Okay, so we didn't write that kind of classification in class today. (Congrats, Memory, for, ah, remembering all of those science-y words.) Halloween is LITERALLY my favorite time of year. So today I gave my students a great 8:00 AM start to their crisp 31 October--we wrote a journal exercise about horror films. (And ate Halloween candy. I couldn't resist!) Horror films just beg to be used to learn about classification essays! Film nerd that I am, I think I gave my students a pretty comprehensive viewing experience. Take a load off for a few minutes and enjoy that tingling sensation crawling up your spine! (Clips from Nosferatu (1922), Psycho (1960), The Shining (1980), Scream (1996))
Sometimes, an adjunct can't help but resort to a little guerilla warfare. Unjustness never sleeps; one minute, a happily contented adjunct is doing his or her job , and the next his or her name is being brutally misspelled on his or her mailbox. It's the sort of outrage that calls for action. (And a slide into the second person. Yes, I'm speaking to you.) Step 1: Raise your dissident voice and confront the higher authority, who may be, depending on your situation, the main secretary. You know who you're dealing with; this particular secretary has recently "casually" crept up on you as you were using the faculty copier, presumably to ensure that you were not dicking around. You're just so young looking. Point out to her that, yes, you work here and, yes, she has spelled your name incorrectly on your shiny new mail label. Which can only mean that she, the secretary, was the one dicking around an...
Midterm, noun. The middle of the school term, a time of tests and essay writing and textbook requisitions, signaling the coming close of autumn. Momentary panic is bound to set in. How can six students in my class of nineteen be failing? What book do I teach next term? Will I be given another class to teach? More importantly, how did my hands get so chapped? I am constantly asking myself these questions, and yet, the panic hasn't closed in. In fact, I ain't even nervous. This time last year, man, was I a wreck. At risk of sounding too much like "The Yellow Wallpaper," I have a "nervous condition." I'm a worry-wort; stress affects me badly. But this midterm, I feel much like the boy from The Alchemist (our class book)--I feel like all the omens are pointing me down the path to my Personal Legend. (Look it up--it's on Sparknotes .) Everything has its time: a time to write midterm tests, a time to grade essays (stifle your groans), a time to ...
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