Wedding week, all you need to know.

This Saturday around 5:45 pm, I will be a married man for the first time in my life. When I'm asked if I'm 1) nervous; 2) exhausted; 3) getting cold feet, I say no. And I'm not. If I were doing this for the first time 15 years ago, I'd at least be considering 1 and 2 with some gravity. But I think waiting until 41 to do the deed has eliminated any possibility of Bridezillas-style stress, and I'm thankful for that.

So if you want the answer, it is to wait until you're 41 to get married. :) That, and buying a house with your betrothed two years prior to the marriage date. And prior to that, dating for six-plus years. I know not everyone chooses to wait that long; on the other hand, I knew one couple who'd been living together for 10-plus years and still hadn't sealed the deal. For me (for us), it was about time. I haven't followed the recipe in most areas of my life, and why start now?

Even this week is, so far, drama-free. I have the distinct advantage of getting married to a super-organized and -motivated woman, and we're on top of all the arrangements as we can be. We've had some deals fall through, and some re-thinking, and plenty of doubt and stress, but it's already happened. This week is going to be a lot of little errands, driving around, and entertaining family. I don't foresee any major 11th-hour fuckups.

Then again, it may be easy for me to say that since I'm the groom.

I haven't written extensively aboout wedding prep because, well, that's our business. But all is as well as can be six days in advance.

Bye bye, miscreants and ne'er-do-wells.

Today I gave my only final exam, as noted before; I had exams graded and grades entered by 11:30.

One student missed the exam. I got back to my office to find an email from him time-stamped 9:43 a.m., asking what day the final was. I was all prepared to e- him back with a smile and say "Too bad, no go," but then he softly tapped at my chamber door about 10:45 all contrite. And I had other work to do anyway, so I let the little piss-ant take it. Obviously I didn't have to. My fiancee said I'm too nice. She's not wrong. Did I do the right thing from a Buddhist point of view? (Or is there no "right" thing in a Buddhist point of view? My knowledge of Buddhism is scant.) If I hadn't gone right back to my office--if he had shown up when I wasn't there--I would have said no go.

Oh well. I made a decision and went with it. As an old boss once said, nobody got maimed.

I also noted and recorded writing sample results. Two students who made B's in the course failed the writing sample and now have to retake the whole damned thing. I wish we had some kind of short-course remediation for students in that boat.
I suppose a writing sample is like an at-bat in that anything can happen on a given day, but still. You should be able to write five frickin' coherent paragraphs if you make a B in learning support English, for cripes' sake.

Oh, and it also means these two students failed two writing samples, because all who fail the first one then get rated on the second one. And there has to be a consensus of two raters out of three. I doubt the raters got it wrong. So many variables: focus, choice of topics, amount of sleep the previous night, whether they're gettin' any.

These two surprises were counterbalanced, though, by several passes from students I had serious doubts about. One guy came to see me looking for the posted results, so we walked down the hall, found his code, and he was positively giddy. He may have been my best student this spring--not in terms of grade (he got a C and worked hard to get it), but of tenacity and stick-to-it-iveness. I was rooting hard for him.

Other bits and bobs occupying my mind:

Been reading good stuff in this month's Atlantic on the banking/financial meltdown, and I think we're not at the bottom of the pit yet. I'm mildly concerned about nmy 403b but somehow can't rouse myself to be more so. Maybe there's something to the advice given by one expert, which is if you're nervous about investing or shifting your money short-term (five years or less), then don't invest at all. Writ another way, you can't take it with you.

Allison Iraheta may give Lambert a run for his money on Idol. I'd buy a whole album of duets by them. (But I'd fear a remake of "Almost Paradise.") If Cowell exits after this season, I can't imagine there's any reason to watch. [EDIT: I wrote this without the knowledge that Iraheta was booted this week. So it's down to the boys now. I say Lambert prevails, but Allen may surprise.]

Tomorrow and we hopefully get our blinky A/C fixed. Not a moment too soon with wedding madness kicking in and family zipping into town next week.

Mowed the front lawn this afternoon and again achieved Zen. There's something oddly comforting about mowing grass, even when wedged in tight spots. Something about keeping a careful straight line all around. It speaks to the orderly in me.

Have I mentioned we're headed to Napa Valley for our honeymoon? I will be playing the wine-tasting role of Thomas Haden Church in Sideways--the one who's just ready to drink. We need to plan it out a little more, but we have our accommodations in Sonoma. A mud bath and massage are musts.

A slow fizzle, and smoke.

That's the sound of the semester burning out its last ashes. For me, anyway. I give but one final this spring, on Thursday, and then I plan to hurriedly grade the exams afterwards, enter final grades, and enter a long waiting period.

My learning support students wrote their second writing samples today and thus finished the second of a three-step process in exiting the learning support English sequence. Now, those who pass the writing sample get to (re)take COMPASS. The samples will be graded by Wednesday night, but my classes don't take their COMPASS until Wednesday of next week, the 13th.

In addition, those who don't pass COMPASS are allowed one retest on any of several dates and times up through Friday night, the 15th--which is the night of our rehearsal dinner. The wedding is the next night, and hangover recovery is the next day, Sunday. Any COMPASS retests completed Friday night won't post to the system until the following Monday, the 18th. This means I'll have to monitor the system up through the morning of the 18th, because any failing grade on COMPASS means I have to go back and change that grade from passing to an IP (in progress). Just a little wrinkle I'll have to deal with, an annoyance.

But I'm glad I give only one final. The last day of the semester is tomorrow, but my one class that day is not meeting, since I finished singing my song last Thursday. I'm going in for a few office hours, grading the last two research essays, and cutting out early, hopefully before noon.

There are few other feelings like this, the feeling of another chapter being completed written and a door closing behind me. I can leave this one and begin again in the summer. That may be the best thing about teaching: the certainty that it will be done after 15 weeks. No matter what, it will come to an end.

What I'm reading.

I have moved on to the latest collection by Mark Halliday, Keep This Forever, in which is contained one of the funniest poems I've read in a long time: "Tim Off to Charlotte." It nails the weird associativeness of one side of a cell-phone conversation and the spirit of the traveling businessman.

The lines are rarely end-stopped with punctuation or enjambed, which creates a delicious sort of surrealism. Have some:

Jim, this is Tim McCurdy, just getting back to you about the Big Boys project
Not sure your people are up to date on this
Just to be sure we all shoot in the same direction
Christine, something I didn't mention
The reason Herman Schmitt was calling
He said the contact person would be a Biff something
I'm thinking Biff? Where do I go with the name Biff?
I mean are we in a cartoon here?
If you could just check the database

It's just a zany, random, short-attention-span kind of poem. Four or five conversations with different people at the same time. It's America. And it really is laugh-out-loud funny.

Crunching the numbers, a/k/a another semester in which nothing is accomplished, part 2.

Tomorrow, research essays come due in my freshman comp class. About 18 students remain. The number of students who will have their folders ready to hand in at the beginning of class will be less than 10. Of those 10, the number of essays that will have the correct formatting and fulfill the conditions of the assignment will be, say, 7 or 8. Of those 7 or 8, the number of essays that will actually say something interesting will be 3 or 4.

The class has been a train wreck in the making for several weeks. Ain't nothing to do but stay off the tracks.

On the bright side, it may mean I have fewer essays to grade.

Crunching the numbers, a/k/a another semester in which nothing is accomplished.

I present to you another installment of Great Moments in Mediocrity.

Two learning support classes taught this spring, about 38 students. Without the numbers in front of me, I can say that 85% got C's, 10% B's, and the rest either IP (D in this system) or F. No A's, yet again. It isn't as stinky as a year ago, but there are still poop odors I'm trying to get out of the room. And I so wish we could assign pluses and minuses, because it would be more accurate. I had about 10 students who came within 1-2 points of failing.

Why? Why would you spend good money to take these classes which a placement test said you have to take, classes you would not choose to be in voluntarily, go 15 weeks, and get to the end just to learn you've done average work? You can do average work anywhere--why continue to do only what's expected? Why would you not take an active interest in your education?

I know, I know--we're talking aesthetics.

I hate to say it again, but today was another day in which I barely controlled my temper. One class was stubborn as all hell. Didn't do their homework prior, didn't want to do the work in class, bored, listless, thinking of who they're gonna screw this weekend. Today was the day they found out their final grades, which in this course is but the first of three hoops they must jump through to get through our learning support exit procedure. Some of these guys, the C-minusers? I worry for them. They could pass if they manage to squelch their ADD for a day. Me, I'm ready to get through this and get on with the wedding.

O yard work, ivory, fine timbers!

Well, better late than never. Today, Apr. 8, is the first time I've set mower to grass since, oh, last October or late September. Spring seems really late this year. Last year I trucked out the ol' cutter in early March, I am certain. In any case, the grass needed the cut. And that's just the front yard. The back "yard" is more properly assorted patches of dirt and little flowering grass clumps--many trees back there so a lot of shade, plus rocky soil, hence not much to mow. But the upshot is I didn't mow the back tonight. I'll get around to it at some point.

Not much motivating me to write in here tonight, oddly. Maybe by blathering for a while I'll discover a subject. Here:

Baseball! The season has started. The Braves are, lessee, 2-1 as of this afternoon. They got out way ahead but then gave up eight runs in the seventh. Still, they appear to have brighter spots this year than last. But I figure I should give 'em 25-30 games before I pronounce judgment.

And speaking of baseball, we're slowly finalizing plans, me and the boys, for my bachelor party Saturday in less than a month. The plan is to see the May 2 afternoon game against the Astros, beer it up a little bit, then adjourn to a lovely watering hole and/or restaurant and beer it up some more. No strip clubs, please. I'm young and innocent.

Bits and bobs: a miscellany.

I know I need to end this abominable practice of not posting for weeks and then spewing out two or three in a mad rush, but it will probably continue. Now, a laundry list of other current events.

--The last 3-4 weeks have seen the most poem writing I've done the past two years. It shouldn't be surprising, I guess, that I'm more productive when many other things are going on: wedding planning, usual school stuff, parents' visits, friends' visits, et al. It's not like I've been writing feverishly for eight hours a day, but I've been making the time. I have perhaps seven or eight poems in the hopper, all in various interesting stages of disarray and half-completion. Let's hope one of these days I'll get on the wagon and send out some of these bad boys.

--We are on the ball for most of the wedding's finer details. We need to spend some time hashing out the vows, but we have some models and ideas to work with. I think we essentially have the larger structure in mind and just need to get from point to point. Aside from that, a lot of deposits and balances will be due the next few weeks.

--The way this semester worked out, I only give one final exam, and it's the Thursday prior to wedding week, so I will be able to fully devote myself to the logistics.

--Here is the first semi-public place I reveal that I have given in to season 8 (9?) of American Idol. The little lady has watched it from season 1 on, and I watched and resisted simultaneously for a long time. Now? What the hell. And I predict Adam Lambert will go far but not necessarily the whole way. He's gonna have to cut down on that oversinging, methinks.

--The lawn needs mowing. Badly. But with so much rain of late, not much can be done. On the bright side, Georgia is officially not in a drought anymore.

What I'm reading, and why.

At present, it's David Kirby's collection The Temple Gate Called Beautiful. I have told myself for years I've wanted to write a Kirby-esque poem, and I've managed to sort of write one. Kirby has this long-lined, discursive style which a lot of people probably find too chatty or, worse, unpoetic, but which I find a compelling high-wire act. Charles Wright's latter-day poems walk this same wire, too. I just know that my work tends sometimes toward the multi-syllabic and declarative, so I'm always interested in those poets who seem to manage it and/or give in to it.

Is Kirby's stuff just lineated prose? Mmmm, there's more of that in this collection than in his previous collections. The problem isn't so much with the lineation as with the occasional dullness. But when he manages to pull off this sort of lowbrow, chatty persona with the more refined, learned, artiste persona, as in "Elvis, Be My Psychopomp," it's delicious. This book occasionally tips too far toward the purely philosophical, though, and I'm not always a fan of him telling in his poems how much he's read. But that's kinda his subject, marrying the high and the low, kind of a Southern-genteel Baudelaire.

A subtle but definite paradigm shift.

The following may seem strange, given my past posted obsessions with teaching and learning, and my periodic fretting that I'm not doing anything right.

But over, perhaps, the last 12 months, I have noticed some changes in my teaching style, if one can call it a style. Perhaps "presence." I am, I will readily admit, a control freak in most areas of my life, but never more so than in the classroom. I'm kind of draconian, in fact. I want students to stay in their seats, do their work, and be an active part of the proceedings. How radical, right? But you'd be floored how many students have to really check themselves to simply be still for 30 minutes--let alone 105 minutes.

Anyway, I'm noticing a reduced tendency on my part to sugar-coat things. I am, gradually in bits and pieces, slowing down and letting the real me (whoever that is) emerge. I used to want to smooth things over, be the nice guy whom all the students loved, but that desire is disappearing. It's not that I'm trying to consciously be an SOB, but I feel myself (again, incrementally) caring less what students think of my style, content, or mannerisms, and I'm just plowing forth with what I believe is valuable material.

And, paradoxically or not, this allows me to feel more relaxed and confident, and more able to settle into the groove of a class. I'm putting more on the students and feeling less bad if no one responds or if they do half-assed work. In the last post, a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned a few students who are torpedoing their chances of passing by simply not doing their work. One of these guys has turned it around as much as he will be able; he turned in an essay two classes late and got 20 points deducted, but he turned it in, and he even completed a little written response--not long enough, but he turned it in on time.

Another of these dudes, though, has only written one of three essays, and as mentioned previously, the one essay he wrote was in class--and it scored in the 80s! The other two essays? Both are zeros. He can "revise" either of those essays for a chance at having the impact of the zeros lessened--but it would take a minor miracle for him to pass at this point. The most curious thing is he keeps attending; he's only missed one class in ten weeks.

I could be all up in arms about how he's throwing away his chance (and in the last post, I probably was). Or I could, as I have been lately, take it all in with bemused distance. It's really kinda comical to see this guy bumble into class twice a week and not have a thing prepared and not contribute. He has said maybe ten words the whole semester. So he's wasting his time and his money, and that's his unfortunate concern.

This may not be a paradigm shift as much as a small adjustment. And regretfully, it is not yet a constant feeling, but it's happening more and more. And it's about freaking time, after 14 years in this profession.