Holiday Cheer Update

New oven needed: 1

Meals cooked using toaster oven: 3

Presents wrapped: 3

Christmas bric-a-brac broken by boy: 3

Items on homemade advent calendar for little boy: 6

Days left in semester: 1

Assignments left to grade: 150 (give or take a few)

Rasselas, Chapter 27

He that has much to do will do something wrong, and of that wrong must suffer the consequences; and, if it were possible that he should always act rightly, yet when such numbers are to judge of his conduct, the bad will censure and obstruct him by malevolence, and the good sometimes by mistake.

--Samuel Johnson (1759)

Grinchy Grinch.

I love this song

Sermon Stupidity

Yesterday I had the privilege of sitting in the choir behind a professor from Mid-America Baptist Theological Seminary while he preached on Philippians 4:6-7. His basic message: We should not worry, because worry is a sin. So to keep from the sin of worry, one should first remember that God said not to, and then one should pray using the three modes listed in the verse and making sure of course that you're praying God's will. That way, we avoid missing out on salvation ("there are some people in Hell who are there because they couldn't respond to the Word because they were worried about a roast burning at home"), and we avoid the worst damage a Christian can do to the Church's witness (his exact words).

This is a school of preaching that makes one wonder if the preacher has actually lived with human beings, or understands that there is more than one mode in Scripture than command, or is to dense to understand that telling a congregation that they could end up in Hell for worrying is hardly the way to encourage them not to worry!

I could go on, but suffice it to say that it was undoubtedly the worst sermon I've sat through in years. W's comment: and this is a man teaching others at a seminary. Geez.

Yay for MB

. . . who's going to be a mommy in May of next year. K has a new job, her takeover of NCSU continues apace, and now a little one! What a year! Needless to say, we here in West Tennessee approve mightily of little ones. Health and happiness to all three!

Grinchy Claus

Help me out. It's a sunny day here in West Tennessee, and W wants us to go get a Fraser Fir to set up and decorate this evening.

I want to go home and climb into bed and emerge only to watch Tennessee get crushed on Saturday (sorry, Buzzrd & Hammie, as is your case with LSU, my hatred of UT knows no bounds).

Herein we have a problem. Tree decorating takes time and a good amount of effort on my part, and this year we have a Little Boy who knows enough to be really thrilled by the whole process. It needs to be done right, by which I mean with enjoyment and enthusiasm on my part. I can't seem to muster the desire.

Why should this season mean that all my energy is poured out in the Andy Holt Humanities building, with only the dregs left to carry home to my family?

UPDATE, 9:00 pm:
Well, we did get a tree and put it up and put lights on it and got about a third of the way through the decorating--Little Boy was having a blast--when we heard a fizz and a pop and saw a tiny flame. Nothing will 're-grinch' your day like having to take all the ornaments and all the lights back off the tree before bedtime.

Shades of 1989

. . . a different woman president this time.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 14

Not my student, thank goodness. I'm reading senior theses from SU, my alma mater, and in an analysis of Paradise Lost, I read this line:

Sin not only existed from the beginning, but it is what gives God purpose and meaning.

Good luck proving that one.

How do you go in & teach

when the last thing you confront before you walk in a room is a tearful student sobbing that she's going to lose her mom to cancer within the year?

Piers breaks blog silence to link to cat video

You have to watch both--the top one first.

link.

I like green.

John Deere Green. The men from Lowe's dropped it off yesterday morning.

Fiddler on the Roof at Bethel College

So we went to McKenzie last night to see my brother's drama group perform Fiddler on the Roof. It was a change of pace to a certain extent--most of the other productions we've seen down there have been more comedic in tone. This marks, I guess, his fourth production in a year and a half of work with the Renaissance program down there.

I find it hard to express how much I admire the work he's doing. With a cramped space, scant institutional support (indeed, he has been met with extraordinary hostility by the college faculty), and a really small recruiting pool, he's putting on productions that appeal to a broad community of people. And he really has some fine students: there were four or five students, including the actors playing Tevye, Hodel, Perchik, and Motel, that stood out and could really compete for roles on any college campus. Congratulations, brother.

My dad was up from Atlanta for the production, which made The Little Boy happy; they had a huge time yesterday.

Hugo Project #3

Walter Miller's A Canticle for Leibowitz. (1961 Hugo winner)

An erudite, humane novel. I really enjoyed this one for a couple of reasons. First, there is Miller's knowledgeable and relatively sympathetic rendering of the Catholic Church. The church in this book isn't perfect, but it certainly isn't the typical sinister cabal you see in many texts. Clearly, Miller knows whereof he writes.

Second, I enjoyed cyclical structure of the story where he takes us from a bleak postapocalyptic dark age to a new Renaissance to yet another blossoming of technology and its end in a second nuclear holocaust. It's a bleak ending in many ways, but it's also honest. And it keeps its own scope relatively narrow, i.e., the world of the monastery and its interactions with the outside world.

I was going to write that the whole nuclear holocaust scenario was clearly a Cold War concern that may seem a bit dated to us, but Fukuyama's "end of history" hasn't turned out as comfy-warm as we would like. Maybe it's becoming timely again. Powerful stuff.

Article on George Herbert

Studies in Philology.

2010.

15 readers.

yeeeehaw!

Pig Pickin Pics

apologies for the relatively gruesome shot worthy of Lord of the Flies. But hey, we were cooking a whole pig, after all. Thanks to my brother Dave, the artist, for most of the shots. More to come!

Pig Pickin

Home again

We've gathered in the sails for a while, resting at anchor.

Got some work to do on the ol' bark--

isp down at home, so updates may be sporadic for a few days

Springfield, Ohio . . .

. . . Renaissance Prose Conference.

Martin Marprelate
Jan Comenius
John Milton
Mary, Queen of Scots
Giovanni Boccaccio
Marguerite de Navarre
Christine de Pizan
John Donne
C. S. Lewis.

Heady company, to be sure.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 13

You know what really bites? Is when you have a student you've trusted, worked with, gone to bat for--a student you have seen as possessing great potential--just completely abuses your trust and goes right off the deep end.

I guess it was going to happen sooner or later. I'm pretty disappointed.

Why, hello, Mr. Orwell. Meet . . .

. . . the University of Delaware.

Chromosome Pair of the Day

XY

Hugo Project #2

The Big Time, by Fritz Leiber (Hugo winner, 1958).

A surpassingly strange book, one that reads more like closet drama than a novel. It relies heavily on a flighty female narrator. Leiber is good at writing in this voice, which makes it almost impossible to read. It also, while inventive, takes place in a space I never could define. I didn't make it to the end.

Kiss of Death

for the Heels. If they end up on the cover of SI, they're absolutely doomed.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 12

You just never know what to expect. I read today a comment in response to Jonson's Cary-Morison Ode (we covered it in class yesterday . . . it's a poem on friendship):

Then we went over the poem about friendship and how a short life can sometimes be better than a long one. We learned the fact that what is done during one's life means the most. And this poem really hit me because my Dad passed away right before school started and I saw a lot of these good things talked about in the poem in my Dad's life. It just helped me to remember that even though he lived a short life, it was a good one.

Friday Cat break

Simon is crazy, but not like this.

Adventures With Students, Vol. 11

You learn the most interesting things about yourself from student gossip.

Today, I learned that I've been called "The Shakespeare Nazi" by a student who recently dropped the Shakespeare class. Godwin's Law aside, what the heck is that all about?

Am I supposed to take that as a mark of honor?

Pig Pickin Update

Success! Beautiful weather, homemade sauce came out pretty well, 90 guests, plenty of food.

We were especially thrilled that R&S came down from Chicago for the big event, and that both sets of grandparents could be here.

Pictures to follow (we've been having trouble with our ISP)--

Ohhhh yeaaaahh

GH III for Mac.

(insert guttural Axl Rose scream here)

Pig Pickin Countdown

Two days

Better start making that NC-style barbecue sauce

Don't worry. We'll have the ketchupy stuff too

Pig Pickin Update

Grass mowed (mown??).
Weeds whacked.
Pits built.
Oinker ordered.
Windows washed.
Edges edged.

Four Days.

Adventures With Students, Vol. 10

I just learned through the grapevine that I'm apparently quitting before next term. Somebody should inform me of these life-changing decisions I'm making before I start requesting courses for future semesters.

Pig Pickin Countdown

6 days.

Here Comes Car'lina 'lina

Late Night With Roy is tonight!

Which means I'll be in a tizzy about twice a week from November through March.

And this is why I never voted for Mike Easley

not that it made any difference, but still.

An item in today's TMQ takes on State 'education' lotteries:

this important story in Sunday's New York Times details how the supposed virtue of state-run gambling lotteries -- payments for public education -- increasingly is a swindle. State-run lotteries took in $56 billion in 2006, the paper reports, but only $17 billion of that amount actually went to the official purpose, support of education. The balance, 70 percent of receipts, was used for prizes and administrative expenses. If a charity spent only 30 percent of its proceeds on charitable works, the managers would soon be in jail. Yet state-run lotteries devote only a third to education and the legislatures of the 42 states plus the District of Columbia that sponsor gambling do nothing.

But it's for the chiiiiiiiiiillllllllldrrrrrrrrrrehhhhhhhhhhhhhnnnnnnn. I call BS on that.

"Free Expression Tunnel" No longer Free

at NC State.

Not that I have a particular love for that institution, but really..."free expression tunnel"? eh? laa-aaa-aaame. And then to start policing what's written? double lame. As if university bureaucrats needed any more ways to look like asses.

New Rings on fingers

I'm bemused to see not one, not two, but three of the young women in my first-year composition class sporting engagement rings this week. How in the world does one get engaged to be married in September or October of one's first year at college?

My Parents' Church in the NYT, of all places

The World Comes to Georgia . . . featuring Clarkston International Bible Church!

And I note a conspicuously (surprisingly!) positive nod to evangelical churches generally:

The transformation of what was long known as the Clarkston Baptist Church speaks to a broader change among other American churches. Many evangelical Christians who have long believed in spreading their religion in faraway lands have found that immigrants offer an opportunity for church work within one’s own community. And many immigrants and refugees are drawn by the warm welcome they get from the parishioners, which can stand in stark contrast to the more competitive and alienating nature of workaday America.

Indeed, evangelical churches have begun to stand out as rare centers of ethnic mixing in a country that researchers say has become more culturally fragmented, in part because of immigration.

A recent study by the Harvard political scientist Robert D. Putnam underscored the practical complications of diversity. In interviews with 30,000 Americans, the study found that residents of more diverse communities “tend to withdraw from collective life,” voting less and volunteering less than those in more homogeneous communities.

The study noted a conspicuous exception.

“In many large evangelical congregations,” the researchers wrote, “the participants constituted the largest thoroughly integrated gatherings we have ever witnessed.”

Not that the notice of the NYT matters, really, but it's nice to get some credit. That's my mom's sunday school class in the small picture on the first page, btw. In the email she wrote to me, she sums it up:

But this one thing is a work of God. We are honored that He chose us to be a part of this unusual body of Christ.

I've had questions about that movie . . .

. . . Beowulf. Students want extra credit or a field trip to see it. Well, I was reluctant to do that before, and after seeing the trailer just now, I'm glad my instinct was correct.

Adventures with Students 9

This is a new one for me. I've got a student in one of my composition classes that has all the signs of being from an extremely conservative background: the long hair, the long skirts, and essays asserting in no uncertain terms the absolute authority of Scripture along with a moral philosophy along the lines of: "there is right, there is wrong, and nothing in between."

Well, I'm in a funny position. I've been going to Baptist churches much longer than she's been going to church, and I'm frankly pretty orthodox in my theology and theodicy and morality, etc. I am not unsympathetic to a biblical worldview, so I want her to understand that my criticism of her work is not because I'm "of the devil's party." But this is an academic class, and part of my job is to teach critical thinking, whether theist or atheist, Christian or Buddhist in orientation.

But then we have a conversation like the one we did today. She had written in her paper a comment about the Fall of Adam in the Garden of Eden. I, innocently, wrote "& Eve?" above her sentence. After class, she comes to me asking about the Eve comment. She says (and I'm trying to repeat it as best I can from memory):

But Eve didn't sin; she was deceived. Adam is the one who sinned. The sin nature comes from Adam.

I stammered out an assurance that the comment was more a moment of curiosity on my part as to why Eve wasn't mentioned, that it didn't affect the grade on the paper. I then stammered out something like, "well, if you'll look at the Genesis account, it seems that Eve makes a choice to eat of the fruit just as Adam does." I don't know who I was expecting to convince with that statement. She certainly wasn't impressed.

For added irony: in this same class is a fairly aggressive atheist/agnostic who, after we read a portion from 1 Samuel for a discussion about the foundations of monarchy, asked if "we were supposed to act like this is true, or what?"

Eight years at Carolina, and this stuff never came up even once. In my third year at this institution, situated (just ask members of the Equity and Diversity Advisory Committee!!) in a "moralistic, blinkered, intolerant, conservative" environment, I'm confronting questions about the reliability and veracity of Scripture, and its place in academic discussion, at the very same time as I'm fielding questions about whether or not Eve's encounter with the Serpent absolves her of sin, and whether a "sin nature" is carried with the "Y" chromosome. Yow.

Another LOLcat

I know, I know, but this picture is hilarious.

go look.

How to Bake an Equity and Diversity Council Meeting

1. Take three parts sanctimony

2. Add one part dark hints about "conservative people"

3. Add two liters of personal testimony, preferably from someone "not from the South"

4. Stir these ingredients with five heaping shovels of vague talk about "issues," and "doing the right thing" and "diversity" and "problems" Important: Make no specific remarks about anything identifiable or observable in the real world.

5. Garnish with a sprig of bureaucratic language and recognition that University policy is set by suits in Knoxville, so the entire proceeding is a joke.

Because I can't use Star Trek jokes in class anymore:

Khaaaaaaaan!

I needed a laugh today

October 3 is an important day

Happy Birthday to Weslee! The Little Boy and I are glad she was born!

Papa has directed his last anthem

We just returned from his final worship service as music minister at First Baptist Church, Nashville.

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