Working with college students is fascinating; their culture is so different from mine. They say things to me like "Don't you agree that it's absolutely impossible to be successful in college if you don't own a computer?"
There's one thing I've noticed consistently, and I think it's an odd gap in knowledge: Many (too many) of these current college students don't know the numbers of the months. As they're looking at the blank 'next check date' space on a payroll deduction form, I say helpfully, "You'll get your next payroll check on October 5th." And they look at me, confused. There’s a long pause, and I can see the gears turning in their brains. Then they say, "So... is that, like, 8... 5... 07?" It's intriguing. It's intriguing to find it so prevalent. And kinda disturbing.
9/24/07
boodleism boodleize boodler boodlers
(the above is my latest favorite spam-email subject line.)
I'm going to tell a very long story that will have a very tiny point at the very end:
In 1997, I was up on King's Mountain at my friend Julie's house looking through quilt material and discussing cactus-growing, and at one point she said, "Oh, and I have this old record player if you want to take it; I have a newer one."
So I took it. It was cool; all cream & teal, with 4 speeds (16, 33, 45, 78) and an automatic arm, AND an amp, with balance controls, and an auxiliary input, and the choice between mono and stereo sound, and rca speaker outputs.... But it had a specialized electric plug on the back and was missing the cord. So I didn't ever get around to hooking it up to my stereo.
And then I moved to the east coast, and I brought the record player with me. I put clear packing tape across the top to hold the plastic boxy cover on it. It traveled well, but went into storage immediately because I was staying at my dad's temporarily and didn't have my stereo set up.
A few weeks ago, cleaning out my storage unit, I found it again and brought it into the apartment. I took the packing tape off, feeling like I was in a time-warp, like it was just yesterday that I'd taped it up.
It sat in the kitchen for awhile.
Then last week, I purchased some wire and a plug. I put them on top of the record player, and let everything sit in the kitchen for awhile longer.
Then last night, I took the bottom off the record player and jerry-rigged a new cord connection. Plugged it in. After 10 years of lugging this thing around with me, I finally fixed the cord problem, and plugged the thing in!
And the motor that runs the turntable is dead. Dead as a doornail. The amp functions and the little light comes on, but the thing doesn't turn.
But I really really wanted to hear some records, so I hooked it into my stereo system anyway, and sat on the floor of the living room for a long time, listening to records. I listened to about 5 full-length LPs, sitting on the floor, twirling the turntable around with my finger. It was a fun challenge to see how 'automated' I could make my arm, to keep the thing moving at a constant speed.
And this morning I noticed that I have a small blister on the end of my middle finger.
But my point is this: It's a lot easier to get a 78 rpm record to sound right than a 33 1/3 when you're playing it by hand.
I'm going to tell a very long story that will have a very tiny point at the very end:
In 1997, I was up on King's Mountain at my friend Julie's house looking through quilt material and discussing cactus-growing, and at one point she said, "Oh, and I have this old record player if you want to take it; I have a newer one."
So I took it. It was cool; all cream & teal, with 4 speeds (16, 33, 45, 78) and an automatic arm, AND an amp, with balance controls, and an auxiliary input, and the choice between mono and stereo sound, and rca speaker outputs.... But it had a specialized electric plug on the back and was missing the cord. So I didn't ever get around to hooking it up to my stereo.
And then I moved to the east coast, and I brought the record player with me. I put clear packing tape across the top to hold the plastic boxy cover on it. It traveled well, but went into storage immediately because I was staying at my dad's temporarily and didn't have my stereo set up.
A few weeks ago, cleaning out my storage unit, I found it again and brought it into the apartment. I took the packing tape off, feeling like I was in a time-warp, like it was just yesterday that I'd taped it up.
It sat in the kitchen for awhile.
Then last week, I purchased some wire and a plug. I put them on top of the record player, and let everything sit in the kitchen for awhile longer.
Then last night, I took the bottom off the record player and jerry-rigged a new cord connection. Plugged it in. After 10 years of lugging this thing around with me, I finally fixed the cord problem, and plugged the thing in!
And the motor that runs the turntable is dead. Dead as a doornail. The amp functions and the little light comes on, but the thing doesn't turn.
But I really really wanted to hear some records, so I hooked it into my stereo system anyway, and sat on the floor of the living room for a long time, listening to records. I listened to about 5 full-length LPs, sitting on the floor, twirling the turntable around with my finger. It was a fun challenge to see how 'automated' I could make my arm, to keep the thing moving at a constant speed.
And this morning I noticed that I have a small blister on the end of my middle finger.
But my point is this: It's a lot easier to get a 78 rpm record to sound right than a 33 1/3 when you're playing it by hand.
9/11/07
more on college students
When I was young, my friends and I were taught that if you're walking along a sidewalk together and you approach someone coming the opposite direction, you should walk single-file, to allow the oncoming person to stay on the pavement as they pass you, and not be forced off into the dirt.
Seemed like common sense to me. But apparently this custom has gone the way of the rotary-dial telephone.
So for years I've been forced to move my solo self off the sidewalk to make room for the hoards of approaching students. And I've gotten pretty darn sick of it. So I decided to stop making room for them. Instead, I just barrel right into the hoard; straight into them like they're not there. It's really fun! And it makes me feel better.
Seemed like common sense to me. But apparently this custom has gone the way of the rotary-dial telephone.
So for years I've been forced to move my solo self off the sidewalk to make room for the hoards of approaching students. And I've gotten pretty darn sick of it. So I decided to stop making room for them. Instead, I just barrel right into the hoard; straight into them like they're not there. It's really fun! And it makes me feel better.
9/10/07
9/6/07
posts a bit thin on the ground...
"...thin in the air... just generally pretty trim." (to quote Eddie Izzard)
I haven't been posting much lately, and that's for one reason and one reason only: posting takes time. And I haven't got any.
That said, I will write a short post about an unimportant topic:
I just received my first Chinese fortune cookie fortune that is neither uplifting, nor promising, nor is it funny if you recite it and then say "in bed." It reads:
THE PEACEMAKER USUALLY TURNS OUT TO BE THE VICTIM.
I haven't been posting much lately, and that's for one reason and one reason only: posting takes time. And I haven't got any.
That said, I will write a short post about an unimportant topic:
I just received my first Chinese fortune cookie fortune that is neither uplifting, nor promising, nor is it funny if you recite it and then say "in bed." It reads:
THE PEACEMAKER USUALLY TURNS OUT TO BE THE VICTIM.
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