I can see clearly, now, the author's name.
He has a reason to know his field.
I know this journal is peer reviewed
And I'm gonna cite, cite this shiny source.
I think I can recognise this publisher
They publish textbooks and things like that
I think this is scholarly, not popular
And I'm gonna cite, cite this shiny source.
Look at this website: Here's a last-updated date!
Look at this website: I can find the authors' about page!
I can see clearly, now, the URL.
I know this site came from a trusted source.
I won't look stupid if I use this page,
And I'm gonna cite, cite this shiny source.
Yeah, I'm gonna cite, cite this shiny source...
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Time, time, time
Generally speaking, I have no sense of lineal time. If you leave me alone in a room without a clock, I honestly have no idea if I've been there for 2 minutes or 20.
However, I've now lost perspective on a grand scale. I can no longer tell the difference between things that only happened last week and things that happened over a month ago.
"Why haven't I received my package yet?" (because they only sent the letter saying it was shipped two days ago).
"This thing is due tomorrow? How did that happen?" (because I started working on it in June, and it's now the end of July).
This can't end well.
However, I've now lost perspective on a grand scale. I can no longer tell the difference between things that only happened last week and things that happened over a month ago.
"Why haven't I received my package yet?" (because they only sent the letter saying it was shipped two days ago).
"This thing is due tomorrow? How did that happen?" (because I started working on it in June, and it's now the end of July).
This can't end well.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Hats
It has come to my attention, from watching the news and "period" movies and TV shows, that men like silly hats.
They like silly hats so much that, when given any kind of power (particularly something like an organised religion or a dictatorship), one of the first things they do is create uniforms for every single station in life - each with its own silly hat.
I suspect this is so they can measure their success in life by putting on their hats in the morning, looking at themselves in the mirror, and saying to themselves:
"Oh, yeah -- I'm totally the Vice-Sergeant General of the Eastern Quark. I'm looking totally important in my Vice-Sergeants hat, and I am rocking this joint!"
Happy is the man who does not need a silly hat to feel important - for the silly hats can be given, and the silly hats can be taken away. And then, all you a left with is an old photograph of yourself looking like a weirdo.
They like silly hats so much that, when given any kind of power (particularly something like an organised religion or a dictatorship), one of the first things they do is create uniforms for every single station in life - each with its own silly hat.
I suspect this is so they can measure their success in life by putting on their hats in the morning, looking at themselves in the mirror, and saying to themselves:
"Oh, yeah -- I'm totally the Vice-Sergeant General of the Eastern Quark. I'm looking totally important in my Vice-Sergeants hat, and I am rocking this joint!"
Happy is the man who does not need a silly hat to feel important - for the silly hats can be given, and the silly hats can be taken away. And then, all you a left with is an old photograph of yourself looking like a weirdo.
Monday, July 15, 2013
This sort of thing
Okay, so here's an example of a typical "conversation" with the lecturer I've been whinging about. The background of this was that there were two Assignment 2s, with no indication as to which one was for the assignment in which I am enrolled, and which was for the other assignment that happens to share our teaching materials and platforms.
I worked out that I could only post a comment in the discussion board attached to one of these assignments, so I assumed that was mine - but just to be sure, I thought I'd post a question to check:
Yes, I could have been a lot more specific with my opening question - except that I have found the more detail I include, the more likely she is to focus on some random point in the details and not answer my question.
I also can't see why the assignments wouldn't have the name of the subjects written on them somewhere in the first place.
These little details just keep stacking up on each other, so that eventually I feel like I'm drowning under an ocean of minor inconveniences.
And then I get snarky, and write replies that seem unnecessarily rude - and start contributing to the problem.
It's a vicious cycle.
I worked out that I could only post a comment in the discussion board attached to one of these assignments, so I assumed that was mine - but just to be sure, I thought I'd post a question to check:
Now, I can see why she might be confused (I really can - there's background stuff that makes my original question more confusing to begin with) but I can't see why she can't just say "Yes, this is the assignment for EDLA504" - or why she seems to think that saying "I don't understand your question, so I'll just tell you what is in the assignment description" is perfectly satisfactory, and I shouldn't have any problems with it.Me:Can I safely assume that, since this is the only assignment I can post a discussion for, that this is the one intended for EDLA504?Her:I'm not quite sure what you are asking, Sharon. Each topic has at least one discussion forum where you can post a contribution. Towards the end of the trimester, choose three of your contributions to these forums, and combine them into one short paper of 800 to 1000 words, then submit this paper as Assignment 2.Me:It's a simple enough question, Susan, don't let the fact that I mentioned technology confuse you too much:Is this the correct assignment for EDLA504?There were, you see, two Assignment 2s and two Assignment 3s, and I just want really CLEAR and OBVIOUS confirmation that the assignment description I am looking at is the correct one for me.Now that the other assignments have been hidden, the question is moot. But it would be nice if the assignment decription mentioined the subject by name somewhere.Her:Assignment 2, Sharon, is exactly the same for both units so it wouldn't really matter which description you read, you would have the correct one. Your capital letters suggest that my previous answer wasn't satisfactory. I'm not sure what extra information might be useful, but let me know if you need more.
Yes, I could have been a lot more specific with my opening question - except that I have found the more detail I include, the more likely she is to focus on some random point in the details and not answer my question.
I also can't see why the assignments wouldn't have the name of the subjects written on them somewhere in the first place.
These little details just keep stacking up on each other, so that eventually I feel like I'm drowning under an ocean of minor inconveniences.
And then I get snarky, and write replies that seem unnecessarily rude - and start contributing to the problem.
It's a vicious cycle.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Mothers
Is there any creature in the world more stubborn than your own mother?
I have noticed an interesting pattern emerging between my mother and I. I can, apparently, kill any interest she has in anything at all simply by encouraging it.
I don't know what it is, exactly, but I suspect it is the same urge that causes my cat to go from "feed me!" to "you can't make me do anything!" simply by suggesting she might want to go into the kitchen, where the food is.
My grandmother's life shrank, over the years. I can't remember hearing her talk about any friends at all - except for people she used to know years ago and hadn't stayed in contact with. In the last few years of her life, she had three family members and a nurse with whom she was in regular contact - but looking back on it, her social circle had shrunk to family and neighbours long before she started to get too infirm to leave the house.
My mother is similar to my grandmother in many ways, and I am concerned that, once she retires, she will turn into a complete homebody with no contacts outside our tiny, tiny family circle except for the two friends she has managed to stay in contact with from her youth. She seems to be relying on her work to provide her with socialisation, but she won't be working for much longer.
I noticed I was doing something similar myself a couple of years ago, so I decided part of my "exit plan" was to make sure I had at least one extra-curricular activity. At the moment, that's fencing. When I finally finish my current degrees, I'm going to try to get back into dancing and maybe join a walking club, or something. Bowls is highly likely.
Maybe that's taking things too far in the opposite direction but, let's face it, I'm the youngest person in my immediate family, and unless that miraculously changes I'm going to be on my own after everyone else carks it. Come hell or high water, I'm going to make sure I have an attitude to life that gets me out of the house and into the company of other people.
I'm trying to encourage my mother to adopt a similar attitude. I figure, if she can catch "homebody" from my grandmother, she might be able to catch "club joiner" from me.
However, I'm finding this to be quite the challenge. At first I would suggest things I thought she might enjoy, only to find that she would start to actively dislike those things just because I suggested them. Then I tried to encourage her to do things she once expressed an interest in - only to find that she would completely re-write history and claim no memory of ever being interested in them.
I've tried suggesting we could do something together, which she vaguely considers for a few moments before realising that my nefarious plan is to get her involved in something so I can leave her to it. Then she's not interested in it.
Now I'm starting to suggest things that I know she'll hate, and just telling her I'll shut up once she actually takes up a hobby of some description ("but I have taken up long-stitch" she'll say, willfully ignoring the fact that I want her to take up a hobby that involves leaving the house, dammit!)
"How can I do something like that?" she'll demand, making some snide comment about the fact that I'm never home, and therefore she can't possibly leave her post. To which I feel compelled to say: "Look, lady, I can be home early every Tuesday, if you decide you want to do something that's on a Tuesday night. Same goes for every night except Friday."
Besides, at some point in time I'm going to leave town - which is more or less exactly why I want her to join some club or take up an activity: so she can hang out with people other than me when I'm not here to keep her company.
I don't think she's afraid of taking up new hobbies or meeting new people - I think she really just objects to my attempts to mess with her lovely, comfortable inertia.
She's just a stubborn old lady (she's turning 60 this year, so I can say that).
I have noticed an interesting pattern emerging between my mother and I. I can, apparently, kill any interest she has in anything at all simply by encouraging it.
I don't know what it is, exactly, but I suspect it is the same urge that causes my cat to go from "feed me!" to "you can't make me do anything!" simply by suggesting she might want to go into the kitchen, where the food is.
My grandmother's life shrank, over the years. I can't remember hearing her talk about any friends at all - except for people she used to know years ago and hadn't stayed in contact with. In the last few years of her life, she had three family members and a nurse with whom she was in regular contact - but looking back on it, her social circle had shrunk to family and neighbours long before she started to get too infirm to leave the house.
My mother is similar to my grandmother in many ways, and I am concerned that, once she retires, she will turn into a complete homebody with no contacts outside our tiny, tiny family circle except for the two friends she has managed to stay in contact with from her youth. She seems to be relying on her work to provide her with socialisation, but she won't be working for much longer.
I noticed I was doing something similar myself a couple of years ago, so I decided part of my "exit plan" was to make sure I had at least one extra-curricular activity. At the moment, that's fencing. When I finally finish my current degrees, I'm going to try to get back into dancing and maybe join a walking club, or something. Bowls is highly likely.
Maybe that's taking things too far in the opposite direction but, let's face it, I'm the youngest person in my immediate family, and unless that miraculously changes I'm going to be on my own after everyone else carks it. Come hell or high water, I'm going to make sure I have an attitude to life that gets me out of the house and into the company of other people.
I'm trying to encourage my mother to adopt a similar attitude. I figure, if she can catch "homebody" from my grandmother, she might be able to catch "club joiner" from me.
However, I'm finding this to be quite the challenge. At first I would suggest things I thought she might enjoy, only to find that she would start to actively dislike those things just because I suggested them. Then I tried to encourage her to do things she once expressed an interest in - only to find that she would completely re-write history and claim no memory of ever being interested in them.
I've tried suggesting we could do something together, which she vaguely considers for a few moments before realising that my nefarious plan is to get her involved in something so I can leave her to it. Then she's not interested in it.
Now I'm starting to suggest things that I know she'll hate, and just telling her I'll shut up once she actually takes up a hobby of some description ("but I have taken up long-stitch" she'll say, willfully ignoring the fact that I want her to take up a hobby that involves leaving the house, dammit!)
"How can I do something like that?" she'll demand, making some snide comment about the fact that I'm never home, and therefore she can't possibly leave her post. To which I feel compelled to say: "Look, lady, I can be home early every Tuesday, if you decide you want to do something that's on a Tuesday night. Same goes for every night except Friday."
Besides, at some point in time I'm going to leave town - which is more or less exactly why I want her to join some club or take up an activity: so she can hang out with people other than me when I'm not here to keep her company.
I don't think she's afraid of taking up new hobbies or meeting new people - I think she really just objects to my attempts to mess with her lovely, comfortable inertia.
She's just a stubborn old lady (she's turning 60 this year, so I can say that).
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
It's in there, somewhere
My mother recently called me an "old woman" because a bought a potpourri container at the show. You know: one of those lovely wooden bowls with a decorative lid designed to let out the aroma from the potpourri stored within.
I made some comment about needing to get some potpourri now that I have a lovely potpourri container, and she just looked at me and said "you really are turning into an old woman, you know that?"
I went to the show this year.
I hadn't intended to, as I usually avoid the show like the plague. The last few times I went I found it rather unpleasant - full of loud noises, overpriced rides, ridiculously expensive showbags and tacky stalls all selling the same cheap Chinese garbage.
Yes, I realise I really do sound like an old lady at this point. Let's face it, I was born a grumpy old lady - I'm just waiting for my hair colour to catch up.
Anyway, I have been harbouring a hankering to visit a "real show" - a proper country show with things like cakes and chutneys and cross-stitch and chickens and cows and sundry other things that may or may not involve the letter "c". A real show, where people win prizes like "best in show" and everyone else bitches about them bribing the judges. A "real show", where you can watch woodchopping and show jumping. A "real show", which may or may not involve the sudden death of the local vicar in the middle of the jam judging competition - leading to an amateur sleuth helping the police solve the crime...
Okay, that last bit probably isn't a deal-breaker, but you get my drift.
As it turns out, I was house-sitting a place that was walking distance from the show, and I thought I might just go after all and see if I could find the show I wanted to see somewhere under the overpriced showbags.
So, I went to the show. And I found it.
They had buried it deep. I only found the craft displays and flowers because I new that particular space existed. If you didn't know it was there, you would have walked right past it. I found things like the military memorabilia exhibit completely by accident. I found the chickens and the cows - but the time it took me to do so meant I missed out on seeing the circus. And while I saw some woodchopping, it wasn't because I actually knew when it was on.
I didn't manage to get my hands on a time table. I kept hoping someone on a loudspeaker would say "and now, on the such-and-such arena, you will see such-and-such" - but all I could hear was dozens of pre-recorded "Buy our stuff! You totally want a dagwood dog!" messages blaring from the food stalls.
I wonder why people feel it has become necessary to shout "hot chips!" at passers-by these days. I certainly didn't notice anyone suddenly going "Of course! I had completely forgotten to eat deep-fried food!" as a result of the constant stream of noise...
Eventually, after doing a couple of loops of the place and having a ride on a Ferris wheel (I do love a Ferris wheel), I decided to go home and eat real food for lunch. As I was walking away from the showgrounds, I realised I hadn't seen any cakes or jams. Had I missed them? Where they ever there?
Oh, well. At least I got a nice potpourri container out of it.
I made some comment about needing to get some potpourri now that I have a lovely potpourri container, and she just looked at me and said "you really are turning into an old woman, you know that?"
I went to the show this year.
I hadn't intended to, as I usually avoid the show like the plague. The last few times I went I found it rather unpleasant - full of loud noises, overpriced rides, ridiculously expensive showbags and tacky stalls all selling the same cheap Chinese garbage.
Yes, I realise I really do sound like an old lady at this point. Let's face it, I was born a grumpy old lady - I'm just waiting for my hair colour to catch up.
Anyway, I have been harbouring a hankering to visit a "real show" - a proper country show with things like cakes and chutneys and cross-stitch and chickens and cows and sundry other things that may or may not involve the letter "c". A real show, where people win prizes like "best in show" and everyone else bitches about them bribing the judges. A "real show", where you can watch woodchopping and show jumping. A "real show", which may or may not involve the sudden death of the local vicar in the middle of the jam judging competition - leading to an amateur sleuth helping the police solve the crime...
Okay, that last bit probably isn't a deal-breaker, but you get my drift.
As it turns out, I was house-sitting a place that was walking distance from the show, and I thought I might just go after all and see if I could find the show I wanted to see somewhere under the overpriced showbags.
So, I went to the show. And I found it.
They had buried it deep. I only found the craft displays and flowers because I new that particular space existed. If you didn't know it was there, you would have walked right past it. I found things like the military memorabilia exhibit completely by accident. I found the chickens and the cows - but the time it took me to do so meant I missed out on seeing the circus. And while I saw some woodchopping, it wasn't because I actually knew when it was on.
I didn't manage to get my hands on a time table. I kept hoping someone on a loudspeaker would say "and now, on the such-and-such arena, you will see such-and-such" - but all I could hear was dozens of pre-recorded "Buy our stuff! You totally want a dagwood dog!" messages blaring from the food stalls.
I wonder why people feel it has become necessary to shout "hot chips!" at passers-by these days. I certainly didn't notice anyone suddenly going "Of course! I had completely forgotten to eat deep-fried food!" as a result of the constant stream of noise...
Eventually, after doing a couple of loops of the place and having a ride on a Ferris wheel (I do love a Ferris wheel), I decided to go home and eat real food for lunch. As I was walking away from the showgrounds, I realised I hadn't seen any cakes or jams. Had I missed them? Where they ever there?
Oh, well. At least I got a nice potpourri container out of it.
A comparison
So, there I was, in the "washroom" at work. I was busy washing my hands while singing "Happy Birthday, Typhoid Mary" in my head (as I am wont to do of occasion), wondering if I'm the only person in the office who takes a full minute to wash her hands...
At that point, one of the other ladies swans out of the toilet, rinses her hands under the tap for two seconds (without even using soap), and then grabs hold of the door handle without even drying her hands first (nothing helps germs move from one surface to another quite like water).
And suddenly I felt completely okay with my habit of using paper hand-towels to open the door when exiting public restrooms (or washing my hands with sanitizer afterwards if I can't use any paper).
I may be unnecessarily fussy, but other people are icky.
At that point, one of the other ladies swans out of the toilet, rinses her hands under the tap for two seconds (without even using soap), and then grabs hold of the door handle without even drying her hands first (nothing helps germs move from one surface to another quite like water).
And suddenly I felt completely okay with my habit of using paper hand-towels to open the door when exiting public restrooms (or washing my hands with sanitizer afterwards if I can't use any paper).
I may be unnecessarily fussy, but other people are icky.
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