Mom and the squirrels are fighting again. And I’m afraid this is not going to be a “bloodless” war this year like last year. I was first aware the lines had been drawn again on Saturday. I spend a fair amount of time in my bedroom since that’s where most of my life is stuffed, plus a chair I like to sit in, and my own facilities, and my cat, and a window. It’s not a prison, but it can feel like it, but that’s another story.
Anyway, I was reading while actively keeping my bed from floating away and was surprised to hear my mother speaking in a loud voice saying some rather rude things like, “Yeah, you better run,” and “Just get your cotton pickin’ hands out of there.” At first I thought perhaps my mother the family jock was yelling at the Tigers , but I didn’t hear the t.v. on, nor did the rest of the neighborhood since Grandma is going deaf but doesn’t feel she needs a hearing aid since she’s 100, for pete’s sake.
Then I thought maybe Mom was yelling at Grandma, but while Grandma can be a pain in the ears, Mom knows that if she upsets Grandma, the old woman will make Mom pay for it, big time, tears and everything, and guilt, and saying stuff about not wanting to live, and more guilt. Then I realized someone was slamming and rattling the flimsy screen door to the deck, and put two and two together to get the answer “my mother is insane.”
I thought perhaps the squirrels were just having fun with Mom, what with the recent rain and then the nice weather over the weekend, but again, I was incorrect. During the late hours on Saturday, something climbed one of the pines in the back yard and that something fell when the branch cracked, rather audibly, and fell to the ground. The ground didn’t shake, but it was a pretty good “whumph” that I heard. I would imagine if the “someone” could have spoken English, I would have heard a few curse words.
On Sunday, Mom did yell at the Tigers and she yelled at the squirrels. She did a lot of rattling again—the door, not her head. But, there was not BB gun action, so I was hoping that things were just going to stay low key, until I left the house on Monday, then everything went to hell.
I cover about two miles on a dirt road when I take the most direct route to Imlay. I also live near a public game hunting area, which means the deer move to our side of the road in September and move back to the other side when they’re pretty sure they’re safe again. Anyway, while driving to town, I happened to pass a raccoon who was taking a nap on the road, except he looked really, really tired and not very relaxed. He was still there when I came home, so I had to think very hard to decide that, alas, he was sleeping the sleep with Morpheus. Sigh.
This is the first casualty, you realize? Granted, the snoozing raccoon was almost two miles away from my house, but surely there can’t be too many raccoons out there. Okay, so there is a raccoon hunting club near where I live, ostensibly named something like “Coon Hunters Club” or something like that, and I’m pretty sure they really do hunt the furry, four-legged animals rather than using ugly language to describe a despicable thought pattern. Still, I’m pretty sure the squirrels have been pretty, pretty busy while we’ve been enjoying the “cease fire.” I’ll just bet you the squirrels recruited some of their more rare forest buddies and talked them into being the front line shock troops, and just look what’s happened. I just pray it wasn’t Ricky or Rocky who went “whumph” out of that tree.
I wonder if the squirrels are thinking of trying to recruit me or Grandma into their cause. Grandma couldn’t pull it off because she probably couldn’t hear then unless they stood on her shoulder and screamed bloody murder in their little tinny voices. I won’t do it because I like living here, on the safe side of the BB gun. Yep. They’ll just have to go this one alone, I guess.
In the late hours of Monday, I met another soldier in the squirrel army. I heard what I thought was Rocky and Ricky outside, but someone was royally pissed. At first I thought I heard a dog walking past the house. They like to hang out behind the barn next door and smoke corn silk. Disgusting habit. Anyway, I also heard a high-pitched chatter. I thought perhaps Flipper had come for a visit, but then I remembered we’re landlocked.
The chatter proceeded to north end of the house, so I turned on the light on the deck and didn’t see anything at first, but the chatter got closer and closer, until a small raccoon climbed up and introduced herself to me. Because she spoke in Juvenile, I didn’t quite catch all her words, but I think her name is Roxy and she’s a first cousin to Ricky and Rocky. I could be wrong. You know how confusing Juvenile is to adults.
Anyway, Rocky was having himself some supper and every time Roxy came near, he’d growl, which reminded me of how Amber growls at Kelly if Kelly has the nerve to try and make friends.
So, back to Roxy. She showed me how tall she is by stretching herself on her hind legs and grabbing at the flimsy screen door and then gave me a run down on the events as she understood them, or as I was able to grasp them. She’s a cute little thing, but I worry because she really should be more afraid of humans or at least pick better places to hang out besides my back yard.
Ah, youth. So moronic. So without brains.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Holy Smurtastic
I admit it. I watched the Smurfs on Saturday morning, BACK WHEN THEY STILL HAD REAL CARTOONS!. So, imagine my surprise, shock, and "whatha?" when I looked at this bit of news.
http://movies.yahoo.com/feature/movie-talk-the-smurfs-get-real-in-first-trailer.html
http://movies.yahoo.com/feature/movie-talk-the-smurfs-get-real-in-first-trailer.html
On the Job Duties
Sometimes the best laughter in my classroom, when I was once an employed college instructor, occurs during unplanned moments. My favorite story stems from an English class I taught about a dozen years ago. The class had been added at the last minute and since I was willing to work odd hours, I had about seven students on Tuesday and Thursdays for a couple hours each day. The class, business communications, required sections on writing resumes, a large report, and various business letters. Nothing too hard but in the middle of the afternoon it was hard to keep things going on occasion. It helped that I ran the class pretty informally since most of the students were used to me.
On this particular day, we had been discussing the types of jobs we’d had in the past. I talked about being a medical transcriptionist for three years and could type really fast. I also mentioned working for my father in his print shop and learned my way around Flint when I delivered printing to some of Dad’s older and very faithful customers.
When the conversation came around to one of my younger students, whom we shall call Lisa, she said she hadn’t been working very long, but she liked what she did. She said she was a clerk at a nationally known clothing store and said that one of her jobs was to make sure the shelves were neat and stocked.
I asked, “You mean you straighten shelves, that sort of thing?”
Lisa replied, “No. I put out.”
Dead silence.
The look on Lisa’s face when she realized her words was of shock and horror. I just looked at her and raised my eyebrows. She turned red and put her head on the desk, I think to start banging it to drive the embarrassment away.
The remaining students, well, they were trying so hard not to laugh. I don’t think I’ve seen so many faces contort from that much effort.
In a muffled voice Lisa said, “May I be excused, please?”
I said, “Sure,” as she bolted out of the room.
I must say I was proud of my class because no one laughed out loud until the door finished shutting. Then we started to giggle and wipe our eyes and giggle some more. After a couple minutes of this terribly rude behavior, I told the class that no one, and I meant NO ONE was allowed to tease Lisa about her choice of words—at least not in my classroom.
So, we sobered up and got back on track with the lesson. Lisa returned after about ten minutes and said she was sorry about leaving to abruptly. She was mortified by her words, but even more, she thought it was so funny she was afraid she’d have an if she didn't get out of the room fast enough. I told her she was forgiven. And although I really wanted to ask her about the putting out, I kept my mouth shut, for once.
On this particular day, we had been discussing the types of jobs we’d had in the past. I talked about being a medical transcriptionist for three years and could type really fast. I also mentioned working for my father in his print shop and learned my way around Flint when I delivered printing to some of Dad’s older and very faithful customers.
When the conversation came around to one of my younger students, whom we shall call Lisa, she said she hadn’t been working very long, but she liked what she did. She said she was a clerk at a nationally known clothing store and said that one of her jobs was to make sure the shelves were neat and stocked.
I asked, “You mean you straighten shelves, that sort of thing?”
Lisa replied, “No. I put out.”
Dead silence.
The look on Lisa’s face when she realized her words was of shock and horror. I just looked at her and raised my eyebrows. She turned red and put her head on the desk, I think to start banging it to drive the embarrassment away.
The remaining students, well, they were trying so hard not to laugh. I don’t think I’ve seen so many faces contort from that much effort.
In a muffled voice Lisa said, “May I be excused, please?”
I said, “Sure,” as she bolted out of the room.
I must say I was proud of my class because no one laughed out loud until the door finished shutting. Then we started to giggle and wipe our eyes and giggle some more. After a couple minutes of this terribly rude behavior, I told the class that no one, and I meant NO ONE was allowed to tease Lisa about her choice of words—at least not in my classroom.
So, we sobered up and got back on track with the lesson. Lisa returned after about ten minutes and said she was sorry about leaving to abruptly. She was mortified by her words, but even more, she thought it was so funny she was afraid she’d have an if she didn't get out of the room fast enough. I told her she was forgiven. And although I really wanted to ask her about the putting out, I kept my mouth shut, for once.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
How to Have a Memorable Tuesday Afternoon
1. Go to your local library and log onto one of their computers.
2. Do important stuff like surfing the Web and answering your email before moving on to Blackboard.
3. Finish your Blackboard surfing within an hour or two.
4. Log on to Blogger.com.
5. Read some of the blogs posted by your classmates.
6. Open the Word program so you can retrieve the blog you want to post. Next, realize your chest hurts a bit in the heart area, noting some discomfort in your back and left arm and that there is a slight amount of discomfort when trying to breathe.
7. Trying not to panic; decide you are having an angina problem and take out your nitro.
8. Take a nitro pill and carefully monitor your galloping heart as the nitro seems to take affect.
9. Note that the nitro worked a bit but now you’re feeling icky and you want to get off the computer.
10. Post your blog “Trekkers V. Trekkies,” hoping that when you paste the sucker in the spacing is accurate.
11. Log off the computer and go sit on a bench by the desk of the computer librarian.
12. Tell you’re fine, but would she mind if you lie on the floor. It’s harder to fall when you are already flat on your back.
13. Put your feet on the bench and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. When you are feeling better, you may get up.
14. Wander to the front desk and tell the librarian that if she hears you snoring over in the reading area, wake you up in ten minutes.
15. Sit in the nice, slouchy leather armchair and then decide to take another nitro pill.
16. Decide the nitro isn’t working all that great and you’re uncomfortable, so move the leather couch and lay down.
17. Take another nitro pill and hope to god this time stuff will stop being so uncomfortable.
18. After an hour of this, tell your librarian friend that you think you need to go to the hospital.
19. Wait for the ambulance, making small jokes to help with anxiety problem. Tell librarian friend to request no sirens, please.
20. Talk to really, really good looking police officer who arrives on the scene first and wish you were 25 years younger cause he ain’t married.
21. Let paramedics do their thing, get loaded in ambulance, travel over M53, which is incredibly bumpy and needs to be repaved.
22. Have paramedic person tell you your EKG isn’t showing a problem, but your BP is up. Duh! Listen to paramedic person tell you that perhaps your nitro is too old and is not working well. Try to decide if paramedic person is being condescending or you’re just hearing her talk that way.
23. Arrive at hospital. EKG is still okay. Get a stupid chest x-ray as a means for the hospital to make more money. Have ER doctor tell you the EKG looks fine. Have ER nurse say EKG looks fine.
24. Listen to mother bitch about not finding you right away. She listened to you when you said, “I’d rather die than be a patient at Lapeer Hospital ever again.” Listen to her story about how she drove to Lapeer, who said you weren’t there, and then she drove to McLaren, who said you weren’t there, and then McLaren called the other hospitals in Flint to find out you weren’t there either, then they call Lapeer and here you are.
25. Apologize to mother for going to Lapeer even after what you said.
26. Have ER doctor tell you you’re fine, again, but says if you want you can stay overnight and see the cardiologist in the morning. Decide you are not going to spend another five thousand dollars just to spend the night somewhere you don’t want to be.
26. Finally go home and start making jokes. “Boy, I spend $4,000 at the hospital and they didn’t even give me dinner. For that much money I should also have the chance for a roll in the hay.”
27. Feel like a total jerk because this is not the first time you’ve had a scare and since you have no money to speak of, how the hell are you going to pay this bill.
28. Go back to library to pick up your car and let the librarians know you’re fine.
29. Wait for librarian friend to leave a meeting so you can tell her you are fine.
30. Surprise librarian friend who gets flustered and rushes to give you a hug. Librarian friend weighs about 100 pounds soaking wet. Take note of this fact as you very gently give her a hug because she seems to breakable. Note irony that you’re a few times her weight.
31. Write up experience, injecting humor where you can.
32. Remind yourself to change out your old nitro for the newer stuff you have on hand.
33. Over the next week, every time one of the librarians ask how you are feeling, place your hand on your heart and start doing your Fred Sanford imitation. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnfflRNpwKA&feature=related
2. Do important stuff like surfing the Web and answering your email before moving on to Blackboard.
3. Finish your Blackboard surfing within an hour or two.
4. Log on to Blogger.com.
5. Read some of the blogs posted by your classmates.
6. Open the Word program so you can retrieve the blog you want to post. Next, realize your chest hurts a bit in the heart area, noting some discomfort in your back and left arm and that there is a slight amount of discomfort when trying to breathe.
7. Trying not to panic; decide you are having an angina problem and take out your nitro.
8. Take a nitro pill and carefully monitor your galloping heart as the nitro seems to take affect.
9. Note that the nitro worked a bit but now you’re feeling icky and you want to get off the computer.
10. Post your blog “Trekkers V. Trekkies,” hoping that when you paste the sucker in the spacing is accurate.
11. Log off the computer and go sit on a bench by the desk of the computer librarian.
12. Tell you’re fine, but would she mind if you lie on the floor. It’s harder to fall when you are already flat on your back.
13. Put your feet on the bench and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes. When you are feeling better, you may get up.
14. Wander to the front desk and tell the librarian that if she hears you snoring over in the reading area, wake you up in ten minutes.
15. Sit in the nice, slouchy leather armchair and then decide to take another nitro pill.
16. Decide the nitro isn’t working all that great and you’re uncomfortable, so move the leather couch and lay down.
17. Take another nitro pill and hope to god this time stuff will stop being so uncomfortable.
18. After an hour of this, tell your librarian friend that you think you need to go to the hospital.
19. Wait for the ambulance, making small jokes to help with anxiety problem. Tell librarian friend to request no sirens, please.
20. Talk to really, really good looking police officer who arrives on the scene first and wish you were 25 years younger cause he ain’t married.
21. Let paramedics do their thing, get loaded in ambulance, travel over M53, which is incredibly bumpy and needs to be repaved.
22. Have paramedic person tell you your EKG isn’t showing a problem, but your BP is up. Duh! Listen to paramedic person tell you that perhaps your nitro is too old and is not working well. Try to decide if paramedic person is being condescending or you’re just hearing her talk that way.
23. Arrive at hospital. EKG is still okay. Get a stupid chest x-ray as a means for the hospital to make more money. Have ER doctor tell you the EKG looks fine. Have ER nurse say EKG looks fine.
24. Listen to mother bitch about not finding you right away. She listened to you when you said, “I’d rather die than be a patient at Lapeer Hospital ever again.” Listen to her story about how she drove to Lapeer, who said you weren’t there, and then she drove to McLaren, who said you weren’t there, and then McLaren called the other hospitals in Flint to find out you weren’t there either, then they call Lapeer and here you are.
25. Apologize to mother for going to Lapeer even after what you said.
26. Have ER doctor tell you you’re fine, again, but says if you want you can stay overnight and see the cardiologist in the morning. Decide you are not going to spend another five thousand dollars just to spend the night somewhere you don’t want to be.
26. Finally go home and start making jokes. “Boy, I spend $4,000 at the hospital and they didn’t even give me dinner. For that much money I should also have the chance for a roll in the hay.”
27. Feel like a total jerk because this is not the first time you’ve had a scare and since you have no money to speak of, how the hell are you going to pay this bill.
28. Go back to library to pick up your car and let the librarians know you’re fine.
29. Wait for librarian friend to leave a meeting so you can tell her you are fine.
30. Surprise librarian friend who gets flustered and rushes to give you a hug. Librarian friend weighs about 100 pounds soaking wet. Take note of this fact as you very gently give her a hug because she seems to breakable. Note irony that you’re a few times her weight.
31. Write up experience, injecting humor where you can.
32. Remind yourself to change out your old nitro for the newer stuff you have on hand.
33. Over the next week, every time one of the librarians ask how you are feeling, place your hand on your heart and start doing your Fred Sanford imitation. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RnfflRNpwKA&feature=related
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Fire and Brimstone
I opened up Yahoo.com and was immediately taken by the following news item. Having traveled upon that stretch of road many times, well...it will be different. Yes, the first thing I did was chuckle. I'm sure the Big Guy will get me for that. Then again, having grown up conservative Baptist, I can probably come up with enough guilt to last me the rest of my life.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_lightning_strikes_jesus_statue
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_lightning_strikes_jesus_statue
Monday, June 14, 2010
Printing the News
My father’s youngest sister, Janet, is about seven years younger than my dad. Such an age difference can be quite, oh, shall we say, influential or lonely. Okay, by the time my aunt was ready to have fun with her brothers and sisters out on the town, they were all married and having kids. So, Aunt Janet was practically an only child. I have an older brother, by five years, so I understand some of what Janet went through.
Anyway, Janet dated a bit and found her true love at an early age. She and Don got engaged when Janet was 16. I don’t know how my grandmother felt about this little event, but my grandfather? Well, let me continue the story.
At that time, Grandpa owned and operated the Linden Leader. As it was for my father when he owned the paper, the Leader consisted of a weekly newspaper and a commercial printing business. Grandpa and Dad used what is called letterpress. In other words, the paper had to make contact with the words to be printed. If you’ve been to Crossroads (?) Village or Greenfield Village and went into the old time printer’s building, that’s what my grandfather worked with, except he used electricity to run the machines.
Heck, the last time I was at Greenfield Village, Uncle Wyman, another brother and another printer, and my father spoke to the printer in the building, who was delighted to talk to someone who understood the lingo. Those two louts got to go behind the velvet rope. The Velvet Rope! They went someplace and kept us women waiting for at least 20 minutes. The jerks.
Anyway, Grandpa ran the paper and Aunt Janet was engaged.
Like all papers, Grandpa ran announcements of weddings, s, etc. So, he did that for Janet, too. On the front page. Above the fold. With a headline anyone could read from across the room. With her picture. The first story on the page. Got all that? Right under the masthead (title of the paper), Grandpa printed “Janet Stimer Gets Her Man!” It went across the entire page. Her picture was centered under the headline. A sensational story of her engagement and dating history were touched on. It was a really cool front page.
Janet was flabbergasted (Great word, huh?). She was mortified (Another great word.) She was embarrassed! But, she was a good sport and tried to laugh it off. She started looking through the pile of papers, figuring that Grandpa had just printed a few for souvenirs and then had switched to the real first page.
Mind you, changing the forms on a printing press is not hard, but it is time consuming. It takes even more time when the press is the paper printer because you had to fix the form, then go into the pit beneath the press to put the form in its place. Finding the correct place isn’t hard, but, again, it’s time consuming.
Janet was touched that Grandpa had gone to all this trouble for her, but really, changing the forms on the paper? She figured he had printed maybe ten copies and then switched to the “right” front page. She started getting worried as she got to paper number 20, then 30, then 40. She was near hysteria when she realized that all the papers in that bundle had that awful headline in it. Then she thought that ALL the papers had that awful headline.
By this time, I would have started crying because I’m a private person and I don’t mind a joke or two at my expense or looking like a fool in front of my students if it means they’ll learn something, but this was Janet’s father, the man I called “Grandpa.” He liked a good joke as much as I do, but really.
Well, about the time Janet was going to lose it, Grandpa told her that the bundle she had looked through was the only bundle that had that headline. He had printed that many papers to "convince" her he really had done what she feared he had done. (If you understood me in that last sentence, you've been reading too much of my crap.)
Fifty years later Janet can tell the story and laugh, but that laugh she gives is not genuine. She and I have a lot in common, and knowing how I would have felt if my father had done that to me, I can imagine she is still put out with her father. We are so abused, the two of us. Good thing I’m a goddess and can rise above it.
So, you see. This sense of humor I have is genetic. I have no control over what I’ve received, but I can control how I use it, which is why I do the goddess thing.
Anyway, Janet dated a bit and found her true love at an early age. She and Don got engaged when Janet was 16. I don’t know how my grandmother felt about this little event, but my grandfather? Well, let me continue the story.
At that time, Grandpa owned and operated the Linden Leader. As it was for my father when he owned the paper, the Leader consisted of a weekly newspaper and a commercial printing business. Grandpa and Dad used what is called letterpress. In other words, the paper had to make contact with the words to be printed. If you’ve been to Crossroads (?) Village or Greenfield Village and went into the old time printer’s building, that’s what my grandfather worked with, except he used electricity to run the machines.
Heck, the last time I was at Greenfield Village, Uncle Wyman, another brother and another printer, and my father spoke to the printer in the building, who was delighted to talk to someone who understood the lingo. Those two louts got to go behind the velvet rope. The Velvet Rope! They went someplace and kept us women waiting for at least 20 minutes. The jerks.
Anyway, Grandpa ran the paper and Aunt Janet was engaged.
Like all papers, Grandpa ran announcements of weddings, s, etc. So, he did that for Janet, too. On the front page. Above the fold. With a headline anyone could read from across the room. With her picture. The first story on the page. Got all that? Right under the masthead (title of the paper), Grandpa printed “Janet Stimer Gets Her Man!” It went across the entire page. Her picture was centered under the headline. A sensational story of her engagement and dating history were touched on. It was a really cool front page.
Janet was flabbergasted (Great word, huh?). She was mortified (Another great word.) She was embarrassed! But, she was a good sport and tried to laugh it off. She started looking through the pile of papers, figuring that Grandpa had just printed a few for souvenirs and then had switched to the real first page.
Mind you, changing the forms on a printing press is not hard, but it is time consuming. It takes even more time when the press is the paper printer because you had to fix the form, then go into the pit beneath the press to put the form in its place. Finding the correct place isn’t hard, but, again, it’s time consuming.
Janet was touched that Grandpa had gone to all this trouble for her, but really, changing the forms on the paper? She figured he had printed maybe ten copies and then switched to the “right” front page. She started getting worried as she got to paper number 20, then 30, then 40. She was near hysteria when she realized that all the papers in that bundle had that awful headline in it. Then she thought that ALL the papers had that awful headline.
By this time, I would have started crying because I’m a private person and I don’t mind a joke or two at my expense or looking like a fool in front of my students if it means they’ll learn something, but this was Janet’s father, the man I called “Grandpa.” He liked a good joke as much as I do, but really.
Well, about the time Janet was going to lose it, Grandpa told her that the bundle she had looked through was the only bundle that had that headline. He had printed that many papers to "convince" her he really had done what she feared he had done. (If you understood me in that last sentence, you've been reading too much of my crap.)
Fifty years later Janet can tell the story and laugh, but that laugh she gives is not genuine. She and I have a lot in common, and knowing how I would have felt if my father had done that to me, I can imagine she is still put out with her father. We are so abused, the two of us. Good thing I’m a goddess and can rise above it.
So, you see. This sense of humor I have is genetic. I have no control over what I’ve received, but I can control how I use it, which is why I do the goddess thing.
Friday, June 11, 2010
I am more than you think
I am a goddess. I am a publicly sanctioned goddess. I have met all the qualities and requirements of being a goddess. I am working on my second master’s degree. I did the MLS program, although I really wanted my masters in English. Still, the MLS allowed me to start teaching sociology, so I’m not too disappointed. So, here I am on the second degree, but it’s the first degree that qualified me for “goddesshood.”
I had, I think, Dr. West for a pre-Revolutionary War history class. On the first day, he went over the syllabus and the requirements of the class, just like any good instructor. He finally ended with something to the tune of “Don’t expect to get an A+ in this class. Such a grade means perfection and only God is perfect.” I didn’t have a hard time with that. An A or A- is just as good as an A+ in my world. I’m not that grade driven. (Please note the sarcasm dripping in that sentence.)
Of course we had to write a paper and it had to be about that time period. Now what is an English major going to write about in a history class? Dr. West suggested a few things that sounded okay but overworked. l cast about for a topic and finally got the idea of writing about Noah Webster, the dictionary guy. He lived in that era and that was when he first started work on his dictionary.
Researching Noah was pretty easy. I found part of a thesis a doctoral student had put online, hoping for comments from people like me. I even got a couple good sources to use from the student’s works cited page. Okay, fine. I admit that I let another person do some of the research, but if you think about it, it’s not an unusual occurrence.
My paper started with a brief biography of Webster and how he grew tired of Samuel Johnson’s dictionary that seemed pretty useless as far as Webster was concerned. I talked about the reason for Webster’s desire for a dictionary that was for Americans, rather than just anybody. He also included lessons pertaining to English and some of the grammar rules.
Anyway, I covered a lot of that stuff, and then explained how it is that we say some of the words as we do. Saying “aks” for “ask” is not a new phenomenon. According to Webster, “aks” is a perfectly acceptable pronunciation. Webster also tried to make spelling more consistent. I used to say “centra” when I saw “centre.” I talked about that too. Webster also had people who attacked him, saying his dictionary wasn’t that great. Seems to me if someone objects like that, they must be narrow minded.
So, I handed in about 12 pages of Webster. A week later I got the paper back, and it had an A+ on it. Now, Dr. West said that only God is perfect and I shouldn’t expect such a grade. It was a good paper, but it wasn’t that good. However, who am I to argue with an instructor? I figured either Dr. West was tired when he read my paper or drunk or both. Again, who am I to argue with this kind of a grade?
If my paper was perfect, then I must be perfect. Therefore, I am like God. I can’t be THE God because that’s blasphemy, and I take the God seriously. Since I can’t be God, then I must be a goddess. And since Dr. West was full time and probably tenured, I had official backing in my claim to “goddessdom.”
This business of being a goddess can be a burden, but it’s worth the effort. When I tell my students of my status, they know right away they have a nut for a teacher. Plus, when they invoke my name saying things like "Oh, god," I try to answer quickly lest they think I am denying what I have previously told them. It really is a tough job. Try it some time.
I had, I think, Dr. West for a pre-Revolutionary War history class. On the first day, he went over the syllabus and the requirements of the class, just like any good instructor. He finally ended with something to the tune of “Don’t expect to get an A+ in this class. Such a grade means perfection and only God is perfect.” I didn’t have a hard time with that. An A or A- is just as good as an A+ in my world. I’m not that grade driven. (Please note the sarcasm dripping in that sentence.)
Of course we had to write a paper and it had to be about that time period. Now what is an English major going to write about in a history class? Dr. West suggested a few things that sounded okay but overworked. l cast about for a topic and finally got the idea of writing about Noah Webster, the dictionary guy. He lived in that era and that was when he first started work on his dictionary.
Researching Noah was pretty easy. I found part of a thesis a doctoral student had put online, hoping for comments from people like me. I even got a couple good sources to use from the student’s works cited page. Okay, fine. I admit that I let another person do some of the research, but if you think about it, it’s not an unusual occurrence.
My paper started with a brief biography of Webster and how he grew tired of Samuel Johnson’s dictionary that seemed pretty useless as far as Webster was concerned. I talked about the reason for Webster’s desire for a dictionary that was for Americans, rather than just anybody. He also included lessons pertaining to English and some of the grammar rules.
Anyway, I covered a lot of that stuff, and then explained how it is that we say some of the words as we do. Saying “aks” for “ask” is not a new phenomenon. According to Webster, “aks” is a perfectly acceptable pronunciation. Webster also tried to make spelling more consistent. I used to say “centra” when I saw “centre.” I talked about that too. Webster also had people who attacked him, saying his dictionary wasn’t that great. Seems to me if someone objects like that, they must be narrow minded.
So, I handed in about 12 pages of Webster. A week later I got the paper back, and it had an A+ on it. Now, Dr. West said that only God is perfect and I shouldn’t expect such a grade. It was a good paper, but it wasn’t that good. However, who am I to argue with an instructor? I figured either Dr. West was tired when he read my paper or drunk or both. Again, who am I to argue with this kind of a grade?
If my paper was perfect, then I must be perfect. Therefore, I am like God. I can’t be THE God because that’s blasphemy, and I take the God seriously. Since I can’t be God, then I must be a goddess. And since Dr. West was full time and probably tenured, I had official backing in my claim to “goddessdom.”
This business of being a goddess can be a burden, but it’s worth the effort. When I tell my students of my status, they know right away they have a nut for a teacher. Plus, when they invoke my name saying things like "Oh, god," I try to answer quickly lest they think I am denying what I have previously told them. It really is a tough job. Try it some time.
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