Reason #3 to still say no, watch out Nancy Reagan

Week 3:

Enter Ducky, who finds a way to sit practically on top of me.

Ducky: So I had this dream about my mom and my dad.

Me: (ignore)

D: My dad is a minister, ya know?

Me: (ignore)

D: Anyways, so in this dream, he is having hot slapping ass sex with my mom, who is all into leather and cuffs.

Me: (sigh)

D: She's not really like that, at least I don't think so. It's kinda weird to think about your parents having sex, isn't it?

Me: (deeper sigh)

D: Anyways, it was this crazy dream in which the kid, that's me, walks in and wants to join. I don't remember the rest. But it reminds me to tell you that I am fucking psyched we are done with poetry and we are going to start writing plays next week. Because that is what my play is going to be about.

Me: (HUH?)

D: Yeah, except I am going to make you the woman. Won't that be hot when we act that out?

Me: Wow, I cannot express my level of pleasure that we are in WRITING class, not a filmmaking class. Because I am not acting shit out for your oedipal fantasy indulgence.

D: Oh shit. I didn't think of that. Hmmm. Hey, wanna go outside and smoke up with me?

Me: No.

D: Wanna hang outside while I do?

Me: No.

D: Wanna come to an acid party with me tonight?

Me: Still definitively no.

(15 minute break later)

Ducky returns trailing a sheet of smoke in the door.

D: So I had this dream...

Me: Hush yourself.

D: About my mom and dad...

Me: (Hand gesturing) Hush.Zipit.Quiet.Stoptalking.Iputalockonyourmouth.

D blinks, procures from his bag the biggest, darkest shades I have ever seen a human being wear -- they cover up every ounce of face but nose tip and lips -- then he puts them on and falls asleep behind them. A soft, quiet breathing. Thus making the 2nd half of class quite pleasant, although school remains overall brain-killingly dull.

Reason #2 to just say no

Week 2: Enter Ducky, who like my own personal fowl, squeezes his desk right up into mine.

Me: Wow. You smell like Vodka.

D: Dude, but I ate chicken.

Me: Hmm. Was your chicken dipped in a vat of vodka?

D: Dude, but I haven't had a drink for like a whole hour.

Me: Yes well, did you dip yourself in a vat of vodka perhaps?

D: Dude, seriously, can you smell it?

Me: Um... I think the thump we just heard was a guy down the hallway passing out from the overwhelming smell.

D: Oh shit. Seriously.

Me: (blink)

D: So do you wanna get a drink with me afterwards? I know this great bar....

Me: Oh yeah? Do they have any more vodka?

D: Do you like vodka?

Me: No.

D: Do you like chicken?

Me: No.

D: Do you want to just get a bottle with me later?

Me: Um... tempting. But still no.

D: Do you wanna eat some chicken with me later?

Me: Um... no. Even if I weren't a vegetarian, no.

D: Yeah. I am a vegetarian, too.

Me: Fascinating.

How To Become THE Social Pariah of a Methodologies in Research class in 4 Easy Steps

OK, let's just begin with the premise that the unexpected outcome of the experiment was not my fault. I was in the control group, it turned out, and I wasn’t told what NOT to do. So WHAT if the professor has been doing this experiment on her students for 4 semesters a year for 10 years with identical results, nary a glitch in her tidy little use-my-students-as-lab-rats experiment, every single time until I came along. How could I have known? It just goes to show that social experiments are not trustworthy, especially when they involve ACTUAL people. That's all. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t lie. I just followed the directions and used what little is left of my brain by Monday night. I guess the last straw was when I pointed that out.

She told us to remember 20 random words in order. Which, let me point out, is a complete waste of the 10% of my brain I am using (according to the research squibs). So I admit it: I listened and used a LINKING STRATEGY, which I happen to teach my students. Is that so wrong? How could I have known that she'd secretly told the other group about LINKING and that was to be their advantage?! So when we get to the stage of counting points and plotting relative graphs and my group is getting 3, 4, 5 points and their group is getting 5, 6, 7 points all appears to be going according to her predivined plan. And then my little 19 out of 20 turns the table and for the first time in her career, the Control Group "wins" (note: their words not mine).

And they started pointing their fingers at me. Stage whispers of "Mole" "mole" "mole" "she's the mole" "it would've all been perfect if she had been in the other group, not the "control" group" "throw out her test score. - take her out of the activity" "she's ruining it" "see Professor, everything would have worked out the way you wanted if SHE had not participated"

All not my fault. She put me in Group B. It was a double-blind study. I didn’t even know what Group A was doing..... Somehow articulating this all made it worse. People don’t like the truth. They always want to shoot the messenger, especially when the messenger tells them that the skill they so desperately want to excel in is clearly fallible at best, questionable to the point of useless at worst. Sucks to be the messenger.

And thus, though no fault of mine, I am being scapegoated. And these lunatics are out for blood. Which puts me on the run from my Monday night class, which, last I checked before darting out the door, was organizing to stone me with shoes as soon as they found me.

So here is what I learned alongside my creepily competitive classmates in Graduate School Education tonight:

A. Nothing bonds a class more than a common enemy (that'd be me, yep, bows all around)
B. I can pull into first place, surpassing even coke-withdrawling-malarial-quaking-neurological-and-socializing-disorders-shaking-sweat-drenched dude, for social pariah of the class. (yeay for me!)
C. "Research" is not to be trusted. (Oh wait, I didn’t learn that tonight. I just reaffirmed it.)

But do allow me to summarize the steps:

1. Be in the Control Group of your Research Methodologies class
2. Unwittingly be the resident "expert" in what you happen to be studying.
3. Unintentionally dramatically skew the results for a room of rabid teachers-as-students
4. Show no remorse/ find the whole thing funny


Until Next Monday.... Assuming they don’t find me....

Score One for First Date #8

The Motto for 2005 was "Girl Don't Date in "05" (Yeay, I know it doesn't rhyme. I'm a damned teacher, not an advertising exec.)

The Motto for 2006 was "2006: The Year of First Dates." I am just fulfilling my Lunar Year dogginess, I figure.

And I figure if I am going to have a motto, I should stick to it for at least part of the year. But I will give a shout-out to B, who not only took me on the best first date I think I have ever had, but also scores points for the follow-up.

The first date was all about beer and bad jukebox music followed by a trip on the bar of B's bicycle as we rode to go iceskating. There is nothing like two people who don't know eachother and can't skate to save their lives bonding to the music of Celine Dion AND Matisyahu on the same playlist. There is an exercise in humility. Of course anyone who has remotely MET me knows I don't embarrass easily, so points to B for putting it out there. And of course what could possibly follow that up but more beer and arguing about the place of Bob Dylan in the musical world and whether there really is a "Jewish" gene (oy!).

And, being walked home. Aaaaaaaaaaaaw. Yeay, whatever. Ya damned saps.

But the best was follow-up, which came in the form of a voicemail saying,

"Hey there. It's B. Just wanted to say hi. Oh and to see ifIcouldtakeyououtthisTuesdaysinceit'sValentine'sDay. Call me back if you get a chance. Bye."

Smooth. And if I had even one ounce of romanticism in this small but fierce body, I would Aaaaaaaaaw with y'all. But I called B back and said:

"Thanks for the call. I hate and I mean despise detest and loathe Valentine's Day and refer to it as Vile-tine's Day." [Insert 10 minute diatribe on the historical and actual evils of V-Day according to 'Me']

B: "Er, so you don't like Valentine's Day?"

Me: "Not so much, no."

B: "Er, well, OK. I guess I could dislike it, too. I won't take you out for Valentine's Day then. Oh, but oh hey soyawannahangouton...er....Tuesdaynight?"

Me: "Yeah, sure. Sounds great."

....

So points to B for a quick recovery and spending B's Valentine's Day with me.

I feel certain B is going to regret this.

Reason #1 to just say no

And thus avoid cross-pollinating with the 19 year old drunken ducky "poet" in my creative writing class, though he asks me out every single week:

Class Day 1 - Ducky: So.... um.... hey, like, I am going to an acid party tonight. Wanna come?

Me: No.

D: But dude my band is playing.

Me: Um... no.

D: Huh. Hmmm.

Me: No.

The Haiku: My Personal Key to Staying Calm in Class

Introduction: My neighbor, before he passed this year, was 96. For years, he used an old manual typewriter to write haikus about his cat and put them under my door. Many of them were about the cat's food and how the cat didn’t like to share with the ants. He inspired me to return to haiku writing. Perhaps he should 'ave thunk twice..... Especially since I am stuck in this inane required course.

1. Suffering through class
Sun on shoulders but through glass
Teasing me, perhaps.

2. Competitive peeps
practice "get ahead" over
"get together." I barf.

3. Guessing I won't pass.
Turns out I questioned ethics
of my teacher. Woops.

4. Dyad partner shakes
and sweats. A coke addiction?
Or malaria?

5. Outside, trees blossom.
Theory-only "research" class
Inside. I want out.

6. No working email
To quiet my screaming mind.
Passing time, I type.

7. Students are funny.
I'd make stories in my head.
But truth laughs harder.

8. Woman on laptop
Plays solitaire in first row
Surreptitiously.

9 Rise from desk with moon.
She sick while orange sky sun sets.
I am free at last.