Coyotes

Just imagine
if I had kids--
it would the next to the last day of school . . .

Twin A would bring home his crayon box
from first grade;
I'd open it up and find:

4-6 stubby, broken crayons
1 fisker pair of scissors
and
3 nawed on nascar pencils with the erasers
worn down past the metal (the battle scars of spelling)

SwimSuits are Here!

I canceled class today--
made it a reading day for the rather complex final
and a virtual conference day for those who need help--

put my swimsuit on,
and commenced to catching rays while grading
a gazillion papers.

I always feel a tad guilty for not holding class,
but I work my buns off teaching and rarely miss . . .

what is most surprising??

I feel fantastic in my new swimsuit this year!!
Is that the increase in my paxil dosage,or what?

The Following Study is Crap--Total Crap

Over time, memories may grow more positive By Charnicia Huggins
2 hours, 15 minutes ago
NEW YORK (Reuters Health) - When recalling memories of negative or positive events that helped to shape our identity, such as a break-up or marriage, we tend to downplay the fear, anger or other negative emotions experienced at the time and remember more of the positive emotions, new study findings indicate.

"These findings suggest that healthy individuals work to build a positive narrative identity that will yield an overall optimistic tone to the most important recalled events from their lives," write study authors Drs. Michael Conway and Wendy-Jo Wood, both of Concordia University in Montreal, Quebec.

The findings may also have implications for an individual's mental health.

"Mental health is maintained or improved by people's attempts to make sense of their life experiences," Conway told Reuters Health.

"People try to see the positive in even very difficult life experiences, and come to downplay, as much as they can, how negative some events were in the past," he explained.

For their research, Conway and Wood investigated people's emotional memories for self-defining events, which they described as emotionally complex events that contribute to a person's sense of identity or overall life story.

In one study, 279 university students were asked to think about an important past event that helped define themselves. They were then asked to describe the event in various terms, including the extent to which it had a big impact on them and how much it helped them learn about themselves and about life.

Based on the students' responses, Conway and Wood conclude that a person's perception of the impact of an event is a good marker for meaning making, that is the process that results in an individual integrating an event with his or her positive sense of identity.

In a second study, 79 university students were asked to report and describe, on paper, five self-defining memories and to rate those events on a five-point scale in terms of its impact. They also completed two questionnaires about the 10 emotions they felt when the event occurred and how they currently felt about the event, respectively.

Conway and Wood found that when the study participants reflected on negative events, such as conflict with bosses or teachers, death, or physical or sexual assault, they reported that they currently felt less negative emotions, like anger and disgust, and more happiness and pride than they had felt at the time of the event.

Further, when the students reflected on positive events, like a dating relationship or marriage, recreation, or attaining a personal goal, they reported feeling just as happy as they had felt at the time of the event, as well as similarly intense feelings of love and pride. Again, however, they also reported feeling less anger, embarrassment, guilt and other negative emotions than they had initially felt, the report indicates.

"What was striking is that the findings held up for a wide range of emotions," Conway told Reuters Health, adding that "when making sense of their past experiences, people would downplay all the negative types of feelings they had, such as fear and anger."

With regard to a negative event like the death of a grandmother, for example, "the sad event is still mostly sad," Conway said, "but the positive emotions have come out more."

People are "seeing the silver lining, so to speak" and may feel happy afterwards as they realize that the grandmother's suffering is over, he said.

Describing how the practice is common among men and women in a variety of life situations, Conway told Reuters Health that "everyone can experience strong emotional reactions in extreme situations, and everyone needs to come to terms with such events in order to maintain a positive sense of self, and a positive sense of the world at large."

SOURCE: Journal of Personality, June 2006.


Total crap b/c of the narrow selection
for this study--young, privelleged college folk.
The econimically privelleged are taught
to see positives in every situation;
I see it in my writinging classes every quarter.
The search for happy memories
overrides the capacity to critically think
through situations in order to problem solve . . .

I hope you don't find this too disturbing but

I think I know why Dr. Edward Van Dyk, 43,
threw his two sons, ages 4 and 8,
and then himself,
over a 15 story balcony.

In fact, I think I know why some parents
may be killing their children,
and my idea does seen to be talked about
in the open at all.

For example, in the Yahoo! newstory,
Miami Beach Police spokesman Bobby Hernandez
surmises:

"It's unfortunate that this gentleman was so selfish
and in an effort to get back at his wife
he took the two most loved people
in the world away from her."

Yet, the wife reports that although the couple
had been having marital problems,
they had not argued previous to this incident,
and that, in fact, they were celebrating their 10th anniversary.

Further, this doctor had just received a huge promotion
(he had just become head of a cancer hospital 18 months ago);
his colleagues describe his as quite, intelligent, and friendly.
I believe that it is important to look
at his career, to see he excelled
in a field where he also worked with the most severe cases--
with people who die every day.

Given this information,
I believe that Dr. Van Dyk could have been an extremely
sensitive (depressed) man who was, to his own way of thinking,
actually being considerate of his children . . .
of their futures . . .

perhaps, he could not imagine the suffering
his sons would go through in their lives
while trying to understand why their father
had committed suicide,

or perhaps he identified too closely
with the young boys, imagining a similiar future
of pain for them
and wanted to spare them the misery of life . . .


I believe these parents, who may be convinced that
death is the best option for their children
(think about it--
they believe death is the best for themselves),
simply lack the capacity at these moments
to rationalize the importance of choice
and have no concept of a future--even for their young children.

What I can't comprehend
are those utter final moments . . .

Too Much, Too Soon--More Than You Ever Need to Know

Is it just regional?

But a friend of a friend of a friend
likes to put her feet
in a small tub of cool water

after a long day fighting hot crowds
at the Feast. and rock climbing.

and picking greenbeans.

Rub Me on Your Cheek

I want a postage stamp
with my face on it.
Is that really to much to ask?
Seriously.

Not cash.
Just a stamp.

Then people would collect me, you know.




Who am I kidding?
We looked an older Victorian
last night in our price range--beautiful pictures
and remodeled.
On the outside.

Inside?
It was a crack house.
Total crack house.

We are so stagnant I'm growing algae.

Aaa, Read This Instead

yipeeee!

Blue's Back!

http://happyandblue2.com/

xo

Wrapping Up

A long-time friend of the family
works at a local halfway house for people
being released from prison;
he called last night, while I was in class,
and told my partner
that one of my branch students,
who was/is a successful resident of the program,
called the halfway house to brag
about how helpful/wonderful my ENG151 course has been . . .
our friend was delighted and wanted to share the pleasant news.

This student is a man who just told me yesterday
that he hasn't been in school since his
freshman year of HS (which must have been
around the late 70s, early 80s) . . .
he's in his early forties, I believe,
and struggles with the use of computers. His mind
is sharp--very sharp. If not neglected by our systems . . .

Please understand that I have a special fondness
for the enthusiasm
and engagement of this student.
When he missed a week of school early on b/c
he was, in his precise word, "detained"--I suspected
he came from this halfway house,
but I wanted to respect his privacy and never asked
either him or my friend who works there.

Last night, after my partner told me the "pleasant news,"
I couldn't help but wonder what this man had done . . .
I knew this particular house did not accept sex offenders.
I didn't want to ask, but as I closed my eyes for the night,
these words slipped out:

"Aw. He didn't kill anyone did he?"

My partner, understanding me more than anyone else, replied:
"You didn't mean to really ask that. Let's just say,
he's served his time."


30 years at 15; I guess so.

BUNCO!

Hysterical--
can you imagine playing
a DVD game where players
sit on the sofa
and pass the DVD remote
between themselves, pressing PLAY,
to "roll" the dice on screen
and get the highest score?

Who would pay money for such a game?
Don't tell me.

We played Bachi Ball in the dark,
on the back yard lawn.
Used a patch of round dirt
that marked a pool from last year.
Trash cans to our left,
chalk at our feet,
porch light busted.
The pool ladder placed
under a pine tree leading to nowhere
except the neighbor's yard
where an orange cat stalks
with glowing eyes.
I tipped the wine glass back
and dribbled bubbles down my gullet,
but could see no stars.

Hunt Them in the Back Yard Your D*mn Self

Last night we were at a concert
listening to "Vesti La Giubba"
from Loencavallo's Pagliacci,
when he leaned over and whispered:

"She had a cigarette hanging from her lips--
I thought, 'now, how can that be good for the dogs?'"

A look of disdain crossed my face:
"How can you support such a back alley business?
The place is disgusting. It's worse than Petland."

"Are you kidding? The crickets are a buck five there--
at Petland they're over two dollars."

Double the profit. He had a point.

Billy Collins

When I heard him speak
I thought he'd have great things to say--
instead, I heard a poem
about a man who wished
he could have sex in dorms
again, totally bonged out of his mind--
with Tori Spelling, or someone,
about an ex-wife
and all the many ways he wished
she'd be tortured--
leperosy rotting off her flesh,
lightening striking,
her friends realizing what a bore she is.
Another poem about Canada
and nurses, head nurses, camp nurses,
and the lot.

I watched my colleagues laugh.
Throw their heads back,
their mid-sections shake.

The Great Speaker paused and soaked it all in.
He took questions when there were none
being asked.
My blood boiled as I, too, clapped.
But I didn't belly laugh, no. I leaned
over and whispered: "Humor generally comes
at someone's expense."
I got a weird stare and head shake.
"Have you read his stuff?"

I snuck out the back, hoping an alarm
wouldn't sound. I hadn't used this exit before
and found it led to the trash.
Down the steps
I wikipedied him at home
and saw he had addressed Congress after 9/11 . . .

and I wondered what it all means.

Not the Highlight of the Evening, But the Easiest to Blog

Yikes, I mentioned my crush
to a co-worker
yesterday evening
at the Lit Fest.

I couldn't help it--my crush was in plain view
and made eye contact . . .
I leaned over to J and whispered,
"Have you ever had a crush
on anyone here?"

She turn vivid red and exclaimed:
"Can we talk about this later?"

I giggled and dropped it.

Now, this morning, she is insistant that
I tell her.
No way. Never.

I would never want this innocent blushing
experience to turn into a dreadful scandal . . .

A Long 48 Hours

I have about 50+ more quizzes
to grade & speaking of quizzes,
I had to look the word up on a Word program
in order to spell it on the board this morning . . .
I've been having more and more difficulty
with spelling--especially at the blackboard
with students staring at me . . .
the letters themselves are so big & my mind is racing
on what I am saying (which is generally not the same
as what I am writing) and what I intend to say.

One of my best students (I could tell from her
handwriting) suggested, on my evaluation of all places,
that she seriously thought I was mildly dislexic.
No shit, Sherlock.

Where was I?

Oh yes, complaining about my longish day.
Oh no, I do not get to leave after office hours today
I'm afraid. No.
I am going to dinner with J and her friend,
then I'm headed off to hear a poet at the Lit Fest.

A long drive home will immediately follow.
But the kicker?
What makes this evening not so fun?

An 8:ooam pap. That's right. I had an abnormal pap
and now must be tested by an OBGYN--
which is utterly ridiculous
b/c my doctor and I know that my mensus screwed
up the results of this last smear . . . sigh.

Then, back in the car to a lunch on Global Feminism.
I barely have 2 cents to contribute
and I don't feel like being "exposed" twice in one Friday
(which is suppose to be _my_ day-
hello, Friday, me me me).

So whatever happens to you tomorrow,
i hope you don't end up in stirrups.

Safe

If I had children
I'd take my most comfy comforter
out into the grass
under a shade tree
and study spelling words like "started,"
or flash cards like 9 + 9,
while trying to feel alive and warm.

I'm Not Much for Sports

so I'll shake it up a bit.
This Saturday, we're going to a professional
soccer game [did you know
that in 1969 there was a "Soccer War"
between El Salvador and Honduras
that killed 5,000 people?].

I'd tell you the teams--
but then you could discover
SQ's secret lair . . .

and foil all my plans.

Is There A Day That Has Gone By Without Something Blowing Up In Iraq?

Friday Blues (Again?!)

Hi G, Thanks for thinking of me--you've been on my mind too! :-) Coffee/tea on Thursday at 3:00 would be great, if that works for you. I'll be sticking around for the lectures & having dinner with a friend (with J--I can't remember if you've met her? And naturally, you are welcome to have dinner with us as well).

If not Thursday, I imagine you are swamped with the fest, another Thursday after 3:00 would work too . . . I'm still thrilled over your book and seeing it, in multiplicity, inside Little P's window! I can't wait to hear about the signing as well--bet you must have a story to tell!

What a quarter--hope to hear from you soon & have a lovely weekend.
SQ


Also--perhaps of no consequence--
I have, ehem, HIVES and, now, an EpiPen.

Yep, if I wrote my memoir--no one would believe it.
I need a vacation.

The End of the Week for Me

and, as usual, I'm beating myself
up for being a boring/horrible/ill-knowledged
instructor.

Only this time,
I know it's so true.

I trudge back to my office
feeling so low I could sink into cracks;
a student rushes in:

"Squirrleymojo? Hi! I'm so sorry!"

I look to see an attractive, pink
woman facing me all a-flutter.

I raise my eyebrows.

"Yes--I slept through your class.
I'm so so sorry. That has never happened
to me before. I never do that. But I slept
right through your class and didn't turn in
my folder. Will you still accept it?"

I bristled. Fumed. Turned a scarlet, livid red.
Lips pressed tightly,
I sit back. [I can't rememebr anyone falling
asleep in the back of the class,
but the first section is so big. I have utterly failed.
I'm so horrible this quarter
that students are falling asleep in class.]

"Well, I don't know. Admitting that you fell
asleep in my class isn't exactly complimentary . . ."

"I know, I know! But I must have hit snooze
on my alarm clock and just slept right through it . . ."

"Oh! [giggle giggle] You weren't in class?
You didn't fall asleep sitting in the class room?"
I laugh.

"No! No, no, no! . . . ."

I continued to laugh and took the folder.
I suck so badly. :-)

Well, That Backfired

Our Mayor is running for Congress;
I didn't vote for him.
I personally know he is a scumbag.

He didn't get elected--yeah.

Now, he'll continue as our mayor
until the end of next year . . .

Women Studies

I just received my own free copies of

_Feminist Theory_, by Kolmar and Bartkowski,
and _Issues in Feminism_, by Ruth.

I'm pretty excited about teaching
a course just straight through
the material--I'll probably learn a lot
along the way . . .
Frankly, I'm getting bored with the text I've used
since Winter of 2005.
I need new material to keep me awake.

Today, we watched a film, "Rosie the Riveter" (1980),
to introduce our next sequence on
the sexual division of labor, ie. Women and Work.
The film, which is a documentary, is 65 minutes long
and made 25 years ago . . .
and most of the class stayed awake.

I wish I could make visual clips to add to this blog--
the propaganda ads during World War II were a hoot.
The sexism is blatant and undeniable.
For example, one ad showed what would happen to children
if their mothers did not give up their
high-paying factory jobs and return home:
Little Tommy played with matches and newspaper;
Middle-school Tommy pulled out a box of cigarettes
and shared with his friends. {One of my students
thought it was pot. Uh, no. Not in 1948.}
If I could ad these to my blog, perhaps you'd stay awake . . .

anyone sensing a theme here?

This is What Friendship Looks Like

Dearest SQ,

But I looked! I did, I did! And I'm not losing my mind
that much, am I? I must be. Every since your blog went
"offline," I've been looking to see if it's been
posted again. And it tells me that it can't find it.
But, SQ, I found it. Tonight. At 10:50 pm. When I'm
supposed to be working, but I can't. Because my mind
can't stop. I found your blog.

And it makes me smile and happy: knowing your writing
your blog. I like that it's there.

And I'm learning things (from your blog) that I feel
as if I should "know." You're in a writing group? I
ask this, thrilled! You are such a beautiful writer.
I've known this since when I used to be able to go
over to your cubicle and say hello. But I'm not
meaning to make this about me. SQ and writing group
= wonderful.

And now I'm in [University Far Away], not where I can walk over to
your cubicle. And I'm happy [here]: SQ, [My Lover] is going
to get a job down here. We haven't discussed living
situation or anything yet, but [SQ], to have my best
friend in the same city as me? To talk to him--in
person--whenever I want? To not be starved for sex
every damn weekend that we drop to the floor/couch/bed
(though that is kind of exciting too)? To just have
him next to me as I work on damn Spenser papers?

[So [Your Partner] just got on IM, and he's such a nice person
(though you know this). He chats with me (well,
briefly, to say that you're asleep, as you should be,
it's midnight there). He complimented me on my dog.]

How the hell did I miss out of four months of your
blog? I don't understand. I'm losing my mind, that's
all there is to it. [Lots of personal info edited
from this point--aww, don't you wish you had access to this?!?]

Your identity in your blog--changes!

Affectionately Yours,
[Your Bestest Bestest Friend
Who Always Makes You Smile]