I'm not paid enough as an adjunct faculty member to research cases of academic dishonesty; as a result I spend 20 minutes talking about plagiarism the first day of class when I go over the syllabus, and every time I hand out an assignment I give dire warnings about plagiarism and its consequences, all in hopes of striking the Fear of God into them.
All to no avail, apparently. I've spent the last two hours grading 5 essays from my lit class, and two of them are clearly plagiarized, and I immediately found the source materials online using Google. One student at least tried to re-write the original language, tho she used some nearly exact formulations, and the exact quotes from the story, and the same arguments as the original document. I caught her because she tried to rewrite a sentence that was too sophisticated for her, and she left it completely insensible. I typed her sentence into Google and up popped the undocumented scholarly article. The other simply framed two entirely stolen paragraphs between her own intro and conclusion.
Now I've got to decide whether or not to take these to the Chair, or to simply give them Fs on the assignment, or to give them a sound thrashing in my office and make them rewrite the essay, threatening them with the Chair and academic probation, etc. Worst thing is that both of the plagiarizers are smart and articulate and completely capable of writing their own essays.
I've still got 17 papers to go out of this batch, and I'm worried there may be more lurking undocumented whoppers.
Sunday, October 10, 2004
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Always in 3's
This week saw the strangest trio of celebrity deaths yet:
Rodney Dangerfield
Janet Leigh
Jacques Derrida
Rodney Dangerfield
Janet Leigh
Jacques Derrida
Thursday, October 07, 2004
I blew my fuse!
Mommie Dearest sends me a lot of the right-wing emails she gets; I think she likes to antagonize me when she hasn't heard from me in a while. After I get enough of these messages I blow my top and respond with an insulting screed against the stupidity of the message and then she'll tell my sister I think she's stupid or I hate her, trying to guilt me into calling and apologizing, and round and round the cycle goes. This is why I see Mommie Dearest four or five times a year at most, even though she's only 40 minutes away.
I used to see the same behavior in my great-grandmother and grandmother. I'd tell great gramma something gramma had said about her, hop on my bike and get back to gramma's house to find her waiting on the porch after having just hung up the phone. "Did you tell great gramma that I said X? She just called me and told me you said I said X..." Of course she DID say X but never intended it to be heard by its object, but mysteriously she would start claiming to have never said X, or that I had misunderstood what she meant to say. All hard to reconcile, perhaps, with her devout Evangelical Christianity (the "false witness" and "lie" Commandments?).
In a way these games are fun;I'm as guilty as any of my family members at provoking people. My excuse is that I only do so when prompted. I tend to stay out (and away) from the family business as much as possible.
Tonight's email forwarded by Mommie Dearest was written by someone claiming to be a Viet Nam vet. He wanted Americans to consider how wealthy John Kerry was, and how the Secret Service would have to provide 5 agents 24 hours a day at all five of the Kerry/Heinz properties. Then the argument was expanded to question why a rich guy would want a Senator's and then a President's salary--the conclusion: "Because he wants all the American people to serve him. He doesn't have any other interest in the job because he obviously doesn't need the money, so it must be power he's after." Think about how much the Secret Service will have to spend to protect President Kerry! Oh my God! I never considered that before. Bush has blown the budget beyond Reagan's wettest jelly bean dreams, but we have to worry about the Secret Service budget if Kerry wins.
You can only imagine the email I sent in response. Basically I implied that my mother was a simpleton, a dupe, even a moron for giving credence to this sort of bullshit. I reminded her the Bushes are wealthier than the Heinz-Kerrys and that they have numerous properties in numerous states that the Secret Service has to guard (not to mention the Bush twins, whose epic partying keeps the SS busy). I also pointed out that the Bush clan has made their fortune bilking the taxpayers into buying weapons for the wars they fight. Sure, they made some money off oil, but Panama and Gulf War I really increased their family wealth a great deal (not to mention banking scandals, shady Saudi-financed deals, baseball stadium boondoggles, selling arms to Hitler, etc).
I don't like Kerry much but he's so obviously superior to the dimwitted proto-fascists currently in charge that I actually feel physically ill when I talk to people who still support W.
Perhaps it's because I'm reading the really acerbic
I find Miller's new "no-holds-barred" tone really refreshing. At last, some righteous indignation! At last someone who thinks these guys aren't simply corrupt, a bit idealistic, and kind of simpleminded--Miller is willing to speak up and say "These guys and their agenda are downright SCARY."
I used to see the same behavior in my great-grandmother and grandmother. I'd tell great gramma something gramma had said about her, hop on my bike and get back to gramma's house to find her waiting on the porch after having just hung up the phone. "Did you tell great gramma that I said X? She just called me and told me you said I said X..." Of course she DID say X but never intended it to be heard by its object, but mysteriously she would start claiming to have never said X, or that I had misunderstood what she meant to say. All hard to reconcile, perhaps, with her devout Evangelical Christianity (the "false witness" and "lie" Commandments?).
In a way these games are fun;I'm as guilty as any of my family members at provoking people. My excuse is that I only do so when prompted. I tend to stay out (and away) from the family business as much as possible.
Tonight's email forwarded by Mommie Dearest was written by someone claiming to be a Viet Nam vet. He wanted Americans to consider how wealthy John Kerry was, and how the Secret Service would have to provide 5 agents 24 hours a day at all five of the Kerry/Heinz properties. Then the argument was expanded to question why a rich guy would want a Senator's and then a President's salary--the conclusion: "Because he wants all the American people to serve him. He doesn't have any other interest in the job because he obviously doesn't need the money, so it must be power he's after." Think about how much the Secret Service will have to spend to protect President Kerry! Oh my God! I never considered that before. Bush has blown the budget beyond Reagan's wettest jelly bean dreams, but we have to worry about the Secret Service budget if Kerry wins.
You can only imagine the email I sent in response. Basically I implied that my mother was a simpleton, a dupe, even a moron for giving credence to this sort of bullshit. I reminded her the Bushes are wealthier than the Heinz-Kerrys and that they have numerous properties in numerous states that the Secret Service has to guard (not to mention the Bush twins, whose epic partying keeps the SS busy). I also pointed out that the Bush clan has made their fortune bilking the taxpayers into buying weapons for the wars they fight. Sure, they made some money off oil, but Panama and Gulf War I really increased their family wealth a great deal (not to mention banking scandals, shady Saudi-financed deals, baseball stadium boondoggles, selling arms to Hitler, etc).
I don't like Kerry much but he's so obviously superior to the dimwitted proto-fascists currently in charge that I actually feel physically ill when I talk to people who still support W.
Perhaps it's because I'm reading the really acerbic
I find Miller's new "no-holds-barred" tone really refreshing. At last, some righteous indignation! At last someone who thinks these guys aren't simply corrupt, a bit idealistic, and kind of simpleminded--Miller is willing to speak up and say "These guys and their agenda are downright SCARY."
Never in Doubt
The outcome of the next election was never in doubt, because the results have already been tabulated and issued to every news organization. One of them foolishly let the cat out of the bag early...
Duh
Turns out the vandals of Cha's school were all middle school kids from Loch Raven. Most of them were girls, their ringleader apparently a new girl in town. How were they caught? They made phone calls from the school to friends. The only thing worse than an uninspired, jerk vandal is an uninspired jerk vandal who also happens to be stupid.
The kids apparently hung out in the school for a long time last weekend. Where oh where were the parents?
The kids apparently hung out in the school for a long time last weekend. Where oh where were the parents?
Sleeping In
I don't know what prompted me to cancel class today, but on Tuesday I told my 102 kids that I had an "unavoidable appointment" Thursday, and there would be no 8am English class. What a brilliant idea. I stayed up until 2am and watched Conan for the first time in ages. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up at 4, went to bed, and slept like a stone until after 11am. I haven't slept so soundly in--years? Wonderful. I think I could have slept even longer were I so inclined. Must be the fabulous cool weather.
Because I crashed downstairs initially I left my glasses on the coffee table and couldn't find them this morning. Cha's two pair are on the dining room table and mine are gone, meaning that she took mine to work with her this morning. Oh, well. She'll figure it out if she has to work on the computer.
Cha's hosting a Green Party meeting at our place Sunday while I'm at work. When she told me I groaned, but didn't have the heart to tell her why. I'm happy to support the earnest efforts of local folks who want to change the world, and have done some work myself with these (mostly wonderful) idealists. They can, however, be frightful mooches. Here's an example: last time they came over (about a month ago) I'd just bought a couple six packs of a nice imported Heffe Weissen and put them in the 'fridge. Those cheap ass Green muthafuckas brought a 12-pack of Natural Light(cans) with them, drank my good beer, and left me their worthless pisswater that I'll never drink. They've done this several times. I've come home after (or during) a Green meeting to find my Guiness drunk, or my Boddington's, or my (X brand) microbrew--while whatever abysmal skunked shit from the sale rack that some earnest progressive bought ends up staying. I now have almost two cases of canned shit beer in the bottom of my 'fridge (Busch Light, Rolling Rock, Bud) because of this bait-'n-switch. ALL of these events are "potluck," meaning bring a plate to share, and these Green bastards will bring a bag of chips or pretzels and then will eat all my organic salad from the market, all my cheese, all my fresh baked bread, all my fruit, my humous, and often they'll take my pasta and sauce and cook it, and then they'll eat the eggrolls Cha makes. So these get-togethers cost us like $50-$100 each time, and they usually clean out the food I've bought which is supposed to be lunch and dinner for us for a week, and to make things worse, the fuckers will often take their (unopened) chips home with them when they go. Sometimes they open my wine--and somehow they never open an $8-$10 bottle, but will find the $20 or $25 bottle, and they'll drink my single malt and leave me a pocket bottle of Ol' Grandad or Wild Turkey for thanks. Bastards. I'm going to kill them.
Of course I'm exagerrating. Not really.
Because I crashed downstairs initially I left my glasses on the coffee table and couldn't find them this morning. Cha's two pair are on the dining room table and mine are gone, meaning that she took mine to work with her this morning. Oh, well. She'll figure it out if she has to work on the computer.
Cha's hosting a Green Party meeting at our place Sunday while I'm at work. When she told me I groaned, but didn't have the heart to tell her why. I'm happy to support the earnest efforts of local folks who want to change the world, and have done some work myself with these (mostly wonderful) idealists. They can, however, be frightful mooches. Here's an example: last time they came over (about a month ago) I'd just bought a couple six packs of a nice imported Heffe Weissen and put them in the 'fridge. Those cheap ass Green muthafuckas brought a 12-pack of Natural Light(cans) with them, drank my good beer, and left me their worthless pisswater that I'll never drink. They've done this several times. I've come home after (or during) a Green meeting to find my Guiness drunk, or my Boddington's, or my (X brand) microbrew--while whatever abysmal skunked shit from the sale rack that some earnest progressive bought ends up staying. I now have almost two cases of canned shit beer in the bottom of my 'fridge (Busch Light, Rolling Rock, Bud) because of this bait-'n-switch. ALL of these events are "potluck," meaning bring a plate to share, and these Green bastards will bring a bag of chips or pretzels and then will eat all my organic salad from the market, all my cheese, all my fresh baked bread, all my fruit, my humous, and often they'll take my pasta and sauce and cook it, and then they'll eat the eggrolls Cha makes. So these get-togethers cost us like $50-$100 each time, and they usually clean out the food I've bought which is supposed to be lunch and dinner for us for a week, and to make things worse, the fuckers will often take their (unopened) chips home with them when they go. Sometimes they open my wine--and somehow they never open an $8-$10 bottle, but will find the $20 or $25 bottle, and they'll drink my single malt and leave me a pocket bottle of Ol' Grandad or Wild Turkey for thanks. Bastards. I'm going to kill them.
Of course I'm exagerrating. Not really.
Wednesday, October 06, 2004
Dimples
I love the dimples in some women's lower backs. You've seen them, I'm sure--situated to either side of the spine, just a bit above the waist, two glorious little indentations. I'm staring at a fabulous exemplar right now--she's at a PC ten feet away with her back to the desk, and when she leans forward there's plumber's crack which actually mars my appreciation of her really amazing lower back. She looks like Janet from Three's Company. Meanwhile, out in the lobby is a blond who must be 6'2" and who's truly spectacular--she's built like Elle MacPherson (and blonds usually aren't my type, but Jesus God, this is beyond type. This is like every Icelandair flight attendant fantasy come true).
A couple days back I was boning up on Lawrence's essays and he was discussing his distaste for the waste of masturbation. Surprised at such a surly Leviticus contempt for onanism in the 20th century's most famous randy writer, I nonetheless read what he had to say and thought about it. He claims that masturbation is always a giving with no taking, and is therefore somehow out of balance and harmful--I can see what he's getting at, but c'mon, D.H., even those of us fortunate enough to get laid as often as we want still like to get some quiet time to prime the pump. He wrote that post-masturbation there's always a vague "emptiness," and morbid guilt feelings. I dunno about that, but I have thought occasionally that if there IS an afterlife then my grandmother might see me jerking off, which can be a source of anxiety [also of mirth]. I'll have to read Henry Miller on the old cored-apple-and-peanutbutter trick as a corrective to D.H.L.
I cancelled my 102 class tomorrow morning. The reason? Because I CAN. I don't want to see those fuckheads for a few days. They're handing in essay 2 next week and I'll have to suffer through 70-odd painful pages next weekend. Cha and I are heading to OC for a day and a half next Thursday after I leave Cook Lib--we've got a free 3-bedroom condo to ourselves; all we need is some plastic sheeting, a jug of Astroglide, and a swing. Oh, and some bottled water.
The last three times I've been to OC there's been a hurricane and I couldn't get in the water. It's been like 3 years since I've been there--and my previous trip was two or three years before that. I remember when Yahtzee's folks had their fucking mansion down there Duck and Yahtzee and I would hit Rehobeth four or five weekends a year. Those were the days.
A couple days back I was boning up on Lawrence's essays and he was discussing his distaste for the waste of masturbation. Surprised at such a surly Leviticus contempt for onanism in the 20th century's most famous randy writer, I nonetheless read what he had to say and thought about it. He claims that masturbation is always a giving with no taking, and is therefore somehow out of balance and harmful--I can see what he's getting at, but c'mon, D.H., even those of us fortunate enough to get laid as often as we want still like to get some quiet time to prime the pump. He wrote that post-masturbation there's always a vague "emptiness," and morbid guilt feelings. I dunno about that, but I have thought occasionally that if there IS an afterlife then my grandmother might see me jerking off, which can be a source of anxiety [also of mirth]. I'll have to read Henry Miller on the old cored-apple-and-peanutbutter trick as a corrective to D.H.L.
I cancelled my 102 class tomorrow morning. The reason? Because I CAN. I don't want to see those fuckheads for a few days. They're handing in essay 2 next week and I'll have to suffer through 70-odd painful pages next weekend. Cha and I are heading to OC for a day and a half next Thursday after I leave Cook Lib--we've got a free 3-bedroom condo to ourselves; all we need is some plastic sheeting, a jug of Astroglide, and a swing. Oh, and some bottled water.
The last three times I've been to OC there's been a hurricane and I couldn't get in the water. It's been like 3 years since I've been there--and my previous trip was two or three years before that. I remember when Yahtzee's folks had their fucking mansion down there Duck and Yahtzee and I would hit Rehobeth four or five weekends a year. Those were the days.
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