"Is It So Wrong If..." Lainie From Lincoln Lends a List.

1. I save the papers I know are going to be the worst for last and have a glass of wine first?

2. I kind of want to be in a flash mob.

3. One of my all-time favorite students is graduating and I feel a little like I'm losing a really good friend.

4. I am going away for a family wedding for 3 days in the middle of finals to a place that has no Internet access and where my phone probably won't work.


5. I so do not want to grade those papers from #1 that I will spend 2 hours surfing random stuff on the web on my university-provided computer just so I don't have to face it.

6. I am making my students calculate their own grades to date. I gave them a formula.

7. If a student gives me home-made food, I usually won't eat it because I don't trust them.

8. I let my 5th grader help grade my projects. (Does it help if it is just basically checking stuff off...)

9. I seriously think about not taking you on as a grad student if you bring your parents with you when you visit campus.

10. I tell my 5th grader that the thing she learned in math this week my college students have trouble with?

Alton from Apollo Beach Sends His Darlings Off With Some Farting Gifts.

Over and Out Suckers!

Well, well, well! Here it is the end of the semester and you, my little darlings have finally figured out that I have an office. And that I am actually in my office during the office hours I put on the syllabus. Yes, I know you never came to them before, but that gave me the opportunity to grade your papers and presentations without having to contaminate my home with your complete lack of grammar, spelling, and logic acumen.

I’m glad, because that allowed me the freedom to do the shit I wanted to do at home. You know, like read Ashcraft and Mumby’s tome on gender, work on manuscripts for submission to QI and Leadership and drink gratuitous amounts of The Glenlivet. For that I will forever be grateful.

Now, however you want my help. You want me to save you from yourselves. It is little late for that ladies and gentlemen. You spent half the semester in a big circle jerk of hilarity. You sat there like frogs on a log. Actually the Budweiser frogs would have contributed more to the class. You didn’t read. You didn’t ask questions. Sucks for you.

No. I have no idea how many absences you have. I tally those up at the very end of the semester. You will find out once I post the attendance participation grade at the end of finals week. You didn’t keep track? Sucks for you.

You didn’t bring notebooks, so you didn’t take notes. And no I won’t post my notes on Blackboard before the final exam. Why? Because you would never be able to understand them. You see, I know my shit and all I bring to class is a rough outline in my own chicken-scratch shorthand. From there I riff on the day’s topic. Having my notes will do you no good, because I don’t actually use notes. Sucks for you.

You want an extension on the final paper. I’m sorry. You have had five weeks to work on this paper. Five!! Now you think you might have to change topics because you ‘can’t find any research’ on the topic you chose. I don’t believe that. I know you surf the web with ease. After all, I saw you playing fucking Farmville during another student’s presentation. Sucks for you.

Maybe you will learn something from this. Maybe you will learn that your education is mostly your responsibility, not mine. Maybe you’ll learn that you can’t put in a piss poor performance like this when you go out there into the work world despite the fact that you never heard the words “You’re a loser Bobby!” ( If not, it sucks for you.

Alton from Apollo Beach

Leslie from Larkspur Offers Some Old School Smack, Some of Which We Don't Even Understand!

Mighty Mary: I'm sorry that you lost two points on the test because you put the wrong answer. Really I am. It just doesn't matter to me that you have the wrong answer written in your notes from my lecture. You took poor notes. Oh, your best friend wrote the same wrong answer in her notes? Well damn, I guess the other 311 students in the room must have misheard me when they wrote down the right answer during my exam review AND been unable to read the giant chart projected on the screen (which has been posted on blackboard since the first day of class). What was that you muttered while walking away? "What's the point of coming to her if she doesn't know what she's talking about?" You're right. Get out of my face.

Stalking Sarah: I'm on to you. It is not a coincidence that no matter where on campus I go you just happen to sit at a table near me. When speaking with friends, I just love that you interrupt every few minutes with the same question. "Is a refrigerator a type of fridge?" No, Sarah a refrigerator and a fridge are the same thing. "Okay, I get it." Four minutes pass. "So a fridge is a type of refrigerator?" No, Sarah. The two words are synonyms. "Okay, okay. I get it." Lather, rinse, repeat. While we're on the subject, I absolutely adore that you have started asking my friends where I am when you see them on campus. That's not creepy at all.

Facebook Franny: Maybe I wasn't clear enough in the blackboard document titled "My Policies" in the folder titled "Things you need to know." I respond to most emails but there are several types of emails to which I will not respond. 1) Do not email me to get the notes from class. First, I don't give a damn why you missed class. Second, my chapter reviews are posted on blackboard. As stated in the aforementioned My Policies document, these chapter reviews are the course notes. 2) Do not email me to ask me when the test or quiz is. This information is stated in class. Not only would you know this if you were in class, but if you ever checked this mystical blackboard you would see that I post this information as soon as it is announced in class. 3) Do not email me to ask me what chapters are on said quizzes or tests. Again, come to fucking class. Again, check the fucking website. When you realize that I haven't responded to one of these emails, the appropriate response is absolutely not to continue emailing me (up to ten times in eight hours on a Sunday) the exact same question. While you're looking at the My Policies document, you might also like to check my facebook friending policy which is very clearly stated. I know that you and Dr. Parties-with-Students are facebook friends and this is your primary means of conversation with him. I don't friend current students. Period. When I haven't responded to your ten emails, you next move should absolutely not be sending me several private facebook messages. And then trying to add me as a friend. Based on the contents of my inbox, I think you've finally figured this out. I'm sure the rest of your classmates really appreciate that you've now switched to the mass email as a solution to your confusion.

"Renaissance" Rita: I'm embarrassed for you. You feel the need to shout loudly in the middle of a 300-person lecture that you "don't get Renaissance." First, the word is resonance. The professor has had to tell you (still in front of 300 people) that he cannot teach to the bottom of the class. I'm sorry that on another day you didn't understand that what the professor meant when he said that because there was less than two minutes left of class he would show the class a new reaction that he would teach for real the next day. I'm sure he's sorry that when you demanded that he "draw the arrows" he had to explain to you that that's what he meant when he said he'd teach the full reaction the next class and that you felt the need to stand up and call him an asshole. I'm sorry that when you asked me whether to withdraw from the course I had the nerve to first ask you your test grades so that I could accurately assess how you were doing in the class. This clearly put you off and informing you that your test average in the fifties meant that you were failing didn't seem to help. Your response of "I don't believe in withdrawing" made a lot of sense, as clearly I'm the one who approached you and told you that you had to withdraw. Oh, wait. That's backwards. More than anything, I'm sorry that I had to call campus security to remove you from class. I really should have more patience. I (and all of your classmates) should have just sat there while you repeatedly shouted "you're lying." It's not like I calmly stated that you had thirty seconds to stop before I asked you to leave. And then calmly stated that you needed to leave. And then calmly stated that if you didn't leave I would call security (at which point you did stop screaming "you're lying" but switched over to "you don't have the right to ask me to leave. Call security. They'll arrest you. My tuition pays your salary). I'm sorry that the police still removed you when you informed them that I was "stupid and didn't have the right to ask [you] to leave." I'm sorry I couldn't spare you the embarrassment of having the entire class hear you shouting at the police in the hallway while I tried to continue teaching. Oh, and I'm sorry that during my more relaxed study groups in the library other students have the nerve to speak. You show up, sit twenty feet away from the rest of the group, and sit down at the table of strangers without so much as an "is this seat taken?" I'm sorry these strangers have the nerve to discuss whatever it is they were doing before you got there, since you feel the need to scold them for speaking because you can't hear me. While we're here, I might as well apologize on the behalf of others. I'm sorry on behalf of your gen ed professor who had you removed by security last semester; his doing that sure did hurt your credibility with campus police when you told them that no one had ever had a problem with you before. I'm sorry on behalf of the classmates who all call you "Renaissance Girl" and have been sending me emails since August asking me if you could be removed from the class; I'm sure that's hurtful.

Dana From Decatur. "I Got 99 Problems, But Your Paper Ain't One."

Hey there, kids! How the hell are ya’ll doing this fabulous final week? Those papers coming along nicely? No? Well whaddya know? It turns out you should actually have been, like, listening all term after all, huh? Maybe you could have, I don’t know, taken some notes, made use of office hours, actually tried on one of the previous papers? Or maybe if you had just made eye contact with me at some point—that would have been a start? I guess all that texty-tweeter-totting didn’t get you as far as you’d hoped when it came to understanding analytical writing. Weird. It is as if you have all of a sudden realized that this paper needs to be over 140 characters, and can’t use ‘u’ or ‘lol’ as part of that count. OMG!! 911!!!

See, the thing is, I feel for ya’ll—I mean, not really, since I can’t seem to master the whole “lack of knowledge + apathy = entitled brat” equation—but anyway, what I’m saying is, I hear you. I hear you—but I’m done. It’s over, bitches. It’s exam week. You’ve been taught, schooled, learned up real good. I’m out. Yeah, I see your emails. They’re really adorable with all the ?????? and !!!!!!!!!!! But you know what? It’s the first time I’ve seen anything resembling concern—scratch that--consciousness from most of you all term. I could respond, but sending “Dear You, You’re fucked” just seems a tad mean at this point.

So, please, act like I’m not here. I don’t want to answer your question about “how do I do that thing that you already explained five times during the semester???” (Answer: you’re a dumbass.) I don’t want to hear about how you “forgot” how to access the research databases, and by the way you think you need to change your topic (oh, that sounds really promising). I just want to sit over here in my silence, sipping on some sangria, waiting for those stellar essays to slide on in, and trying to forget the giant suck-hole that was your slack-jawed class this semester.

And then, come week’s end, it will just be me, the pen, and the page. Ahhh. You know the feeling. It’s like when I handed out evaluations mid-term, and you said “YES!” and lunged for the tiny pencils. And I’m sure it was fun writing “Teacher is a meany-pants” and “Miss Dana ACCPECTS WAY TO MUCH!!!!” all over the forms (way to make your case there, spelling champ!). But I wonder, kids. Did all that bitching make your writing/critical thinking one bit better? Based on the general sense of panic, I’m guessing not. I suppose we shall see. But in the meantime, consider this my outgoing message: “If you’re having paper problems I feel bad for you, son; I got ninety-nine problems but your paper ain’t one. Peace.”