Busy, Busy, Busy....

Okay, everyone,

This week’s column is going to be kinda short and next week’s is going to be even shorter. In fact, it isn’t going to exist at all. I’m not doing an Xcargo for the week of May 11, 2009, or for the week of May 18, 2009.

That’s because I’m busy. Very busy, Very, very busy. As in Holy Jumping Catfish-&-Cattle-Prods busy. As in I’m-never-gonna-get-this-all-done and afterwards they’ll-find-me-propped-up-in-front-of-my-computer-and-gibbering busy.

That’s because ye ole bunch-o-things are happening. Specifically, next week I’m flying off to visit my parents in New Mexico. I’m so looking forward to the flight. You betcha. The three a.m. departure times. The lines. The almost missing the plane. The friendly Homeland Securitoids with large caliber fire arms. The teeny-weenie chairs. The knees under my chin. The scrumptious airline food which now consists entirely of small indigestible nuggets of something or other that’s hawked at a penny per peanut. Golly. Gosh. Good times.

But there’s more. Before the whisper jet leaves the tarmac, I’ve got other stuff to do. Like, I’ve got to finish up editing several chapters of technical manuals. You see, since the overpaid-underworked-Academic gig didn’t pan out (no great loss, really. I look terrible in tweed), I’m trying to make a living by, first, teaching lots and lots of classes at lots and lots of different schools, and, second, doing freelance tech stuff.

The aforesaid techie stuff I’m doing right now consists of wading hip deep through a 400 page guide to a certain open source programmer’s tool with tons of easy-to-read prose like “The autodingdong pre-code process generation wingnut should be first de-pre-referenced and objectified under the GNU-non-compliant FLANGTHORB variable where Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey A kiddley divey too, wouldn't you.”

Oh. Joy.

Actually, it isn’t as bad as reading postmodern literary criticism . . . nor the last three books of my former dissertation committee…but, on the other hand, so’s a happy afternoon spent sticking toothpicks under your fingernails.

Anyhoo, then there’s teaching. This week I’ve got to finish grading the papers from my English 1 class. And I’ve got to do the lecture for it. And I’ve got to prepare the next paper assignment. And I’ve got to get ready to do the final grades. And I’ve got to do it all while at least pretending I know what I’m doing. I don’t. Know what I’m doing, that is. Not really. And I’m proud of it. So there.

Oh, and here’s a little tip. It isn’t just me. NONE of us knows what we’re doing. Next time you’re taking a class and you wonder about your instructor, rest assured, he’s just as clueless as you think he is. Or she is. More so. Teaching is very often the art of staying just one step ahead of the class. Or running to catch up with it. Then you try to have a good attitude about it.

And there’s the rub. The nastier your instructor, the more pompous, the more often he/she refers to “professionalism,” “scholarship,” or “academic rigor,” the further behind they actually are. They’re scared (even if they don’t exactly know it consciously). So, if you’re student, and you do your very level best, and you turn in the finest paper you can possibly write . . . and he/she still grades it like it was toxic waste and suggests you pursue a career as a crash test dummy (and we’re not talking the musical kind here, buckeroo), remember, you already have your revenge. Your instructor is three quarters in the grave. And knows it.

But, anyway, after I get the English 1 class done, I’ve got to get my English 2 class ready to roll. That means I have to write several lectures, come up with a syllabus, plan my lessons, and hope to God that none of the students have already taken my English 1 class because they’ll see how much I’m basically just repeating myself dully. And I do dull well. Some would say I’m the Duke of Dull. Or the Tsar of Tedium. Or the Baron of Boring. Insert additional alliteration here and snore. Then repeat.

BUT, that’s not all. I return to Boston on a Thursday. The next day, the Friday, I get to start a whole new class. This time it’s a course in American history. You see, I’m teaching an undergrad seminar for thirty or so students . . . most of whom are Chinese. It’s part of a program, you see, by which foreign students come to colleges to Learn Our Wisdom. Boy. Have we got a surprise for them. We haven’t got any. Wisdom, I mean. We’re dumb as a brick. They should have realized that when we let Wall Street brokers loot our economy. And voted for George W. Bush. And invaded Iraq. But, apparently they weren’t watching. And we’ve already cashed the check. Now, there’s a learning experience for ‘em.

So, anyway, I’ve got to come up with ANOTHER bunch of lectures, and another syllabus, and an assigned textbook, and a passel of handouts, and several assorted readings. By next week. While editing GNU-complaint dozy doats. And grading papers. And planning English 2 classes. And flying places. God help my students. Somebody has to. Sure ain’t going to be me.

(In fact, truth be told, it’s going to be an interesting class. You see, I’ve taught a lot of Chinese students in my time. We’ve gotten along fine. But, I’ve always wondered, will the day come when, finally, we face the reality that people may be friends, and nations may be allies, but ultimately, states do not marry until death do them part. Ultimately, they seek their own ends. Will my students ever sit before me as I lecture, smiling, but with that fact in mind? Theirs is, after all, a rising power. Whereas, in the last twenty years, we have done so very much to waste our own energies, resources, and dignity.)

But, moving on…

So, that’s what I’m up to. And that’s why I’m not going to be writing an Xargo next week or the week after. It’s hard. I know. Still, buck up. I’ll return. My absence is only temporary.

But I can’t write much more at the moment. I’m too busy with all those other chores.

Oh, and something else. I forgot. There’s another thing that is commanding all my time and energy. It’s a question that haunts me, that occupies my thoughts, and demands all my attention.

To wit: If there is a didgeridoo…

Is there also one that doesn’t?

Until next time…

Onward and upward.
















Copyright © 2009 Michael Jay Tucker