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I got ‘em.
I got ‘em bad.
If you don’t hear from me for a while, look for me down at the crossroads … I’ll be the one making a deal with the devil.
My humble little blog has been getting a fair amount of traffic lately by people who are directed towards my anti-cosmetics rant after employing search terms like “cosmetic testing: the against argument” and “people against cosmetics” (just two recent examples). I wrote the anti-cosmetics post because it’s an issue I’ve been thinking about recently and I wanted a venue in which to develop and express my opinions. I didn’t think of it as categorically different than any of my other blog posts, but now I wonder if I didn’t produce an infinitely plagiarize-able piece of writing.
Could it be that freshman English students across the country who have been assigned one of those standard PRO/CON controversial social issue paper on, say, animal testing or cosmetics, are turning to my blog as an ideal source for “borrowing” from?
I know that my own students, who are plagiarizers of the first degree, will steal language from any source on the web, from published academic books and articles to “buy your own paper” sites to some random dude’s homepage. So, personal opinion blog posts are fair game — more fodder for the “I don’t have to think if I can find it on the web” generation.
Having spent many hours of my life googling my students’ papers over the past few years, I’ve often stumbled across web pages put up by other academics, clearly for the use and benefit of their own students, but employed for nefarious ends by my own. I’ve wondered whether these academics are aware of how their websites are being used and even considered contacting them to let them know.
Here’s a mock email I might send:
—
Dear XXX,
Recently I discovered that one of my students had plagiarized from your website on [major author / text / historical period]. My student copied [a great deal / a small amount / the entirety] of the information provided on your site. It appears that you created the website for the use of your own students, perhaps to share your notes, to provide helpful contextual information, to direct their reading or research, or even to summarize the insights they developed during class discussion. These are all laudable pedagogical uses of the web. However, your site is now being misused by my students and, while the responsibility clearly rests upon my students to comply with academic standards and upon me to teach them how to locate and cite appropriate sources, it might also be worthwhile for you to either take down the site, if it is no longer in use, or, at the very least, remove it from internet indexes so it cannot be found by students like mine who simply google [major author / text / historical period] and easily find your site.
Sincerely, The Bittersweet Girl
—
What do you think? Too hostile? The hostility is generated by my cheatin’ students but eventually it tends to spill over onto anyone associated with their plagiarism, even the unknowing, innocent source.
But, come on, all those website academics put up a few years ago when the web seem so new and fresh, and then walked away and forgot about … leaving them as fair game for cheaters … it does piss me off. We don’t need to make it any easier for them.
Which leads me back to my blog post on cosmetics. I like that post. I spent a lot of time on it. It reflects my thinking process, the slow crystallization of my opinions. But, I’m very tempted to “poof” it, in the fear that there is some professor out there who’s unknowingly grading my blog.
Damn lazy students. As if the world isn’t going to hell already.
Time again for my bi-annual Personal Appearance Crisis.
Ten months out of the year I couldn’t care less about how I look. I’m a pretty poor dresser, always choosing convenience and comfort over fashion. I’m a few wee pounds overweight. I’m going very slowly grey but I can’t be bothered to do more to my hair than wash it, squish a little gel into it, and let it dry. I’ve pretty much stopped wearing cosmetics because, as I’ve said before, they’re evil. Yes, I think it is fair to say that I look terrible but most of the time I just don’t notice.
To borrow this catchy phrase from Clio Bluestocking, I am an “aging nerd girl.” Say it proud, sister.
However, twice a year I take a closer look at myself and feel an urgent need to spiff up. Because I’ve been a student or teacher for basically my whole life, those two times of the year coincide with the start of the Fall semester and the start of the Winter semester.** I have a whole “back to school” anxiety that strikes me as I think about going into new classrooms with new students, into new meetings with new administrators, etc. I am suddenly thrown out of my usual appearance complacence into a desperate desire to be fashionable and look stunning.
(The fact that I know that this P.A.C. will pass as quickly as it comes, because once classes start I will be too harried and exhausted to even think about something as trivial as clothes, doesn’t serve as a comfort … so bear with me.)
The immediate cause for this year’s P.A.C. are my new glasses. Despite what I’ve just said about my fashion complacence, I actually do take buying new glasses seriously. After all, I’ll wear them all day long. On. My. Face. So, I do try to pick glasses that are flattering and fashionable.
Last week, I bought new glasses and spent about 24 hours walking around feeling really pretty. But ever since then I’ve been looking at myself in the mirror and saying: Oh shit. What was I thinking? I’m afraid they’re TOO stylish, too much, an overload of personality on my rather unprepossessing face. What do you do when your glasses are too cool for you?
Basically, I’ve been feeling like I need to upgrade EVERYTHING in order to get away with these glasses: new wardrobe, new body, new attitude. A whole new me.
Either that or take them back to the store.
A bad sign: Today I had lunch with a long-time friend and she didn’t say anything about my new glasses. I think we all know what that means. Sigh.
Once upon a time I worked harder on my personal appearance but a couple of things have happened in the intervening years: I’m getting older and, kids, it just starts to seem really silly after a certain point. Also, I’ve become more committed to an environmental and anti-consumerist lifestyle — which makes it very hard to justify things like 300 pairs of shoes or lots of cool eyeshadow. And, the more I learn about and embrace yogic philosophies, the more I believe that this body is merely temporary — the soul is eternal — so who’s gonna get worked up over something as fleeting as how this body looks today?
Even so, I been studying my face in the mirror, fluffing my hair into new (and, frankly, terrifying) shapes, pawing through the clothes in my closet, and generally feeling that I need to devote a lot of time and money to my appearence.
Don’t worry. It won’t last. But, stay tuned for January!
** Sometimes I have a mini-P.A.C., brought about by a conference that suddenly reminds me that people in the audience will be looking at me. I usually forget that this is the case with my students.
The Bitternsweet Blog got some love over at Squadratomagico. I’m blushing. (I know I’m supposed to, like, nominate some other blogs but seriously I think they’ve all been nominated several times over already.)
***
I have finally taken the time to update my blogroll. I have reluctantly retired some blogs that have gone (hopefully temporarily) dormant: alas, Cheeky Prof and Notes of a Neophyte, I miss you both.
I’ve also decided to omit bloggers that have annoying rules limiting who can post comments on their sites. Note to Blogger bloggers … not everyone has or wants to have a Google account just so they can leave you comments. UPDATE: Okay, I’m kinda slow. It took me a while to catch on to that whole “Open ID” gismo. So, I take back all the curses I’ve been throwing at Blogger. And, I’m reinstating a couple of folks to the ol’ blogroll.
But, I’ve happily added a few new faces that I’ve been reading recently and enjoying immensely, like Maude, PhD featuring the newly minted Dr. Maude, Scattered and Random and Academic Cog. UPDATED: Also, Disenchanted Youth and Clio Bluestocking Tales. More fabulous blogging than I can keep up with!
It’s curious to note that, at this point, the only male blogger I read regularly is Chutry and he’s also one of the few I read who’s not pseudonymous. What’s up with that?
**
With some trepidation, I am putting up an email address. I never posted one because, frankly, I knew I’d never check yet another email. But, as I get a bit deeper into this curious blogging culture, I realize that there are actually folks out there I’d LOVE to get email from. (Just not you, Mr. I Can Make Your Penis Bigger In Ten Easy Payments.)
I returned from Professor Summer Camp (about which I plan to blog more) to discover that my little ‘ol blog was listed as one of the “Top 100 Liberal Arts Professor Blogs” by Online University Reviews (whoever they are) and also linked by Inside Higher Ed (which is a far more meaningful acknowledgement).
I was tickled to see that Online University Reviews characterized me as follows: “‘Bittersweet Girl’ hopes to find both the bitter and the sweet in life.” Gee, how adorable I sound. And I here I was going for edgy, angry, and disillusioned.
Still, nice to have all you new visitors. I seriously doubt I can live up to your expectations.
Yesterday, as I was driving by a park near my house, a little dog ran out in front of my car. I slammed on the breaks and, yes, even honked at the dog; then I took a closer look and realized that it was a puppy and an emaciated, terrified, lost one at that. There was no one anywhere to be seen — clearly an abandoned dog.
I got out of my car and tried approaching her. She was tame enough that she didn’t run away, just stood there watching me — but not tame enough to let me get close. I have water and a bowl in my car for my own dog, so I poured some from her but, although she still didn’t run away, she wouldn’t drink. Eventually, I had to just drive away.
Last night, Golden Boy and I went back to the park to look for the puppy and she was still there, running around the parking lot, very conspicuously in need of help. She’s about four months old, some kind of shepherd mix with big floppy ears and beautiful markings on her face and chest. She had a collar on but no tags and her ribs were distinctly visible.
It was just getting dark and GB and I put out some food for her, trying to coax her to eat from our hands (which she did a couple of times with GB). She ate ravenously — not even bothering to chew, just inhaling the food — but still wouldn’t let us touch her.
Then, two women showed up with more dog food. Turns out that they are not even from our neighborhood — they had been house hunting and saw the puppy earlier in the day and, like us, came back to see if they could feed her. So, the four of us started chatting about dogs and houses. We were sitting on the concrete in the parking lot, in the dark, talking and because we were all being still and calm, the puppy kept coming closer and closer to us — circling, smelling, investigating. But, each time any of us tried to reach out and touch her, she skittered away in fear.
We had pretty much agreed that we weren’t going to be able to rescue her last night, that GB and I would come back in the morning with more food and continue to try to get her accustomed to us. But, we were all sad about the prospect of leaving her out there, all by herself — her sad little face would haunt us all night long.
Then, someone walked by with a dog on a leash that growled and lunged at the puppy and she came very close to me, clearly looking for protection. Because she was distracted by the other dog, I was able to reach over and very quickly slip my fingers underneath her collar. She jumped in fear a couple of times but did not freak out like I thought she might. One of the women who was right next to me, just picked her up in her arms and the puppy didn’t even squirm. She just sat there like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Well, as you can imagine, we were all overjoyed. After some discussion, we agreed that the puppy would go home with the two lovely women who have several dogs, a fenced backyard, and lots of animal rescue contacts. I was sad that we didn’t get to bring the puppy home with us, foiling my attempt to win GB over to the idea of another dog. (We both know that if we ever bring another dog home, it’s going to become a two dog house — an idea I love but he does not.)
So, not only did we save the life of a sweet little puppy but we may have met our new best neighbors. A pretty good night.
As for the people who starved this puppy, put a collar around her neck and then never bothered to see whether it was getting too tight as she got bigger (it was very tight), and then abandoned her at a park, presuming that some good samaritans would come along and rescue her … Well, you were right about that last bit but you should still suffer some serious karmic payback for your actions.
Tis the season for blog reflections, it would seem. From Hilaire to Dr. Crazy to New Kid, everyone’s meditating on the nature of blogging.
Jumping on the bandwagon, I’ve been thinking about the anonymity question. This is an issue that has been addressed extensively in the ol’ blogosphere — and I doubt I have any particularly new insights to add to what has already been said … but here goes:
To me, being anonymous is central to my blogging. I break out in a cold sweat at even the possibility of being “outed” by readers who recognize me. Actually, one of my biggest fears is that somehow some of my graduate students will find this blog, figure out that I’m the author, pass the URL around to all the other grad students, and they will sit around reading my meandering posts, and laughing unkindly. How’s that for a nightmare scenario?
But, even though I want to remain anonymous, I’ve also discovered that trying too hard to be anonymous means not actually saying anything about myself. The blogs that I read most often and enjoy the most are the ones in which the authors share some part of their lives. I don’t have the illusion that what I’m reading is the whole picture or even the “true” picture of the blogger’s life — but I have a sense of connection to them. I’ve been making more of an effort to blog more about myself, including what Golden Boy disdainfully describes as “ham sandwich posts” — those posts that describe the absolute triviality of the day, such as what you had for lunch. In doing so, however, I have had the sense that I am treading closer to the edge of anonymity — making the possibility for discovery/revelation more likely.
My most recent post, on the wondrous front steps I helped to build, comes terribly close to self-revelation because basically anyone who comes over to my house will recognize those steps. (They are pretty amazing, aren’t they? Momentary pause to enjoy the fruits of my labor.) Ironically, I am having a couple of colleagues over for dinner this weekend. I don’t have any reason to think they are blog readers or, even more improbably, readers of THIS blog — but I suppose it’s a possibility and, if they have a look of recognition on their faces as they come up the steps, I’ll have to rethink this blog permanently.
Yesterday, I read this quote from the nineteenth-century poet Lucy Larcom: “I could never understand a girl feeling any pleasure in placing herself ‘before the public.’ The privilege of seclusion must be the last one a woman can willingly sacrifice” (from her memoir, A New England Girlhood, 1889).
Larcom is endorsing an old-fashioned sense of feminine deportment, in which women are properly ensconced in the private sphere — but doing so rather ironically, by stating it in her published memoir. I see a truth in her statement: that privacy or, as I’m extrapolating it here, anonymity is a “privilege” that grants the power of self-definition. While privacy has, historically, been a characteristic imposed on women as they were relegated to the domestic and excluded from the public, nevertheless, some were able to locate the seeds of empowerment within the bounded space of the private. It seems to me that anonymous blogging treads a similar terrain — making it possible to play around with identity and voice precisely by adopting the mantle of privacy.
Or, as Dr. Curmugeon so succinctly put its, “I’m anonymous for a reason, sucka.”
It may only appear that this post got misplaced from one of those home-improvement blogs. That’s right, kids, the Bittersweet Girl did home improvements! I spent the weekend drenched in sweat, covered in dirt and sawdust, bruises and mosquito bites … but, boy, do I have something to show for it.
Some background: The front steps of my house were built out of railroad ties — which must have seemed like a good idea at some point in the distant past. But, over time, the steps had begun to rot and collapse. Not to mention, they were narrow, uneven, slippery when wet, and the handrail was broken. In other words, they were incredibly dangerous. Both myself and my partner, The Golden Boy, had fallen down the steps several times, with injuries to prove it. We always had to warn guests to be extremely careful as they entered and left our house — not the best impression to make.
Really, these were our stairs
Clearly, we needed new front steps but, as you homeowners know, something as simple as new steps is bound to be extremely costly and, frankly, we had too many other — more urgent — house expenses to worry about.
Enter my father, handy-man/carpenter/jack of all trades. My dad can fix or build just about anything and he volunteered to rebuild our steps for us. Even though he’s not as young as he once was, my dad has an incredible, truly awe-inspiring stamina and just cannot stop himself from taking on another project. He’s one of a particular generation of men who have a great deal of practical fix-it knowledge, who tinkered with cars and gadgets as kids, who put all their knowledge to work on their own homes, and cannot imagine hiring someone else to do what they could do themselves. (Jo(e)’s dad sounds like a similar type.)
Neither Golden Boy nor myself are skilled in the house-repair arena but we were as helpful as we could be, which generally consisted of standing around and watching my dad do all of the work. Actually, we did our fair share because there was a lot of “unskilled” labor involved: deconstructing the old stairs, drilling, holding things, handing things to my dad, bringing him glasses of cold water.
Stairs, deconstructed.
Did I mention it was hot? It was so incredibly hot.
One of my friends quipped that we had found an unusual way of celebrating Father’s Day, by making my dad do manual labor in the sweltering summer sun. In a way, though, it was a wonderful father/daughter experience — we spent three days together, working closely, laughing at each others’ mistakes, encouraging each other … and we never lost our tempers. Golden Boy did some cursing at a tricky screwdriver, but otherwise it was a harmonious if exhausting time.
And, look at the result. Can you believe I helped to build these stairs?
The (Almost) Finished Project. Please note the stone wall in the background, built entirely by GB and myself.
Golden Boy and I keep looking outside the window to see if the stairs are still there, like they might magically walk away — probably to another, nicer house where they would be more at home. But, no, they’re settling into their new role as the critical link between us and the outside world.
When this whole primary thing started, seems like ages ago, I was pretty detached. I felt like I could be happy with Clinton, Obama, even Edwards — anyone who would bring a modicum of intelligence and ethics to the presidency, in contrast to the utter imbecility of Mr. Bush. Plus, I live in a late-voting state so I really didn’t think I’d have any role in the primary process … I figured my choice would be made for me and I’d just support whichever Democratic candidate was put forward.
Well, we all know how that worked out. Suddenly, my little primary vote mattered a lot and I had to make a choice between Clinton and Obama. At that point, I still felt that I could go either way — that they both had so many positive things to offer. It’s true that I was leaning marginally towards Clinton because she’s a chick and, as the t-shirt says, “Chicks Rule!” But, I was pretty divided. I participated in many conversations with family and friends going back and forth between them.
Fast forward to last night. At this point, not only am I an Obama supporter, I cannot even imagine voting for Clinton. Her choices, actions, and words over the past few months have driven me from lukewarm acceptance to unbridled disdain. Seriously, if she had been elected the DNC candidate, I would have given Nader a closer look. She has alienated and offended me by her slimy politics, her stigmatizing of Obama, her patently false characterization of herself (representing the working class? WTF?), her use of inflammatory rhetoric and images, and her terrifying fervor. I think she is despicable.
I am overjoyed that the DNC finally got its shit together and nominated Obama last night. He’s an amazingly insightful, gracious, ethical, and inspiring person. If anything, the misdeeds of the Clinton camp have highlighted his positive qualities. Take their two speeches last night: Clinton: “ME ME ME! You will answer to me!” Obama: “You, America, have made this happen.”
As for this so-called “Dream Ticket” — “Nightmare Ticket” is more appropriate — it makes me queasy. I am afraid that Clinton will become the next Chaney — that despite all her rhetoric about the evils of the Bush White House, she will have learned one lesson from it and that is that the VP can exercise incredible, corrupting power. I really, really, really don’t want her on the ticket. I want to vote for Obama — but having to put my check mark next to Obama/Clinton … gulp.
So, my optimism about the country’s future is dimmed a bit today as I wait to see whether Clinton succeeds in strong-arming her way onto the ticket.
Please … I beg of you … do not let this moment of power, this fleeting experience of being the arbiters of history, all the promises, bribes, and back room deals, the notoriety and reporters hounding your steps … do not let these things distract you from your appointed job: enforce the rules. Not: rewrite the rules. Not: adjust the rules ever so slightly. Not: suspend the rules just this once due to unique and unforeseen circumstances. Try to maintain your grip on reality — remember you will be going home on Monday to your ordinary and unremarkable lives — and act with some degree of responsibility.
And, to all those undeclared super-delegates: If I had a supersonic airplane, I would fly to each of your houses and give you a solid kick in the ass, you over-inflated, power-hungry, and selfish squibs! Declare already!
