Don’t worry, y’all; I have not gone and died from lemon overdose. Not that you were worried, but let’s just say the thought of lemon overdose crossed my mind on Saturday. Several times.
Naturally, in this busy week, I have thought of about seven posts I wanted to write, but haven’t. Some of them I’ll get to in the next couple of days, some will inevitably be abandoned. I am working hard against a few different deadlines, trying to grade papers, finish the novel I assigned for this week, and write up a decent and difficult final exam. All that and I am finishing the current dissertation chapter. When that business is done, I do not need to tell you how the people will march.
Anyway, I am palpitating my way through yet another night of over-caffeinated paper grading with an egg timer on my desk to help me limit the amount of time I spend with each paper. Of course I am not at liberty to divulge the specifics of that time limit, for it is something which, I feel, would truly appall you. The first rule of half-assed college teaching: do not reveal specifically how half-assed it really is. The second rule? Wine.
UPDATE! Have you heard of the great novelist Paul Bowels? He’s pretty popular among my students, narrowly edging out Graham Green, but still trailing Heminway.
UPDATE! AGAIN! I hate grading so much.
Grading. I look at it this way: as long as the time spent per paper is even the teeniest, weeniest bit larger than the Planck time it’s still a valid amount of time to spend grading a paper. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.
Inevitably, you get the question:
“Hey you silly assistant, just how much time did you spend grading my paper?”
To which you respond:
“A time much greater than the Planck time. What do you want from me chucklehead, blood? Moron. Go graduate. Or something.”
Followed by a not-so-subtle rolling of the eyes.
Perfect every time.
Crap. Double comment. Sorry about that…
Brilliant about the egg timer. 15 mins per paper?? Let’s hope so. Wine? Yes!!! I’ve become a reincarnation of my mother recently and am buying the stuff in a box.
The rest of my week, if this makes you feel better, will be spent meeting my students in conference. This means 20 mins one on one with each and every one of the devil’s spawn for the next three days. Drink to that!
I usually start grading a batch of papers with a lot of enthusiasm and trust in humanity’s capacity to learn from my comments, and improve. As the night wears on, however, I move toward a much less generous standard than the egg-timer: the egg-boiler (the overture to Mozart’s ‘Figaro’ which, when properly conducted, should be exactly four minutes long).
That’s all those undergraduate rodents deserve.
Didn’t Bowels write that “Everybody Poops” book?
Can’t you just fail anyone who doesn’t at least spell the author’s name correctly?
I thought Bowels is that fellow who wrote a monograph on the engineering of dumping devices.
I think it was Bowels. However, I do recall that monograph being a pretty shitty piece of work.
A-B– Good to know that there are other grad students out there working in a less-fully-assed manner than I. Um,I think.
O– You’ll be pleased to know I am wining it up right this very moment. And, you know, I can’t say about the time limit, but if you were to venture to cross the 15-minute barrier I would truly be impressed.
D– Yeah, that’s usually how it goes: you start out all explaining shit to them, as if they care, and wind up just sort of limp-arming a C onto the corner somewhere.
And on the subject of Paul Bowels: accomplished novelist, translator, and composer though he may be, it’s best not to be intimidated by him. He’s really just a regular guy. Bit of a windbag sometimes, though.
Wine helps, but what’s really essential here is not to think of the possibility that you may have to do this grading nonsense for the next thirty years or so–unless one gets graduate slaves to take over this undignified toil, while you get to crack your whip fearsomely above their heads. The downside is that you’ll switch to reading mindless Ph.D. dissertations you couldn’t be arsed to give a shit about.
Gosh, I hope none of my students ever reads this.