HardCore Nothing

If I had a 13year old daughter,
I'd tell her with much relish
how the exam I gave today had 38 privied youth
writing for 2 hours straight about women's issues.
Yeah. They were quite literally wringing their hands
and massaging their fingers--I'd grin in the telling.
She'd call me a "hardCore Teacher."

Alas, honestly, bloggerly,
I felt extremely uncomfortable and sympathetic
to my students--when I said 2 pages per question
in a Blue Book, I hadn't realized the pages were 8x11.
I will compensate their grades.

On another note:
I think I got the boot today.

While making copies in the WS office--
sigle-sided copies, even (GasP)--
the scheduling person asked me
if I'd like a Spring class and then promptly
reminded me that I'd have to take the Fall 2006 quarter off.

After 5 consecutive quarters of adjunct teaching
you must "take off a quarter." This serves two purposes:
1) Supposedly, by taking off the 5th quarter
we meet state regulations that say otherwise the University
must pay us benefits.
2) Another teacher may be recruited to take my two classes
that quarter, thus the influx of new & current ideas.

I've been nudged to the brink of the nest
for the past 2 years and I am certainly ready to move on--
yadda yadda--
but what to do? The ground from here
looks smackingly hard & I rather liked the worms up until now--

why can't I be an academic twixter??

If I knew George, maybe he'd give me a job at FEMA?

Not That I'm In the Mood

Perhaps someday I can
join the rest of humanity and enjoy
all that is Zod; until then,
I leave all frivolocity and laughter
to those who have never had to express
their angst in teenage, goth poetry . . .

Popcorn Under the Desk

I'm sharing a desk
in the adjunct office
at which I am afraid I may contract
some horrible disease.

My desk mate was out on Friday
with a child who was vomiting from both ends--
she confessed to taking her child to her sister's,
even though the probability of a germ/bug existed,
only to find herself in the bathroom
vomiting from both ends.

I have an urge to rub my eyes
with the same fingertips I'm using to type
on this germ-ridden keyboard.

I Miss Avacado--Alot

A huge part of me hopes that Avacado
is secretly reading SQ--
she's pretty wiley and if you google
SQ, my hidden site is actually pretty easy to find.

SO, in part, this post is an invitation
for her to reveal herself . . .

On the other hand, my partner
had better NOT be reading SQ any further
than this brief elipsis . . .


Since school began, I've been spending
most of my time sleeping.
Sleeping, slepping, sleeping.
Especially on T/TH/F when I beat it back
to my home town by 3:00pm to, er,
run an errand, let's just say.

After said errand is completed,
I nap from 3:20-4:00pm.
Every T/TH/F.
I can't help myself. I become over-whelmed
with droopiness.

Then, I usually pass out anywhere
between 8:30pm and 10:00pm.
Even on Saturday night, watching _Seven Samurai_.

What a life.

Meanwhile, a detective is hanging around my office.
He looked me up and down last week
and said, "If I had to pick something different
about you this quarter, I'd say you are much more relaxed."

Was his left eye squinting?

D*mn Paxil.

Girly Girls and Feminism

After our WS100 discussion
on fashion, beauty, and patriarchal hype,

my red-headed senior feminist,
who usually wears her long hair tied back,
bulky jeans and a t-shirt,

came to class in a skimpy, flowing, filmsy
dress. With high heels.

It was quite a shocking transformation.

I can't help but feel that her choice of clothing
and something to do with our discussion
about the way some feminist base their feminism,
ironically,
on the rejection of what is considered feminine . . .

more later--off to class--

Surely I'm Not the First to Notice

But when you look at maps of North America,
particularly maps that illustrate, say,
HURRICANES,
have you noticed how neatly the swirling shapes
tend to fit into the Gulf of Mexico?

Have you ever pondered the shape,
the coast line, of the Gulf?
Wonder how it became formed like that?

Sort-of like a catcher's mit, eh?

Merkle Myth

I want to say something insightful
to my WS class about the German elections
and about Ms. Merkle--

but honestly? I don't know too much about it.
In fact, I haven't been able to decipher who "won."

And this quarter??
My students seem to expect me to know EVERYTHING.

It's freaky--and I hate to disappoint.
So I'm faking more than ever!

But it's a pedogogical myth;
I don't want to be the person to dispell it--
especially at week three.

Is that wrong??

O Give Me a Blog, Where the Bloggy Blogs Blog and the Blogs are all Bloggy All Day

Blog Blog on the Range!

My partner and I hiked for a couple of miles
this September afternoon.
At one point I thought we had gotten off path.

Even so, the wild grass was fine
under our feet
with lots of pink sprays.
We had sturdy sticks.

When we emerged back onto the path,
we had cleared the top of a hill
that opened onto a glade of golden rod
and dainty yellow butterflies.

Much to my pleasure,
the path did not peak sharply;
rather, the top of the hill, along with
the autumn glade, flattened out for a bit
so that we could amble along
and enjoy the view.

Here's to hoping that walk,
and our quite rest on the bridge together at the end,
is a very long lasting metaphor.

Pirates that Cut

Some day I'll write about the fog.
I'll use it as a metaphor
for when I talk of ghosts.

Ghosts that creep along the deep ravines
and slide across the shadows.

Some day I'll write about the fog
and it will seem so distant,
like a whisper among the trees
and a flag hung limp and listless.

Just a Speed Bump, Right?

Have you noticed how fashions and fads
ripple inward from the coast to the center
of the country?

I've finally gauged our community:
we're about 5 years behind & 10 years in front.

So the "wearable" fashion that hit NY this weekend
should sink into our nearest Target in about 5 years . . .
a bit watered down.

Meanwhile, I'll settle for just showing my cleavage
any way I can--
learn the patriarchy, then manipulate it to your advantage, right?

I figure I only have a few more years until
the whole body image goes to sh*t anyway--
by then it will be time for the scalpel.

A female student, who has a tatoo of a pork chop
just under her navel with the caption "It's all just meat,"
told me not to get a gecko tatoo--it's a prison tatoo.
She has a book. And lots of stories.

Meanwhile, my WS students can't figure out why
these "tribal" cultures engage in such weird body piercings
and markings . . .

Being Underground is a Bit Stifling

Have you ever had a RL reader,
a dear friend,
who read your blog?

What if she read your blog
after she had sent you several emails
(3-4 a day) that you felt were impossible
to keep up on?

Would you feel guilty
posting a new blog entry daily
even though you had not replied to her email?

Would you "hide" your blog?
Even if that meant loosing some facinating readers/friends??

The Sexy Conversation

Dark, buff male student #1
during 10 minute break in the class:
"Yeah, why don't women want to be called ma'am?"

"Totally. I don't get it," thin, intellectual extreme sport type
student #2. "It's a term of respect." Flicks his pencil
against his cheek and makes the WTF motion.

"Honestly?"
Engage SquirrleyMojo mode.
Teacher steps up,
in front of the two men
in a private gesture.
"Frankly, it has to do with age. How we culturally construct
the meaning of age. You see--"
motions extended hands and fingers
along her frame,
"Inside this body, I am one of you. I am 18.
I am--"
motions to class & others who may or may not be watching,
"one of you."

Smiles. "Just a girl."
The two sexy students grin and look at eachother.

"Also--" Teach feels particularly squirrley,
"It's about power," eyes narrow,
"sexuality, and negotiation." Leans forward.

"Age signifies a loss of sexuality [the ability to reproduce]
and women, who have learned to access power through their sexuality
do not like to be reminded that they are becoming 'othered,'
that they are losing their power to . . . negotiate."

Eyebrows lift. Young men look down. Clearing of throats.
Squirrleymojo grins crookedly. Steps back,
swings arms:
"Sorry guys for that awkward moment--" assumes teacher posture,
"It's just a theory."

Teach feels like an awkward adult who just
explained condoms for the first time.

Open Link--I Miss My Readers

A woman in my ENG153, who happens to already
have a Master's, tells me an old proverb
from her native country in West Africa:

A stick in a friend is like a stick in a tree;
you never feel the pain until it is in your own body.

Yeah.

Well the stick of teaching 4 classes
is working it's way into my body--
in a big way. I can't remember what I've told to whom.

Testing might have to be thrown out the window.

Finally sitting down to read some news & emails
didn't really distract me from the stick's pain either--
especially
when I read that Britney Spears just had her baby boy--

by dreamy c-section, nonetheless, b/c she was scared of the pain.
And the guy she's with? No pretense there.
What segment of american population do they represent?

Grr--I never wanted to blog about Britney--what has happened?
This is me unplugged? Sick sick and delusional.
But it's all too much--Britney, the hurricane, John Roberts.
Do I need to ask what the 3 have in common?

Also, if I had time, geez, I really don't,
I'd tell you about the strangest conversation I just
had today with 2 extremely attractive male students
about sex. Talk about awkward.
Ok, that's a must. Will return.

Otherwise, I leave myself (and you) with this thought
(especially since I've lost lots of readers--sniff):

If I had a son, he would someday
bring me an artificial flower.
If I had a daughter, she would tell him
that I only liked real, living plants.

After much thought, he'd probably look at the plant
and say, "This flower is really beautiful
and it will never die.
But it will never grow either, right mom?"

Exposing the Secrets (Invitation Only)

I think, gulp, double gulp,
I'M FREE.

Hiden.

All secret again.

Do I feel badly? Exclusive. Yuk. Kindof. A smidget.

But I think, I think,
I'm SQUIRRLEYMOJO UNPLUGGED.

That is to say,
no one who knows me, or has ever met me,
is now reading this super secret Squirrleymojo Blog.

Not even my partner. [Which--dare I say even now--
has always been a drag?]

Ok. Ok. So, here I am.

Duh, what do I say?
Where to begin? again? How often do we get a 2nd chance?

Out of Egotistical Curiosity

IF I were being slowly outed
by my Super Squad of amazing friends,

what kind of statistical, burning questions would you wish
you have asked me before I took down
the dreaded and feared--duh duh duh--SQUIRRLEYMOJO?

[Or do you feel as if you already know me?]

And I Keep Blogging--How? Why?

The cat [nod to avacado] is out of the bag, so to speak, in the tiny little English office known as 117.

Practically everyone knows now that I am teaching 4, count them,
4 classes this quarter--2ENG/2WS. They asked me. What could I say?
Lie?
I am disappointed.
I was seriously fantasizing that I could somehow
keep my good fortunes under wraps. I know of at least 3
fantastic instructors who will now be headed over to the WS department
looking for classes to teach.

You know, there are only so many classes to go around.
I certainly don't mind sharing--I just have a cluster of
ahem, little bills I need to pay.

Sigh. Just when I thought that I had found a quite niche.

First Day Back

The university was very hot today--
I had two classes and had to walk
a gazillion miles in between. Up hill.
Yep, blisters on my sexy toes.

My office mates are either sweet or sour,
unlike myself,
whom I describe to be pleasantly mediocre.

It's only 3:54 and I am coniving ways
to sneak a nap. Plus, "the cold."

The 153 Special topics course has started splendidly--
even though I'm afraid I may have talked
about the apple of plagerism a bit too much.
But can you blame me after last quarter?
Further, they voted to put _Sin City_ on the list--
so now I'll need to watch that. Joy.
The things I do for my students.

My first section of WS100 appears to be a nice group.
An incredible blend between freshmen & seniors,
this class has already corrected a date I had
on the board from 1840 to 1848--which, ironically,
makes me excited. #1 They are engaged enough to notice,
#2 They already feel as though they can speak up.

Of course, a correction on the first day
makes me a tad nervous too--what of my own ethos?!?
Have I lost any crediblity? Or were they out
to impress me?
My peers say I am too excitable.

Can you imagine if I had my own children right about now?
I mean, sure we would have had a fantastic summer--
but now, now that it is turning fall, life would be nothing but
Algebra
Spanish
Grammar Tests
Science
Social Studies
Viola Lessons
Band Practice
Endless Soccer Schedules
Spelling Tests (ug-nastiest)
Book-in-a-bag
Dinner & Clean Up
Friends Over

Geez, I have enough to think about!

It Is Called "Sin"

Speaking of hate. And peeves.
Have you seen _Sin City_?
I borrowed it from a friend to study its cinematography--
and had to turn it off after about 20 minutes.

Why did the sexy lesbian have to be so visually punished,
left completely naked in the corner of a sterile, dark trophy room
(equipped with womens' heads mounted along the wall)
lamenting the horrors of having her hand cut off and fingers
eaten in front of her by the arch villian (Elijah Wood of all people)?!?

WTF people!? Woo-woo entertainment industry.
No wonder our people are so messed up--
I hate/loath Quintin Terrintino's misogynist work so much,
so much that he deserves his name to be forever miss-spelled.

Good Monday Happy Warm, Dry Blogging People

I just feel so guilty blogging
while the whole world goes to sh*t, you know?

But the show must go on--and it does, it does.

Ever feel like a drama magnet? That's
where I've been this past summer and especially this
past weekend:

1] A friend calls and drops a bombshell
that I would have never seen coming . . . normally,
who is sleeping with whom would never concern me--
but this situation is incredulous. And people are
getting hurt.

2] My partner's ex-boss has written an outrageous,
slanderous letter to his current employer and we may
have to take legal action.

3] Another friend's husband has finally decided to share
his love of other men with his family & his 13year-old
daughter isn't exactly rejecting him, but doesn't want
to hang with him either (go figure, she is working
out her own sexuality right now, I'd wager). What a mess.
And I love these people.

4] My mum-in-law brought an ancient aunt
to visit over lemon poppy seed scones
and coffee: "Does genetics allow for 2 blue eyed
people to have a brown eyed baby? I just want to
know because I think my grandfather is my father!
Isn't that weird?!" Sip sip on the coffee.

Gasp. Horror.

Now that's not some sh*t you lay down over scones.
After about 6 hours of the purest torture,
and a smashing identity crisis for my partner,
we call her at home to get more answers.
Turns out that she meant her "father's father"--
which would mean that her mother
had an affair with her husband's father (ie. her father-in-law)
which in turn, would rule out, gulp, biology and the big I-word.
She just laughed. And laughed.

So I come to you, the eve of first day classes,
a bit crippled in the right shoulder blade
and with a raging cold--ears and flaming throat--
yet still somehow eager for classes to begin.

Retreating to a space where only critical thinking
and the proper syntax are equivilant to raw gold
sounds marvelous.

Of course, there's more drama, oh so much more.
But you will have to wait for the Mojo novel.
The novel that reveals everything--
and brings daffodiles out of mud.


OH! and just one last thing (I've been dying to blog):
you know Bush conjured up Katrina
just to take everyone's eyes off from Rehnquist, don't you?

Swampy found a Bear!

I am accquainted
with the most fabulous people.

Bear Post/Pic.


Have a terrific weekend,
be kind &
help someone you don't know.

What I've Been Looking For

Now this is more like it!
This news article is exactly what I honestly expect and love from american people (yes, I do actually love most people from North America).

For further information:

http://www.craigslist.org

Let me know what you think about this--
Would you? Could you? Sam I am?
Would you, could you house an american refugee with ham?