uh-oh, it's that time of year again

That time of year when I get all nostalgic for the classes I'm currently teaching, not wanting them to end because we're all just at the point when the rapport is strongest and we're learning the most from one another.

These people teach me so much, not just about writing and about reading, but about living. I wish I had the wisdom at that age that some of them have now. Shit, I wish I had that kind of wisdom now, at this age.

I know I'm probably romanticizing all this even as I experience the last week or so with these two groups of students this semester, because surely it hasn't all been good. But more than anything, I think, teaching students who respond in the ways so many of these students have responded meets a deep psychological need to feel like I'm doing good. And I do. I feel like I'm doing good.

What more could a girl ask for?

I think I'm the only one who thought this was funny

Except, of course, for my students.

On Tuesday in senior seminar, we're talking about strategies I might use in contacting forger and murderer Mark Hofmann. One person suggests that I play to his ego. Another suggests my sharing my own intellectual interest in rhetoric with him, tell him I think he's a master rhetorician--there's one very specific method for playing to his ego. Let him know I'm with him in the fight to make people less gullible, less blindly trusting.

Yes, but, says one student. You don't want to play to his ego too much cuz he'll just have fun manipulating you.

And then another student says, and this is the funny part: I don't think it's possible for you not to show how excited you are about his genius.

Me: Uh, thanks.

He: No, that's not what I meant. That came out sounding wrong. I don't mean that you wouldn't be able to contain your excitement, just that in the very act of visiting him, you're showing your interest in his work, you obviously think he's good.

Me: Yeah, well, I probably wouldn't be able to contain my enthusiasm anyway. I can't wait to tell my friends about this one.

And then when I did nobody thought it was funny. Nobody got it. Ah well. I still like it.

who, ME? EXAGGERATE? NEVER.

Okay, so sometimes I've been known to oversell. SOMEtimes.

Day 1 of senior seminar, I'm giving students an overview of the framework for the course, the books we're reading, etc., and I say something to the tune of, "Chapter 6 in Lanham's gonna blow your mind."

Fast-forward a couple weeks to the day they've finished reading Chapter 6. Amy puts on her dentist coat and begins pulling teeth.

Me: Did anyone get anything from this chapter? I mean, didn't you guys laugh in places?

A few pathetic grumbles about how parts of it were funny, but the bulk of it was just overwhelming.

Then one student says: As I was reading this, I kept feeling really bad that I wasn't liking it as much as you wanted us to like it.

Another student: You said something about it on the first day of class. I was really expecting something big.

Me: Sigh.

A week later, when we've finished Lanham and we're about to begin reading Simon Worrall's The Poet and the Murderer about infamous forger and murderer Mark Hofmann, I tell them a bit about the "plot" and about how I really want to go to Utah to interview Hofmann, but I'm very afwaid. So they've got to help me figure out how to write to him, what to say, how to formulate questions.

As they're leaving, I tell them to have a good weekend and, well, "I'm not gonna say anything about how much you're going to like this book. Look at me not overselling."

Last Thursday, as I'm walking in, a student says: I swear to god, as I was reading this, I really said out loud to myself, 'this is blowing my mind. Robillard was right.'

Me: Be nice. It's not nice to make fun of me like that.

Student: No, really, this book was blowing my mind and I actually thought of that phrase.

Me: It's not April Fool's Day, is it?

Me, later, once we're into the meaty part of our discussion of the book: Later you'll realize why the phrase "blowing your mind" is so apt to describe this book.

Thereby taking the attention off the fact that no, I didn't oversell this book, and it really is as fascinating as I think it is. And not just to me.

yay

ice, snow, and a little ice and snow

That's what the forecast is calling for. This morning I slipped on the back steps in my slippers as I was letting the girl out to do her bidness.

This morning I also slept until 10 am. Holy shee-it.

Yesterday was a long day of meetings and student conferences and then baking cookies at night with the women for whom I am a faculty mentor in the dorm. The student conferences were the hardest, not for reasons you might expect. In fact, there were only two. But the traumas these two students are experiencing right now made me want to cry right there. And I almost did.

When I was a junior in college, my boyfriend of three years dumped me with absolutely no warning. I was a mess, crying in class whenever I thought of him, holing myself up in my room for days at a time, and ultimately somehow finding the strength to go talk to a counselor at school (didn't really help). And today, if there's one thing that really bothers me about talk of suffering is--and I'm sure there's a real name for this--the way we compare our own suffering to others' and think, shit, I thought I had it bad. Because when you're in it, there's no comparison.

This is all very simplified, no doubt about that. But yesterday as I sat and listened to these two women share with me traumas that no doubt will affect them for the rest of their lives, I couldn't help thinking a) my biggest trauma when I was a student was that I was dumped by my boyfriend; and b) how unbelievably strong these women are, and how much strength they're gonna need in the years to come.

Not really sure where I'm going with this. Except to say how much I respect my students for all that they're having to deal with in addition to the glut of final papers that are coming due. That's it.

all that I've got

Or, annual post in which I acknowledge all that I'm grateful for. This post is particularly exigent today not only because tomorrow's Thanksgiving, but because I just received sad news about a student of mine, one I have come to care about a great deal in a very short time.

What I love and am so very grateful for: a list

1. My Booda Belly Stinkbomb Girl who makes me laugh every day with her very predictable desires: pet me, pet me, pet me, and failing that, give me one of them biscuits.
2. My Honey Bunny Snuggle Bear who has me in continuous awe for what a caring, giving, compassionate person he is. I think today's a day where I can risk a cliche: he's really not like other guys I've known because a) he understands that what he says and does has effects on those around him; b) he understands how other people feel and what their motivations might be for doing what they do; c) is willing to play. We have so much fun together. If I had a nickel for every time I said to him, "You're a funny honey," I'd be up to at least ten dollars. And then I could buy us each a big ol' chocolate cake.
3. My friends, all of my friends here and everywhere. I am blessed with a gaggle of dear people who love my laugh (they oughtta know--they're the instigators of it) and who would do just about anything for me. Hard to believe I've been in Illinois for only 2.5 years--some of these friendships seem as old my grade-school friendships. What's most fun about friends is the little things, the inside jokes and the legendary stories that get told again and again. Some of the best ones are about poop.
4. The job, the job. Boy, I love my job. I love that it puts me in contact with so many bright young people who make me laugh and make me think and teach me about what's important in life. I often think about how little I knew at that age--I was book smart, but so very emotionally ignorant. Cynical, sarcastic, fearful. Holding on to my book smarts with all I had because, well, that's all I had, or so it seemed at the time. My students teach me always how to be a better person.
5. Work I love doing, which is not necessarily separate from number 4, but we'll put it here anyway. I'm excited to be able to sit at home today and read about literary forgery and get my mind going about all kinds of connections between it and plagiarism and the production of belief.
6. Colleagues near and far who help me make those connections meaningful.
7. My health (this probably should've come earlier).
8. Hot coffeeeeeeeeeee (love that word).
9. My sister and my brother and their wonderful children.
10. Cheese.

on rejection and loss

Did I scare ya with that title, so soon after my last loving post about S.?

Sowwy.

On rejection: I learn so much from my students, this is true. And I have no poker face, this is evident. But when, during a discussion of Facebook and Myspace this other day in class, we got to discussing the mechanization of "friending," my students told me about the rejection hotline, I about died. This, folks, is rejection for the new millenium. Or maybe I'm just completely out of it and it's not all that new (it's not), but I'm still shocked. See, if you're out at a party or a bar and an undesirable asks for your number, you can give them one of these numbers (for Chicago, my friends, it's 773.509.5027) and when the poor chap calls, they get a recording telling them that they've been rejected. My students played it for me in class from one of their cell phones set to speaker. Remember the good ol' days when you had to reject someone live on the other end of the phone?

On loss: My Alaska sister wrote to me this morning to ask if it was okay if they included my name in a newspaper memorial they're (who's "they," was my first question) planning on running next month as it will be the 30th anniversary of my father's death. To be honest, I hadn't even thought about the fact that it'd be 30 years (December 3, 1976, the day after my oldest brother's 14th birthday). But there it is. And I get to imagine once again how different my life would've been had he lived longer. There's no doubt in my mind that I'm the last to hear of this plan, that I was an afterthought, that the email my sister sent was nothing more than perfunctory since they're including my name in it. Mechanized memorializing, as it were.

And as of right now, my mother knows nothing about this plan. Tell me what that says about rejection and loss. So I guess I'm NOT the last to hear of this plan. Christ.

perks

This semester I've signed on as a faculty mentor for a floor of a women's dorm here on campus. The idea is to encourage faculty-student interaction and mentorship outside of any kind of evaluation. I'm hoping one of the things I can teach them this year is how to laugh REALLY LOUDLY in order to get people wondering what's so damn funny. Keep 'em wondering: that's my new motto.

Okay, not really.

Anyway, I got an email this morning from the RA on my floor asking me if I wanted to come to the cookie-baking event at the end of the month. Um, yes I do. As long as I can eat half of them and take the other half home for me and Belly to share.

The RA asked me to RSVP as soon as I could because--get this--if I show up for the event, they get more funding. I never thought I'd see the day when my very presence at an event translated to the ability to purchase more sugar. Yet, here is that moment. I have arrived.

I wrote back to her and said that yes, I'd be there as long as I get an entire tub of sprinkles to myself as we're decorating. Poor thing never thought she'd see the day when a faculty mentor was more demanding than the women on her floor.

Arrival, indeed. It's yummy at the top.

office hour

In the last hour I

1. helped a student with ideas for her presentation--then she told me a story about a customer who brought her an entire bag of mint M&Ms when she (the student) worked at a gas station. She had mentioned to this customer that she remembers these M&Ms from her childhood, but that clearly they don't make them anymore. When the customer brought her the big bag of them, she said to the customer, "I'd hug you if it didn't get me fired."

2. granted an incomplete to a student who is suffering from depression. I wanted to give her a hug because I UNDERSTAND. That is, I'd've hugged her if it wouldn't get me fired.

3. turned down the opportunity to talk with a reporter from the student newspaper about plagiarism. Irresponsible, I know. But a) I really don't have the time (but I have time to blog about it) and b) every other faculty member I know who's granted an interview to this paper has regretted it. One student quoted Julie Wonka as saying that she once wanted to be a doctor, but BECAUSE SHE DOESN'T LIKE TO TOUCH THINGS, she went into rhetoric. Um, yeah.

4. listened to a colleague recite this week's (THIS WEEK'S) poem that she's written for her kitty, whose name is, drum roll, Miss Kitty. I nearly peed during this performance.

pooped. simply pooped.

Exhausting week. Close friend had surgery for cancer. Lots of visits to the hospital, lots of worry, but as of now it seems like things are okay. Scary stuff. Which then makes me want to step back and appreciate all the good things I have in my life. And there are many.

But before I did that this morning, I had to bathe the girl after she rolled in something quite foul in the dog park.

I think this is officially the first weekend since the semester began when I HAVE NO GRADING TO DO. Holy shee-it, batman.

Doing happy hour with some grad students later as a way of forcing them to take a break and have some laughs. October breakdowns are aplenty.

I hate not blogging. And then I hate coming back to blogging after having not blogged for a while cuz there's so much to say, but first I gotta explain why I haven't been blogging. It's exhausting. Like catching up with an old friend I haven't spoken with in months.

And now I'm at the point where I've been running running running going going going for so long I'm not sure I know how to take a few hours for myself this afternoon. What does Amy-time look like anymore?

Flannel sheets and snuggly doggies who no longer stink. That's a start.