Please don’t Tell my Class I Need Male Enhancement…

blah blah haven’t been around in ages have missed so many stories bad blogger busy PHD student blah.

 

Now that that’s all out of the way, hello again all.  School is exhausting, so I haven’t been able to get here as often as I’d like.  But this morning was a classic, and just needed to be shared with the internet at large.

 

So, in the classes I teach, there is a multimedia component, and in my class, we are making podcasts.  We’ve been in conferences/library sessions all week, so today was their first chance to workshop their stuff.  I brought in some samples of podcasts for them to listen to, and played them directly from my laptop, because it fills me with an unidentifiable terror to let a student navigate the computer we can see on the big screens.

 

We were moving on through our sample audio clips, when I hear the incoming mail chime.  Now, for most this is not a big deal.  Except when you use Mac’s new notification center, it…kind of is.  This announces, for all who have ears to hear, who your mail is from.

 

It also does this for all incoming spam.

 

Now, I’ve been a little unfair, in that I’m leading you all on in the sense that no my class did not hear about someone wanting to give me larger junk, or about pills that will mak her luv me long time–they just heard an innocuous message from a harmless organization I’m a part of.  But the thought that they would hear about penis enlargement or Russian prostitutes and think I was gross, or, worse, hear an Email from my online dating years and think I was a sad lonely cat lady… it was enough to make one shudder.

 

So, as my sendoff, a word to the wise: turn off your screen reader when you are in front of students, because the Canadian pharmacy people are just *waiting* for you to give them an opening.

 

Unrelated PSA2: your cute teacherly outfit becomes less cute and less teacherly when there are puddles outside above your ankles, and the weight of your wet dress starts dragging down low enough to fear for public decency.  Just thought y’all’d wanna know.

 

Adjunct out.

Grammar and Fashion Woes

You’ll notice that I left out that comma up there, leaving that title very ambiguous.  Look at me being all teacher-y.

So we covered grammar on Tuesday, or, more importantly, we covered commas.  I think that, if I wasn’t fearing mutiny before, I should be fearing it now.  Take a bunch of 18-year-olds, trap them in a room for an hour and 40 minutes, and ram a bunch of confusing punctuation rules down their throats, and you’re just asking for trouble.  At the end I asked them what about grammar they wanted to learn about in later class periods, and I actually waited for an answer.  After some mutterings, I got the “well, you’re the teacher, we all hate this. So it’s your job to figure out what we’re supposed to learn.”  …okay then.  If y’all want a dictator, then a dictator you shall have (but in retrospect asking the question in the first place was sort of a bad call on my part. They’re like puppies–they want structure, even if they don’t know it).

I think it went  *mostly* alright though.  They won’t remember anything, except maybe the comma splice, but we have the rest of the semester to work on it.  I was supposed to cover parts of speech today, but considering the restless stirring of the troops, I decided it was time to switch tactics.  We’re sort of in creative writing mode today, with a game included, so hopefully that will go better.

Then again, I’m introducing their first paper today, so I may have already shot myself in the foot.  Like a coward, I am waiting until the class has already begun to send out the assignment sheet.

What, they’re intimidating…

But, to inspire confidence in myself, I did dress the part to be a professor today (yes, this is where we get to the fashion woes).  Bought a new jacket, and it practically has freaking elbow patches.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I own a BLAZER.  I am a MATURE ADULT.

…And, as I very maturely strode across the street to catch the bus to work, I ripped the back stitch out of my pencil skirt.

 

Lesson learned: one should not stride maturely in a skirt that normally makes it a challenge to climb stairs.

It’s just a sort of decorative split in the lower quarter of the back of the skirt, so it’s not like I’ll be stuck showing my nickers to the college at large, but I feel so much less put together with my flap… flapping.  But here in lies the advantage to being a blind professor: I don’t have to turn my back on them to write on the chalkboard.  So unless some little creep is intentionally staring at my butt, I’m pretty much home free. Win.

Hey, I take my victories where I can get them.  You rip your skirt on the way to work and see what you have left to work with.

Now, off to drink tea and write the rest of this lesson plan, enjoying the fact that it’s like 60 degrees outside, and therefore not a furnace in my office.

Welcome to fall.

 

ETA: FIRST PAYDAY OMG YAY!

 

Week 1 and still kicking

So, here I am, at the end of the first week.  I’m exhausted and spotted with hummus, but I have truffles and scones, so I think I’m still in the + column at this point.

 

First weeks are always interesting.  This one started out with a presto-change-o in the school lobby, to get me out of my don’t-break-my-ankle sandals into my look-I’m-an-adult heels.  Not my most dignified first move, but it had to be done.  If any students were watching, my credibility is gone.  But my shoes are super cute, so I’ll cope.

 

This was followed by not being able to sign onto the network.  School is famous for tech problems, and this one blossomed into an issue that took 3 days to take care of (but it is taken care of now yay).  I love my tech guys.

 

The first class went… fine.  I kind of have a weird sense of brewing hostility in the classroom, but I’m also rampantly and visibly insecure at the start, so I’ll have to report back on whether hints of mutiny are still in the air.  I got the obligatory “What are you not looking forward to in this class?” “writing,” conversation out of the way (there’s always one), and am now ready to set off on my Dead Poet’s Society mission to make these children fall in love with me and my subject.

 

Hey, shut up, I am young and naive enough to have impossible dreams.

 

Some stupid college thing screwed with my scheduling today, so class was only a half hour, so Tuesday’s impressions are still sort of today’s impressions.  Why you wouldn’t send a freaking Email out when classes are only going to be half an hour long, I don’t know…(this is the point where I descend into unintelligible muttering, so move along).

 

.  Anyway, I haven’t spent enough time in-class, so you guys will have to wait to hear more about the specifics of the week until the specifics…actually exist.

 

I guess the only weird thing I’m noticing is that one of the guys is, completely without sarcasm, calling me ma’am.  I am not sure how I feel about this.  The only thing I can fathom is that he *is* military, so maybe it’s a thing.  Either way it’s a thing that makes me feel weird, and I kinda wanna ask him not to.

 

I am not a MA’AM!

 

But I digress.

 

Other than those little stories, things have been mostly uneventful.  the only embarrassments of notice are the above-mentioned hummus-spotting (when eating at your desk, be sure to take note if your crackers have a giant hole in the middle), and accidentally requesting access to a student’s google doc with my personal Email address.  Hopefully she is not a troll who will now stalk and harass me all semester because she knows where I really live on the internet.

 

Okay, this is getting long, and I’m really tired.  Pretending to be an extrovert really takes it out of a girl.  So it’s time for tea and a nap, not sure about the order yet.  I beg your forgiveness and indulgence for the complete lack of coherency in today’s post–see above about fake extroversion being really, really exhausting.  I promise to make sense later.

 

P.S.: the truffles and scones were a care package from my wonderful mother and  one of my surrogate moms.  I love them always. Getting yummies is still just as exciting when you teach freshmen as it was when you were one, and I am spoiled beyond belief. ❤