues that he's trying to not use too many examples. I respond that he hasn't used enough, so surely there's a middle way to go here. He repeats that he's trying to not use too many examples.

At this point, I should have thrown him out with the 'suggestion' that he do whatever the heck he wants, since he obviously knows better than I how to write an effective essay. Still bemused, however, I muttered some vaguely reassuring words and sent him on his way. He left with an attitude that seemed to say, "thanks a lot for telling me that I've done this wrong, buster." Maybe the inevitable "C" will get his attention--save that when he gets it, it'll be my fault for not giving him good enough advice.

Biking report

Tally for the week:

Miles ridden: 13, 13, and 24. That makes, what, 50 miles?

Dogs outrun: 10. Damn dogs.

Rear tire flats: 2.

Flats repaired so far: 1.

Sunburns: 1. ouch.

Today, I met up with a colleague who has been cycling for about three years; we've been talking about going out for a ride together. Well, we left this morning for a 38-mile ride down to Big Cypress Tree State Natural Area (it doesn't even qualify as a park). I nearly swallowed my tongue (38 miles??? I've never gone above 15!!!). Still, we kept a moderate pace and it was a great ride. Until a third of the way back, when I felt my back tire go down. Had to call the cavalry while he rode on up ahead, because changing the back tube on the side of a highway, having only done it once? Not a recipe for success. I realized upon getting home that I'd been most unwise in my choice to not wear sunscreen.

Still, it was a lot of fun to go on such a long ride (long for me, that is) with someone. We've made plans to go out next Saturday. I'll wear my spf 60.

Finally!

We know when it's being released!

Muppet Show Season Two DVD

Let's see if I remember my Machiavelli

Our department chair is out of town for a few weeks, and she has actually left me as the man nominally in charge. I have access to IRIS, our double-secret HR and financial software. I am the one who needs to sign things that need to be signed. If there is a crisis, I will man the battlements and rally the troops. Ahh, the power! the POWER!

Now, what was that bit about being feared and loved?

Big News from McKenzie

It's been a monumental week. Today we learned that my brother B and his wife have been approved to start the process of adopting a child from Russia. This is the end of a long road for them--months of infertility treatments and the resulting side effects, which in R's case were pretty severe.

They're keeping a record of how it happens: hilladoption.blogspot.com.

We here at Luigi's Mansion are thrilled for them.

For Papa

This past Sunday, my father-in-law announced that effective the end of August, he will end his tenure as music minister at First Baptist Church Nashville. We are all happy for him, because after 30 years at this church, he's able to step away on his own terms, as a matter of choice.

He made the announcement at the end of the service, and when he opened by saying "I'm announcing my retirement," an audible gasp rippled through the sanctuary. He spoke evenly of what is coming, of the difficulty of stepping away, of his thankfulness for the years given him at the church. It was, as I might have predicted, a graceful and understated way to make a terribly difficult announcement.

W and I cried as he spoke, and I realized as I looked up at the east window that this church has been my spiritual home for many years now. I know about saying goodbye to important places, so I know about the importance of being thankful for the time I am given. Since I first visited the church in the spring of 1994, I've counted it a blessing to worship there, and I've been proud to be associated with Papa. It's not as if we're never going back, but this past weekend did feel like we were turning a page, making way for a change both painful and good.

He'll be receiving a lot of expressions of thankfulness and admiration, so this one can go in the pile as well. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

But dern, I always wanted to sing in that choir.


No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I'm clinging
Since Christ is lord of Heav'n and Earth
How can I keep from singing?

Life with a Toddler, Vol. 27

Sometimes, the ol' double-door maneuver is called for.

Fool, said my muse to me

Many thanks to my insightful spouse, who took a look at me on Thursday night and said, "you need to take a break."

She's correct, and I'm taking her advice.

Biting my trewand pen, beating myself for spite

Piers has decided, after banging his head against this project for the last week and apparently getting nowhere, that he has somehow become a knuckle-dragging, mouth-breathing, nose-picking, back-hair-growing, subliterate troglodyte.

Frater, ave atque vale

"She ordered us first to avoid the voice of the marvelous
Sirens, and also their meadow full of flowers.
Me alone she ordered to hear their voice; but bind me
In hard bonds so that I may stay firm in my place
Erect at the mast. And let the rope-ends be fastened from it.
And if I implore you and call you to untie me
Then constrain me yourselves in further fastenings."
Odyssey XII, 158-164

Several weeks ago, while at a conference in Miami, a friend of mine from UNC asked how things were here in West Tennessee. I said, truthfully, that we are very happy here. He then asked a question that pierced like cold iron: "do you have any friends, folks you hang out with?"

err. . . .

I'll admit that the answer is 'no.' W, being the way she is, has made friends left and right, and while deep trust takes a long time to fully develop, she's well on her way with several women. I have friendly relations with my co-workers, and with some of the folks at church, particularly my fellow sunday school teacher, and the retired history professor I sit beside during choir rehearsal every Wednesday night.

It is true that being alone doesn't really bother me from a circumstantial point of view--I like the quiet, the space for my mind to turn ideas under the light. But then something funny happens, some new movie comes out, I find a cool website, the Tar Heels win or lose a game, and aside from W (whose infinite capacity for empathy and humor continues to amaze), I have nowhere to take the conversation.

But this isn't about complaint, but about sirens.

How so? Well, that emotional feeding is necessary, regardless of my resistance to its demands--and here's the thing, I find myself in the unenviable position of looking for friendship in the place where I spend most of my time--at work. With a group of people I shouldn't look to--the students. Though I'm glad to be a popular professor here (there's evidently a Facebook group for 'Hill Groupies'--no, I've not looked), and though I'm glad to be student-friendly and accessible and even at times personally supportive of my students, I have found a disconcerting tendency in myself to look for more affirmation in those relationships. It's there, but it's not and can't be true friendship.

Of course, I'd never let a personal concern like that put me in an ethically challenged position. Sure, I wouldn't. But if I fall into the trap of believing my own guarantee, I'm already tainted. People are always doing things that "they'd never do."

I see these students in the intense relationships that come along with college experience, and I'll admit that I'm envious. I'd like to sit down and smoke a bowl, have a drink, ruminate and laugh. Hopefully one day--and until then, I'll remember the blessings of Chapel Hill.

Bah! enough navel gazing! Nashe and Martin and Herbert are all waiting for your attention. You should have gotten a degree in English Reformation church history along with all those philosophy and latin courses you should have taken back in college.

So what's Piers been up to?

Graduation.

Grading.

Replacing the Kitchen Faucet.

Yardwork.

and this.

From The Country Parson

Do well, and right, and let the world sinke.

--Geo. Herbert

Upon grading 70 british literature survey papers . . .

. . . I wonder, am I just being a stuffy Luddite when I enjoin my students to not use Wikipedia as a paper resource? Am I going to have to hold the line, even though they hear me and then turn around and act as if I haven't said anything?

Heck, I use the dang thing too . . . though in my Herbert article (hopefully soon to be published) I'll be darned if I'll use it as a reference. I guess making the distinction between casual and serious research is still lost on them. It doesn't answer my question, though.

I've got scores of papers to grade . . .

so naturally, it's time to post pictures. Follow the link below:


http://homepage.mac.com/onkachinka/HawksRoad/PhotoAlbum40.html

Rasselas

Those conditions, which flatter hope and attract desire, are so constituted that, as we approach one, we recede from another. There are goods so opposed that we cannot seize both, but, by too much prudence, may pass between them at too great a distance to reach either. This is often the fate of long consideration; he does nothing who endeavors to do more than is allowed to humanity. Flatter not yourself with contrarieties of pleasure. Of the blessings set before you make your choice, and be content. No man can taste the fruits of autumn, while he is delighting his scent with the flowers of the spring: no man can, at the same time, fill his cup from the source and from the mouth of the Nile.

Yesterday was a rough day

1. The day-care experiment with The Little Boy isn't working. For the last three weeks, he has gone in on Thursday morning and cried . . . until lunchtime. He does this nowhere else. Not when he's visiting other church nurseries, not when he's dropped off for his Tuesday afternoon school, not when he's left with a babysitter. And then there was last night: while in the bathtub, he begins to point at the wall and say things like:

Stop it now!
Do you want a time out?
OK, you there--do you understand me?
No pushing! No crying!
Go away!
I don't want to look at you!

He won't be there another Thursday if we can help it.


2. W's OB/GYN committed suicide on Wednesday. We know no details (nor do we want to), but that strikes pretty close.

Blakbuzzrd, this is for you.

Enjoy. And check out the fast food reviews.

it's sooo true.

Cool

picture. Take a look.

Lord Have Mercy

VT shooting.

Psalm 10
Why do You stand afar off, O Lord?
Why do You hide in times of trouble?

Brother B and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat

On Friday, we went to see B's second production at Bethel--Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. He has been really smart in choosing productions that are fun to watch, that make people laugh, that can work in the small venue they have. I think I'm most impressed by the production design and the creative staging.

It's good for B and R to have some successes . . . their time in West Tennessee has been, well, rocky. Some well-deserved kudos for this production will, I hope, help them persevere.

The yard was looking great

. . . and then the past two weeks, sub-freezing temperatures . . . it's all been nipped (in the case of our rose bushes, literally in the bud). A few hostas, our lilac, our burning bush escaped the carnage, but everything else, including the oaks and poplars, looks brown and blighted. Naturally, the dandelions recovered just fine. It's painful to look out front or back, though with the warmer weather this week, it looks like we'll be able to start repairing some of the damage.

What's worse is the situation with the farmers who put in the winter wheat back in November. . . I hear that all the wheat crops are total losses. There's acres of it across the road, and though it doesn't look brown or dead or anything, supposedly it'll never seed out, which means it's just long grass now.

The Definition of Love

Unless the giddy heaven fall,
And earth some new convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the world should all
Be cramped into a planisphere.

As lines (so loves) oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet:
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.

--Andrew Marvell
(stanzas 6 and 7)

Adventures With Students, Vol. 4

Part One--The Forest
IX. Song, To Celia
Drink to me, only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine ;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine :
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not wither'd be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me :
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

Part Two--Student Analysis:

In the beginning of the poem, when he talks about her kiss and eyes, and how they are like wine in a cup. He could be referring to a bar, maybe where he sees her for the first time. Maybe she is the bar maiden. When he talks about a kiss on the cup, and I'll not look for wine, maybe Johnson is trying to let us know that he has or had a drinking problem, and now he quite his habit.

Part Three--oh dear.

You Leave for Two Years, and they start Moving Things Around . . .

Pepper's Pizza is moving down Franklin Street to the old Miami Subs location. Quote from the Carolina Alumni Review: "Management would provide no details about decor for the new location."

Slaughterhouse Five and Luau--hard to beat.

I have a feeling only Chapel Hillians will understand the significance of this post.

Lost

We missed the one about Locke last week, but caught the surpassingly strange one this week. What was that all about?? It seemed like a Twilight Zone episode!

When Piers has no car

he takes his bike. Well, there are two bikes in the garage, but since it's a commute, Piers decides this morning that he'll take the Wal-Mart beater bike. Fine, but the front wheel needs more air. Okay. push the plastic thingy onto the valve. Won't engage. Try again. Still no luck. Better pull it off and try again. Pull. Won't come off. Pull harder. Still won't come off. Wiggle, pull, wiggle pull. Oh, for heaven's sake. Pull really hard. Pop! Whooosh! Out comes the whole valve from the tube, and I've now got a completely flat front tire.

I took the fancy bike today.

W will class this with the shirt & washing machine episode, and others that I can't remember right now.

Taxes

Well, I'll say: TaxAct is awesome. We calculated and filed our taxes last night. . . took less than an hour. . . and it was free, free, free!

And for the first time in our married life, we're getting a major refund. That's also cool.

Holy Smoke!

A literary feud, which I love (albiet in the 1590's), between two writers I love (who are actually both still alive)! link.

Robert Burton on the RSA

a good thought for this past weekend:

Praestat dentiscalpia radere, quam literariis monumentis magnatum favorem emendicare. It would be better to make toothpicks, than by literary labours to try and get the favour of the great.

Anatomy of Melancholy, pt. 1, sect. 2, memb. 3, subs. 15

HAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAHA *breathe* HHAAAAAHAHAA

Who's giving this guy advice?

Piers on the Road Vol 3

Number of scarily smart presenters in the last session: 2

Number of bikini and/or miniskirt-clad hotel guests mingling with the drab-suits-and-glasses crowd in the lobby: about 10 in the past five minutes

Number of affordable places for lunch: 2. Checker's and BK Lounge, which means: 1, since there's no sharpness of hunger that could make me go to BK Lounge.

Number of dollars I would have to spend to eat at the "Bistro" here in the hotel: $20

Number of chicken wings I ate last night: 12

Piers on the Road Vol. 2

I would just like to say that I will consider this a successful conference if I'm not killed in a fiery crash while navigating South Florida freeways.

Oh, and $30 a day for parking? I will have paid more in parking fees than I paid to rent the $*#@ car.

Saw some friends from Carolina, so that has been nice. It's strange to run into people whose books you have read and even cited in your academic work. They never quite look like you'd expect. Well, they look like you'd expect an english professor to look, but there's always the matter of height, or hair, or something.

I hope they pull out the coffee urns soon.

Piers on the road

Starting Wednesday, Piers will be travelling to, or sojourning in, Miami. Will catch up with old friend from college. Will deliver paper at Renaissance Society of America Annual Conference. Will meet up with some friends from grad school. Will return absolutely drained--on Sunday night.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 3

or, "Google skillz"

I had one student who tried to pass off material from Wikipedia as her own work a couple of weeks ago. She had been having trouble with her paper, and though I had repeatedly suggested that she come to my office to talk it over, she eschewed that option. Well, I thought it couldn't hurt to be kind, so after I read over that first essay, I brought her in and explained in detail what she had done wrong, how this kind of plagiarism isn't a good idea, etc.

Fast-forward two weeks, after the take-home midterm and essay rewrites have been turned in. Sure enough, she has learned her lesson. She didn't use Wikipedia or Sparknotes. . . she found really obscure websites to copy her material from! What an improvement! After we had a face-to-face conversation about it, too, which I found a little surprising. Is this
a) stupidity;
b) laziness; or
c) an insult?

I'm tempted to call it a staggering case of "b." Either way, though, she's going down.

Little Boy has a bike too

Scott Speedster S50, first ride

Early Spring in Martin

It's as if this is the stretch and the yawn before we all come fully awake. . .















. . . I know they're just pear blossoms, but seeing them means it's time to get up, get out. It'll soon be green. The town seems to slumber from November through February; we all step out of doors in March, rubbing our eyes and taking in the sunshine, becoming blessedly reaquainted with the smell of the earth in the back yard.

(think I like green?)

Irony.

Let it not be said that I appreciate it not.

Last Saturday: spent upwards of $1200 for a road bike and various accoutrements (gotta have accoutrements!!)

Sunday through Wednesday: on the road; sightseeing in and around Asheville, NC; driving the entire width of Tennessee on the way home.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday: bike and equipment ready to go! Temperature plummets into the 40's! Rain and wind!

Next Wednesday through Sunday: Piers in Miami at the Renaissance Society of America annual meeting.

Brand-new bike will be gathering cobwebs.

A comment on the weather

Seems like a good day to ride a bike!

Sonnet 129

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
--Wm. Shakespeare

Wow. Glad I'm not at Savannah State.

Institutional hostility to religious practices? check.

Vague speech code used punitively at administrative will? check.

Violation of First Amendment? check.

Exercise of raw coercive power? check.

link.

Choices, Choices

I'm going to drop several c-notes on a bike this weekend. The Question is, which one shall I choose?

This one?:












Or this one?:

"Duke Basketball, A Class Act"

So when we're getting shellacked, we'll just have one of our players slug Hansbrough in the face, probably breaking his nose. Why anyone admires this team, its school, or its coach, I'll never know.

Duke 72, UNC 86. I hope it hurts them bad.

UPDATE: No broken nose, just a lot of blood. Still looked like a cheap shot to me, though.

UPDATE #2: Nose is broken. Cheap shot. Whining by Coach Rat doesn't change a d*** thing.

Casualties

Good things, that come of course, far less do please
Then those, which come by sweet contingencies.
--Herrick

Astrophil and Stella #47

What, have I thus betray'd my liberty?

Can those black beams such burning marks engrave

In my free side? or am I born a slave,

Whose neck becomes such yoke of tyranny?

Or want I sense to feel my misery?

Or sprite, disdain of such disdain to have,

Who for long faith, though daily help I crave,

May get no alms but scorn of beggery?

Virtue awake, beauty but beauty is;

I may, I must, I can, I will, I do

Leave following that, which it is gain to miss.

Let her go! Soft, but here she comes. Go to,

Unkind, I love you not. Oh me, that eye

Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie.

Adventures With Students, Vol. 2

Subtitle: "Sometimes Things Work"

Below is an end-of-class assessment written by one of my students:

This progressive [sic] idea that man is striving towards virtue seems to be an ongoing theme. I really enjoyed Astrophil and Stella so much I read it straight through twice. I am learning a lot about sonnet form and wit in general. Sidney does not write haphazardly and I enjoy the small details that bring in these larger ideas.

Read it straight through twice!

Pamphilia to Amphilanthus #15

Your sight is all the food I do desire;
Then sacrifice me not in hidden fire,
Or stop the breath which did your praises move:

Think but how easy 'tis a sight to give;
Nay ev'n desert; since by it I do live,
I but chameleon-like would live, and love.
(9-14)

For Blakbuzzrd

Songs sampled by Daft Punk. link.

Carbon! We gots your carbon!

I don't really have a dog in this fight, but I do think it's great for a laugh.

The Gores used about 191,000 kilowatt hours in 2006, according to bills reviewed by The Associated Press.

I mean, dang. That's a lot of power.

Adventures with Faculty, Vol. 1

I am teaching "Honors" composition in the Fall, which means I'll be teaching the brightest first year students we have. I'm also at a total loss in terms of planning the class, because I've not been at all satisfied with either 111 (first-semester comp) class I've taught so far. I'm sharing the 111H duties with a colleague who's been here a lot longer than I, and she wants to 'collaborate.'

Oh lord. She caught me in the office yesterday, expressing her excitement about teaching a bunch of southern writers on 'the family.' Not my cup of tea, exactly. So when she asks me how many novels and plays I'm planning on teaching, I say, "none." I go on to explain that I was trained to teach composition classes more focused on writing than reading, so I use short stories and essays if anything. Her response:

Oh, these are the brightest students we have. You should challenge them--they can handle it. Give them lots of reading, make them rise to the occasion. They'll complain, but they will get it. So the reading, ah, the reading! We should collaborate on a set of short stories.

My face assumes, I imagine, a stonier complexion the longer this monologue goes on. I duck out as soon as I can get away. But there'll be no easy escape: I just received her 'draft' course description by email.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 1

In my 1:00 survey class, I have a student who has a great attitude but a lousy ability to read social signals. He's enthusiastic, sharp, but unfortunately looks a lot like a cheeto-dusted compulsive World of Warcraft player, if you know what I mean. He talks a lot, which he probably shouldn't, and here's a perfect case in point from yesterday:

I'm waxing eloquent (or something) about the 'hunt' conceit in one of Wyatt's sonnets, and in a fit of levity I happen to mention something about calling the cops, stalking, etc. This student picks up the cue, and blurts out this gem:

Well, you only get about three years for stalking!

It took me a few minutes to restore order, as he continued to talk in a vain attempt to explain himself. Dude, just turn on the filter, K?

Piers Returns

. . . with two new series!

Adventures with Faculty, and
Adventures with Students.

. . . and they'll start off pretty good, I think

Argh

I've had a cold for three weeks

It's too cold to not wear a jacket in the morning, but too warm to wear a jacket in the afternoon

Sunshine? What's that?

S. A. D. is for real

No football

Can't even think of material for this supererogation

I hate February.

I'm not activist, but I could get that way about stuff like this

Read especially the portion down at the end of the article. See if you can name the part that would make Orwell roll over in his grave.

Life with a Toddler, Vol. 26

We were in the nursery yesterday watching the two-year olds during church. Actually, we were in The Little Boy's classroom, so it was him and five other urchins. I stand watching The Little Boy play on a rocking contraption with a little girl named Emma, when all of a sudden he plants a kiss right on her lips! And then they get on the floor, and he drapes his arm around her back and they're whispering sweet nothings!

Son, not the football coach's daughter! I swear, he didn't learn that behavior from me!

Life with a Toddler, Vol. 25

We have an announcement. Late last week, The Little Boy decided it was time for Thomas and Elmo underwear. As of today, we've gone 3 or 4 straight days without a single accident. Both 'numbers,' if you know what I mean.

Life With a Toddler, Vol. 24

Last night, as Piers is changing his shirt, the following words from The Little Boy:

"Look at that big tummy!"

what's that, buddy?

"Daddy, you got big tummy!"

(W laughing uproariously)

"Mommy, see that big tummy?"

thanks a lot, kid.