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At the end of every semester, my architecture students are asked to fill out an evaluation to rate the content of the course and my performance as professor. And, every semester I'm amazed by some of the comments that I receive (all anonymous, of course).
After a week of procrastination, I finally braved the waters and read my most recent evaluations for the Fall 2007 semester. Surprisingly, out of 115 students, about 90% gave me the highest rating for performance and class content. Of the 10% who thought I sucked -- at least no one referred to me as the Daughter of Satan this year -- I'd like to share with my friends and fellow educators some of the gems passed on by my little darlings.
Several of those who thought I wasn't much better than pond scum complained that I made them photocopy their reading material, and that an hour of copying each week was way too much to ask of any one. Now, why it took these obviously brilliant students an hour to copy 20 pages from one book is beyond me, but I probably should be more sympathetic to those with serious copying disabilities.
One of my favorite comments, which came from a graduate student, is that to improve the course I should cut down on the amount of writing. Well, let's see, maybe I should eliminate the 1-page writing assignment about their personal residence. Or, better yet, not have them take an exam, because that entails the use of a writing instrument. Even better, why don't I just tell the students not to bother bringing paper and pen to class, since writing is such a useless endeavor these days.
Runner up for Most Favored Comment status goes to the anonymous student who wrote that they loved the course (one of my top raters), loved the handouts I provided, and that they loved me as a professor (are you feeling the love?). Their only comment on how to improve the course? Give students my lecture notes so they don't have to bother taking their own. This would be a superb idea (insert sarcasm) if I actually used notes! I have worked very hand and pride myself on the fact that I don't use notes. I walk into a classroom with only the handouts for the students (except lecture notes), and the knowledge in my brain. It has taken me a long time to get to this point, but I find that students respect teachers more if they believe we truly do know everything. Regardless of the lack of notes, my gut response to this comment is, OMG! TAKE YOUR OWN DAMN NOTES!!!!!
At last, the comment voted Most Ludicrous Comment Ever goes to the brainiac who wrote that they wished I talked less about the history of architecture. Ummm, I'm sorry, I could have sworn this was a course on the History of Architecture. I'm fairly positive that my contract with the school states that I'm to teach the History of Architecture. I'm also pretty certain that the course title on the top of my syllabus reads, "History of Architecture." However, I could be mistaken. Maybe my discussing the History of Architecture is confusing for some and I should, instead, just show slides of buildings and the entire class can oooh and aaah over the pretty pictures. Seriously, what was I thinking discussing the history of architecture in a History of Architecture course. Just goes to show you that even teachers make mistakes.
I must say that I generally get a good laugh from reading my evaluations (the Daughter of Satan comment really is my all time favorite), but my head and heart aches when I think that these students will become the future leaders of our society. Can anyone say, "George W."? Judging how he's run this country, he probably would have asked me for my notes.
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I began my college career in 1988, at the ripe young age of.... I had been working in the title insurance business for several years, and I decided that I wanted to go to law school so that I could practice what I preached. At first I took only 2 or 3 courses at the local community college, because I was still working a full-time job as supervisor of my department (usually 60-75 hours/week). In my second year as a part-time student, I discovered that I could take courses in what I truly loved -- ancient Greek history and mythology. So, I switched from a political science major (with hopes of law school) to a classical studies major (with hopes of digging up some ancient ruin in Greece).
After four long and arduous years at community college, I transferred to George Mason University (GMU) to finish my BA in Classical Studies. Once I arrived at GMU, I met soon-to-be life-long friends and mentors. My experience at GMU was wonderful, and I don't regret a single thing that happened as a result of my time there. Because of the contacts I made at GMU, I was lucky to be accepted as an excavator at the American School of Classical Studies in Athens, Greece, where I dug for two seasons. While at GMU, I also found that I had a love for art history and, in typical over-achiever fashion, I decided to get two BA degrees simultaneously, one in Classical Studies and the other in Art History, with a minor in Mediterranean Archaeology. I continued to work while attending school, though I cut my hours to 40-45, and I pushed myself to the threshold in order to graduate with highest honors in both degree programs.
Having said this, my tenure at GMU was not all a bed of roses. My primary degree program (Classical Studies) was eliminated at the beginning of my senior year (I'm the last person to graduate with that degree). I sacrificed my marriage in order to pursue my educational dreams, and went from a comfortable middle-class living as owner of a two-level loft, to counting pennies and eating mac-n-cheese for breakfast, lunch, and dinner in a roach infested dump. It was hard work, but it paid off more than tenfold.
In 1999 I was accepted to three well-known universities where I could pursue a graduate degree in ancient art history. School #1 offered to pay for everything -- master's and Ph.D. coursework, dissertation stipend, and an extra stipend for living expenses. I would not have to work. This school, however, was my last choice. School #2 offered to pay for my coursework only, and had no teaching opportunities in the near future, but is a well-respected school in my field. School #3 offered me nothing up front, but I was led to believe that I would receive funding for my coursework once I arrived. However, the city in which this school is located would provide me a bevy of teaching opportunities, which was very important to me at the time. Monty, I'll take Door #3.
I have not regretted my decision, though my time at School #3 has not been easy. Firstly, I did not receive promised funding when I arrived. But, in my usual manner, I protested and camped out at the necessary offices (telling anyone who would listen that I gave up a free ride for them) until I eventually received money to pay for my courses. Secondly, my main advisor, whom I had hoped to work with on my dissertation, did not receive tenure and was forced to leave at the end of my master's. Thirdly, the advisor with whom I was placed tried to have me thrown out of school because he didn't like the way I graded his students' exams (they were atrocious!!). Through all of this, I maintained a high level of professionalism and continued to do relatively well in my courses.
Then a bright light of hope arrived after three years without a "real" advisor. A new person with whom I could work, and who would be a wonderful mentor for me. We hit it off immediately. She helped me with my Ph.D. oral exam (which I passed with flying colors), and inspired me to work harder and faster on my dissertation. The past three years have been wonderful and extremely productive. Until December 12, 2007.
After having turned in an outline of my dissertation proposal in May, a complete draft totaling 51 pages in September (for which I received comments), and a significantly revised draft in November (which I thought would be the last before handing in my final proposal), I was informed on December 12, 2007 that I should leave School #3. To say that I was dumb struck is putting it mildly. As a female student, my goal is never to cry in front of my professors. And in this moment, when crying would have been acceptable on all fronts, I remained professional and calm. However, when I left my advisor's office, the flood gates opened and the tears poured forth. I was so upset that it took me some time to compose myself enough so that I could make it home, which upon arrival I drank an entire bottle of wine. Nothing like drowning your sorrows with a fine Pinot Grigio!
Of course the first thought that runs through my mind is "what did I do wrong?. I'm an A-student. I was glorious during my orals exam. I was the president of our dept's graduate art history association for 3 years. Why on earth would they ask me to leave?!" After a few days of recovery, I did the next best thing -- I got pissed. No fucking way am I leaving after spending 8 1/2 years of my life striving to achieve the one goal I've actually set for myself. The only problem is that I had very few options, because December 12 was the last day of the semester and most of the faculty heads had already left for the winter break. The director of our graduate program, however, was still in town, so I contacted him to discuss the situation. After a productive and enlightening meeting, he told me to forget about this crap, enjoy my holidays, and start the new semester refreshed and ready to hunt bear. Good advice.
So, 2007 didn't end well, but I had a wonderful holiday with my family. And, while I have no idea what's going to happen to my academic career in 2008, the new year started in Chicago at the annual AIA conference (Archaeology Institute of America), where I heard fascinating speakers, hung out with old friends I hadn't seen in over a year if not longer, and ate amazing food (thanks again Sandy!!). I am not the kind of person to give up because of something negative. Like my father, I always try to see the positive in everything, though I admit that some days I have to use a microscope! I can't believe that I've come this far, only to be pushed down and have my dreams ripped from me.
I will prevail and I will succeed. This is just one more bump in the road (will someone PLEASE repave the fucking road?!!!), which will make the end result that much sweeter.
Happy New Year to everyone! I love and miss you all!
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Has anyone read Stephen King's "The Langoliers," or possibly managed to make it through the 2-part miniseries? It's the one where almost everyone disappears from a coast-coast flight in mid-air. In case you missed the movie, or haven't bothered to read all 1000 of Stephen King's stories, let me enlighten you by recapping a recent event that happened to me.
I am currently on vacation in VA. Tomorrow morning my family and I are making the 4-5 hour trek to Smith Mountian Lake. I've been looking forward to this trip for weeks. It's been a rather stressful summer for various reasons, and I haven't had a relaxing break in a year. To make sure that I would be at my sister's in plenty of time for the drive, I decided to fly in yesterday afternoon. I live in Boston. I needed to fly into Washington National (I absolutely refuse to call it Reagan National!!). The flying time is about one hour. The flight is non-stop. I packed EVERYTHING in my suitcase and checked the bag.
Somewhere over the eastern seaboard, the luggage for the entire plane disappeared. When we landed in D.C., and went to carousel 12 to pick up our luggage, the baggage claim attendants told us that our bags had already been unloaded from the plane, placed on the conveyor belt, and, because it took all of us so long to reach the carousel once we disembarked (10 whole minutes), our bags had already been placed in baggage claim.
We're all dumbfounded by this bit of news, since we were standing in baggage claim and there wasn't a single bag to be found. According to the airline (who shall remain nameless, though I really don't know why I'm being this nice), the luggage was placed on our plane in Boston. Further investigation, however, revealed that there was no luggage on the plane when we landed one hour later. Truly a case for Moulder and Scully!
For over 24 hours, said anonymous airline kept telling me that my bag was on its way. "From where," I asked, "the Bermuda Triangle?" Really. Bermuda was a possibility. Turns out that the cart with the flight's luggage was dropped off between our plane and the one next to it, which was bound for Bermuda. All responsible parties (I use the phrase lightly) truly believed that someone (passing stranger? airport luggage fairy?) had unloaded the cart before the flight took off, placing the luggage on the correct plane. Apparently, this wasn't the case. As both flights took off, the cart still loaded with luggage sat on the tarmac.
Now, you'd think that this would be an easy, no-brainer problem to fix. "Oops, we forgot to load the plane. Let's put the luggage on the next flight out." Nope, apparently this solution was too complex for the powers that be. Better solution? "Let's lose the luggage for every flight leaving Boston and going to National, just to see what kind of chaos we can cause." I don't know why I didn't see the logic in this solution, when I was screaming at no-name, and in some cases no-brain, baggage reps.
After 36 hours of frustration, and driving my sister nuts with my constant whining, I returned to National to yell at someone in person. We all know how well that works! However, I didn't get the chance to make a scene and have TSA personnel lock me up, because I was too busy tripping over the 300 suitcases that just showed up out of nowhere. And, lo and behold, one of the lost and found souls was mine.
I was so happy to see my belongings that I cried tears of joy and wanted to hug the people responsible for my misery. Now I'm off to the mountains, for what should be a peaceful and relaxing week on the lake. Mmmm.....
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Every year for the last 14 years, I've thrown my own birthday celebration. Surprise parties don't really thrill me, and I'm not big into receiving gifts. All I really want for my birthday is to celebrate life with my good friends (and family, if they're around).
Most years, I throw a bash at my house, but this year I decided to keep it low key. Me and just a few friends went dancing at one of the local gay clubs (the only kind of club I'll go to!). The music was great, and the eye candy was spectacular! Although a little drama did breakout (all parties forgiven), I had a fantastic time bumpin' and grindin' with totally hot guys!
The next day I was treated to a nice, long facial and lunch with the girls (thanks A & A!). Good thing I was horizontal for most of the day, because every muscle from my fingers to my toes ached horribly. I refuse to chalk it up to age, but rather to a complete lack of exercise this past year. I swear to be in better condition for next year!
I am giving myself a birthday gift--I'm finally finishing my dissertation proposal (yay!!!). Hopefully, my advisors won't rip it to shreds! :0
(P.S. I also restocked my toy supply. Oh baby!)
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So, I'm not even home for 2 weeks after the Greece trip, and I'm robbed! WTF!
I'm safer walking the streets of Athens at 3:00 a.m., with its population of 6 million people, than I am sitting in my favorite coffee house in downtown Boston in the early evening. The kicker is... said robbery happened right under my feet--literally. How friggin embarrassing! Some homeless guy sat behind me and started kicking my chair, or so I thought. Turns out he was reaching for my purse, which was on the floor by my feet, with his foot. He stole my wallet, but left the relatively new iPod with headphones and all.
It gets better. I discover the theft fairly quickly after the crook leaves. I'm on my cell phone with the bank to block the debit/check card, and the agent informs that the guy is using my card as we speak -- 2 blocks down the street!! The manager of the reputable coffee establishment refuses to call the cops, but she graciously hands me the company phone so I can call them myself. Now I've got the bank agent on one ear, and the police on the other. I give a description of the guy and tell the cops exactly where he is, because he's still using my freakin card! In the amount of time it took the cops to respond, I could have run down the street, apprehended the thief, and returned for a free refill before heading home. All in all, he got away with almost $500, but most of it I'll get back when the claims go through.
The guy also got every piece of photo ID I have, except for my passport, which I keep at home. A friend who lives near the scene of the crime paid for a taxi to her place, and gave me some cash until I could get to the bank the next day. I don't necessarily feel violated as much as I do angry. It's going to be a pain in the ass replacing all of my various school IDs. He also has my SS card, which means I'll have to keep a very close watch for identity theft. Like I said, pain in the butt!!
Even more annoying than the theft (which happened Thursday evening) is that for the past few days my chi (or karma, or whatever) has been off balance. I almost broke the same ankle twice the day after the robbery, and everything I touch I drop. I've never thought of Friday the 13th as a bad day, but obviously I need to watch out for Thursday the 12th!!!
I think I need to lay low for awhile, until all is the way it should be once again.
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The trip was a blast, though the jet lag is killing me! M and I had a great time hanging with the locals. We found this amazing watering hole called Brettos where we spent almost every night drinking the best cosmopolitans on the planet (thank you Tarek!), and schmoozing with a bevy of international hotties.
Although we didn't make it to an island, we did go to Delphi for a day, where I consulted the ancient oracle about when the hell I'm finishing school. Unfortunately, no crazy screeching chick was around to answer my query, so I'm thinking not in this lifetime. At a nearby Roman gymnasium, M did her best impersonations of various sport trophies. She just had a frappe (loaded with extra caffeine and lots of sugar!), and needed to work off some of that chemically-induced energy.
When not drinking until the wee hours or carousing with hunky Greeks, I spent too many hours to mention trying to read books in French (fairly good), German (see earlier posting about William Faulkner), and Greek (pretty much suck). While my research trip cannot be qualified as a total success, I returned home with lots of new ideas--most of which entail me changing my dissertation topic. However, all is not lost. If I'm actually able to pull off this dissertation thing, I'll be the toast of the academic world--at least the part that gives a shit about Early Christian ruins (I met 5 of them at the school in Athens).
I'm already planning my next trip for Summer 2008. This time Gabriel will have to don her best airplane attire as she's coming with me. Can't wait to see how she reacts to the heat, the wind, the wild packs of dogs and cats, and, most importantly, the gigantic cockroaches (though I didn't see any this trip).
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That's right folks, the time has come for another adventure in Greece, by way of a 3-day sojourn in Gloucester, England. However, I'll only be gone for 4 1/2 weeks this time. But, I won't be alone! My friend M will be joining me for a week. While I'm researching in the lovely Blegen library, M will be exploring the nooks and crannies of Athens, eating lots of baklava, and cozying up to hunky Greek men.
But it won't be all work and no play for me. I plan on hitting my fav Athens hot spots in the evenings and drinking in as much of the local culture as possible (when not slaving away in the musty stacks of the library). We may even do a little island hopping, if time permits.
In preparation for my trip, I've been working frantically on the dissertation (yeah!) and have even begun Part Two (chapters 5-7) of my story "In Through the Out Door" (big yeah!!). Part One is ready for posting, if I can only figure out how to do LJ cuts.
I'll have email access in Athens, and will post regularly so everyone can feel as if they're there with me -- if only in a virtual sense.
Have a great March (thank G spring is coming!). Hopefully, I'll bring warm weather with me on the return flight.
:-)
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Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to everyone.
I've been traveling for three weeks and a posting is long overdue, so this will be a bit lengthy.
I just returned this morning from a 10-day trip to CA (part fun, part work), and before that a week in VA. Unfortunately, quickly into my Christmas trip to VA, my back went out (2nd time in 3 months!). This time, however, I was incapacitated, bedridden at my sister's for several days. The pain from the muscle spasms was so intense that my sister and brother-in-law had to take me to the ER. I must say, there's nothing better than a shot of dilaudid (morphine) in your ass! All was right with the world once I got over the 15 minutes of nausea and nearly passing out.
I had to postpone my return trip to Boston, which only gave me 2 days in between trips. Thankfully, I had Percocet with me for the flight to Boston and LA, and was able to get a wheelchair at both airports. However, once I landed at LAX, the airport had a difficult time finding a wheelchair and someone to take me off the plane. I sat on the plane for almost an hour, waiting and waiting and waiting. Boarding of the next flight was delayed because I was stuck on the damn plane! I hung out with the cleaning crew, the tech crew, and the new flight crew. Finally, after I threw a rather loud and obnoxious fit, and on the verge of tears, someone rescued me from the plane.
My friend S (who lives in LA) and I spent New Year's Eve at a lovely restaurant, but I was feeling the negative effects of sitting on a plane for 7 hours and by the time we finished dinner I was in desperate need of drugs. So, while many of you were whoopin' up ringing in the new year, I was passed out by 9 pm. I vaguely recall hearing fireworks at some point during my drug-induced sleep.
I spent several days in LA, seeing lots of movies (Pan's Labyrinth and Blood Diamond are the most notable, though I warn you that Pan's Labyrinth is excessively violent and gross) and eating at great restaurants. However, by the time that S and I were to drive to San Diego for our conference, I was ready to come home. Once we arrived in San Diego and ran into one of our friends from the 2001 Greece trip, though, I had gotten my second wind and was ready to mingle and schmooze -- at least until I could no longer sit, stand, or walk and had to retreat to our hotel suite and once again slip into a drug coma.
The conference lasted for 4 days and I got to see a lot of old friends and colleagues. The talks for the most part were okay, but I did get some new ideas for my dissertation, which is the point of going to the conference. S and I said good-bye to our friends and headed back to LA, where I spent another couple of days before taking a red-eye back to Boston. Needless to say, I'm exhausted and slept for most of today, which is why I'm still awake at 11 pm.
While 2006 may have ended on a slightly down note, 2007 is starting off to be a good year. Although the thought of getting on a plane anytime soon makes me shudder, I will be heading off for Greece in 5 weeks (if all goes well), with a short layover in England, to do research at the American School in Athens. I'll be at the school for a month and return home the beginning of April.
Now, all I have to do is make sure my back doesn't go out again before the trip, that I have a nice supply of happy pills on hand, and that I don't fall down the slick marble sidewalks of Athens. I've spent time in a Greek public hospital. In one word -- scary!!
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You are the WorldCompletion, Good Reward. The World is the final card of the Major Arcana, and as such represents saturnian energies, time, and completion. The World card pictures a dancer in a Yoni (sometimes made of laurel leaves). The Yoni symbolizes the great Mother, the cervix through which everything is born, and also the doorway to the next life after death. It is indicative of a complete circle. Everything is finally coming together, successfully and at last. You will get that Ph.D. you've been working for years to complete, graduate at long last, marry after a long engagement, or finish that huge project. This card is not for little ends, but for big ones, important ones, ones that come with well earned cheers and acknowledgements. Your hard work, knowledge, wisdom, patience, etc, will absolutely pay-off; you've done everything right. What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
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For those of you who know me well, you've heard me complain about our educational system, but I've reached my boiling point already this year and need to vent.
I've been a college teacher for 5 years and with each passing year I fear for the future of this country, if the kind of students produced by our primary and secondary educational institutions is any indication. I am fortunate that I have always done well in school, but realize that during my first year of teaching this achievement created a rose-colored view of the abilities and integrity of my students. Well, the rose lenses broke quickly and what I have seen since is shocking.
Five years ago I had a few students who were unable to put a complete sentence together, although they had just graduated from high school. Four years ago, I encountered my first plagiarism case, although it was inadvertent and I allowed the student to rewrite his paper. Two years ago, I returned 17 out of 40 papers for inadvertent plagiarism (all 17 received Incompletes, which in turn created more work for me the following semester). Last year, I discovered two students who intentionally plagiarized, using internet sites as their sources. This semester, which has yet to end, I returned five papers for plagiarism--all from my graduate students, found that one student cheated on the first assignment of the semester, and another student accused a fellow student of cheating on the first two exams given this semester.
Plagiarism and cheating aside, the number of students who cannot voice or write a coherent thought has quadrupled since I began teaching 5 years ago. The majority of students disregard all information given in lecture and in handouts, thus turning in incorrect assignments often several days, if not weeks, late. I also find the level of apathy among incoming students has risen over the years and I am regularly asked "why do I need to know this?" (whatever this is, take your pick).
Last year, a colleague passed around a list of questions on the State of Texas' 8th grade proficiency exam (which, if passed, enabled students to continue on to high school). This exam was approved by Bush, when he was governor of Texas. The math section asked students to add a series of numbers together (I wonder how many missed this one?!). The science section asked the following difficult question:
Which of the following is NOT alive: 1) planet, 2) fish, or 3) rock.
All but two of my students selected either the planet or fish. To confirm that they understood the question, I asked it again and got the same response. The majority of my class thought a rock was a living organism. These are the same students who thought Turkey is the capital of Italy and that Canada is in Europe.
While I often feel defeated in the face of such inadequacies, I still love to teach and will continue to do so until I myself am no longer capable of making a coherent thought. At least, however, I will be able to blame it on old age, rather than on poor education. I truly believe that lack of appropriate funding for schools in economically depressed areas and the immediacy of the internet has caused a lot of the current problems in education today. Try as I might, I cannot convince my students to open a book and read, rather than do a quick search on Google or Wikipedia, where a vast amount of the information is incorrect or misleading. Unfortunately, our students lack the necessary judgment to assess what information is valid or just plain crap.
Now that I've gotten that off my chest, I can return to grading without wanting to chuck it all out the window. Thanks for listening!
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President Bush received a blaringly loud wake up call today.
As the leader of this nation, Bush has pushed his personal, religiously motivated agenda on the rest of the country without much thought of the end results. Well, maybe he should have thought a bit more about them, because after six years the people of this country finally stood up and made their voices heard. I'm not one to aggressively push my own political, social, and religious beliefs on others. I do, however, enjoy rational discourse in a forum that allows sharing of opinions without fear of retribution. Before Bush's first term in office, I had never felt that fear. But for the last six years, I had become increasingly worried that I would some day lose the ability to talk openly about our country's state of affairs.
Last night, as my roommate and I watched the live results after each poll closed, I realized that history was being made. Not only in Massachusetts, where the second black governor in the US was elected, but all over the country. I woke up this morning with a smile that hasn't gone away. Now that the democrats have control of the House and Senate, my only message to our new political leaders is to carry through with their promises and keep the momentum of change going until our nation has healed from the blackness that enveloped it over the last six years.
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The first half of the semester was brutal, which prevented me from working on both my dissertation and fiction. However, I have made some changes to the first chapter of ITOD and will be reposting Chapter 1, along with Chapters 2-4, in the coming week.
Last week I finally returned to my dissertation and I hope this week to begin work on the next segment of ITOD. I'll keep everyone posted on my progress.
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1. Your partner falls off the bed after an explosive orgasm.
2. You and your partner break a full-size box spring (not the mattress) in half.
3. All of the bedding is lying in the corner of the bedroom, and it's not laundry day.
4. The fully charged batteries die before either of you have finished climaxing.
5. You've depleted your entire stock of whip cream, strawberries, and champagne in one night.
6. You live on the 1st floor and your 3rd floor neighbors call the police.
7. You're entire body aches the next morning - from head to toe.
8. You actually want to wait a week before a repeat performance.
9. People on the subway stare at you because you've been grinning for 5 stops.
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After 3 years of procrastination, I finally took the damn German exam on the 15th (see earlier posting). Today, I received a letter stating that I passed (not with flying colors, but who cares--not me). Yeah!!! No more studying for German...EVER! Of course, I still have to read German articles, but at least there's no longer the threat of failing the exam hanging over my head.
This was the last of my language requirements, and the last of my tests before becoming ABD (all but dissertation). Now, I can concentrate on finishing my dissertation propectus (75% completed) and editing my fiction (long way to go).
A BIG thanks to my friends and family who have listened to me bitch about German for the past decade! Don't worry, I'll find something else to bitch about tomorrow! :-)
*hugs and kisses*
P.S. Went to the chiropractor this morning. He put my pelvic bone back in place. Big yeah!
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21 years ago I stepped off a curb while taking out the garbage. I didn't realize I was stepping off a curb. The garbage bag was really big. The curb was really high. I stepped flat on my foot. I shattered all the bones in my foot and tore the ligaments in my ankle. I laid on the sidewalk for a 1/2 hour in pain, screaming for someone to help me. Finally a neighbor sees me and rushes me to the hospital. Leg is set and put in a cast. I'm told that I'll never walk again without a limp and some type of support. Need to face the truth, my dancing days are over.
Doctors were wrong. Within a few months I walk, hike, run, swim, have wild sex, and dance. Life is good and I feel great.
Five years later, dull ache in right side of lower back really annoying. Could it be PMS? Never suffered from PMS, but first time for everything. One week later, can't walk, hike, run, swim, have wild sex, or dance. I look like an "L" turned on its side. Doctors say it's a pinched nerve, and give me lots of drugs. Feel better, but 3 days later I look like an "L" again. Friend sends me to a chiropractor. Smart chiropractor takes X-rays of my entire body from all angles. My pelvic bone isn't where it's supposed to be. Popped out of place and turned about 5 degrees. Doctor says I must have stepped on my right foot really hard to cause this kind of damage. Mmmmm.... Begin intensive regiment of physical therapy, massage therapy, and routine adjustments. Once more, I can walk, hike, run, swim, have wild sex, and dance.
Last night, in the dead of night, while my roommates sleep -- popped pelvic bone. Gabriel jumped on the kitchen table, where I was editing my story. Reached to pick her up and felt the pop. Until I see the chiropractor on Monday, to move about the house I have to use counter tops and shelves to support my weight with my arms because I can't put any weight on my right leg.
I feel like I went through a trash compactor, but only on one side of my body. I think I shrunk 2 inches. I think my dancing days are close to being over.
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I remember my English teacher in high school assigning William Faulkner's short story The Bear, and singing the praises of Faulkner's dark, yet intimate, southern style of writing, in which the intricacies of southern life of the early 20th century unfold effortlessly from one sentence to the next, revealing the unspoken truths that lie within the depths of all families, regardless of race and social stature. (Whew!)
I also remember thinking to myself, once I read The Bear, Did this man understand the use of a period?
Since high school, I have come across numerous authors who seem to have graduated from the William Faulkner School of Writing, treating the comma as their dearest and closest friend. While Faulkner's prevalent use of the comma may have been unique at the time, I've often wondered if it was a learned convention. Today, I believe I have discovered the true founders of the run on sentence, and the progenitors of the Faulkner Style.
The Germans.
In German literature, the goal of the German author is not to make a clear point, but rather to befuddle the non-native German reader with sentences that seem to never end, with a plethora of awkwardly placed commas (too numerous to count on my fingers and toes), and slang that does not appear in any known dictionary. Whatever happened to the comma as a punctuation to mark breathing? If I took a breath every time I reached a comma in a German sentence, I'd hyperventilate. The over-oxygenation of my brain would cause me to lose my place, thus forcing me to start the sentence all over again.
While German grammarians have made great strides in recent years to "simplify" the German language, I suggest in the next revamping they reduce the use of unnecessary words and extraneous commas by 50%. Maybe then, the thousands of overwrought Ph.D. students forced to translate German text for no particular reason will have a chance to complete one paragraph in less than 2 hours.
(Writer's note: I apologize if I have offended any Germans. Thank you.)
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At long last, here's the first part of my first attempt at gay-themed fiction. However, this section is virtually sex free. For any story to have some merit, it needs an intro to warm up the audience. I'd like to thank everyone who supported me and gave me the "nudge" I needed to finally write this. Also, a HUGE thanks to A for his editing and feedback. Hope everyone enjoys the story. Please let me know what you think. I look forward to your comments.
"In Through the Out Door"
Chapter 1, Graduation Day:
Cameron waited anxiously along the side wing of the stage for his name to be called. After twelve years of school, he was ready for the next phase of his life. All the bullshit of childhood culminated in this one brief moment.
“Cameron Smith.” Finally, Principal Colvin bellowed Cameron’s name over the microphone, sounding more like a football coach calling out maneuvers than a principal dispensing diplomas. Cameron walked across the stage in his cardboard cap and black robe made of some flame retardant plastic material with the confidence of someone who had done well his whole life, and who was secure in his future. Of course, this was a façade masking the fear that coursed through him. The only thing Cameron knew for certain was that in less than three months he would be moving to a strange city fifteen hundred miles away, leaving behind his family, friends, and the only home he’d ever known.
Cameron’s parents were thrilled when he received his acceptance letter to American University, in Washington, D.C. The thought of leaving Port Ritchey, Florida for a city that he’d only visited once, however, gave Cameron an unsettling feeling. He knew the move would be a huge adjustment and hoped Dylan’s presence in D.C. would ease his anxiety. After two years together, Dylan had become an important fixture in Cameron’s life; someone that Cameron relied on heavily for emotional support. If Dylan had chosen to stay in Florida, rather than agree to relocate with Cameron, Cameron wasn’t sure what he would have done.
Lost in these thoughts, Cameron momentarily forgot where he was, and was surprised to find himself shaking hands with Principal Colvin. As he turned, diploma in hand, to wave to his family in the crowd, Cameron was slightly embarrassed to see his parents standing in the middle section of the auditorium, whistling and clapping; making enough noise to fill the entire space. Cameron didn’t really mind that his parents were making fools of themselves. Their jubilation at their oldest son’s graduation was just another sign of how much they loved him.
Kelly, Cameron’s younger brother, looked like a young model, wearing black pants that rested low on his hips and a chocolate colored jacket over a white silk shirt. At 15, he was at the age when teenagers expressed little emotion but exuded enough attitude to be worthy of high school worship. Having just finished his first year at Cypress High, Kelly wanted to maintain his newfound reputation as a “cool dude” in front of his classmates. He gave Cameron a subtle smile as he watched his big brother exit the stage. But Cameron saw in that sweet smile how proud Kelly was of him. The brothers never needed a lot of words to communicate their feelings for one another. Although three years separated them, they could read each other’s thoughts through simple gestures. Their parents often commented that the boys were like twins, because they always sensed when the other one was hurting or in trouble.
Dylan, dressed in a charcoal grey suit that complemented his light complexion and dark short hair, calmly stood next to Kelly with a grin that lit up his entire face and made his blue eyes sparkle. Seeing Dylan caused Cameron’s heart to skip a beat. Cameron had to look away, as just a glimpse of Dylan sent an all too familiar jolt of electricity through his groin. Dylan chuckled briefly, as if he knew the effect he was having on Cameron at that moment.
“Cocky bastard,” Cameron thought as he hurried to his seat to adjust himself before everyone in the auditorium saw the bulge growing in his pants.
For the past two years, Cameron and Dylan were careful to not publicly show their affection for one another because of Cameron’s age. Now that Cameron was 18 and graduated from high school, both men were giddy with their new freedom. For Dylan this also meant that the long wait to make love to Cameron was over. When they first met, Cameron was adamant that he remain a virgin until he graduated.
“I’ll do other stuff, but not that.” Cameron said sheepishly.
Dylan respected Cameron’s decision and taught him all about oral sex. While Cameron wasn’t completely comfortable giving Dylan head, Dylan never complained. Dylan found Cameron an astute learner in other areas, though. He also discovered that the boy had an insatiable appetite for sex and the stamina of someone more experienced. This caused Cameron to almost break his own rule on numerous occasions, much to Dylan’s delight.
After Principal Colvin gave his closing remarks, the auditorium exploded with triumphant horns and applause. The new graduates escaped their final moment of high school through a sea of black and silver balloons, ready to conquer the world after a night of celebrations. When Cameron finally made his way through the fanfare, he saw his family and Dylan standing on the lawn outside the entrance of the auditorium. He rushed into his father’s open arms and immediately felt the strain from the day’s events begin to slip away.
Darren Smith had always been a pillar of support for Cameron, especially during the early months of his relationship with Dylan. When Darren found out that his 16-year old son spent the night with a man ten years his senior, his gut reaction was to have Dylan arrested. But Darren gave in to Cameron’s pleas. He soon realized that putting Dylan in jail would only alienate Cameron, forcing him to choose between his father and his new boyfriend. Darren wasn’t sure that he’d come out the winner. So, he summoned Dylan to the Smith house for dinner and to set some ground rules for his son’s somewhat unconventional relationship.
Darren and his wife Barbara agreed to let Cameron spend afternoons with Dylan after school, but he had to be home by five o’clock. Cameron and Dylan could go out on real dates on the weekend, but Darren instituted a midnight curfew. Also, if Darren got wind of any alcohol or drug use, he’d put an immediate end to the relationship, even if he had to move his family cross-country to do so. Dylan assured him that he never used drugs and only drank the occasional wine or beer with dinner, but that he’d not drink in front of Cameron.
After Cameron and Dylan had been together for one year, Darren made some concessions, adding a date night during the week, as long as Cameron was home at a decent hour so he would be awake for school the next morning. As a boy, Cameron had displayed a level of maturity not usually found in children. Darren had to trust that his son knew what he was doing and that he could handle this kind of adult relationship. Darren was not ignorant of the fact that his son was probably engaging in some sort of sexual activity with Dylan. But if he could at least make sure Cameron was in his own bed at night safe and sound, then he could fool himself into believing that nothing physical was happening between them. Nevertheless, Darren kept a very close watch on his son’s emotional state, waiting for any hint that the situation was becoming too much for Cameron to handle.
As Darren held his son tightly in his arms on graduation day, he was grateful for his decision. While never deliberately playing favorites between his two boys, Darren always had a special bond with Cameron. His openness to Cameron’s feelings, and his willingness to listen without passing judgment, gave Darren access to personal aspects of Cameron’s life that most fathers didn’t have.
For Cameron his father’s hug meant more than congratulations. He understood that it also meant goodbye. He appreciated the difficult position in which he’d put his parents two years ago when he began seeing Dylan. Not only did he reveal that their oldest son was gay, but he also revealed a relationship that could have serious consequences for the entire family. And now his father was sending Cameron off to college and to his new life with Dylan.
Darren reluctantly let go of his son.
“Shall we get going?” He asked as he quickly wiped away his tears with the back of his hand. “The reservations are for two o’clock.”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Cameron said as he turned to take hold of Dylan’s hand.
Dylan tightly squeezed the offered hand, reassuring Cameron that everything was going to be okay, and for the second time that day Cameron felt an adrenaline rush surge through his body. He wondered if his erection would ever go away. If it didn’t settle down soon, he might have to ask Dylan to take care of it in the restroom at the restaurant. The thought of public sex, however, sent the wrong signal to Cameron’s cock, adding to Cameron’s state of arousal. His pants had become extremely uncomfortable and he couldn’t wait to take them off.
After the family finished their celebratory lunch, Dylan and Cameron excused themselves. Cameron was honest with his father, telling him that he wanted to spend graduation night with Dylan. Now that his son was an adult, Darren felt he couldn’t refuse Cameron’s request. He admired Cameron’s ability to hold onto his convictions for two years, a feat that he was positive proved difficult many times over.
As they pulled into Dylan’s driveway an hour later, Cameron caught his breath. He was calm through lunch, but now that they were parked in front of Dylan’s house, Cameron realized that he was nervous as hell.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asked, giving Cameron a concerned look.
“Yeah, I’m good. It just feels different knowing that I’m actually spending the night.”
Dylan agreed. “I know what you mean. I can hardly believe it myself. I’m so excited that I think I forgot how to do it.”
Cameron laughed, but he continued to stare at Dylan’s house, searching for the strength to open the car door.
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This coming week will be an emotional rollercoaster! One of my housemates (and a good friend) is moving ("sniff"), my best friend is coming for a visit (YEAH!), and a close friend is moving to NY ("sniff" and "YEAH!"--lots of trips to NYC).
All of this reminds me of past conversations with friends about romantic relationships vs. friendships. I know people who forget about their friends as soon as they have a new significant other. While this person should be important and take priority in their life, they should not cast aside those who stuck by them through thick and thin. Good solid friends are hard to come by, and even harder to keep. I consider myself fortunate to have a collection of good friends from all over the world and all very different from one another (variety is the spice of life--right?). Because of geography, we don't always have the opportunity to talk as often as we'd like, or visit with each other regularly. But, I know they care for me and, I hope, they know that I care for them.
So, if I haven't spoken to you in a while, remember that I think of you often and, hopefully, we'll see each other soon.
BTW, Gabriel says "hi." She misses all of her aunts and uncles and surrogate mommies!
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My little girl turned 11 years old today. She is the beautiful light of my life, and the one constant through more than a decade of school, living abroad, and weary relationships.
She never complains, except when I get ready to go to school in the mornings, go out in the evenings, take a shower, leave the bedroom at bedtime, work on the computer, and talk to someone other than her. She's not a picky-eater. She eats everything that I put in front of her, and everything off other people's plates. She's obsessive about her hygiene, and occasional leaves hairballs as proof of her cleanliness. She's quite the chatter box, often talking my ear off at 3:30 in the morning, never tiring of the same conversation (WAKE UP BITCH!). She's very loving, waiting by the front door for my return every day just so I'll feed her the special wet food. She keeps me company on those long winter nights, hogging the bed, forcing me to sleep diagonally and trapping my feet so that I cannot turn over in my sleep. She's resilient, often landing on her feet when I end up kicking her ass out of bed because she was laying on my feet. She also gets along well with others, especially men, and tries to seduce them with her cute white belly, legs spread in the air, and a come-hither look.
We have been together through thick and thin (her thin, my thick), and watch each other's back (well, she stares at mine, while her green eyes shoot death rays in my direction). I hope to enjoy another decade of love and companionship. I know that she will be so excited when we move to Greece, where kittens run free and she'll have a wide selection of bugs to eat.
So, here's to my girl Gabriel (yep, she has boy's name, get over it!), happy 11th b'day and many more to come!
Love mom
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After talking about writing a short novel, I've finally begun one. I have a rough draft of the first 3 chapters. My roommie read and commented on the chapters last night, so I'm hoping to post the draft this weekend after I make edits. Of course, I also need to finish my diss prospectus this weekend, because my advisor returns on Saturday from Italy (lucky girl!). I don't think she'll be too happy with me if I hand in gay erotica instead of my proposal.
Constructive criticism is requested. If you just tell me it sucks, I'll ignore you.
Also, this is a story that I've had in my head for several years. Any similarity to people alive or dead is purely coincidental.
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amused
contemplative
annoyed
busy
excited
sore
nauseated
tired
anxious
ditzy