RAR!! In which I am annoyed.

In preparation for entering the fray that is Spring '12, I logged in to all my official accounts to print out class lists, classroom assignments and other assorted crap. I had actually gotten it all via e-mail last week, but I could not be arsed to actually do anything with it until this morning.

Once I went through the rigamarole, I was greeted, not with my normal mail screen, but with a new G-mail account. A perfectly clean account, with no previous e-mails in it. Also missing were all contact lists, sent mails, calendar entries and everything else the previous account held.

Fuck a goddamned duck.

A new mail popped up, welcoming me to the NEW uni G-mail system! Hooray! The mail literally said, "Isn't this a lovely way to start off the new year?"

NO, you dozy, goat-felching, Ass-To-Mouth-receiving fuckmunches! NOOOOOO!

I called IT support. The tech sounded peevish. "You think you stodgy people would appreciate what we've done and what a cool surprise it was!" he grumped. Whatever, Smedley. I need to port over all my old stuff, I need my lists and contacts, and I really need them before battle-entry tomorrow morning. I'm not entering a hot LZ unarmed.

"Oh, we're going to a whole training series in mid-February. We will explain everything then!"

That's six weeks away, you numb bastard. Everything starts tomorrow. If I'd had some warning, I could have printed everything, or at the least, saved it to flash drive.

Who thought it was a good idea to completely scrub the old system and replace it with a new one less than 24 hours before opening bell --  with no warning?

Crushed, again.

In the process of gathering up and carefully storing all of our assorted Christmas crap, I ran across the box of mismatched  and orphaned Christmas cards.

Every year, I buy three boxes of Christmas cards -- a religiously-themed box, a vulgar/funny box and a non-denominational box. Inevitably, there are leftovers, and just about every third year I can get away with not purchasing cards.  For convenience, all the cards are stacked in a shoebox -- usually with a few stray cards and envelopes from people that need to be added to next years' card list.

At the bottom of the box was a colorful card with a Bethlehem scene on it -- sort of blocky and whimsical -- and covered in scribbles of dreadful handwriting. Three sides of the card were filled with bad puns, academic gossip and random, stream-of-consciousness goofiness.

William's card. From last Christmas.

I knelt there on the floor. First I teared up, and then I just flat-out sobbed for all I was worth.

I miss my friend.

When I had gotten myself under control again, I carefully closed the card and tucked it safely back into the box.


The life of the dead is placed in the heart of the living. -- Cicero

"But what about what *I* want/need!" Meditations on convenience.

"Hey, I stopped by your office to ask you a question about my final paper, but you weren't there! T^here wasn't anyone in any of the offices, and I need to meet with three different professors and NO ONE is in their offices! Where the Hell is everyone?"

"Uh, no, I wasn't -- no one is on campus right now. It's Christmas break. The whole U is closed until the 4th of January, and even then it's skeleton crew until the 9th. Didn't you notice the empty parking lots, and the fact that all the lights are off?"

"But I have stuff I need to do on campus! I want to , and today is the best day for me to get things done. Why isn't there anyone there?"

"...because everyone is enjoying their break? No one has to be on campus until their report-back date except security, and they are probably asleep in their pen?"

"That's awful! I want to get my errands done today! Can you drop everything and come in right now? "

"No. I am on break. I don't have to be back until the 10th. I'll be in my office by 9 AM on that day."

"Well, that's ridiculous. Who though that professors ought to get a break, anyway. It's not like you need them, or anything. Your jobs are the easiest."

*click*

** edit, for clarity: we are "asked" (read: required) to give our cell phone numbers as alternate contact info "in case of student emergency." Guess how often that gets abused?

Kiss my mistletoe, buddy.

I should know by now that answering my mobile when I don't recognize the number -- especially on a holiday -- is a bad idea. Foolish, foolish me.

So, at 6 PM on Christmas day, comfortably stuffed full of baked ham, smashed 'taters and lighter-fluid-spiked eggnog,  I should have juts let that sucker roll over to voicemail. Instead, giddy with holiday cheer, I answered it.

Sobbing Student : "It's your fault my parents ain't lettin' me back livin' on campus, bitch!'
CM: "Who is that? What?"
SS: "You flunked me, and momma says I have to commute until I gets better grades!"
CM: "Who is this? I only had fifty students last semester...wait, never mind. Was my class the only one you failed?"
SS: "Naw. I flunked Bio, Freshman Year Experience, and Math I, too. Got a D in Philosophy, though!"
CM: *giggling* "Hooooly shit. You flunked FYE? All you had to do was show up and sit in the auditorium for forty-five minutes, once a week! It's a joke of a class!"
SS; "..."
CM: "Again, who is this?"
SS: "...Raymonique-Shane Relondo."
CM: "Dude, you failed my class because you missed 23 out of 30 class meetings. You did not turn in 2 of the 4 major papers, and the two you did turn in were wrong, because you missed the classes that we discussed them in. You slept in 3 of the classes you did manage to attend. You didn't turn in a portfolio, skipped your last conference and basically did no work. If you recall, you were given a midsemester grade warning, referred to tutoring and were told to get your shit together by me, your advisor and the Dean. This is all documented."
SS: "I'm fighting this grade 'cause you're sexist! You're a bitter old dyke who hates real men, and you failed me 'cause I gots a penis!"
CM: *laughing uncontrollably* "Merry Christmas, dude. See you in the Dean's office when school starts up again!"

It came upon a midnight clear...

In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.

 So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.  And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

 “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
  and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

 When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

 So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told. 

*~+~*~+~*~+~*

Merry Christmas to you and all of yours. If you are reading this, you are among my many blessings, and I wish you love and light.

The Litany

With two weeks left to go in the semester, things are winding down. Unless someone fails to turn in a portfolio paper, or does not show up to the final,  grades are mostly set.  This, of course, is cause from drama for those who are going to hop aboard the FAILroad. Thus, the Litany has begun.

The Litany is the last gambit of the student who knows a) they're going to do badly, and b) it's beyond too late to do anything about it.

The opening feint of the Litany is sickness. Whether it's personal or familial, someone spent the semester fixin' to die (in one memorable case, it was a grandma, and for the third time). Hospital visits/admissions, massive amounts of drugs...all prevented Precious Snowflake from completing classwork. Usually this feint can be blocked by asking for documentation of any type. A doctor's note (from a doctor that does NOT have the same last name, thank you), hospital paperwork, anything. No docs, no grade bump.

The secondary assault usually involves stress/anxiety/overwork/the Freshman 15....take your pick. It boils down to "College is haaaaard, and I didn't realize that I had to manage my own time and schedule appropriately!" Honest bonus points awarded to the guy who flat-out admitted that he partied too hard and studied too little, and deserved his "D," but was hoping for the best.

Whatever strategy is adopted, the fact is, no one can go back in time and do what needs to be done: work harder.

Sadly, they lesson won't be remembered next semester, either.

I, uh. Oh, dear GOD.

So we spent this Sunday at my 'rents place, helping them winterize. Yard stuff in the shed, limbs trimmed and stacked, firewood moved, furniture re-arranged and vacuumed under...the works. In the process, my step-gator dragged me down to their finished basement to show me her newest purchase.

Now, as much as I love the step-gator, she's a sucker for "miracle cures." Her back has been bothering her, and we've gone through massages, chiropractors, orthopods, etc.  She'd strap a mongoose to her back and wear weasels in her pants if she was promised that it would make her lumbar spine feel better.

A few weeks back, while she and the Da' were at a street fair, they came across a vendor selling what were described to me as "these fabulous chairs that float and take away your back pain altogether!" She was most serious when she told me that all she needed to do was sit in the chair for about ten minutes at a pop, and her lower back pain melted away.  "Of course," she said, "it takes a bit of getting used to, but it really does help. It's a suspension-y sort of thing -- you just hang there kid of weightless...your dad put it up in the basement. He attached it to one of the joists, and I can sit in it and watch my shows!"

She went on to describe it's construction, but I admit that I was tired and sore and only paying perfunctory attention, nodding in all the right places as I followed her down the stairs to be confronted by one of these hanging from the rafters.

That's right. My mom and dad basically bought and installed a fuck swing in their basement.

I just about swallowed my teeth. Worse, I was subjected to my mom (whom I adore, but she is rather Emperor-penguin-shaped) clamber into the contraption and explain how all the straps for your knees and ankles work to help support you and make you weightless.

As she was hanging there, and I was trying to not cry/laugh until I peed myself, the husband came down and did a visible double-take. I shot him a "shut the holy fuck up and don't say a word or I will gut you like a God damned fish" look, and helped her disentangle herself. She then, generously, offered to help ME into the device, because it "really would make your back feel better!"

Husband assumed the biggest, most shit-eating grin I have ever seen on a human and concurred that I ought to give it a go. I demurred.

I swear to God I am going to track down that vendor and strangle him with one of his own products.