Understanding Academic Deniability

I just got this email from the head of our University's Writing Center, and it made me feel all warm and gooey inside:

"Dear Valerie,
I'm writing to compliment you on the excellent feedback that you're providing to your GWRIT students. Today I worked with one of them here in the writing center, and I was very impressed with the precise questions and encouraging comments that you wrote on his draft. I'm glad, too, that you're giving your students additional opportunities for revision.

Just thought you ought to know,

[Mister Head Honcho, Name Removed for Privacy]
University Writing Center"

*Sigh.*

Makes all the stress really worth it.

This is why I love JMU; hyperbole is their middle name.

"FROM JMU POLICE

PRANK WITH TOY (NERF) DART LAUNCHER

At approximately 2:15 pm today a student-aged male was present in a classroom, wearing camouflage and a toboggan.  The individual presented a toy (Nerf) dart launcher. which was immediately recognized as a toy by the faculty member due to the orange and yellow color.  The individual hit a student with three sponge (Nerf) darts.  The suspect immediately ran out of the classroom.  The faculty member followed the suspect into the hallway but could not identify the direction of travel.  At 3:35 pm the faculty member reported the incident to JMU Police.

The JMU Police immediately followed-up on this incident.  Shortly thereafter, JMU Police learned that the suspect was known to the victim. THIS INCIDENT IS BEING CONSIDERED A PRANK.  The clothes and toy (Nerf) dart launcher have been recovered and a full account of the incident has been provided by the suspect.  No charges have been filed at this time."

Seriously, that prank was made 10 times funnier by this email alert.

Good on ya, JMU Campus Police!

This is a brilliant idea.

There are over 8 million shoeboxes going out to children in over 150 countries worldwide.

Kids who would go presentless over the Christmas holiday now get gifts in a box meant for their gender and age range, that include things like candy, school supplies, clothing, hygiene products, and (of course) toys.

As soon as I heard about this, I had to make a shoebox of my own. Girl, 5 to 9 years old, including a stuffed animal unicorn with glittery wings, a My Little Pony (strawberry scented, heck yes), a box of 64 Crayola crayons with a built-in sharpener (I always envied the kids at school with that sweet hook up), pencils with cool erasers, some My Little Pony notebooks to write in, a felt poster of a Lisa Frank leopard to color, and some candy necklace jewelry in a little purse. I picked this age range because essentially I'm an 8 year old girl; I got things that would have blown my mind at that age.

So James and I make the rounds at K-Mart and finish with a nice bundle of goodies for some Shoebox Kid recipient. I place my items on the counter in front of the cashier and James runs the basket back to Plastic Wares where it came from. I politely wait for the cashier to stop yelling at her coworker, teasing her about keeping "that crazy worker" off her back while she does her job.

I wait for two minutes for the ringing up process to even begin.

I was on the verge of point blank asking her to wait on me, when she started picking up items, looking at them dully, and sliding them across the laser beam.

"Have you heard of the Shoebox project?" I asked her, trying to fill the void of conversation left by her ceased hollers.

"No." Look of dull confusion in her eyes, like a cow chewing her cud.

"Well, it's really neat, you get gifts and put them in a shoebox and this organization sends them to little kids in need... I'm really excited about it! There's a drop-off station right in Waynesboro." I smiled and wished that she'd hurry up and scan everything already.

"Oh. That's like the Salvation Army thing."

"Really? What do they do?"

Blink blink. "They have this like, phone tree? And your name goes on it. And if they pick your name, they call you and you... you know." She looks at me and leaves the sentence trailing.

"You buy the gifts? Do they tell you what people want specifically?" I ask.

"No.... no, you GET all the gifts. If they call your name, you get the presents."

me: >____<

It was then I realized that she was on the receiving end of my giving; of course she wouldn't know about the shoebox philanthropy because a few of her Christmases had been sponsored by the Salvation Army.  I felt so bad for assuming that she'd do the same thing we were doing, but then I felt even worse for automatically placing her in a little box labeled "poor white trash ignorant K-mart worker," even though all the evidence she presented me with was not to the contrary.

And so I continue to prepare my one little measly shoebox, a 20 dollar sacrifice on a teacher's salary that can't spare much more, feeling like a jackass but feeling glad I'm in my life and not hers. I hope my little giftbox that makes me so happy will make some little girl happy too; we get to include a family picture and our address in case the girl wants to write us, and I think that would make me feel better about the whole thing. Some people can make 20 shoeboxes and be a bigger part of the project, and some people wouldn't sacrifice even 5 dollars for a cause.

What did I learn? Well, at the very least, I'm keeping my philanthropy shopping limited to places other than K-Mart.

a note to all aspiring students:

your teacher says things deliberately to see if you are listening to him/her.

there is nothing uttered that wasn't planned, scheduled, checked and executed with the heaviest of intent, not even those conversations which seem spontaneous.

if s/he mentions that all the information you will need is in your Handbook, and you email him/her asking where to find said information or, god forbid, that s/he provide it for you, your professor will want to kill you via slow strangulation.

all those times my mother screamed and yelled in frenzied frustration, "NO ONE IS LISTENING TO ME, WHY DO I BOTHER TO SPEAK? AM I A MUTE? AM I SPEAKING A DIFFERENT LANGUAGE?"

...

i finally understand.

so please, students, for my sanity and your grades, please don't fucking ignore what i'm saying ever again and still expect me to be a "cool" teacher.

amen.

dear student loans,

don't hate the player, hate the game.

love,

valerie

I'm sick.

I've been coughing harder than I've ever coughed before, and it doesn't want to stop.

I drove James out of the bedroom last night with my hacking.

I just want to be able to breathe and not feel that sickening tickle in the back of my throat.

I've tried every remedy there is and nothing's helped.

ugh.

Hello again.

I've taken quite a break from writing, partially because I was too lazy to write when I had so many other things going on (Wedding! World of Warcraft! Puppy!), partially because I wasn't sure what to say about such a hectic and confusing time (Parents Divorced! New Girlfriends/Boyfriends as young as I am! Family Scandal!). So yes, I'm back, and now that the school year has begun I'll have plenty of down time from which to steal moments for updates.

I am now a full fledged professor. I am married, and people keep asking me when I want to have children (to which I say RIGHT THIS SECOND and they turn red and walk away). I am sitting in my office (which is a cubicle complete with filing cabinet and an odd makeshit bookshelf that looks like it snuck in here from Big Lots) and I am working on a computer that is much faster than last year's work model but much slower than my personal laptop.

I am a level 24 undead female rogue in the game that knows no bounds in its addiction, and I'm interested in joining a new guild since ours just broke up within the past day. I really don't know what I'm doing, but I come attached to a level 41 undead male warlock who knows his shit and will be an immense help to whomever we join. Any takers?

I have 80 students. I'm going to grade 80 papers. I'm going to love it.

I'm 24, and I don't eat lunch because it conflicts with my schedule.

Hooray for me.

In closing, I'd like to share a little bit of what my students think of me when they assume I'm not looking. This is my rating on RateMyProfessor.com as of this moment:

Rate Me, the Professor.

1 comment

hells yes. i love teaching.

There are three days seperating myself from my wedding day.

Two days until I have guests, the picnic, and a fun time with my friends.

One day until I run out of time to clean my ABSOLUTE MESS of a house.

Today I get my nails done, my eyebrows waxed, and my guest list finalized.

I don't have enough time to live this life.

I suddenly know what it's like to feel old in a hurry.

I got my new "system exchange" laptop in the mail from Dell today, and I've been playing around with it while my old one sits pouting in the corner. I have to send it back once I'm sure all my info is safe on my newbie and wiped from my old.

In any case, I have discovered that four years of the same computer and technology has made leaps and bounds without me. They don't even MAKE my model for chrissakes. They gave me a Dell Lattitude 620 and it's a million times better than my old one... sigh.

I feel like one of those "when I was your age" folks. How dorky.

So welcome me gently into the great age of fast ass computers.

P.S. my laptop could even handle World of Warcraft, but my budget DEFINITELY cannot. Damn it all.

What do you enjoy most about summer?
Submitted by Alex.

it used to be the break from school.

now i hate summer more than any other time... because it means NO MONEY.