Yet another end of the semester..

Fall 2013 semester is done and I have to admit that it was a bit of a grueling one.  I hadn't expected the classes I took to be as draining as they were.  One class I liked a lot, and I wish they had a second offering, but they don't.  The teacher was a refreshing mix of old school style and no hold's barred honesty.  I found it annoying she didn't use email or D2L for assignments, but she definitely knew her trade and was equally eager to make sure we understood as her students what to expect in the "real world".  For example, my informational article was cut a grade because I was roughly 500 words over the limit.  "In the 'real world'", she said, "your article would not have even been read."  So I revised it (cut 550 words) and am currently waiting for my final grade.  I loved her policy of letting us rewrite our papers once for a better grade.  Unlike a certain English 250 teacher I had at UW-Sheboygan, there will be no surprises and bogus explanations because we get a chance to fix our papers. 

My other UWM class was a frustrating experience.  I liked the teacher personally, but I really have a problem with her teaching style.  Keeping in mind this is a 400 level class and the kids in this class want to be here, I am appalled at the course load.  The main question asked in most classes was "what do you want to do today?"  She is really bad at getting grades back to us, and what syllabus there was, was forgotten at the beginning of October.  She made us buy three textbooks, of which we didn't even crack open TWO of them, and the third we read maybe ONE chapter.  She volunteered us for graphic design in making new flyers for UWM's English dept's various study tracks.  I understand giving us the wording to work out, but the graphic design?  Really?  Doesn't UWM have an Art dept that would have EXCELLED at that?  My gripe is that she required us to use Adobe's VERY EXPENSIVE In Design program.  Her flippant answer to me was, "In the real world, you will have to do stuff on programs you are unfamiliar with all the time."  My answer back to her was, "I am in the 'real world' and when my employer gives me new programs to work with, I GET TRAINING TO GO WITH THAT."  And, this program is incredibly expensive so I'm not buying it to use at home.  Which means I have to use it at school and I don't have time for that.  Luckily, I think what I said to her sunk in a bit and we broke into groups with one person able to use the program (on Macs, no less) for design and the rest of the group broke the responsibilities up to get the flyer done.  We had to do two of these flyers. 

So whatever we were supposed to learn was left to go by the wayside because we used class time to finish the flyers from the end of October to the end of the semester.  And, yes, I am waiting for grades on the flyers and my "employment projects".  We had to make a resume and cover letter for a job we want to apply for.  That was useful, but is it really a 400 level activity?  I'm not sure...

I start my internship on January 6th.  I think it will be ok, it is for one credit which means around 4 to 5 hours a week.  Then, next summer I will have a two credit internship for complete my graduation requirement for Eng 449.  I will be very happy when that is done.  I don't think the experience will be bad and I'm not dreading it, but something makes me wary of the time I will need to devote to it.  I don't think it should be any worse than doing homework, I think it will be the timing.  My "real world" job has morphed into absorbing yet another job.  I am now the tech for RWs and the tech who was there full-time has been pulled back to the main hospital.  Granted, the RWs tech position is not a full-time job, but I spend about five hours a day on it.  I am still doing my billing coordinator position in-between the RWs position and it will be interesting come end of the month.  2013 will go down as not one of my better work years.  I absorbed the billing for pharmacy sales and the in-house tech position for RWs as one person was let go and the other pulled back to the main hospital.  Since taking the original billing position in 1998, I have absorbed five people's different jobs.  Now, I have also brought the position into the 21st century with computerized billing and that makes a world of difference, but the fact that five people used to do what I am now doing is not lost on me.  Companies will combine positions and have been doing so for years, and I will consider it job security.  I also have to confess that I am happy to be back in actual pharmacy work.  I really don't like billing and have kept the job because I like the flexibility the schedule offers me and I like most of my coworkers.  That goes a long way in today's world, and I'm not so stupid to give that up so easily because I don't actually like the work.  I have a year and a half of school left.  Three semesters and a summer internship.  I see the light and it is getting bigger. 

I will be happy to not have to carry a back pack around, too.  I need to get a injection in my left elbow next month because of the tendinitis I occasionally get there, and it is not going away.  It's getting worse, and now my pinkie and ring finger hurt.  I'm not really sure what aggravated it, but it's been bothersome since October.  Chain mailling Christmas gifts is not helping, either.  I made seven Jen's Pind necklaces in the past three months, so I guess that might be part of the problem, too.  Two of them were silver which is a softer metal, but the other five were anodized niobium and that is a harder metal than silver.  I have my first commission for a dragonscale bracelet to be made over winter break, so I need to get cracking on that.  My right knee is still not right, either.  When I go see the doctor for my elbow, I'll have to discuss my options about my knee.  I'm pretty sure that there isn't a whole lot that can be done if it is arthritis.  If it is the torn cartilage, they can clean it out.  But, as he told me back in May, any cartilage they clean out is less cartilage left in the knee.  I also came to the conclusion that what I had carried in my mind as my mental age has now changed.  I used to feel like an early 30 something, but between my knee, elbow, and the various aches and pains that have mysteriously popped up out of nowhere, I'm really beginning to think I am old.  Well, older and mentally closer to my physical age.  And the fact that I will never be out of pain again.  There is something infinitely depressing in that thought and it also feels like a crossroads.  I also keep playing a childhood memory that is seared in my mind over and over.  When I was eight or nine, I asked my mother the following question in a snarky, eye-rolling tone that only a child can ask, "is there ever a day when you aren't in pain?"  My mother had medical issues and was having a bad day.  And in my arrogance as a pain-free child, I couldn't understand the concept of daily pain.  But her answer, brought me up short and seared this experience forever in my mind.  She simply, and sadly, said, "no."  And the thought that you would be in pain EVERY DAY was horrifying to me.  How could that possibly be?  Why can't the doctors make the pain go away?  I was climbing out of the back of her 1967 Chevy Impala (yes, this would have been about 1975 or 1976) on a bright, sunny, warm day and it changed my perception of life forever.  Daily pain and getting old.  A life lesson learned too early.

So, do I get a free knee replacement with graduation?

Dance class with jazz hands.... um, no.

This week I had a meeting with my school advisor about my future classes at UWM.  It was my first meeting with this particular advisor as I'm no longer a first year transfer student and was given a "permanent" advisor.  The College of Letters & Science is the largest school at UWM, and while there are many different interests in that school, apparently my advisor doesn't seem to think that English is a "worthy" degree.  He actually did a lip curl with a tinge of distaste in his voice when he stated (when reading from my record) that I am an English major.  I was watching his face as he was reading what was plainly evident (to me, anyway) and he was just filling time.  When I asked if there was a problem with an English major, he asked if that was what I really wanted to do.  Well, it's a little late to change now, doncha think?  Is anybody really SURE of what they want to do?  I said, "yes", and he just looked like a pile of dog crap had been placed on his desk and he was told to take care of it. 

 

I decided to let him off the hook, and started asking questions as if there was nothing wrong.  He apathetically answered them, and basically told me that whatever I wanted to do was fine.  But he was a bit insistent that I take a one credit class my last semester instead of a three credit class.  I'm in that weird spot where I need 19 credits to graduate, and 18 of them need to be L&S credits above a 300 level.  That's fine.  I have ONE credit that can be anything.  Anything.  I had planned on taking my usual 6 credits my last semester, two classes at three credits each, for a total of 122 credits total.  I need 120 to graduate.  At this point, what the hell difference does taking the two extra credits make?  I will still be at UWM the same amount of time and cost-wise, I will probably get more use out of the $836 for the two extra credits than the one credit DANCE class he wants me to take.  He seems to think I should take a "fun and easy A" class.  Deep breath.  Deep, deep, breath.  I am not at college to take "fun and easy A" classes.  Yes, parents, this is what your kids are getting advised to do.

 

The most insulting part of this meeting (besides him thinking I needed to learn how to dance) was the following statement, "that A- in grammar class is killing your GPA."  What?  Did I just hear that correctly?  I said that I would hate to be his kid and come home with an A-.  What the hell is wrong with an A-?  In an ADVANCED college level grammar class?  Deep breath.  Deep, deep, breath.  Now, if my GPA was in the 1 range, I could see that being a problem.  However, my GPA currently sits at 3.953.  That's what an A- does to "kill" one's GPA.  The A- never even entered into my realm of thinking that it was "killing" my GPA.  I am thrilled with my GPA, proud even.  And for him to say that it isn't somehow "good" enough, that an A- is "killing" my GPA is so shocking and a bit discouraging to me that I brought out my big words and let him have it.  I have written in this blog numerous times about my abysmal performance my first year of college.  I KNOW what "kills" a GPA and an A- isn't one of them.  This Skippy (yes, all the young,clueless people I meet I call  Skippy) tells me that I would have a perfect 4.0 if it hadn't been for that A-, as if I don't already know that.  Somehow I think a person with a 3.953 knows that they would have a 4.0 if they have an A instead of an A-.  And while that is a nice, neat, wrapped-up perfect number, I'm really ok with a 3.953.  I asked him how he would have done in an advanced grammar class and he looked down at his desk and admitted that he would probably have gotten a lower grade.  I then told him that if he plans on doing this same thing to the younglings of UWM, who have a very fragile self-confidence, he's going to have a mess on his hands.  Because if an A- is not good enough for him, what the hell is going to happen when he finds a C student?  I told him that maybe he would want to re-evaluate his being an advisor if he's going to knock down the A students because he's got no where to go with the B, C, and D students. 

 

After my little tirade, he suggested I find a new advisor and I told him that would probably be a good idea and asked him if he knew of one that thought an A- is an acceptable grade.  Don't piss off English majors.  They know how to use the words that hurt the most. 

 

He actually suggest I take a dance class for the one credit I need, and when I said to him, "does this body look like it dances for credit?" he did have the good manners to blush.  His next one credit suggestion was for a philosophy class, which earned an eye-roll and a sigh from me.  No, I will take an advanced writing class and get useful tutelage from that even though it is three credits and not one. 

 

I don't even know where to start on the concept of taking a "fun and easy class for an A" attitude.  These classes are assessed at the same tuition rate as the "hard" classes, so you aren't getting a reduction there.  I guess if you are trying to pad your GPA they would be a good idea.  There's chess, exercise classes, yoga, photography, billiards, cooking, hiking, biking, and all sorts of classes I would say are not really college worthy.  I'm not sure why they are "educational".  All of them can be found at a YMCA, community classes, online, thorough stores and commerce business, and other venues that are not tax-payer supported.  Where they should be.  I hear complaints from my teachers about budget cuts.  Well, I can think of a department that could be cut and that money transferred to the educational programs that are really a college level class. 

 

Maybe I look stupid and uncoordinated.  That is the only reason I can come up with in Skippy's offering of dance class for me.  Maybe he didn't really look at my transcript and GPA and thought I needed a helping hand to pad my GPA.  Maybe I look like I need to take an easy class.  Maybe he wants to take the common road heavily traveled and assumes everyone else does too.  Maybe he just doesn't care what he tells his students to take.  Maybe I'm too naive in my thinking of what college is, or should be.  Maybe the problem is with me in wanting to learn something that isn't easy (Spanish?).  Maybe I expect more as I get older.  Maybe more of us should expect more when we are younger.  Maybe Skippy realized this yesterday as I refused to agree with his ridiculous plan of dance class and jazz hands.  But probably maybe not.  I suspect this is the norm for advising and once again I am under-whelmed by UWM. 

Hissing employees

Although I'm not directly on the front lines everyday, I do work in the retail world.  My part is dealing with billing and angry customers, and problem solving for the stores.  I know and understand what good customer service is all about.  I treat my customers the exact same way I would want to be treated if our positions were reversed.  So when I went to a local bead store on this past Friday night (Nov. 1st), I was stunned at how I was treated. 

I had decided at the last minute to go to this store to interview the employees for my current school  paper, an informational article, for Eng 433 (creative nonfiction for publication).  We need four "live" sources, and I was looking for new ideas and angles to pursue.  I walked into the store around 6pm and there were two or three customers in there browsing.  There were three employees doing their work stuff and asking if customers needed any help.  I was greeted, questioned about looking for something, and then left to browse.  I wanted to shop (yes, there was an ulterior motive for going, but it was all in the name of research.  Yeah, I'll stick with that.) for a bit to see if they were swamped busy and wouldn't be able to answer my questions before I even asked.  I was not about to take them away from their customers.  After a few of the other customers left, I went to the counter and asked the two employees there if they would like to answer some questions about chain/scale maille and how its use in the jewelry and fashion world have changed and evolved.  They both said ok, but that I really wanted to talk with the other employee who is their chain maille expert.  I said that would be great and wandered over to the other side of the store to assess how busy this employee was.  She was helping a customer who had a very particular issue for around 45 mins.  This is important, because most of it was him telling her about his plans (IN A VERY LOUD VOICE SO EVERYONE COULD HEAR) and not really shopping related at all. 

After the employee was done with that customer, she went back to working on pricing and putting stuff away.  One of the other employees came over and pointed me out and said that I was looking for someone to answer a few questions about chain maille for a paper.  Employee number three said sure, and I went on to explain my class, my project, and so forth.  The whole interview took around 20 mins and I thanked her and made my way to the check-out counter (all in the name of research, of course).  While checking out, the employee asked if I found everything I needed (yes) and if I got my questions answered (yes, thank you for your help).  The other employee came over, leaned across the counter and hissed (yes, she hissed) at me, "you are NOT to use the name of the store in your article!!"  I know I blinked a few times because one, I was scared of her, and two, I couldn't understand or figure out what difference it made if I used the name of the store.  I wasn't about to get into an argument with her, so I said I wouldn't.  Plain and simple, no back-talk, sass, questions why not, or anything of the sort.  Immediate and complete agreement.  That wasn't good enough for little-miss-angry-control-freak and she hissed it at me again.  This pissed me off because one, I'm not stone deaf and I heard her the first time, and two I was dropping a considerable sum of cash and I was dumb-struck at how she was treating a PAYING CUSTOMER.  Cold, hard, cash was being exchanged while she went on this tirade. 

She went on to harangue me while she walked through the store in a very LOUD voice about how unprofessional I was in not making an appointment to interview employees or to clear this.  I'm assuming she meant clearing this with the owner of the store.  Ok, I will agree that I probably should have cleared this with the owner, but honestly it is a SCHOOL PAPER.  It won't be published.  And, if she would have handled this differently, I would have recommended this store for people to buy their stuff at.  Now, I won't.  I explained to hissy-fit employee that it was again, a SCHOOL PAPER, but she wasn't having any of it.  She was angry, aggressive, and so upset that she was doing laps in the aisles yelling at me.  The poor employee checking me out was so embarrassed that she couldn't even look me in the eye.  I left as soon as I could just to shut hissy-fit up.  She continued in that tirade as I was walking out the door. 

As I look back on the whole episode, I take the responsibility that I didn't call ahead.  But I made sure the employees were not busy, not helping other customers, and I only took 20 mins.  Mr. let-me-tell-you-my-entire-life-story-and-plans took over an hour between two employees.  I know this because I was in there for a good two hours.  So if they could help him for that long, why was my little 20 minute interview such a big deal? 

My husband offered an answer that I will use in my paper.  The angry employee does not see chain/scale maille as a viable art form.  And, when she realized that I wasn't going to interview her, she got pissed.  Even though she referred me to the third employee, she was pissed off because I didn't talk with her AND she doesn't like chain/scale maille.  And this is what I've run up against from time to time from people who don't think weaving metal rings is WORTHY of being called art, or serious jewelry or fashion.  It was right there in front of me and I didn't see it.  Maybe I should have talked to her and gotten a different point of view.  I was so taken aback by her erratic behavior that all I could do was leave.  I wanted to get out of there because she was such a b*tch to me.  And, I fumed for a good part of the one hour and five minute drive home because that is not the way you treat paying customers.  She could have POLITELY asked me to not use the name of the store, or, even better, asked for my contact information so the owner could contact me and clear everything up.  POLITELY.  Not the aggressive, angry witch that she was to me. 

So I won't use the name of the store in the paper.  However, she said NOTHING about the source list.

And that my friends, is chain maille winning.

Sometimes I just feel like rambling

I really don't have an overwhelming topic to write about, but I feel like writing something.  Which is odd because both of my classes this semester are writing intensive and you would think that I wouldn't feel like writing at all.  But I do.  It's probably going to be a boring one too.  Oh, well.  In my technical writing class we are working on a "how-to" manual.  I wrote about making a magic mouthwash.  This is a mixture of medications that a person uses as a mouthwash to help heal and deaden the pain of severe mouth sores from chemo and radiation therapies.  It's not hard to make, but there is a trick to it.  I wrote out the steps, took pictures (thanks for the help Marty) of compounding it and have it pretty much completed.  I am awaiting feedback on the draft in order to fix whatever is wrong with it.  In my creative nonfiction class, I just handed in my interview/profile paper and had a mid-term meeting with my professor last week.  She gave me my review paper back, and it was a grade lower than I thought it was going to be.  She gave me a B on it, and marked what was wrong with it, of course.  I was a bit stunned because I didn't think I did that badly on it, and the small group feedback I got on it was all positive.  But, she said nope, not good. 

Here's my question:  Why do we do small group critiques if they are of no real useful help?  I had three fragments in my paper but the three other people in my group never found them.  That was the only real thing wrong with my paper, so I'm assuming that's why the mark down.  There were a two punctuation problems (one comma splice and one reversal of quote marks and the period), and the very subjective issue of my teacher thinking I needed one more sentence in my conclusion.  Just one?  However, she has a very liberal policy in that you can rewrite your paper once for a better grade.  Of course I rewrote it immediately, but I really struggled with what she called fragments.  I admit the other issues were correct, but the fragments....hm, I'm not sure.  I did, however, rewrite them so that they are painfully a complete sentence.  It ruins the voice of my paper, but I guess that is what will have to be done if I want an A.  I'm not about to stand my ground on a 1,000 word review. 

I'm still at a loss as to why small group critiques are useful.  It has been my experience when I am completely truthful that many of my fellow students don't take it well.  I try to be nice, I try to give them the benefit of the doubt, I really struggle with trying to understand why they are in a senior level college class and can't produce a paper that reflects that.  Again, I am by no means perfect as my review paper proves, but at my mid-term meeting when I was trying to answer her question as to why my paper was "not up to my high standards" as she put it, she said that some of the papers she didn't even grade because they were written so poorly.  Really?  How does that happen?  This isn't some freshman class where it is required to take it.  This is an upper level class, a foundational class in the professional writing track major, and a senior level class to boot.  How are these papers not all, at least most, complete and worthy of at least a B?  I was stunned in my little group the week before when all three students admitted they thought my writing was the best they've seen in their classes.  Holy crapbuckets!  Are you kidding me?  I though they were joking with me, and when I called them on it, they looked hurt.  Here, they had paid me this compliment and I didn't take them seriously.  I explained that I am by no means that good, but they disagreed.  I still think they are wrong, in fact I know they are wrong because the teacher did not agree with them on my review paper.

She did, however, want samples of my query letters for excellent examples in her next class reader.

I do understand that the small group critique might catch some of the really glaring errors, and maybe that's what it is meant to do.  But I find that my fellow students don't want to really come out and say what is wrong with the paper.  I know this is an age thing, but I feel that I really should tell them what is wrong with it.  I mark spelling errors, punctuation errors, sentences errors, tense errors, you get the point.  I mark it all.  At least to my understanding of the English language.  Again, I'm not perfect, but if there is an error in the paper I would have rather had it pointed out BEFORE I handed the dang thing in for grading.  But because the younglings don't want to, for whatever reason, point out my mistakes, or even worse, didn't SEE the mistake, so we just give each other compliments and go our merry ways.  Sigh, why bother?

This past Wednesday afternoon I rammed a hedge branch through my foot.  We were trimming the hedges along the garage down to a more reasonable height, and I had clipped one off about three inches off the ground.  At an angle.  I was standing up and just nipped the stupid thing off.  I should have cut it flush to the ground, but I just lazily cut it off.  It made the  most wonderful one-side spear point!  I went about the drudgery of hauling branches to the curb and forgot all about it because, really, why would I even think about something I've done hundreds of times without any problems?  Well, awhile later I had to crawl between the hedge line and the garage to trim the hedges in the back and when I stepped back there, my foot came down on top of the spear point.  Just my one foot with all of my weight on the front part of my foot.  I'm not a small and dainty girl by any means.  Hardy farm stock is what my mother used to say, and all that weight proceeded to not only shove that point through my imitation garden knock-off crocs, but about a half-inch into my foot too.  And, here's the worst part, I didn't register that I had done it.  I knew my foot wasn't landing on a flat surface so I kept trying to shove it down (!) to make it flat.  I was so hell-bent on trimming the back hedges it didn't occur to me that I had a branch submerged into my foot.  Until it started stinging and then it was really sticky.  (there's a fragment and the type she dinged me on)

I got the branches trimmed, hauled them out from behind the garage and when I stepped out onto the driveway, my poor husband (who does NOT like real blood in any means) just turned away from me and when I looked down there was copious amounts of blood running out of the little holes in the side of the shoe.  Now I know the real reason why imitation crocs have holes in them.... 

I put a plastic bag on my foot because I had to get to my bathroom and that is through the living room which has light beige/silver carpet.  I got into the tub, flushed my shoe and  my wound and then the pain really started.  I am amazed at how the mind can divert pain if you are not concentrated on it.  We really needed to get the brush to the curb by Saturday (we only have one, once a year pick up) and I didn't have any time off this week to work on it; I had mid-term projects for both classes, and work.  I had about three hours on Wednesday to get this done, and there was a lot of brush.  Here's the final picture:

     
Yes, that is the entire front lot line of my house and half of my neighbor's, too. 

Anyway, I pulled the debris out of the hole in my foot and slapped a band-aid on it.  I went back outside and continued to work.  Hardy farm stock, indeed.

It occurred to me on Thursday  morning as the hole was still bleeding that I might just need to see someone about it.  I went to the urgent care center at my workplace and they gave me some antibiotic ointment and told me to look out for infection.  Duh.  I then asked if I should get a tetanus shot and they thought it might be a good idea.  Not exactly instilling confidence in me, but then again, by the time they looked at it the worst of it was over and it really did only look like a small cut.  Friday, however, I woke and my toes, metatarsal, and arch are black and blue, and deep, deep purple.  The cut still looks small and innocent, but my foot looks like a sledgehammer was dropped on it.  And while I could walk pretty normally on Thursday, Friday proved to be a challenge.  I went to Occupational Health and had them look at it and she was a bit shocked.  And promptly gave me a Tdap (tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis) shot.  My last one was in 1999 after I fell on my knee and scraped/cut it up on the side walk.  Again, another adventure in crappy footwear choices. 

I hope by Monday I will be able to walk on it because I have to go to class.  And, I'm not using a cane.  It's bad enough I'm the oldest student in both  my classes that I'm not going to reinforce that image with a cane.  And, I am now looking for a pair of garden shoes with a hard sole.  I guess foam soles and spears don't really mix well.  At least I wasn't bare foot.  Although I think I would have felt the spear point before real damage happened.  I think the cushiony foam just made it worse.

That's my boring blog for a Saturday afternoon.  Now, time for something fun.  I have several chain maille projects waiting for me. 

Is it possible for your brain to split out of your skull?

I woke with a severe migraine yesterday at 5:21am.  I had gotten it sometime during the night while asleep so there was no chance of taking a rescue medication until I woke up.  The ironic thing is that my brain was trying to wake me up because I kept dreaming I was having a migraine.  You would think my mind would have flashed a big "wake up! You really ARE having a migraine in real life" sign instead of vague dream-like images I ignored.  I could feel the pain in my head when I moved, but attributed it to my dream.  I eventually woke and realized I was beyond immediate help.  This was going to be an all-day affair and if I am lucky I won't have to go to the ER.

I've written about migraines before in this blog and every time I have one of this level I feel the need to hash it out again.  I was told at some point that as I got older, they would diminish.  Keeping in mind that Spanish class proved to be a definite migraine trigger, I would say that outside of the Spanish outlier, they haven't.  I still take a daily preventative medication and just when I think I don't need it anymore, something like the one I had yesterday happens.  I still can't figure out what the trigger is.  I have some ideas, but when I go through them again and I don't get a migraine, I'm never sure if that is a trigger or not.

Friday the 6th, Jill, Natalie, and I celebrated my birthday.  I turned 46 on Sept. 1st, or as I like to call it, 29 again.  Jill took us to a Japanese sushi place by her house and we ate and talked for a few hours dining on all sorts of wonderful sushi, rolls, and sashimi.  I didn't have alcohol because I took allergy meds earlier in the day so that wasn't it.  I've eaten Chinese and Japanese food before without causing a migraine, so that wasn't it.  I was at work, but it wasn't an unusual day, so that wasn't it.  The only thing I can think of is that school started this week and I had something really, really irritating happen. 

As anyone who is even vaguely familiar with UW-Milwaukee knows, parking on campus is right up there with parking in New York City.  I had both of my classes on Wednesday the 3rd, and both teachers made specific points that they will under no circumstances accept emailed homework assignments.  Large, bold font also announces this in the syllabi for both teachers.  There are several points I want to  make about this, so hang in there.

First, both classes are foundational classes to the Professional/Technical writing track of my English degree.  They are classes that not only teach you about those very same subjects, but also prepare a student for the work force.  They are almost vocational in nature.  What's wrong with the point of not accepting emails?  Do they honestly think that workforces do not accept email?  Are they so cheap that they don't want to print anything out?  One teacher stated she liked to comment on the page as she was reading.  What?  Has she never heard of Word comment?  I just can't fathom why we can't email assignments. 

Second, one of the teachers then makes an assignment due, for the next day, when we DON'T have class.  AND she makes it a non-graded mandatory assignment.  AND we have to drop it off, IN-PERSON between the hours of 9am and 2pm at her "Study Abroad" booth in the student union.  She tells us that this is her way of making us aware that we can study abroad in London next spring.  I have to take a deep breath here, because I can still feel myself get really angry over this.  The assignment turns out to be a one page memo answering a few questions about ourselves.  This is something that could EASILY be emailed in two seconds versus the 1/2 hour I will need to go to campus, find a parking spot, give it to her, and leave.  AND I work a 10 and 1/2 hour day on Thursdays, from 6am to 4:30pm.  The only time I would get to do this is on my lunch, and that isn't going to happen.  Now, if my office was still at Columbia Hospital, I guess I wouldn't have minded so much.  I would have been right across the street.  But, I'm not at Columbia anymore, I'm in Glendale at the River Woods outpatient clinic.  20 mins from campus, at best.  After class was over, I waited for the other students to leave and then I went to talk with the professor.  I stated that I heard her say no emails, but I went on to explain my situation and asked if I could email mine.  Nope.  She told me I could "drop it off after work, and slip it underneath her door".  I then told her I wasn't going to be on the east side of Milwaukee, and she just repeated herself with a breezy, airy smile.  I sighed and told her that I would be going to a friend's house on Friday and could make a detour over, but I will not stop on Thursday after work because I had two errands to run that were in Mequon and Saukville that had to be done by 5pm when the store in Mequon closed.  I was NOT coming back to the east side of Milwaukee to slip a one piece page of paper under her door when she wasn't even going to be there.  I must have shown some irritation because she relented and said Friday would be fine. 

Third, both teachers made comments about being too "old" to learn these "new" ways of doing things.  The discussion was about emails and D2L, which is the electronic version of the classroom.  I've taken several courses that use D2L (desire 2 learn), and I think it is an excellent tool to get people acquainted with electronic forms of communication that isn't for a fun purpose.  It is also the classroom for all online classes.  It is a serious, work environment that is similar to what happens in the work force.  I know this because I am in the work force.  So I don't understand when I get two teachers, both in their 60's who announce to a class of 20-somethings that they are too "old to learn new tricks".  What the hell am I paying tuition for then?  And WHY would anyone choose UWM's programs if they have professors that are too old to keep up with standard, current workforce practices.  Especially in something that will use technology for its standard practice.  I am appalled at this.  Both as a student and as a taxpayer.  And, less-so, as a woman.  Both teachers are women and I feel they are just adding to the stereotype of old women who can't use computers.  Hey, that's fine if you are not teaching the next generation of kids who will be entering the workforce in a few short semesters.  You want to hole up in the 1970's and stay there, that's your problem.  But, you have NO right to call yourself a teacher of current practices then.  And, just because you are tenured, doesn't mean you get to rest on your laurels, waste taxpayer money, waste student tuition money, and make the younglings dance circles around your schedule. 

After this semester I have 19 credits left for graduation.  I am so close.  But, instead of warming to UWM, I find that I am becoming increasingly annoying and disgusted with them.  I really miss UW Sheboygan.  I'm not going to transfer to a different school with only 19 credits left.  I have no idea if a different school is any different, better, or possibly worse.  I will stick it out, get my degree, and finally put this chapter in my life to rest.  I have to keep reminding myself that I have had teachers who are normal, nice, and interested in teaching students and not for personal gain.  Who don't put on an air of quirky antiquity when trying to teach a forward-thinking technology class.  Yes, I understand that the basic principles of writing are the same.  What I'm trying to learn is how to apply that to today's business practices and if I have teachers that won't even use an established form of communication, why am I here?  Not using email is akin to using an abacus in a calculus class. 

I just hope this is the only real bump in the semester.  I can't take another 15 weeks of quirky teachers who pull this crap out of their hats and call it an education.  I really can't.  This is why college is for the young.  They don't know any better.  But I guarantee you they know how to email.  And that brings me to my last point.  The younglings of today are past email.  They will be more advanced in using technology than I will ever be, and if I can see the problem with having professors that won't use what is available in the workforce, why should they invest their, and their parent's, money into a university system that could be so much more greater than it is?  Why?  Why as taxpayers should we accept shoddy services for our money?  Why are we giving tenure to professors who have no interest in keeping current?  And, why does this bother me so much that I get a migraine so bad that I consider removing my head as a treatment option?     

Totems on the mind

My sister imparted to me the other day that she had her totems read.  At least that’s what I understood her to say.  She tells me that her left-brain is ruled by the horse and the right-brain is ruled by the bear.  And then she said that of course this is true because she is very creative like the horse.  With no offense to my sister, I was almost compelled to ask her why a horse is more creative than a bear?  Or any other animal in the animal kingdom.  Or a human.  It seems to me that horses aren’t necessarily creative.  I grew up on a farm and we had horses.  I love horses, and they are beautiful animals.  However, they are not that creative.  They usually don’t have to forage for food, don’t have to figure out how to hibernate over winter, and can’t catch fish in their mouths.  They are pack animals and don’t do well with being by themselves.  I would give them attributes of strength, speed, and dependability, but not creativity.  But what do I know about American Indian lore? 

Our family history includes some American Indian in our blood, but for the most part I’ve always regarded myself as Caucasian.  My sister, however, clings to the 1/8^th Indian part of us that may or may not be true family genetics.  The family records are unclear and not researched, but whenever the subject of my great-grandmother on my mother’s father side came up, my maternal grandmother would get very angry and tell everyone it was none of their business.  So, there’s something there, but not a whole lot.  It also doesn’t help my sister’s cause in that I’m about as white as you can get without actually being an Albino with light green eyes and blond hair, although it is a darker blond and laced with gray now.  But, my sister and my mother are/were dark complected with dark hair and brownish-hazel eyes.  They could pass for Native American mixed with Norwegian, which, I guess we are.  My father was Norwegian but always said he had Native American in him.  I’m not sure and his family records are also not researched either.  I however, have no resemblance to an Indian whatsoever, and my sister knows this, but chooses to ignore that little fact.   

But, that doesn’t stop her from believing in the possibility that she is connected to something that really isn’t there.  Which brought me to the thought of how people in general seem to cling to something that they aren’t.  Whether it is Native American heritage or super-hero status, there are people who are just never happy with whom they are.  Of course it is fun to imagine yourself saving the world, or being something special with a special purpose, or somehow being one in billions that stands out from the rest.  It’s the premise of so many movies and tv shows that it is cliché on many levels.  But, that doesn’t stop the formula from pouring forth.  And people believing in it.  And some believing so much they have identity issues and entitlement issues.   

Not everyone loses touch with the real world.  And by real world I mean the daily, boring, grind of working to support yourself and family, dealing with the problems both mundane and unique, and generally existing until you don’t.  Which is a depressing thought, but ultimately aren’t we all just marking time?  Hopefully in a way that will be agreeable to you when you look back on your life and ponder.  And maybe that’s why folks want to be special or live a life that is extraordinary.  But why is a life, normally led, seen as not good enough at the end of the line?  By “normally led” I mean the usual:  school, job, marriage, house, kids, pets, vacations, grandkids, retirement, and hopefully some type of dignified end.  Or some variation of this track.  When all is said and done, how many of us truly look back on our lives and say, “I wish I would have been a ___________________”.  It seems to me that no matter what you do in your life, and unless you choose to make some horrible choices, your life is probably well-lived with some regrets but probably more accomplishments and things to be proud of even if you haven’t saved the world.  Or subjected yourself to dangers and death, or lived as a minority ethnicity that is full of stereotypes seen as a noble people wandering around living off the Earth.   

A coworker I’m not that fond of once told me that I’m very cynical.  I prefer to say I’m a realist with a healthy attitude of skepticism.  And while I have a share of my life in fun and fantasy (science fiction, Gen Con, conventions, reading, etc) I always know I have to come back to my reality in the heritage that I have no choice in.  And while that is the roulette that is genetics, I understand that to try and make myself something I am not is simply an illusion that will leave me resentful, depressed, and wishing my life away instead of accepting what can not be changed and being happy with what I am.  I am not a woodland Indian princess.  I am not Wonder Woman.  I am not James Kirk.  I am not many things.  But I am me, and there is no one else like me out there.  Shouldn’t that be extraordinary enough?

 

Redistribute the wealth!!!!

The human capacity for judgment never ceases to amaze me.  I know it is every where and I shouldn’t be surprised by it at all, but every once in awhile it stops me in my tracks.  Both when I hear and see other people doing it and when I find myself doing it.  I know it is a human trait that is impossible for most of us to overcome, but it still strikes me as petty in most matters.  For example:  The “grass is always greener on the other side of the fence” judgment.  I have the type of job where I can have a flexible schedule.  This is one of the benefits of doing billing and accounts receivables for a living.  And, for dealing with the angry public.  For the summer, I am working four, 10-hour days a week.  This gives me a day off plus the weekend.  I organize it so that every other weekend, I have a four day weekend with the Friday and Monday before and after off.  I still work 40 hours a week.  80 in a pay period.  Anything more would be overtime.  In order to work from 6am to 4:30pm , I get up at 4am .  I am not skipping merrily into work at noon and leaving at 2.  I slog just like the rest of you.  But, my room coworker seems to think that I skip in to work merrily at noon and leave at 2.  Just because I have a day off during the week.  Her job is an 8 hour Monday through Friday deal.  That’s the nature of that position.  When you are “on-call” for other depts that are open during the full week, that’s the way it is.  However, she snarkily comments on my cushy schedule and how it must be nice to have “long weekends every week”.  It doesn’t occur to her that I’m still working a 40 hour week, the same exact amount of hours she works, but because I arrange the days so that I do have a four-day weekend every other week this allows her to pass judgment on my “cushy” schedule.   

 

On a much larger scale, the green grass on the other side is glaringly apparent in folks who want more than what they have.  The people who want to be richer than they are and use whatever example comes to mind.  Big business, oil companies, computer gurus, and any other person who has some unbelievable amount of money are the usual targets.  “Why does “X” deserve all that money, he/she/it should give it to me!”  “Let’s redistribute the wealth!”  Why?  Why does anyone have to give their money to people who are jealous and judgmental?  Isn’t that what taxes are for?  But, wait, here’s “they should have to pay their fair share of taxes!”  Really?  And you don’t take advantage of all the credits and deductions you can too?  Are you paying your “fair share” when you’ve pumped out a bazillion kids and now I, as a taxpayer that doesn’t get a kid credit, have to fork over more than my “fair share” to pay your kid credit?  Just because you can procreate doesn’t mean I owe you money.  That doesn’t seem “fair” in my book.  Maybe you shouldn’t have kids you can’t afford?  And, that’s where my judgmental side comes out. 

 

We have lost in this country the ability to say, “hey, I want “X”, maybe I should work for it.”  I have worked for everything I have in my life.  And while some folks would see me as the target of their “redistribute the wealth” scheme, I happen to think that if I got what I have today by working hard, so can they.  I made choices in my life that allowed me to save my money and not squander it.  I live below my means.  That is how you save money.  You do not live above your means.  And, when the crap storm of recession hits, you have something to fall back on.  Do I want the 4,000 sq ft house with all the amenities?  You betcha.  Do I have it?  No.  I have a 1200 sq ft house that is exactly what I need to live comfortably but doesn’t keep up with the Joneses.  And, it’s paid off.  Four years early on the mortgage because we chose to put extra money to the principal instead of squandering the cash on clothing, eating out, expensive toys, and other frivolous stuff that judgmental human beings seem to think they need to prove themselves worthy individuals.  So, again, why should I have to redistribute my wealth to pay for you and your frivolous pursuits?  You can do the exact same thing I did.  You want to judge me?  Well, I can judge you right back.  Stop wasting and whining your life away and do something about it.  You don’t like your job? Find a new one.  You don’t make enough money? Get an education and find a why to improve your financial status.  Or, here’s a thought, you don’t really need the latest fashions from Paris .  You don’t need the giant-ass house, you don’t need the Harley, you don’t need a $20,000 plus car.  You don’t need a $500 a month phone bill.  You don’t need all the cheap crap you buy on a daily basis because you think you HAVE to have it.  That brand name coffee you just dropped $5 bucks for?  No, you don’t need that.  And the $10 lunch you buy every day?  No, you don’t need that either.  So, again, why do I have to redistribute my meager wealth because you are making very poor financial decisions? 

 

Yet I get judged by the same people who want something from me.  My co-worker wants information from me.  Wants me to fix her computer.  Wants me to agree with her on everything.  Wants me to give her answers, easy answers, to her problems.  And then judges me when I don’t do any of what she wants.  Because I’m married that somehow translates to “easy street” in her book because there are two incomes.  Yet, she owns a house, a brand new car (which cost more than either of my two cars), and everything else that goes with life and still is not happy.  I pointed out to her once that a homeless person would kill for her life and she got mad at me.  I’m not making light of homeless people, but the old adage of complaining about painful shoes to an amputee comes to mind.  She is wealthy beyond measure to someone who sleeps in shelters and calls nowhere home.  Yet, she doesn’t see it that way.  She’s the victim, she’s the one oppressed, she’s the one who life is kicking and ignoring.  Because she doesn’t have money beyond count, she is the one “owed” something by big business, oil companies, computer gurus, and me.  If you can’t even convince a person they have wealth whether or not they see it, there is no hope for this country.  We will de-volve into whiny victims begging for cash while driving our expensive cars and complaining that the couch and curtains do not match.

 

The pointy end goes IN the knee

Last Monday, I got an anti-inflammatory medication injected directly into my evil, right knee.  This makes me all manner of wiggly, and even though in the grand scheme of medical tests and procedures it is a cake walk, it stills feels disgusting and is painful.  At least to me.  My doctor was nice enough to inject the needle into one of my old arthroscopic surgery scars from 1984 and he also numbed the skin up with some magical freezing spray that I've seen in the pharmacy a millions times before but have never really paid attention to it.  Now I know what it does.  The shot took around 2 to 3 mins, but it felt like 20.  At one point I must have been holding my breath because he told me to take a breath but I didn't.  I'm one of those people that tenses up and holds their breath whenever something painful is happening.  I also know that this is not a good thing to do and you run the risk of passing out when you do this.  I mention all this because by today, Friday, I'm virtual pain-free in my knee and I'm doing things that several weeks ago would have brought me to tears and close to blacking out. 

This small episode of medical drama in my life reminds me that there are so many unpleasant things we need to go through in order to get what we want in life.  It was one of my worse weeks with my coworker this week and amongst many, other topics discussed, was the subject of what we control in our lives.  A constant, running theme with this coworker is her continual need to see herself as a victim and the subject of fate with no control on her part.  And, I, of course, pretty much feel that we are in control of our lives, for the most part.  Obviously, there are things that happen to us that we don't have control over, but for the most part we can control how we handle the events of our lives.  Case in point:  Coworker hates her job.  So, I tell her to find a new one and she tells me that it won't happen, she can't find a different job, that she shouldn't have to work, and blah, blah, blah.  So, she sits at a job she hates and complains about it all the time.  She does nothing to change her situation except continually and loudly tell me that she is retiring.  (yeah, in a year)  Personally, I can't wait for her to leave.  There are many, many, examples with this person of things she doesn't like but won't change.  Almost all of them are in her power to change them. 

I waited a week and a half before I built enough courage up to get that shot in my knee.  But, as the doctor told me "come back when you've had enough of that knee" I realized he was right and that I was being silly.  You need to get through the awful before the good.  There's also no promise that the medication will last, but for now it feels pretty good. 

My coworker will not change.  She is unwilling to go through what she needs to in order to make herself happy.  Which also leads me to believe that she doesn't want to be happy.  I find this thought disturbing, but I'm really beginning to believe it.  Not only does she not want to be happy, but she wants everyone else to be unhappy too.  And that they should be happy being unhappy.  If that even makes sense. 

I had a full-blown migraine this week.  Rage, visual aura, headache, light and sound aversions, the whole kit and caboodle.  As I thank God for the miracle that is Maxalt, I realize that better living through chemistry really is my motto.  But, the next day, my coworker decides that she needs to fill every drawer in the room with plastic vials from a distance of about three feet.  Just open the box and let the vials pour out.  When I ask her to stop doing this, she gets a smirk on her face and informs me that I should just change my situation if I don't like what she is doing.  She thinks that she's turned the tables on my comments to her, so I decide right then and there that there will never be another kindness towards her from me.  She will get civility, but nothing else.  I change my situation all right, and to one she will regret.

And that is all I am going to say about her.  I've wasted too much of my energy on her, she has sucked too much of my life away for my liking and I'm not going to let her do that anymore.  I'm done with her.  She is not worth my time and that is my situation to change. 

Confessions of a car singer

I love to sing.  But not in public.  I don't think I'm a terrible singer, but I'm not good either.  As a result of that, I sing in the car.  Loudly, proudly, and constantly.  Unless, of course, the husband is with me.  I sing alone in the car.  Yes, I'm one of those crazy looking people who sing away regardless of other drivers staring and laughing at us.  Sometimes, if I'm lucky, the person in front of me in the left lane on the freeway will think I'm having an episode of road rage at them and will move over out of my way.  All they see is this crazy woman voicing something LOUDLY and assume it is anger directed at them.  Well, sometimes it is, but mostly it's me and some good singin' tunes. 

As I've mentioned ad nauseaum, I commute a sizable distance every day to work.  Now that I've transferred to UWM, I don't go to Sheboygan two to three times a week, so my singing time has been cut a bit.  Still, I manage to belt out tunes on the 45 minute drive one way to work.  What do I sing you ask?  Well, a mixed variety of classic rock, goofy tunes, show tunes, classical music, and opera.  I can hit soprano notes after some warm up, and there are days I'm good and can sing in tune and days I'm horrible and dogs are howling all the way to Milwaukee.  Then, there are just the good driving tunes that are fun.  Sometimes I think I'm performing and think about how different my life would be if I had chosen that path, and sometimes I sing just because it's easier to do that than to think about life at that moment. 

  I find that car singing is a great way to leave my work issues behind.  My job is pretty high on the aggravation factor, and some days it really proves it.  Today, was a perfect storm of first of the month (all financials are due), a half day because of school, work not being or getting done, crazy coworkers who didn't realize it is May 1st (or didn't care), and the current evil that is Ascension Health Project Symphony.  I'm not going to go into detail about Symphony because it has taken an hour at the Y, a slow drive home, a very hot shower, and pizza to put my anger away for the night.  But, needless to say, I was belting out tunes with Jackie (Evancho) all the way home.  I don't understand a word of Latin, but I can make the sounds pretty evenly.  She, however, has a perfect voice and I still marvel at her range and maturity.  She is one of the few people I've heard who I think has a real gift from God.  Anyway, I love singing with her because most of her pieces are slower and I can change pitch easier with her than with others.  Say, the Queen of the Night aria from Mozart's Magic Flute.  I can't quite hit those high notes, but I can get most of the piece.

There you have it.  I'm a car singin' maniac and I freely confess it.  I'm not sure what I'll do when I get one of those fancy cars that listens to you when you talk.  I wonder if I'll have to get ear plugs for the car?

 

Grant Writing Gone Bad

I am taking a grant writing class this semester, and with only four weeks left, I have to confess that I will be glad when the class is done.  But, I'm also sad that I didn't enjoy it more and that the thoughts I had of turning this into a second career are rapidly evaporating.  This was my back up plan and the course I am taking to finish off my degree.  What happens now?  I know grant writing is a small portion of professional writing, but what concerns me is something the teacher for this class wrote in a comment to me.  She said that I need to stop using my "voice" and just write in plain, every-day language.  That I had an awkward, stuffy, intellectual, and off-putting style that wasn't very good, at least for grant writing (I hope).  This teacher is someone I would handle very carefully.  She seems nice while she talks with you, but then turns vicious in her written comments and uses styles she has told us that are unprofessional.  She made a comment on my paper in all capital letters that wasn't really needed.  A normal comment would have sufficed.  And, it was for something that is a minor detail.  Not a big, in-your-face glaring error that would have had the funder so horrified that they would have black listed my name forever and burned the proposal in terror. 

Writing is something that I've come to enjoy, and when I come across a teacher like this, it shatters the fragile confidence that I have and really makes me wonder why I'm choosing this as a major and something I would like to use as a second career.  I've already given up on becoming a Librarian, and now I'm considering giving up on writing.  What's left?  I could switch tracks in my major, but that will take me longer to finish.  I'm ready to be done with school now and the thought of taking more semesters seems to daunting to me.  I really think that it would be easier if sometimes in life we had an owner's manual that would tell us what we want to do. 

I needed to write a blog because I've hit a point in the grant narrative where I can't come up with anything to say.  Writer's block, I guess.  This style of writing is so different from essay writing that I've not been able to come up with something good and put it down on paper.  I understand now what folks are talking about when they say they hate writing papers and can never figure out what to say.  My other problem with this teacher is that she doesn't teach so I'm not exactly sure what she wants in this narrative.  She tosses out some information but doesn't teach.  We have an outdated textbook, a cutsey hint book from her, and what information she deems fit to put on D2L.  She doesn't explain very well, doesn't show examples that are good, and doesn't give good answers to questions.  At one point in the semester, she told us that she puts up "models" not samples and admitted that they are not necessarily GOOD models.  It was up to us to figure out which were good and which were bad.  She never EXPLAINED that until she was yelling at us about putting tax id numbers on the assignment because all of her models had those listed on them.  She talked to us like we were idiots for following the examples SHE listed on the learning site.  I could go on for so many more examples of her behavior, but I won't.  It's boring and makes me irritated.  I expect from teachers solid and consistent work that helps me achieve the goals of the class.  Not bipolar manic expressions of craziness that make me doubt every single word I put down.  I am paying way too much money for her to be like this.  I am continually amazed at how in school we put up with behavior and shoddy services that in real life we'd never allow to happen.

This just makes me appreciate the good teachers even more.  And, I guess that's what I have to keep reminding myself of.  I've had more good teachers than bad, but the bad ones have been really bad.  And again, paying tuition makes this even more irritating. 

I like my Eng Lit teacher.  He makes a dry subject interesting and has his stuff together.  There's none of the crap in his class that is going on with my grant writing class.  Unfortunately, I don't think I'll have him again as almost all of the classes I need are major related.  And, this is my last required Lit class.  I am taking another Lit class this summer, but he's not teaching it.  I also need 6 credits of upper L&S credits after the summer semester, so I need to find something that is going to be fun and interesting.  But, I won't take those until the last semester.

Well, I don't seem to have writer's block for this blog.  I guess it is just for her class.  I'm at the point where I just want to submit whatever crap I have down because I know that she will trash this draft.  I'm getting to the point of not caring which is not good at all.  I need to find my motivation and realize that my best will not be good enough for her no matter what.  She is incapable of judging fairly and I really think that although she may be a good grant writer, she really shouldn't be a teacher.  She doesn't have the ability to explain very well and that is crucial to teaching.  Combined with her condescending attitude towards her students and smug, self-centered attitude about her skills makes her a shining example of what happens when someone thinks they can teach just by presence instead of by words. 

And so it begins....

As I entered the YMCA this week, it occurred to me that there is a lot of energy being expended that if it could be harnessed and some how channeled into a force of good, we'd be an unstoppable nation. 

Yes, my friends, the impossible has happened.  I started an exercise program this week.  I decided that if I spent hard earned cash on a membership, I might actually go.  I have a very complex relationship with the thought of exercising and weight loss, but basically I can see the writing on the wall with obamacare.  I can either pay an insurance company scads of cash for pitiful, measly insurance or I can pay the Y and try to get some benefit out of it.  Either way, I'm paying money that I don't want to fork over because I'm fat.  And, because we have a country that really isn't all that free anymore and there are too many people who have decided that my extra poundage is more of a problem than deadbeats who want handouts instead of working for a living.  Never mind I'm one of the tax paying middle class that is getting squeezed in that area too.  But, enough of my soap box issues. 

I have started out on a treadmill that knows my heart rate, calories burned, and has settings from a stroll in the park to death mountain footrace.  As I walk the pounds away, I keep imagining what my grandmother would make of this.  She, of the generation where you did hard farm labor which kept the pounds off, would have been stymied that I'm paying money for the privilege of working my ass off (hopefully, literally) instead of pulling weeds in the garden, mucking out the barn, or cutting hay.  But I don't live on a farm and as this country steadily loses the family farm we have put on poundage galore.  When we were laborers, we didn't need gym memberships but as we "progress" as a country and evolve, so does our waist line.  However, I have always been big-boned.  I have a fluffy, sturdy frame from hardy farmer stock.  But, there is no denying that when I got a desk job, the pounds came along with it. 

As I pound along the belt of the treadmill with my fellow fitness buffs, I feel like the kid struggling to keep up with the older siblings.  Today was the perfect mixture of "in-shape" people who not only knew what they were doing, but looked good while doing it.  And, mostly younger than me too, but there were a fair amount of oldsters on the outer ring (looking in at the beautiful people) using some contraption that looked like it had heavy bars of iron on the end of a rope.  I'm sure I will find out what those are in due time as my "trainer" promises to show me in two weeks.  For now, I have to master the treadmill and the recumbent bike.  The death bike from hell, more likely.  I got on this contraption after a half hour on the treadmill and thought I would be ok.  Yeah.  Well, it has a mind of its own too, and decided that I wasn't working hard enough so it kept increasing the resistance so that I could hardly push the pedals.  Then, because apparently I'm unable to realize I've stopped pedaling, it beeps at you and tells you to pedal.  Well, stupid bike, if you would stop increasing the resistance maybe I could keep pedaling????  Just sayin'...  Actually, I'm sure I probably hit the wrong button, but honestly, does it really have to keep beeping at me and announcing to the whole gym that I'm incapable of understanding the buttons?  Or that I'm incapable of pedaling?  Bad enough I'm in a baggy tee shirt and sweats and not the tight, form fitting fitness wear that promises to do all sorts of bodily functions for you, but does the bike have to draw attention to me too?  I very fit gentleman came over to help me with it, and had that "oh, look, she's trying to exercise, how adorable" look on his face.  I didn't know whether to smack him or thank him.  For the record, I thanked him.

As I watched the number go higher for calories burned, I kept thinking of how pitiful a number that is for the amount of work it takes.  Why again, can I consume in a mouthful what just took me an hour of hard walking to get rid of?  How does that motivate a person to work that hard only to understand that with the eating of supper the expenditure is erased?  Yes, I know.  Rabbit food and water.  Maybe I will feel differently when I've lose some weight.  But in the mean time, I will keep searching for that "exercise high" that is supposed to carry me through the work out.  And, it doesn't help that the tv I'm watching plays pizza commercials.  How rude!

Spring break musings

I had the thought the other day of what if everyone in the world got every wish they wanted?  I'm sure that thought has been done as a story somewhere, but for me it was something that made me pause for a few minutes to think about.  And what happens when wishes collide?  Say, for example, I wished that I could make beautiful chain maille jewelry with gold and silver but someone else wished to have all the gold and silver in the world in their house?  Would the force that grants the wishes, grant both?  And what would happen if it did or didn't?  Then it occurred to me that people being people, there would be wishes of death, or hurt, or other terrible things to one another.  So, I guess it is a good thing that our every wish doesn't come true.  That launched me into a train of thought of why we are so evil to one another but I came up with no answers to that. 

It is spring break this week, and it's nice to be off of school for a little bit.  I love my English Lit class, but I'm not so thrilled with my grant writing class.  I'm not sure if it is the teacher or the material, but I'm finding it difficult to embrace the class.  We had to find a service learning site (I chose Lakeview Community Library) and work up a full proposal for them.  The teacher of the class is ok, but seems a little smug in her knowledge and standing.  I have no doubt she is very knowledgeable about her chosen field and has supported herself for the past 15 years doing grant writing.  But, she is the type of person who has too many irons in the fire and doesn't do any of them particularly well.  For instance, even though we are half way through the semester and have handed in several assignments, we have only gotten ONE grade back.  One.  She keeps moving deadlines and due dates because she can't get her critique copy back to her students in time for them to revise and hand in.  This is after she has lectured us numerous times about getting OUR work in on time because in grant writing, there is no late work.  On my organizational profile, she highlighted the word combination "there is" and in the comments told me to "get my thesaurus out".  That I was not creative in my wording.  Later, in the SAME document, highlighted a paragraph and told me, again in the comments, that my language was "too formal, stuffy, intellectual, and awkward" and that I should "use plain, every day language".  WTH?  Both of these comments in the same document.  Her major complaint was the word "facilitates".  As in the following sentence: "Lakeview Community Library facilitates the use of teen volunteers for the summer reading program".  So, now I'm so paranoid about my writing that I'm having a terrible time coming up with the writing for my assignments. 

The other thing that is a bit irritating is that she has a very smug and condescending demeanor towards her students.  I can live with that as long as she follows her own advice, but she doesn't.  After giving us a lecture for 15 mins about late work, moves a deadline to her convenience because she has four proposals she needs to write for her clients this week.  Let's see, I'm paying exactly $1,254.00 bucks in tuition and another $100 in books to take this class, which, ironically makes her MY employee, and we are put on a back burner with no real guidance or presentation of information regarding how to do our homework.  Which then comes back with conflicting comments about using to plain of language or to intellectual language.  If I had wanted to waste that much money on a crappy class where I'm going to get insulted and conflicting messages, I would have taken one that wouldn't really have any bearing on my major.

One the other side is my Eng Lit class.   When I declared my major, the Associate Chair said to me, "you have to take an old, dead guy class".  I laughed at the description, but he was right.  I had been dreading this class because I'm not entirely confident about my level of Shakespeare "love".  So, I took a survey class that has a potpourri of writers.  At the beginning of the semester, the teacher asked the class why we were in this particular class.  I said that I was a bit intimidated by a whole semester of Shakespeare and that this class would be better for me.  He looked at me and said the Shakespeare class was easier.  He also teaches the Shakespeare class, so he would know.  But, I stuck with it and we are now reading Shakey over the spring break.  Midsummer Nightmare on Elm Street or something like that.  Seriously, I can never remember the title of that play.  I need to get crackin' on finishing it too.  But, I think I'm doing well, and contrary to my grant writing class, the Eng Lit prof gets our graded stuff back to us the very next class.  It's nice to know where you stand in the semester versus the wait to the end of the semester and hope the teacher has taken her meds and grades like she is supposed to and not like a bipolar maniac tired of grading papers. 

I have finally fully recovered.  I realized the other day that I have so much more energy now and can do normal things without being sick.  I stopped coughing around mid-February, and the sinus infection has finally abated too.  Two months of sick and wasted time.  I still can't believe it took two courses of antibiotics and prednisone to get things under control.  But, I am so much better and thankful for it.

I will enjoy the rest of spring break even though the wind chill was below 0 at points today, and hwy 57 southbound was snow covered and slippery with the snow we got yesterday blowing around.  There was even a car in the ditch.  That is very un-spring like behavior if you ask me.  I have several feet of snow in my yard yet, so hopefully I won't have to cut the grass for many, many weeks yet.  I wish that it would stay neat and manicured all summer long.  That would be an ok wish, right?

Another

Sitting down in his favorite bar, dark, quiet, and only a few other patrons, the executioner ordered his usual.  He needed to get the smell out of his nose and clothes and the only way he had found to do that was by going to the dive where there was much smoking, hardly any talking, and years of human odors piled upon each other until the place took on a dank smell that would only ever be relieved by burning the place down.

Why did he continue moonlighting with this job?  Money, of course, there was good money in state-sanctioned murder, and he was just the person to relieve the state of it.  Well, he and two other men who never talked or acknowledged each other.  The sour, pungent smell of the bar was beginning to work its magic on him, and he noticed he could look at the other customers in the face again.  Bars always have distinctive smells to them depending on what they are used for.  The expensive, high-society ones didn’t have a bad smell to them; they were always pleasant, well-ventilated, and clean.  But you paid an arm and a leg for your watered-down drinks.  No, the cheap ones were the best at getting rid of other odors, supplanting them with their own mix of years of sweat, smoke, puke, and humans.      

“Another,” he ordered and the drink was served with the usual mix of apathy and curiosity.  The amber liquid seared his throat, fogged his sinus cavities with the vapor of cheap alcohol, and produced the requisite wincing that comes with trying to swallow something meant to be used as cleaning fluid.  The rotund bartender never asked him questions, but stood by in case he said anything other than a drink order.  He never did.  A quiet man by nature, it wasn’t in him on the best of days to chat.  He said what needed to be said and that was it.  Maybe that’s why his ex-wife…, well, what good was she anyway?

Impeccably dressed, he didn’t look the look of this bar.  It was the standard suit he wore to his second job, and he hated it.  It felt scratchy and cheap and he didn’t allow it to be in his closet.  He chafed at the collar and he reached up to loosen the tie and top button on his starched shirt.  The release of pressure was welcome, and he closed his eyes and smiled.  The suit was only kept in a box in the trunk of his car and it got cleaned before he needed to go to work, and he paid extra for the pressing.  It simply wouldn’t do to look shabby for the audience and the star. 

“Another,” and the drink magically appeared.  He wondered if the bartender could smell the smell on him, or if because he worked in a place that smelled of everything his olfactory senses were long since damaged beyond repair.  The executioner covertly sniffed the upper arm of his manicured suit coat.  He couldn’t be sure what he smelled; it was either the carbonized remains of the prisoner or dry cleaning fluid.  Did anyone around him know what he did for rent and alimony money?  He surreptitiously looked around and like he, everyone else had their heads down in their drinks, contemplating their own misery and haunted past deeds. 

After a while, the dimly-lit and hazy bar began to clear out and a few of the denizens shuffled toward the door.  It was getting late, but he had nothing to return to.  He had more family in this shack right now than he ever had when he was a member of polite society.  He had to get up later this morning to go to his respectable job, and he didn’t care at that particular moment.  That care would come in about four hours when that evil invention rang with the most annoying sound in the world.

Maybe he should quit this second job, but he dismissed the idea immediately because the money was so good.  The cheap alcohol was making him fuzzy headed and the bar began to be less hideous and the harsh edges began to soften.  It was warm, comforting, and he began to feel at ease.  Even the rank smell was beginning to lull him into contentment.  So what if he got rid of scum for a living?  They deserved it, didn’t they?  And, with the passage of time and alcohol, he couldn’t remember the prisoner’s name anymore.  He knew he had reached the point of the night where he could go home and sleep. 

“Another,” one more couldn’t hurt.  The warm liquid peeled the skin from his throat and he relished the feel of it.  No ice for him to cool the caustic nature of the invitingly amber liquid.  All he could smell now was cigarette and sweat and he knew, just knew, that the last remnants of what’s-his-name were gone from him.

This was a story I wrote for Eng 203 (creative writing).  I ran across it the other day while cleaning out files on my computer and thought I'd put it in my blog.  I've always wondered what the executioners do after an execution.  

  

Where's my game face?

I was watching the news the other night when the sports came on.  There was an interview with a sports player of some sort and rather than tuning out what he was saying, I stopped what I was doing to actually listen to what he was saying.  And, to my surprise, he spoke in nothing but cliches.  (Yes, I know there is supposed to be an accent over the e, but I can type faster without having to stop and put it in).  I can't remember all of the phrases, but here are a few:  "We have to score more points to win" "The other team wanted it more than we did" "We just have to put our heads down and move the ball" "We need to come out fighting and take charge" and, my favorite, "We need to put our game face on and play to win!".  There was not one iota of real answer in anything this young man said.  Now, I'm not sure if that is what is expected of athletes who lose and have to do interviews, but it seemed to me that his answers were trite and he was bored with the whole interview process.  And, what are the fans supposed to get out of this?  If I know these phrases inside and out, what does the serious sports fan think?  Do they get tired of hearing these same phrases every time a game is played?  I believe there are winning ones to, but they fail to come to me just now.  But, those aren't the ones that people care about.  Hey, their team has won, so who really listens to them?  As we go into "Big Game Sunday" this weekend, I am sure I'll have plenty of opportunity to hear all the football cliches there are in existence as I'm sure, even at this very minute, there is a pre-game show on some channel.  But what about the cliches?  Is it that difficult to answer questions without resorting to them?  And, is it just sports people that use them as conversation?

This afternoon, my coworker was talking to me and at one point of the conversation about her mother, she used an entire paragraph of cliches strung together that didn't even make sense.  She ended the conversation with "where the rubber meets the road".  Yes, I've heard this one before and I've often wonder what it actually means.  Unless you are a stunt driver or a speeding maniac, doesn't the rubber always meet the road?  I was so engrossed in thinking about her cliches that I completely missed what she was rambling on about and when she stopped talking I asked her if she knew that she had just completed an entire conversation using mostly cliches.  She looked stunned and said, "so?".  She then pointed out that not ALL of us can be English majors and I think I just got my first lesson in the dangers of letting people know your major.  So, I began to think about my speaking patterns because she wasn't talking anymore, and I was a bit grateful for that.  After 8 hours of listening to the same issue with her, I was ready for a change of topic.  But, I decided that I do use some cliches when speaking, but not in my writings for school.  Why?  Speaking and talking with people can be informal and why is it ok to use them there?  You will be judged if you use bad grammar in informal conversation so why not judged for trite sayings?  If a cliche is understandably forbidden in a paper, why do we allow them in our conversations?  I know why you don't put them in papers, but does every one know that?  I'm guessing there are many, many English teachers that have to correct these insidious phrases because the younglings think they are acceptable form in writing because they use it in conversation AND their favorite sports person uses them too!

I've decided that I'm going to make an effort to not use them in my speaking life as they are beginning to irritate me.  And when I hear them, I almost fixate on them and can't listen to the rest of the sentence.  I guess what stops me is that I end up over-thinking the cliche when I shouldn't.  Where the rubber meets the road.  Why is that significant?  As a commuter to both work and school, there's a lot of rubber meeting the road and all it does is cost me more money for new tires.

I had a very nice surprise occur this week.  In my school email, there was a letter from the Golden Key International Honour Society.  I almost deleted it as junk mail, but then read that it was from UWM.  Seems I've gotten some good grades and they are inviting me to join their Society.  I have never heard of this group before, but they gave me links to the websites and, after reading through both the local and the main site, I decided they were legit.  I'm very flattered, and surprised because I thought I had read that only full-time students get honor recognition, but apparently that's only for the Dean's List.  Part time students can also receive honors, so that was neat to find out.  But, now I feel like there's some kind of pressure on me to keep getting A's, but I'm not sure why this would make any difference.  That's my goal anyway, but it seems like as soon as someone recognizes that, it makes the pressure so much worse.  Maybe it's because I know that if no one is paying attention, I don't have to worry if I fail something.  I hate the fact that I keep thinking I'm going to fail when, in probability  I won't.  I know an A isn't guaranteed, but I'm pretty sure I can hit one of the other letters that isn't a D or an F.  So why do I keep thinking I'm going to fail?  I think I've proven that I can do this, and I'm beginning to think that even though I've repeated all but one class that I did so poorly in, and did very well in repeat, that I still failed my first year of college and I can't get over that. It doesn't matter that it was 27 years ago and no one other than myself cares or remembers, but it is still there.  I see it on my transcript and it strikes a chord so deep in me, that I still, to this day, cringe when I look at my course history.

As the new semester begins to pick up momentum, I am finally, finally recovering from my two month long illness that required two courses of antibiotics and two courses of prednisone.  I had a mish-mash of whopping cough, walking pneumonia, bronchitis, and just for kicks, a sinus infection.  I'm still dealing with the sinus infection and a little bit of lung congestion yet.  I still blame the germy kids at UWM who are not washing their hands and are coughing and sneezing all over the place.   I have never been ill for that long in my life.  I've had my share of colds, bronchitis, sinus infections, flu, strep, and most any other common contagion that plagues the Earth, but I've never been sick for two months straight.  And, with a continually evolving illness that just kept turning into something different.  And, for the first time, I truly felt old and worn out.  I am 45, and some would argue that is not old, but it is middle-aged and I was feeling every bit of it.  In my mind, I feel about 30ish, and I feel that I still have energy levels that a younger person would have.  How else do I pull off full time work, part time school, all the housework, all of the summer yard work (and with two summer classes), all the crap that goes with daily living (car maintenance, grocery shopping, errand running), endless studying, and do all of this on around five hours of sleep a night?  I'm not saying I'm some kind of "super" person, but I do believe that mind-set is important to one's attitude, especially when it comes to "mental age".  This illness started at the beginning of December, and fully manifested within two days after my finals when I stopped obsessing about them.  I knew I had a cough and I was really tired, but with the goal of finals in mind, I had something to concentrate on.  Once that was taken away, the illness took over and three trips to the doctor later I was on a "super" antibiotic because he couldn't believe the first one didn't take care of what was in my lungs.  This was a glimpse of what it must be like to be chronically ill, and I didn't care for it one bit.  As a member of the health care world, I would like to think we cure people, but honestly, it is a waiting game.  I knew I was in some serious issues when the first antibiotic didn't even touch my symptoms and pretty much just pissed off what was already there.  All I can hope for now, is to recover and hope those germy kids at UWM wash their hands more.  I know I will be.