Twitter

Why does Twitter keep attributing feeds to the wrong person? LA's stuff keeps showing up as Twitter feed from Rhet. Stupid Twitter. Glad I didn't get it-- people would have thought I watched the batman movie! :-P

Mwhahaha!

Contributors: We Are Distinctly Four

An intriguing conspiracy theory was just brought to my attention. (Okay, so maybe "conspiracy theory" is an exaggeration.) I was asked if ARC was just the work of one person writing under different names.

The answer is, no way! This blog does indeed have four separate contributors. DocHoc, Lady Audley, Rhetorical Twist, and myself are different people. We do happen to be good friends and so shared interests, ideas, and pedagogical approaches may reveal themselves in our posts.

I hope that, over time, readers will come to know our differences more clearly and feel free to share in the community we've created here. Join the dialog! We're just starting out and the conversation could use more voices.

Thanks for reading,
Teacher Poet

P.S. Teacher Poet is eagerly anticipating posts on how the refrigerator died and killed all the veggies; that lingering unpleasant odor in the new flat; sketchy wireless; explorations in the new surroundings of City U. and Cornfield U.; more on the syllabus from Doc Hoc and Rhetorical Twist; and the promised bit about plagiarism from Rhet.

Hotels Reintroduce "Women-Friendly" Rooms

This entry is in pink, because pink is the color of women, right? *wink*

I recently saw an article on Yahoo! about "Women Friendly" floors in hotels. Apparently, "Women Only" floors were first introduced in the 1980's to provide "a safe haven for women traveling alone on business but ended up being considered 'a kind of sexist thing.'" Now, the revival of these kinds of floors aren't completely closed off to men. Men can still book rooms (of course, the policy on when seems to vary from hotel to hotel), but, according to Bill DeForrest, these rooms are simply designed to cater to the needs of women travelers, who are growing faster in numbers than male travelers." They also apparently want to "go the extra mile to make women seem welcome." Yeah, okay. That's another blog entry for another time.

So, how do these floors/rooms for women differ?

It seems that the difference lies in the services and amenities offered. One hotel offers a Victoria's Secret robe and vanity mirrors. The Hampton Inn in Albany offers "cookies, flavored coffees, skin moisturizers and extra-soft socks, plus a half-hour session in the hotel’s massage chair." Another hotel offers yoga mats, bath salts, and wash mitts.

What is most interesting to me about this new development, or "niche market," as the article calls it, is the gender encoding that takes place. How do they decide "what women want"? What makes these amenities particularly good for women? Aside from the issues of whether or not you think this is gender discrimination (and therefore a step backwards), there is the issue of how these things, by being labeled "for women," further ingrain gender difference. What, for example, do the specific amenities offered say about the hotel's (or society's) opinion of what women care about? Do all women care about moisturizers, cookies, vanity mirrors, and fuzzy socks? It's the rigid binaries used to label things "for women" or "for men" that bothers the hell out of me because of the way they perpetuate gender difference.

(Editorial note: Granted, I care an awful lot about cookies, but I also know a guy or two who would care about fuzzy socks. Hell, I care an awful lot about fuzzy socks, too, but maybe I want a hammer in my room as well. Or a drill. That might come in just as handy.)

The Teacher I'm Soon To Be: A Thoughtful Reflection

So as I was editing the last of my syllabi for the upcoming semester, something so simple, yet profound struck me--I thought I'd share.

Yes, I'm an individual with my (soon-to-be) own teaching style, philosophies, and pedagogy; however, I'm an academic individual who has been shaped by the professors in her life.

Please allow me to stand at my podium, por un minuto, to share a few thank yous to the professors that have influenced my teaching style.

This list will certainly define the teacher I've become:

1. A thank you to Dr. Mother Bear: The passionate aura you always had for your students, the crazy fun class activities--Descriptive Narrative Mysteries--good times! And again, I repeat, PASSION PASSION PASSION.
2. A thank you to Dr. Chocolate Chip Cookies: The craziness of Deadwood. CUT THE DEADWOOD! Oh, not to mention Annie Dillard will live on forever--aka forever in my classes.
3. A thank you to Dr. Poet Lady: The challenges never ended. And through you I met the love of my life: W.C.W.--and now my students will learn to love "The Red Wheelbarrow" as much as I do. Not to mention the poetry section in my Lit. course has been strongly taken over by those Modernist Poets...hmmm, I wonder why :)
4. A thank you to Dr. Hambone: Renaissance Lit. has and will never be my cup of tea, but I can't lie--I learned to appreciate the language. Although I know how we feel about Shakespeare, my students will learn a piece of Othello so that they can learn to appreciate the beauty in Renaissance language as much as I have.
5. A thank you to Dr. I Love Your Son: No one likes group work, especially when you're the person that ends up doing all the work; however, collaborative learning will be a big part in my classroom because she stressed, time and time again, the importance of group work.

While they're only five examples, I can only smile as I look through my syllabi and see the activities I planned based on the teachings of the people who've come before me; I've come to realize that it's professors like these that create legacies.

So, who am I?

I am a culminated experience of professors that have come before me--shaped, molded, and perfectly prepared for this big, bad teaching world.

The Road to Grad School is Really Long

For your entertainment, I present: the trip log. It's rated "L" for really long. But fun, too. In it's own long way...

8:30am--Rhetorical Twist collects Teacher Poet and says good bye to the adorable doggies.
9:00am--official time of "hitting the road."
10:45am--first rest stop. Rhetorical Twist and Teacher Poet have a thoroughly disgusting meal of greasy fried chicken and a rat burger at Roy Rodgers. Both vow to never eat there again.
11:05am--Rhetorical Twist and Teacher Poet are informed that Lady Audley and family will be late to the meeting place. Time wasting commences.
11:10--bathroom break, where we find out that for 35 cents you can find out your weight and lucky number. Quite a bargain.
11:16--Teacher Poet gets a soda and chooses rootbeer. Rhetorical Twist disapproves. She would have chosen cherry coke.
11:39--Teacher Poet successfully moves the seat back a whole inch, despite the jam-packed nature of the car. She's much happier. Time killing continues...
11:51--Rhetorical Twist brings the smack in the form of an (inaudible) comment to Teacher Poet on a woman who cut her off and then glared. Teaching is looking easier.
12: 30ish--arrival of Lady Audley and family, as well as the subsequent official beginning of the road trip. Rhetorical Twist is put in charge of navigation. She has no sense of direction and is bad with maps.
4:00pm--Rhetorical Twist gets very nervous when she sees the "Welcome to W. VA" sign, as she thought they were just going straight to Ohio. panicking ensues, peppered with many cries of, "if we took the wrong route, Lady Audley will never let me live it down!" Consults map and realizes it's all good.
5:00pm--stop for dinner. Discover chains attaching Lady's Audley's trailer to the van have worn through. Call U-Haul. Wait 45 minutes. Spend the time goofing around in the convenience store and befriending a state cop as the boys Audley try to buy liquor underage.
6:00pm--Rhetorical Twist begins to develop a hate for Ohio just because of it's huge size. Stupid Ohio.
7:00pm--deeper hatred for Ohio.
8:00pm--still deeper...
10:30pm--hit Indiana border. For the next 83 exits, every time Rhetorical Twist sees a hotel she thinks, "they have beds..." She promises to talk to Teacher Poet to keep her awake, as she has taken over the driving. Within 5 minutes, Rhetorical Twist is dozing off.
12:30am-- arrive at skeezy hotel. Must change to a new room. Disgusting beyond all belief.
12:35am--Teacher Poet says, "get your bags off the floor. I don't want to know what's crawling around down there." Rhetorical Twist screams.
1:15am--Rhetorical Twist hit with uncontrollable giggles. Lady Audley and Teacher Poet are ready to kill her.

I Just Want to Talk to a Human Being!

Or, adventures with automated customer service.

Mother Dearest is planning on paying me a visit in my new digs after I get moved in. I booked her a flight about a month ago (because despite the fact that this woman has not one, but two Master's Degrees, one of them being in Computer Science, she said she wouldn't be able to figure it out), but I never got a confirmation. So I decided to call.

First of all, finding the bloody phone number on American Airline's website is like looking for a needle in my car right now (being that it is chuck full of all my worldly goods and practically impossible to see out any of the windows), because apparently they don't want to talk to you.

I, however, put my well honed research skills to work and found it.

I call, and I am instructed to give them some information to get "better service" (an absolute impossibility when dealing with airlines). An automated voice (a very lovely and polite one, I might add) guided me through (see? They don't want to talk to you!):

"What is your flight number?"
4016.
"Hmm, we don't have that number in our records. Let's try again."
4016.
"Hmm, we don't have that flight number in our records. Let's try something else. What is your departure city?"
Hometown, USA.
"What is your arrival city?"
Grad School, USA.
"Your flight number is 4016, departing at 11:30am. Is this departure time correct?"
I don't know.
"Hmm, I don't understand you. If this is the correct flight time, please say, 'yes'"
Yes?
"What is the passenger's last name?"
Dearest.
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand what you said. Please try again."
Dear-est.
"I'm sorry, but I can't understand you. Let's try again."
Dea-r-est.
"It sounded like you said, 'Laudin.' L-a-u-d-i-n. Is this correct?"
No. [Now thinking, "WTF?!"]
"Please say the passenger's last name."
DEAR-EST.
"I'm sorry, but I seem to have trouble understanding you. Please hold for our next available operator."

I mean, at least the automated voice was nice, but jeeze, the call would have taken half the amount of time if I could have just spoken with an operator in the first place.

Mother Dearest will be booking her own flights from now on.


In other news...

...plans for a kick-butt syllabus are underway, with heavy idea borrowing from some of my favorite mentors who have (thank GOD!) put a collection of syllabi online (namely Madam Department Chair, Dr. Mother Bear, and Dr. Rhetorical Superhero). I actually re-read some of my (actual) classroom policies and such, and by God, it sounds like I know what I am talking about!

I don't, of course, but let's hope my students don't find out.

And it all keeps spinning...

...in my head, that is.

Aside from feverishly working to pay the incoming college debt I will now greet for the rest of my life, making time for the friends who have been waiting anxiously for me to finish my academic endeavors and return home, spending time with the significant other who is oh-so-patient with my crazy work load, trying to adjust and help the parentals fully realize that I truly *have* crossed the line of childhood and dependency to womanhood and independency...

*TAKES DEEP BREATH*

...yes, aside from all that, another day has gone by that leaves me surrounded by four classes worth of books staring at me from my bedside just shouting out, "put us in a syllabus!" (No, I'm not crazy...but at times I feel like I do hear these voices).

Times ticking away; I no longer have all summer to read, think, plan, write, plan some more. Oh, and the nightmares--the oh-so-vivid nightmares--of first time teaching began about three weeks ago. THREE WEEKS AGO. My psyche isn't giving me any time to rest, that's for sure.

However, despite the nightmares and anxiety I really have been getting a sufficient amount of planning done. As of right now, I'm left to plan a three hour literature class for Satellite L. Perhaps I saved this class for last because I didn't get my books until last week....or perhaps I saved it for last because sometimes, yes sometimes, literature scares the crap outta me. I often wonder, "Will these 24 students jump up and down with glee like I do when I read works like 'The Red Wheelbarrow'?" Ummmm probably not.

But all these worries, concerns, doubts, fears, and dreads--despite all logical thinking--excite me.

This is our time now, ladies. This is what our professors have prepared us for through many visits in the office--door opened and door closed--through comments on our papers, through emails encouraging us to revise and think deeper, through the recommendations to read 'this book' or 'that book,' through the pressing to submit and present a paper at a conference, and most of all through the many things--academic and life-worthy--they taught us.

Yes ladies, it's *our* time now.