I stopped at a local resturant for supper on the way home tonight, and decided to read papers while I was there. Nice place, good food, great character.
As I was reading, I got a cup of chianti, and opened the folder for the next paper. It was a paper on the evils of alcohol. I sighed, mainly because it's a persuasive paper, but the paper that is required is to be a research based paper.
I talked with her about this on the first draft. She's a smart kid, but extremely opininated. I could explain her behavior in a number of ways, but, I won't, mainly because it's not fair to her. But, I have a feeling that when I talk with her the next time, it might not go down very well.
I wonder if she'll pray for me when this is all over.
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Whiteboards and chalkboards and smartboards, oh my.
In the lecture bowl in my alma mater's psyc building, we had those chalkboards on rails. The ones where you have three boards that you can write on, and when you're done with one, you push it up out of the way, and you have your tabula rasa. It was great during certain lectures because you could show progress over the course of a class; very helpful in classes like Stats or History and Systems.
I found out on Monday that they finally replaced them with whiteboards. And instead of two sets of three, they just have whiteboards screwed to the walls. I sighed softly, nostagically, because I haven't had a chance to write on a chalkboard in years. I miss the feel of caulk dust on my fingers, the smell of fresh chalk when a new box is opened...
Damn, I'm a nerd...
Chalkboards are slowly going extinct.
*****
I remember the first time I saw a whiteboard. It was in the lab section of my Intro to Computers class back in the fall of '88. When we walked into the lab I can remember noticing that there weren't any chalkboards, and I thought, "how weird is that? Classroom without boards...(in psychology, we call that a violation of the set schema). It bothered me that we were going to be in this lab without chalk boards; and then, the teacher came in, pulled out a marker and started writing on the freakin' wall! I went from a violation-of-a-set-schema to a what-the-flippin'-fuck situation!
It was amazing. At least I thought at the time.
For a long time, more and more whiteboards migrated into classrooms; they even replaced chalkboards in a few prof's offices in the psych building, as well as the smaller classrooms in the basement of the building.
*****
A few years back now, I was on the sister campus, and we were in a room where they had what I called at the time a 'whiteboard on steroids'. After plugging a cord into a computer, you could interact with the computer via the whiteboard. If you pushed a button on the side of the board, whatever you wrote on the board with a dry-erase marker would also be recorded on the computer! Flippin' amazing! I turned to my provost and said "I want one in my classroom!" We do have a smartboard on our campus now, but, it's in the room we typically use for meetings. I'd still like to use it, but, I can't fit 40 students into that room comfortably.
*****
I miss chalkboards. And I know quite a few of the profs over at my alma mater will miss the boards on slides. Dr. A. would use them with panache and flair, pausing at the dramatic moments and would flip that board to the top of the slides with a thunderous "BANG" and while we were still watching it, he'd be furiously writing on the next.
Now that's style.
I found out on Monday that they finally replaced them with whiteboards. And instead of two sets of three, they just have whiteboards screwed to the walls. I sighed softly, nostagically, because I haven't had a chance to write on a chalkboard in years. I miss the feel of caulk dust on my fingers, the smell of fresh chalk when a new box is opened...
Damn, I'm a nerd...
Chalkboards are slowly going extinct.
I remember the first time I saw a whiteboard. It was in the lab section of my Intro to Computers class back in the fall of '88. When we walked into the lab I can remember noticing that there weren't any chalkboards, and I thought, "how weird is that? Classroom without boards...(in psychology, we call that a violation of the set schema). It bothered me that we were going to be in this lab without chalk boards; and then, the teacher came in, pulled out a marker and started writing on the freakin' wall! I went from a violation-of-a-set-schema to a what-the-flippin'-fuck situation!
It was amazing. At least I thought at the time.
For a long time, more and more whiteboards migrated into classrooms; they even replaced chalkboards in a few prof's offices in the psych building, as well as the smaller classrooms in the basement of the building.
A few years back now, I was on the sister campus, and we were in a room where they had what I called at the time a 'whiteboard on steroids'. After plugging a cord into a computer, you could interact with the computer via the whiteboard. If you pushed a button on the side of the board, whatever you wrote on the board with a dry-erase marker would also be recorded on the computer! Flippin' amazing! I turned to my provost and said "I want one in my classroom!" We do have a smartboard on our campus now, but, it's in the room we typically use for meetings. I'd still like to use it, but, I can't fit 40 students into that room comfortably.
I miss chalkboards. And I know quite a few of the profs over at my alma mater will miss the boards on slides. Dr. A. would use them with panache and flair, pausing at the dramatic moments and would flip that board to the top of the slides with a thunderous "BANG" and while we were still watching it, he'd be furiously writing on the next.
Now that's style.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Is it just me, or is this bloody odd?
I couldn't sleep this morning, so, I got up and was flipping through the channels, and Biography was doing a show on Muhammed Ali -- and it was actually aimed at kids (hell, it was even called Biography For Kids and they had flipped the 's' around and all that happy, happy horseshit). Ali has always been an interest of mine, so, I was watching it, and then, the commericals came on.
Mutual funds. Car insurance. Health insurance. Viagra. Celais.
Christ, I wonder who the marketing genius working at Biography is. If it is indeed to be marketed at kids, then, perhaps they should market towards kids; if the show is for adults, then, don't say it's for kids.
It's one of those mornings in which I was happy that I didn't have a kid. I could just see it; "Daddy, what's erection disorder?" "Well, son, it's where Dad can't get a chubby when he and your mother wanna do the Wild Thang."
Mutual funds. Car insurance. Health insurance. Viagra. Celais.
Christ, I wonder who the marketing genius working at Biography is. If it is indeed to be marketed at kids, then, perhaps they should market towards kids; if the show is for adults, then, don't say it's for kids.
It's one of those mornings in which I was happy that I didn't have a kid. I could just see it; "Daddy, what's erection disorder?" "Well, son, it's where Dad can't get a chubby when he and your mother wanna do the Wild Thang."
Sunday, February 12, 2006
I've become allergic to time
About a year ago, I started getting rashes on my wrist around my watch. I'd take off my watch, put on a little hydrocortisone, and the rash would disappear.
But, last Labor Day, I was helping my sister, and that weekend, the rash became worse. Everytime I put the watch back on, the itching became worse, until finally, I had to take the watch completely off.
Kerry saw the rash. "You're allergic to your watch."
I didn't believe him, but, when the rash didn't clear up after a few weeks, and the next time I was in getting doctoring, I asked about it. My doctor looked at my wrist; "Allergy. Quit wearing your watch."
For a while, I wore my watch on my right wrist until I noticed that I was getting a rash there as well. And as a person who is very locked in time, it has become hard to adjust to.
Kerry has helped, however. He gave me a very nice Christmas present; a Colibri pocket watch. Mine is similar to this one in the way the style of the case, but it's gold and doesn't have the Dolan Bullock logo. I love the watch, and have it with me most everywhere I go now.
I'd love to find an old Elgin like my grandfather gave me when I was 14. I had the watch for a long time, up until the Flood of '97 claimed it. I've been searching for a replacement for a long, long time, and as of yet, haven't found one.
I'm allergic to time, and I'm okay with that.
But, last Labor Day, I was helping my sister, and that weekend, the rash became worse. Everytime I put the watch back on, the itching became worse, until finally, I had to take the watch completely off.
Kerry saw the rash. "You're allergic to your watch."
I didn't believe him, but, when the rash didn't clear up after a few weeks, and the next time I was in getting doctoring, I asked about it. My doctor looked at my wrist; "Allergy. Quit wearing your watch."
For a while, I wore my watch on my right wrist until I noticed that I was getting a rash there as well. And as a person who is very locked in time, it has become hard to adjust to.
Kerry has helped, however. He gave me a very nice Christmas present; a Colibri pocket watch. Mine is similar to this one in the way the style of the case, but it's gold and doesn't have the Dolan Bullock logo. I love the watch, and have it with me most everywhere I go now.
I'd love to find an old Elgin like my grandfather gave me when I was 14. I had the watch for a long time, up until the Flood of '97 claimed it. I've been searching for a replacement for a long, long time, and as of yet, haven't found one.
I'm allergic to time, and I'm okay with that.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Two other quick notes
1) Currently I have three projects I'm developing; I'm working on a fund-raiser for camp to build a summer kitchen during the sumemr of 2009, planning a trip around Minnesota that I'm going to Minnesota 10 Miles at a Time, and doing archival research into the area of Academic Dishonesty. I'm considering doing blogs on the summer kitchen and AD stuff, too.
2) Kelli -- when you read this...get off your ASS and put something on your damn blog! :)
2) Kelli -- when you read this...get off your ASS and put something on your damn blog! :)
Stories
I've told stories since I was a kid. I don't know where they come from, they've always just flowed from me. I enjoy it, always have. And I enjoy finding new people to tell stories to.
Maybe that's why I tell stories when I teach. I enjoy history, almost as much as I enjoy psychology. For a short while, I considered becoming a historian -- but what can you do as a historian? Become an administrator at some school? (Jeff, if you see this, ya know I'm just funnin' ya.) I tell stories to help my students make connections.
There are other stories I tell as well. I tell stories of my family, of growing up, of my adventures and misadventures, all that stuff. I also make stuff up, just because it's the only way I can give a life to the voices in my head. Hell, if I don't, they'll come out in different ways and I'll end up in a psych ward on a 72 hold as they try and figure me out.
Not too long ago, my good compadre Kerry asked why, when asked a question, I tell stories to get to the answer. I told him, "Well, it's like this...I come from a long line of bullshit artists..."
He stopped me and told me that I was selling myself short. I also like that he told me that he enjoys that about me; and that he learns a great deal, not just of me, but of other things as well. I challenge him, he said, to think about things in a manner he's not had to do often. Something he enjoys a lot.
Stories.
I've got stories. Many of them true, some filled with half-truths and shades of lies, and others...well...others that are all straight from the depth of my story fount. And stories shall continue to fill my space here.
Maybe that's why I tell stories when I teach. I enjoy history, almost as much as I enjoy psychology. For a short while, I considered becoming a historian -- but what can you do as a historian? Become an administrator at some school? (Jeff, if you see this, ya know I'm just funnin' ya.) I tell stories to help my students make connections.
There are other stories I tell as well. I tell stories of my family, of growing up, of my adventures and misadventures, all that stuff. I also make stuff up, just because it's the only way I can give a life to the voices in my head. Hell, if I don't, they'll come out in different ways and I'll end up in a psych ward on a 72 hold as they try and figure me out.
Not too long ago, my good compadre Kerry asked why, when asked a question, I tell stories to get to the answer. I told him, "Well, it's like this...I come from a long line of bullshit artists..."
He stopped me and told me that I was selling myself short. I also like that he told me that he enjoys that about me; and that he learns a great deal, not just of me, but of other things as well. I challenge him, he said, to think about things in a manner he's not had to do often. Something he enjoys a lot.
Stories.
I've got stories. Many of them true, some filled with half-truths and shades of lies, and others...well...others that are all straight from the depth of my story fount. And stories shall continue to fill my space here.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Ads By Google
I decided a few months ago to sign up for the Ads by Google stuff because as I was bouncing around, I saw some pretty cool random ads that were posted by Google. I haven't had many up to now, though the other night I did have some funky Barbie and Ken links.
Tonight, though, I bounced through and I wasn't going to make a post until I saw that on the top of my window, there are ads for Bambi, Marine Corps, Bambi 2 Movie, and Bambi II DVD.
I don't know why, but that tickles me as much as some of the subject headings I get on my SPAM mail. Those are some of the best found poetry I've seen in a long while.
Tonight, though, I bounced through and I wasn't going to make a post until I saw that on the top of my window, there are ads for Bambi, Marine Corps, Bambi 2 Movie, and Bambi II DVD.
I don't know why, but that tickles me as much as some of the subject headings I get on my SPAM mail. Those are some of the best found poetry I've seen in a long while.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
As I take a break from grading tonight (and right before I go back to it)
About a week ago, I caught a commercial for Disney's new straight-to-video movie, Bambi II, and I got this...really
sick...
feeling...
and all I could think was "WHY?"
Of course, we know the answer is M-O-N-E-Y (which is, if you haven't heard, a great song by Lyle Lovett). And of course, I bet old Walt is rolling in his grave thinking "Why the flippin' hell didn't I think of this when I was alive?"
Anyway, as I watched that commercial for the 30th time, I suddenly remembered when the first time I saw the original Bambi, which I'll get back to in a moment. I just remembered one other thing I want to mention before I go on to that.
My friend, Kerry, is one of the two most anti-Disney people I know. The first is my mother-in-law who hated the company because of the old Ellen DeGeneres show, ya know, being that Ellen is a lesbian and all. I doubt my m-i-l ever even watched the show; "we just don't need those people on the t.v." Kerry, though, has a pretty good reason why he doesn't have a lot respect for the Mouse people. "They anthropomorphize animals, making hunters and fishermen evil. Oh, please don't hurt the poor little bunny! He looks like Thumper!" There are a lot of other reasons he's not big into Disney, but that's the one I always like to tweak him with from time to time.
Okay, so back to my other story...
I didn't see Bambi until I was 19 and in the Marines. One Saturday, my buddy Mike and I were walking by the base theater on the 29 Palms Marine Corps Air-Ground Combat Center. Now that's a mouthful, isn't it? As we were walking by, we noticed that the Saturday matinee was Bambi. I chuckled, fessed up to having never seen it, and Mike laughed. "Let's go!"
So, we went.
As did about 100 other young Marines...
And...about 100 young wives and children.
Can ya see where I'm going here? Good, I knew you did.
Mike and I got our seats in a section with a bunch of other Jarheads, and we watched, laughing at the parts we were to laugh at, cheering where we were supposed to cheer, doing just what we were supposed to do. Yup, nothing like watching a bunch of America's finest watching a kid's movie on a Saturday afternoon...
But, you know, there's that classic part. The part Kerry gets all up in arms about (*ahem* no pun intended). The part where kids scream in terror...
The part where the hunters shoot...
Bambi's mother.
See, someone wasn't thinking very clearly. They should not have let 100 young Leathernecks into a matinee with 100 young wives and their children.
Because while they were all crying about Bambi's mother being shoot...
We were...
Well...
Cheering the hunter's well placed shot.
There were loud, thunderous "Ooo-RAH's" and "Get SOME!" and "Yeah, BABY!" cheers echoing off the walls...
*****
The following Wednesday, every unit at the 29 Palms MCAGCC had a meeting with the troops where the CO came out and read a message from the base Commanding General. The message said, in short, that from that day forward and until further notice, the early matinees at the base theater would be for families only. The second matinee would be open to anyone.
It seems that as soon as the movie was over, the Commanding General's phone started ringing. And it rang all day Saturday. And Sunday. And Monday...hell, the incident even made it into the base newspaper.
After our major read the order, he folded it up and placed it in his pocket, and looked around the Company A of the School Battalion (I was going to Electronic Tech 1 school at the time), and he grinned at us. "Yup. My wife and sons were there Saturday. Knew I shoulda went...but...if I woulda cheered with you.
"Of course, I wouldn'a got any sugar from the wife for a while, but, dammit, it woulda been worth it."
*****
Alrighty, then, I'm going back to grading...
sick...
feeling...
and all I could think was "WHY?"
Of course, we know the answer is M-O-N-E-Y (which is, if you haven't heard, a great song by Lyle Lovett). And of course, I bet old Walt is rolling in his grave thinking "Why the flippin' hell didn't I think of this when I was alive?"
Anyway, as I watched that commercial for the 30th time, I suddenly remembered when the first time I saw the original Bambi, which I'll get back to in a moment. I just remembered one other thing I want to mention before I go on to that.
My friend, Kerry, is one of the two most anti-Disney people I know. The first is my mother-in-law who hated the company because of the old Ellen DeGeneres show, ya know, being that Ellen is a lesbian and all. I doubt my m-i-l ever even watched the show; "we just don't need those people on the t.v." Kerry, though, has a pretty good reason why he doesn't have a lot respect for the Mouse people. "They anthropomorphize animals, making hunters and fishermen evil. Oh, please don't hurt the poor little bunny! He looks like Thumper!" There are a lot of other reasons he's not big into Disney, but that's the one I always like to tweak him with from time to time.
Okay, so back to my other story...
I didn't see Bambi until I was 19 and in the Marines. One Saturday, my buddy Mike and I were walking by the base theater on the 29 Palms Marine Corps Air-Ground Combat Center. Now that's a mouthful, isn't it? As we were walking by, we noticed that the Saturday matinee was Bambi. I chuckled, fessed up to having never seen it, and Mike laughed. "Let's go!"
So, we went.
As did about 100 other young Marines...
And...about 100 young wives and children.
Can ya see where I'm going here? Good, I knew you did.
Mike and I got our seats in a section with a bunch of other Jarheads, and we watched, laughing at the parts we were to laugh at, cheering where we were supposed to cheer, doing just what we were supposed to do. Yup, nothing like watching a bunch of America's finest watching a kid's movie on a Saturday afternoon...
But, you know, there's that classic part. The part Kerry gets all up in arms about (*ahem* no pun intended). The part where kids scream in terror...
The part where the hunters shoot...
Bambi's mother.
See, someone wasn't thinking very clearly. They should not have let 100 young Leathernecks into a matinee with 100 young wives and their children.
Because while they were all crying about Bambi's mother being shoot...
We were...
Well...
Cheering the hunter's well placed shot.
There were loud, thunderous "Ooo-RAH's" and "Get SOME!" and "Yeah, BABY!" cheers echoing off the walls...
The following Wednesday, every unit at the 29 Palms MCAGCC had a meeting with the troops where the CO came out and read a message from the base Commanding General. The message said, in short, that from that day forward and until further notice, the early matinees at the base theater would be for families only. The second matinee would be open to anyone.
It seems that as soon as the movie was over, the Commanding General's phone started ringing. And it rang all day Saturday. And Sunday. And Monday...hell, the incident even made it into the base newspaper.
After our major read the order, he folded it up and placed it in his pocket, and looked around the Company A of the School Battalion (I was going to Electronic Tech 1 school at the time), and he grinned at us. "Yup. My wife and sons were there Saturday. Knew I shoulda went...but...if I woulda cheered with you.
"Of course, I wouldn'a got any sugar from the wife for a while, but, dammit, it woulda been worth it."
Alrighty, then, I'm going back to grading...
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Highway 1
Minnesota is a bit screwy when it comes to numbering highways. For the most part, it follows that conventions of odd-numbered highways go north-south and even-numbered highways go east-west. Yet, Highway 23, which goes through my hometown, runs across the state at about 45 degree angle, but, at the start and finish, it runs more north-south over east-west. Highway 11, along the most northern tier of the state, also runs east-west. I could go on and on, however, that's not the point of this post...
Highway 1 stretches across the northern tier as well, stretching from Oslo, MN on the North Dakota border (from downtown Oslo to the Red River of the North it's less than a quarter mile) to Illgen City on the shores of Lake Superior. It goes through Thief River Falls, snakes around the bottom of Red Lake, then bounces around through Northome, Cook, Tower, Ely, Finland, and a bunch of other smaller towns before ending up going into the basin in a small town between Silver Bay and Little Marias. I find it interesting that two of the Scandinavian countries are connected by a highway such as this.
Lately, I've been spending a lot of time on 1 between Alvarado and Thief River. It's a stretch of about 35 miles in total, and it's like no where else I've ever been. It's extremely flat, as I've stated before, but, it's more than that. The idea of saying it's lunar is both over-used and incorrect; it's ...
Something else altogether.
It's similar to the Canadian prairie going into Winnipeg ...
But that's not it, either.
It's almost as if, when making the world, by the time God got to this part of the world, He felt like he was starting to repeat Himself and thus, lost the creative spark and just left it with full intention of coming back later to finish it. I can see it on His Palm Pilot now:
Week 20: Finish Aggassi and Steppes areas after figuring out what's happening in the orchard; A & E got some 'splainin' to do.
He got busy; I drive through the land God forgot.
*****
Tuesday through Thursday last week, the temps were hovering around freezing, we had strong winds and snow. Thursday as I was coming home from Thief River and after I passed through Warren, I felt like I had driven into a wall. My friend, Michelle, who makes the same drive every day, calls it driving in a snow globe. At times, I couldn't see the front of my car, and three times, I had my letter of resignation written in my head. I made it back safely (but not without peril), and if the temps hadn't dropped from 28 to 10 (-15 with the wind chill), I would have kissed the ground.
It was calmer on Friday, and I went to Thief River with another collegue. He had a meeting up there, and I wanted to do a little research. The computers in our campus library are messed up at the moment, and instead of fighting with them, it was just easier to do it there. We took backroads up there, but, they were a bit too icy to travel comfortably. On the way back, we took 1 to Alvarado, taking 220 south to home, and since I wasn't driving, I got to observe the wind sculptures in the ditches and on the farms.
One of the pleasures we get for living in an area God forgot to decorate is that in the winter, we get paybacks with temporary art that shifts in a hard wind or under a brillant sun, made of pristine white and sapphire blue shadows. Deer were everywhere, eating after the storm, and ravens and crows were doing their work on the hapless deer that tried to shoot the moon and race that car, or pickup, or semi that glides along the tarmac ribbon, stretching from Oslo to Illgin City, two towns on opposite ends of the state. Two towns in two different worlds.
Such is the state I travel.
Highway 1 stretches across the northern tier as well, stretching from Oslo, MN on the North Dakota border (from downtown Oslo to the Red River of the North it's less than a quarter mile) to Illgen City on the shores of Lake Superior. It goes through Thief River Falls, snakes around the bottom of Red Lake, then bounces around through Northome, Cook, Tower, Ely, Finland, and a bunch of other smaller towns before ending up going into the basin in a small town between Silver Bay and Little Marias. I find it interesting that two of the Scandinavian countries are connected by a highway such as this.
Lately, I've been spending a lot of time on 1 between Alvarado and Thief River. It's a stretch of about 35 miles in total, and it's like no where else I've ever been. It's extremely flat, as I've stated before, but, it's more than that. The idea of saying it's lunar is both over-used and incorrect; it's ...
Something else altogether.
It's similar to the Canadian prairie going into Winnipeg ...
But that's not it, either.
It's almost as if, when making the world, by the time God got to this part of the world, He felt like he was starting to repeat Himself and thus, lost the creative spark and just left it with full intention of coming back later to finish it. I can see it on His Palm Pilot now:
Week 20: Finish Aggassi and Steppes areas after figuring out what's happening in the orchard; A & E got some 'splainin' to do.
He got busy; I drive through the land God forgot.
Tuesday through Thursday last week, the temps were hovering around freezing, we had strong winds and snow. Thursday as I was coming home from Thief River and after I passed through Warren, I felt like I had driven into a wall. My friend, Michelle, who makes the same drive every day, calls it driving in a snow globe. At times, I couldn't see the front of my car, and three times, I had my letter of resignation written in my head. I made it back safely (but not without peril), and if the temps hadn't dropped from 28 to 10 (-15 with the wind chill), I would have kissed the ground.
It was calmer on Friday, and I went to Thief River with another collegue. He had a meeting up there, and I wanted to do a little research. The computers in our campus library are messed up at the moment, and instead of fighting with them, it was just easier to do it there. We took backroads up there, but, they were a bit too icy to travel comfortably. On the way back, we took 1 to Alvarado, taking 220 south to home, and since I wasn't driving, I got to observe the wind sculptures in the ditches and on the farms.
One of the pleasures we get for living in an area God forgot to decorate is that in the winter, we get paybacks with temporary art that shifts in a hard wind or under a brillant sun, made of pristine white and sapphire blue shadows. Deer were everywhere, eating after the storm, and ravens and crows were doing their work on the hapless deer that tried to shoot the moon and race that car, or pickup, or semi that glides along the tarmac ribbon, stretching from Oslo to Illgin City, two towns on opposite ends of the state. Two towns in two different worlds.
Such is the state I travel.
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