Our Thursday night instructor does not trust her students a dime's worth. Have I already
bitched mentioned? We've been with her for about 11 weeks now, but she still astounds me.
Part of our final will be essay questions. We will know these questions a week in advance so we may prepare awesome responses. But we will have to rewrite our essays from scratch during the exam. We may not turn in already-written essays - because she doesn't want work from us that we might have collaborated on with other students.
Please understand, every other prof in this program has simply told us not to collaborate on our take-home exams. So we're basically on the honor system. And believe it or not - we do as we're told. Even if we had written our essays together, I would think it would be obvious to any professor where collaboration had happened by the striking similarities.
Secondly, she announced that, for our final, we will need one or two large-sized blue books. That's fine, but here's the odd part: we must bring them to her a week ahead of time. She will initial and return them to us the evening of the final. This is (of course) so we cannot write out our essay answers (the ones we illegally collaborated on) and pretend like they were freshly-written on the day of the final.
(Imagine me hunched over an already-prepared blue book, shielding it with one arm, pretending to write for about an hour. I'm almost as old as the instructor. I do have some dignity.)
Given this level of
paranoia oversight, you won't be surprised that the instructor has utterly balked at one student's request to bring her own laptop, so she can type instead of hand-write her essays. The student can't physically hold a pen for long, but can type. The two of them are locked in an intense e-mail exchange about accommodations right now. It's hard to say how it will all turn out.
Uh oh, they're onto us. Stupid whistle-blowing researchers.
NEW YORK (Reuters) - 'Tis the season for calling in sick, especially if you're not sick at all.
One in three workers has called in sick when they're not in the past year, and the end-of-year holiday season brings a rash of phony absences, experts and studies say. [...]
[Thirty-two] percent of workers said they called in sick when they felt fine at least once in the last year, and one in 10 said they did so three times or more.
Women were more likely to take a sick day when they are not sick than men, by 37 to 26 percent, the survey said.
Why would more women than men take a fake sick day? I can only speak for myself - but the few sick days I take are to finish reports for school before the deadline.
The study does go on to say that more employers are forgiving of these last-minute "sick days". The term in this case is "mental health day". I used to love my last boss for understanding about mental health days. She was the only boss I ever had who was that way. She figured the work still got done on time, regardless, so why sweat it. One time, I called her voice mail first thing in the morning and said "Boss, I must be goin' blind - I can't see coming to work." Heh.
Called my dad the day after Thanksgiving, on his cell phone. He was visiting my grandmother in St. Louis. I didn't realize at first, but I happened to catch them just as they were heading out the door on a whirlwind tour of family festivities.
They acted very falsely hearty and cheerful with me - a sure sign (and you'd have to know them to be sure) they were anxious to end the phone call as politely as possible, and get on the road. I'm still laughing about it. It never occurred to either of them to, oh, I don't know, walk out the door and drive around while continuing to talk to me on the cell phone. Or call me back on the road.
In fact, I'm prepared to bet real money that the whole time each of them talked to me, they both stood in the kitchen, crowded within four feet to Grandma's landline telephone, just out of habit.
Getting the hang of cell phones is probably a generational thing. I carry mine everywhere I go for practical purposes, though it's not always on; my brother can text-message with one thumb while seated at the dinner table. (Don't think we didn't see you!)
Meanwhile, my kid - the next generation - is chomping at the bit to get a cell phone of her own. She already knows the one she wants. It's called a Firefly. Weirdly, this phone's gimmick is that a kid may only call, and receive, certain restricted telephone numbers - namely, those programmed by the parental unit(s). I can't imagine what would be so cool about that from a kid's POV, but again, it must just be a generational thing.
AVOIDING MONGOL CAPTURE
The Tartars, their havoc and mystifying horror, should be avoided at all costs. The Tartars are madmen and bathe in the urine of their horses.
Should you encounter a Mongol horde and do not die a torturous death by their hungry dogs, you will most likely succumb by some other unspeakable means.
If you are unfortunate enough to run into these godless, inbred beasts, follow these tips and you just might have a fighting chance.
If I keep making my blog banners taller and taller, eventually they'll be as long as your computer screen. You'll have to scroll down to read my golden words. Way, wa-a-a-ay down.
Unless you're using an RSS-catcher. You guys will never know the drama of the blog banner.
Hey, I have an idea. I've decided to write little nonsensical blog posts all this week (that is, more than usual) just to pester all the Bloglines users. Look! 'Beancounters' has a buncha new entries. Let joy reigneth!
Thanksgiving holiday: long enough to feel refreshed; not long enough to remember to do laundry.
On Thanksgiving day we went to BB's dad's house. Met some reletives for the first time. The whole lot of them turned out to be liberal agnostics; we felt right at home.
We cooked a big feast for my mom and brother - on Saturday! Had a great visit with them. And even though I packed my mom a few meals' worth of stuff, we three will still be eating leftovers most of this week. Celebrate food, indeed.
This weekend made me come down with temporary craft fever. If you only knew how bad the bug has bitten me. It started when Mom and I visited a quilt store on Saturday afternoon. Between the wonders that we saw there, and an arts and crafts show we attended on Sunday at the Crocker, I really feel like staying home and crafting ... something. Making jewelry. Digging out my sewing machine. Or my paints! That's real madness.
I had a weird dream where I landed on (or near) the fabled "Gilligan's Island". (Actually, I was swimming toward land.) And who was swimming out to meet me but Thurston Howell (III).
He started reciting what sounded like a lost verse to the theme song. I can't remember it exactly, but the jist of it was, he himself had built the island out in the Pacific for himself and his wife, so they could get back to nature. Their plan was to "accidentally" strand themselves upon it. And then the Howells would be waited upon for years by the rest of the passengers and crew of the Minnow - which, as you recall, really happened.
The alarm woke me before I could find out why Mr. Howell had confessed all to me. But if you think about it, having told me his great secret, he surely could not afford to let me live ...
(Has this theory been around? I wonder. Started to search for something along these lines, but all I got was a bunch of self-important bloggers who wanted to describe their dreams. Borrrring.)
I spent yesterday morning on the phone, looking for a child care center that would take a last-minute drop-in. Thought it would be pretty easy, but after I called some places that had closed, and other places that nearly hung up on me, I realized there were heavy karmic dues to pay for having waited until past the last minute.
I think I'll spare you the long version of this search, even though it was funny. Happily, we did wind up finding a great place, so that's that.
For some inexplicable reason, Anthony owns a calendar of world holidays. He wants us to know that, on a global scale, there appear to be only ten days out of the year where nobody is celebrating a holiday of any sort.
For instance, this week alone is chock full of holiday goodness.
Today (Monday, Nov. 20): Teacher's Day (Vietnam)
Tuesday: Totensonntag (All Sun's Day?) (Germany)
Wednesday: Independence Day (Lebanon), Repentance Day (Switzerland)
Thursday: Thanksgiving Day ('Murrca)
Friday: Martydom of Guru Tegh Bahdur (Sikhism)
Saturday: St. Catherine's Day (France), Independence Day (Surinam)
So, all I need to do is call my supv. and tell her there's no sense in my looking for a place to drop my kid this week. What with having to make elaborate preparations for All Sun's Day and all. Why, preparing the traditional homemade sunscreen alone will take hours.
Here's the situation. Last summer I fired my kid's daycare. Unfortunately, I never remembered to seek out an alternate. Now, it's Thanksgiving week, and my kid has the whole week off but I do not. I need a new daycare situation, ASAP.
On the other hand, if I do not find suitable daycare, I will be forced to take not only today, but Tuesday and Wednesday off (as well as the normal Thursday-Friday state worker Thanksgiving holiday) - in other words, have a week's vacation.
As you may be able to guess, my motivation to find daycare in this particular instance is ... conflicted.
Because this is a blog, and we have the franchise to keep up! To do this meme, answer the questions in only one word.
1. Yourself: industrious
2. Your spouse: content
3. Your hair: fly-away
4. Your mother: blogger
5. Your father: apart
6. Your favorite item: camera
7. Your dream last night: building
8. Your favorite drink: dietcoke
9. Your dream car: Belvedere
10. The room you are in: den
11. Your ex: nobody
12. Your fear: unwanted
13. What you want to be in 10 years: famous
14. Who you hung out with last night: daughter
15. What you're not: disloyal
16. Muffins: seconds
17: One of your wish list items: thesis
18: Time: galloping
19. The last thing you did: slept
20. What you are wearing: robe
21. Your favorite weather: autumnal
22. Your favorite book: many
23. The last thing you ate: popsicle
24. Your life: settled
25. Your mood: optimistic
26. Your best friend: activist
27. What you're thinking about right now: meme
28. Your car: Camry
29. What you are doing at the moment: blogging
30. Your summer: worked
31. Your relationship status: renewed
32. What is on your TV: dust
33. What is the weather like: foggy
34. When was the last time you laughed: 11 p.m.
It's Saturday, so you have plenty of time to enter the Happy Place Contest, sponsored by Curbly.
All you have to do is take a picture of the place in your house that makes you happy, and upload it here. (Free account required.) The winner gets a $200 Ikea gift card, which would be cool. If somebody here wins it, let me know! I don't think I'll enter, as it would almost surely mean I'd have to clean first.
Meetings at the mother ship have nothing to do with me or my little department. We aren't involved in their work; it's only has a peripheral impact on our daily lives. The only reason we attend at all is because our supv. supervises the other team, too, and she likes to see all her subordinates come together as one big happy family.
All this by way of assuring you, I didn't miss anything when ... I fell asleep right there in the meeting.
customer service professionalismLalalalalzzzzzzzp
And everything went haaaaazy ....
And I had that recurring dream where humanity has all but destroyed the planet, you know? and to survive they live in city-sized megabuildings, and it's been generations since anyone has seen the sun. So to pass the time between work assignments from the Administration, coworkers gather in bands and take long, random treks to look for a fabled window to the outside. There's a sort of desperate glee in their attitudes. They put on sneakers and they march up and down staircases and through giant, deserted plazas, and they ride huge freight elevators, all day long, looking for the sun ...
After a while, apparantly people noticed my eyes were closed. They sort of mocked me, but not too bad because I'm not One Of Them. But I was still so tired I didn't even care. I got a nap and you didn't, neener, neener, neener.