A Winter of Soups #3

The latest soup is a smashing success. I cannot take any credit for this one. I followed a recipe (despite having claimed to learn that recipes are evil after the parsnip soup disaster). I found the recipe on a site called Molly's Soup Blog (http://mollyssoupblog.com/?p=92) and it is now solidly a cataloged as one of my winter go-to dishes. 

I had some doubts as I began to prepare this soup - African Sweet Potato and Black Bean. It seemed to be entirely composed of things I didn't much like (sweet potato and black beans being among those things). However, the smell was delicious. The taste was even better. I'm on day three of eating this soup - it made quite a bit for one person - and not tired of it yet (which is good, because I still have a lot). I gave some to my partner in crime, as a thank you for the loan of his pot (which I still have not returned), and he has given his stamp of approval as well.

Classes continue to stampede forward. It's the time of the semester when I'm trying desperately to motivate myself to write and get some drafts finished early enough to actually make them good before the deadline.

The latest minor triumph is that I have successfully had my section changed from its location in the Gym to a new location in an actual classroom building. This is more convenient for me, for my students, and for actual teaching.

Two weeks until Thanksgiving.

A Winter of Soups #2

Parsnips are an underrated vegetable.

I actually used a recipe this time.

It was . . . not great.

Lesson learned? Don't bother with recipes?

A Winter of Soups #1

Those of you who know me well may be aware of my distant relationship with soup. I've never been able to quite convince myself that I love soup, even though I've eaten several delicious soups. This winter, I have determined to give soup a fighting chance to win me over. Of course, I promptly undermined soup by not using an actual recipe.

Curried Carrot and Chicken Soup

Carrots (un pound-ish)
Chicken broth (2 cups? 3?)
Curry spice blend (tablespoonish)
Chicken (two bits)

Basically, I simmered the carrots in the broth until they were squishtaculent. Then I blended in the blender (a bit at a time) until mushdelicisauce. This is where the broth number gets lost, because I added more at this point to help with the blend process.

Once I had the base finedandy, I plunked in the chicken, let it simmer a smidge. Then I added the curry powder and some carrot chunks for texturelation. Simmer till awesome.

Still delicious. Earned the JB stamp of approval. Next time, I'm dreaming of something with parsnips.

And a real blog post, for those who are interested

October flashes by quickly. My favorite month, here and gone.

I got to pet goats this week. And pick out a pumpkin. And buy lollipops shaped like roasted chickens to give to my class tomorrow.

My classes this semester are extra challenging. Well, not all of them. One section of the two sections I am teaching is stuffed with the distracted, distracting, obstreperous freshmen that resent any time spent learning and would much rather talk about anything else. I've never before had a student keep an earbud in while I was teaching. Now I've spotted a couple. Not cool, chillens, not cool.

I'm reading Peter Pan for my children's lit. class. It led to JB and I having what I called a fight and he called an intellectual discussion about Peter Pan. I'm pretty sure I won. He hasn't read it, so it's difficult for him to argue with any credibility.

My apartment and I are reaching a peaceful stability, though the bathroom sink is beginning to show an alarming propensity for slow drainage. Beocat spends his days lounging on one piece of furniture or another - because I have furniture now! Well, I have a futon left by the previous tenant, and I have Amanda's double papasan. That's almost exactly like having my own furniture.

This weekend is stuffed with Halloween festivities. I might go to a friend's house tomorrow night, if I'm feeling social. Or, games might happen. On Saturday, I'm hosting a live-action Clue party. Embracing the geek-atmosphere is part of my current ethos. Plus, nothing about live-action Clue sounds unfun - especially when I'm running it, so I basically get to sit back and watch everyone else.

I'll write more as I can. I always tend to blog more when I have papers due. Blogging is the purest form of procrastination.

It's that time of year again . . .

. . . when the Internet shared on my Facebook page provokes me into a response.

Today's lucky article? "Feminism Is Poison" by Matt Walsh, self-described as a professional truth sayer. I hate to bump his pageviews, but in the interests of correct citations, here is the link to the article - http://www.theblaze.com/contributions/feminism-is-poison/

First things first, I do not support the video which sparked his article. I do not consider it cute, empowering, or genius. I am not ok with the exploitation of children, with the use of schills, or any approach that favours sensationalism over actual communication.

Now that the first important clarification has been made, let's move on to the next. One of the main arguments popping up in this article is that feminists (all feminists, everywhere) have a poorly defined, unnecessary ideological agenda that is not supported by facts.

He examines the wage gap as support for his argument of the unsupportability of a feminist agenda. Walsh points to the myths of the wage gap as evidence that feminism is unneeded. But that's not the point with which I take issue. He says, "Despite what those poor girls were forced to say on camera, women do not earn 23 percent less than men for ‘equal work.’ This is called a lie. A fable . . . It’s not even close to true . . . But whatever it is, if it exists at all, it exists because these frauds just weighed the salary of a commercial airline pilot against an entry level hairdresser."

Ouch, really?

No. Because not all women are entry-level hairdressers, and not all entry-level hairdressers are women. Not all commercial airline pilots are men, and not all men are commercial airline pilots. The assumption that it is men who are holding the more responsible, more "valid" jobs is why feminism still has something to say and something to do. The underlying assumption that Walsh reveals, is that the work women do is less important than the work which men undertake. Feminism cannot be tarred with a single brush. It isn't all about wage gaps, or rape statistics. It's about the way beliefs shape the world in which we live, and how that shaping can have a negative effect if we are not aware and not cautious.

There is a problem with the numbers. There are always problems with the numbers, no matter which side chooses to implement them in a debate. Walsh himself plays a little fast and loose with the numbers he introduces. But I don't want to make this about the numbers. Numbers can be, as Walsh points out, made to lie, twisted into a formation that flatters whichever version of reality is being pushed.

To echo Walsh's plea (because he has something valid to say) there needs to be more awareness, more research, and more understanding of the actual facts rather than hopping on the prettiest bandwagon, the one that makes us feel the best, and screaming alongside everyone else. Everyone needs to stop perpetuating misinformation by pushing their own brand of it.

What is missing is that people aren't numbers, and they aren't statistics. I don't look at a man and think of him as a number. I don't think that there is a 20% chance that he is a rapist. I think he is a person, not a percentage. When people are turned into numbers, we lose empathy; we lose the humanness and the care for others that we all should be fighting to maintain and share, equally, with one another.

Walsh again: "The problem, however, is that men and women are not equal. They are separate, distinct, and complimentary [sic]. Equal in dignity and worth, but unequal in every other way. We should be learning how to celebrate these differences and use them in service to each other, but you won’t hear that from feminists."

You cannot say that something is both equal and not equal. My uncle can attest to the fact that math was never my strongest subject, but either two is equal to two, or it is not. (Note: it is.) The elision of equality with sameness is a mistake frequently made, not just in this article, but generally in any discussions of equality. I would never say that all people are the same. What I will say, is that gender lines are not a good place to establish definitions of sameness. I am not the same as the other women teaching in my department. We have different strengths, weaknesses, and gifts.

Walsh never clarifies what my uniquely feminine qualities might be. Like many of the other women in my department, I can grade a paper in thirty minutes, fake my way through a lesson plan if I need to, or give an impromptu speech on the importance of commas to the confused undergraduate in my office. Of course, I think many of the men in my department can do all of these things as well . . .

I get it. It's easier to blame feminism and feminists for manufacturing a problem than it is to admit that a problem might be real and nearly impossible to solve. It's easier to paint a dividing line between binaries rather than to foster a potentially productive discussion that might break down divisions instead of exacerbating them. 

We end with the same message; Mr. Walsh, you and I agree. People need to recognize each other as people and love and serve people. The difference I'm seeing right now is that I'm listening to you as a person, not labeling you as a mouthpiece for an ideological crusade.

And, I'm not making my final conclusion about your appearance rather than about your message.
 

Further Reading (because every good teacher gives homework):
http://time.com/3222543/5-feminist-myths-that-will-not-die/

A brief moment of catching up

So. Updating at Camp didn't happen.

In a way, I never should have believed it would. My summers generally begin with a euphoric dose of optimism brought on by the escape from the classroom, the escape from Milwaukee, and the knowledge that I have always before met the challenges of camp life. Then, all too soon, I'm swept up in the current of actuality and find myself far too busy to write, and yet stubbornly unwilling to allow the words to simply dribble onto the page.

This summer was more challenging than I expected it to be. My second full summer as an East Side programer was filled with the normal work of programming, some extra programming challenges, and having to still deal with life outside of camp.

I still loved it. In a way, some of the challenges of being understaffed made it possible for me to get to know the campers better than I have been able to in the past. Running the riflery range (well, sharing the running of it with the amazing LG), was not a job I had anticipated, but it did give me the chance to spend hours interacting with the campers.

This is, I know, but the briefest of recaps of a long, gloriously difficult and rewarding few months. Camp is not an experience that is easily regurgitated or understandable by those outside of it. At least that's my current excuse for not writing a more complete summary.

As some of you know, I ended the summer knowing that I was going back to Milwaukee, but not knowing where I would live once I got there. That was . . . stressful. As someone who likes to make plans and maintain a high level of control over my life, it is uncomfortable to stand helpless in the face of an unknown future. Rereading that sentence, it shades into the hyperbolic. Nevertheless, I'll let it stand. I did feel helpless, and slightly panicked. That panic quickly turned to hopefulness when, the night before I was due to return to Milwaukee, a fellow graduate student contacted me and said she was moving, so her apartment was available.

I don't remember much of my initial visit to the apartment. In fact, some of what I thought I remembered turned out to be completely wrong. The one thing I was, unfortunately, not wrong about is that the carpet is hideous. Still, it's a decent place. JB is appalled by the grime in the shared hallway, but it is within walking distance of Marquette, has plenty of space, and is mine alone. The landlord even graciously allowed me to move in a week and a half early. Plus, I installed the internet access last night and am, as a consequence, feeling much more benevolent towards the apartment. One of my concerns with the place was also removed today as, after a couple of weeks of maneuvering, I was able to rent a parking space from my former landlords. Things are falling into place; Perhaps soon this space will feel like home.

I suppose it's time for another round of News.

My time at Marquette is over, and almost ready to begin again. I've decided to continue to pursue my PhD, and after another round of applications, Marquette remains the best option for me. I have mixed feelings about that, but generally it is a very positive thing.

I still have to move, and finding a new apartment alone is fraught with financial difficulty. It's not ideal to have to sign a new lease and make a security deposit during months of unemployment. Ah well, I did bring it on myself. As I mentioned before, I'm heading back to Barakel for the summer. That decision gives me about four months of zero income - but it's always worked out fine before, so I'm thinking providential thoughts. I always say that it's my last summer at Barakel, but it really could be true this time. After this summer, I'll have to be working on dissertation stuff year-round.

I have finished my M.A. degree. Marquette sent me a lovely letter in the mail informing me that I have passed my comprehensive exam. It was nice to see it in writing again. After a year and a half of it looming over my head, it's nice to keep in mind the fact that it is over.

Hopefully the summer will give me more time for at least brief blog updates, and maybe even some reading.

Pssst, blog-reading friends,

You get to be the ones in the know.

Barakel is my summer jam. We can't seem to shake each other.

Passed

I passed the MA exam. I feel so relieved. And happy.

Now to finish the rest of this degree.

The test has been written. All I can do now is wait for the results. And I am far from certain as to what the results will be.

I'm so glad it's over. At least for now.

Maybe I can sleep?

In one week this test will be over. I'll have no idea whether or not I passed.

I want there to be relief. I want there to be joy.

I'll settle for some sleep.

For the Moments When Teaching Has Lost Its Bloom

Week four of the semester is generally a difficult one; tests, papers, and overflowing schedules combine and create stressed students and busy teachers. Luckily, I'm both.

JB introduced me to The Moth last year. Basically, it's a storytelling event. He goes every month and graciously allows me to climb into his car whenever I would like to go along. It's a very positive character trait, I think. Since he introduced me to The Moth, I've used it in my classes and encouraged students to attend.

Last night was the February Moth event. I, along with another friend, hopped into the CARDIS and journeyed through the frozen wasteland of Milwaukee. Arriving at the theatre, we found seats and were huddling together for warmth when I was tapped on the shoulder.

Six of my students from last semester were there. They had come as a group, riding the bus for half an hour then walking the rest of the way through the frigid air.


It was a flurry of greetings, reminiscence, and laughter.

           "I miss our English class."
           "It was eight, so I wasn't expecting it, but we had fun."
           "Can I have retroactive extra credit if I tell a story tonight?"
           "You'll know my story when you hear it. You'll know it's me."

We met up again at intermission and at the end of the evening. It was wonderful to see them. They were my students. Now they're a group - choosing to spend time together - choosing to spend time together hearing stories and absorbing language.

I wish I could take credit for being an amazing teacher that has given these students something concrete, but I can't. And maybe I shouldn't want to. Those students and I spent a semester together, and, somehow, that wasn't the end of our stories. Our stories have been impacted, an ongoing transformation.

I've written two rather self-pitying posts and chosen not to publish them. You are welcome. But I have now told you about them, so you can judge me for them without having to endure reading them. Again, I think about you, dear readers.

It's about midway through the third week of the semester, the time when everything still seems like smooth sailing. (Hint: it's not - weeks four and five allow you to realize just how innocent you were way back in week three.) Everything's going well. Students are alive. Teachers are alive and well. One of them keeps making me watch movies for class - it's odd, but it's an American Lit class, so I understand that there aren't enough good books to read. (Note: that was a deliberately inflammatory remark.) Enjoyed a polar vortex day off of school (gave me time to read Utopia). Had a birthday.

MA Exam is six weeks away. There is some level of panic. I'm reading random things as quickly as possible while trying to remember what I've read. Trying not to beat myself up too much about misidentifying a Petrarchan sonnet in the last practice question while still accepting enough responsibility to be sure to remember the correct rhyme scheme in the future.

In short, I'm busy. I read an article today about why not to use the word 'busy'. As you can see, I'm choosing to ignore that pellet of wisdom. Mostly because I think it's an accurate choice of word for describing my chosen situation.

Now I've nattered on for paragraphs without saying anything of substance. Sorry. Feel free to pretend this post doesn't exist. I mostly just wanted to say hello and that I haven't forgotten you all.

It's unusual to arrive in Milwaukee and discover warmer temperatures than those left behind. Last week, I experienced that phenomenon. Even saying "last week" surprises me because it feels like it's been so much longer.

The first week of classes has gone fairly well. The team teaching research project has finally been approved by all of the various committees. Brick and I have not yet killed each other, and have actually, I think, done a fairly good job at working together. We need to work on transitions and presenting a united front, but the concepts are being taught.

My own classes are less than thrilling this semester. I suppose that's what I get for procrastinating and putting off the classes I didn't want to take. The practice MA looms - took a practice question yesterday and am terrified anew at the vast amount of knowledge I don't really know.

Oh yeah, blogging.

I'm alive. I'm in Michigan. My return to Milwaukee was scheduled for Sunday, but you've heard there was a storm, right? Traveling is a little uncertain. I'll either head back tomorrow afternoon with B, or Zeke will take me back Thursday night so I can squeak into town right before my mandatory meeting Friday morning.

It's been a good break. I've slept, graded, studied, and watched the new Sherlock episodes.

Updating the blog is going to be, I expect, fairly rare over the next few months. The M.A. exam is two months away and I need to focus on that if I have any dream of passing.