NOW IT'S PRINCIPLE!!!!

I'm a little bit miffed here.

After going to talk to my professor and e-mailing her repeatedly, she finally said she would submit a grade change for me if I "took responsibility" and wrote a letter of explanation. I did so. After continuing to bug her, she finally submitted the grade change, which was finally processed.

She changed my grade from a D+ to a C- (even though she said it would bring my grade to a solid C, not teetering on the edge of D-dom), which I don't really find satisfactory. Nor does it make any sense.

Still the worst grade I've ever received. But I'm not dealing with this lady anymore.

A Blog-Worthy Incident

Thanks to this post by Sam, I was reminded of a blog-worthy event (blog-worthy events feel rarer to me these days):

I was in church about a week ago and a lady's cell phone started ringing during the lesson in Relief Society. Very loudly. As if that didn't draw the attention to her enough, she pulled the cell phone out of her bosom.

She was also wearing platform white sneakers. I'm glad that her cell phone rang so that I could note her awesome shoes.

the art of karma

Maybe not so satisfying when I received a D+ in the class.

Pooh.

Student Ratings

I'm sorry, but it felt so good to write and submit this student rating. Too bad there are a couple of mistakes in it. . . I was feeling harried when I wrote it, I guess. I have really disliked this class this semester:

Ten percent of the grade is based on class attendance, yet the roll was kept on a legal pad and seemed to be passed around inconsistently. She didn't seem to care or notice when people were there, even though the class was small. She definitely had favorite students, and made it clear by the way she responded to student comments in class. She did not use any methods of involving the entire class in discussions, yet based the entire judgment of the student on whether they were vocal in class and whether they said things that she deemed intelligent. When she asked questions, she did not wait for students to answer them, but simply spoon-fed the answer and continued her lecture. There was no measurements for progress: no assignments given, no feedback. The only feedback given was during in-class presentations, when she openly criticized students during their presentations, embarrassing everyone. It would be much more effective if she gave a written response and grade on the presentations, if she provided criteria. There were very limited criteria on the final paper project as well and she did not indicate when feedback would be given even though the grade is basically determined by this paper. She did not give quizzes on assigned readings. Assignments for discussion classes were not graded or turned in. There was no measures in the course to evaluate progress. She was very disorganized and did not seem to care about whether certain students did well or not. The readings that were assigned were extremely outdated and not representative of the available literature in language and gender studies. She openly criticized She is a smart woman, but a poor professor. If she takes more accountability for the class, maybe the students will take more accountability too.

comments = love

Amanda, my name, is of Latin origin and means "fit to be loved, lovable."

I have always been uncomfortable with appellation. Get the hint?

P.S. I understand the pathetic vulnerability of this post.

The idolatry of this nation!

Yesterday I saw a piece of masking tape on the sidewalk on my walk to school.

It said, "IDOLOTRY."

What an indictment.

Love it.

I don't know why I love this. Maybe because it's Russian. Maybe because the caption says "elderly" and some of the people are clearly not that aged. Maybe because there is ice on the river and the people in it are dressed in bikinis, (beanies,) and speedos. Maybe because they don't have the best bodies. Maybe there are many reasons.

spring?

It seems some people are confused about the weather. There are some on campus dressed like it is winter. Are they right? No one knows . . . maybe this spring-like oasis is only a mirage.

elevator

Riding in elevators is like riding in buses. Strange things happen. People seem to suddenly feel comfortable talking to strangers. It's like the laws of social interaction are momentarily suspended in public transportation settings (elevator = public transportation).

The last two times I've had food on the elevator (today, I munched on sunflower kernels; the other time, an apple), some other elevator passenger has commented. Which makes me wonder: is there something wrong with elevator-eating? Maybe this is an example of how, for me, laws of social interaction are perpetually suspended.

Today, it was a professor, I assume, who commented. He asked, "Eating lunch?" And I said, "I know. I'm poor. I can only afford to pay sixty cents for a meal."

He replied sympathetically. "You poor thing."

"No, not really." (As in, it's not really my lunch.) "But I'm just eating this to get by until my next meal . . . I don't know where it's coming from . . ."

"That's why you're so skinny," he says. "I should start doing that." Yes. Everybody should start being poor. And then we'd all be rich. (I've solved the economic crisis!)

I'm becoming a thief.

Even though my condition is not Aladdin-adventure worthy, I wish I had a monkey-friend to help me get food. I am hungry and starving too.

So in the attempt to tide me over until my next meal (who knows where it will come from), I bought some Easy Mac from the vending machine for one dollar. One dollar. Normally, I would be morally against such measures (who knows where that stuff comes from . . . ), but my starvation was in a desperate state. I had only eaten a granola bar more than six hours prior. Upon microwaving it, I began to consider where I might obtain a utensil. I felt that I didn't have much time, therefore I didn't want to walk across campus to the Wilkinson Center to obtain a fork from the Twilight Zone or the Cougar Eat. I meandered into the FLAC (Foreign Language Activity Center) in order to ask the secretary there for pity. (See the state of desperation I'm reduced to?) There was no secretary at the desk, so then I returned to the vending machine area, retrieved my Easy Mac from the microwave (somehow pasta that cooks in three minutes seems highly suspicious to me), and went to the fourth floor.

I went to the work room of the English Composition Office. Really, it's an area that employees only should frequent, but since I'm a former employee, why not? In the drawer labeled (I think I may have even labeled this drawer) "knives and utensils," there were no plastics to be found. I therefore spirited away with a metal spoon. (Not the utensil of choice, but beggars can't be choosers.)

Then I went to a different floor, ate the Easy Mac, washed the spoon in the bathroom with hand soap and hand sanitizer, and replaced it in the drawer. Meanwhile, the unknown secretary didn't notice a thing.

I'm not sure how I feel about all of this. I'm not sure which part of it makes me uncomfortable: is it washing dishes in a bathroom (although, I think, probably sanitary)? Is it the fact that I ate Easy Mac with a spoon? Is it the fact that the ingredients include many things unidentifiable to me? Is it the unappetizing quality of the meal? Is it the fact that I am now wasting much more time blog-confessing rather than doing the thing that I originally felt time-pressed to do? Or perhaps, is it the moral deprivation of my thievery?

There are so many things wrong with this picture.