Why is the phone company so slow to connect service and so fast to disconnect it? Historical Me thought, in her pre-xmas daze, that it'd be a good idea to transfer our phone line as of the 27th. Present Me is angry, because now I have no phone service except for my expensive cell phone. D'oh.

If you are trying to reach me, call the cell. I may not pick up right away if I don't recognize the number, but leave a message and I'll get back to you. If it's urgent, call back once or twice. Hopefully the voicemail at the old (home) number will be re-connected soon, and you'll be able to leave messages there.

The tree is up (as of 5:00 this afternoon), the nog has been drunk while listening to The Shepherd and the tourtiere consumed. The wee beasty is cozy on his special pillow, the presents are wrapped and under the tree and everyone has just gone to bed. Merry Christmas to you all.

Liberation from stuff

I am moving. My stuff is going into storage, and then I go to the airport and don't come back for 6-7 months. So, like an airplane, I'm actively jettisoning stuff (okay, not 70 tonnes of fuel over Frankfurt, but it feels as weighty a project)*.

Today, someone came to my house to pick up my old, serviceable yet ugly (in that "perfectly fine, just not my style" kinda way) dresser. I popped an ad on craigslist, and another on freecycle, got a ton of emails, put the sucker on the porch and voila, one item less to pack away! I feel 50 pounds lighter. Now I'm looking around for other stuff I can advertise. Free classifieds are awesome. Getting rid of stuff without having to do anything is, uh, awesomer. I particularly like not having to struggle to get a large item into a small car, or having to find bungee cords to strap the sucker to the roof.

Am I finished xmas shopping or am I kidding myself? Two and a half days until the big reveal.


*Yes, it's an inside joke related to massive delays in holiday travel schedules. Welcome back from K-town, Ms. J!

Sentenced to death in Libya

If you don't know about the case of the Palestinian and Bulgarian medical workers who are currently being held in Libya, take a look at these links. The new sentence came down today: the doctor and nurses will be facing a firing squad unless world pressure is put on Libya to back down. The medics have been sentenced for allegedly infecting children with HIV. As Nature Magazine's excellent coverage shows, the trial has completely ignored scientific evidence and has gone ahead on the basis of torture-extracted confessions and political maneuvering in order to obfuscate the sanitary conditions of the hospital from which the infections originate.

I am going to do just that, now that I have a plan. In the cold light of day, post-caffeine intake, I have developed a cunning plan. A plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel. Obviously part one of the plan is making geeky references.

Moving into part two: If on departure day, I do not hold a student visa to Eastern European Country in my hand, I will leave anyway. I am flying through London, so I will busy myself with enjoying a city that I have never been to. If there looks to be further delays in getting the documents, I will cancel my flight to Eastern European Capital and will hope that my cancellation insurance will cover it. I will then consider my situation as an opportunity to spend a bit more time in the UK, and I will travel around to less expensive towns in England, Wales and maybe even Scotland. I will have a team at home ready to pounce on the mail carrier every day, and the instant my documents arrive, I will have them express posted to London, where I will pick them up, jump on a plane and arrive triumphant. If I can't afford a plane fare to my new city, I will chose one of the many nearby countries and fly in through there. Yes, it will likely cost me some extra $$, but perhaps insurance will take care of it. If not, well, live and learn.

Somebody please tell me it's going to be alright. I have airplane tickets booked, but haven't got my visa yet. I wrote to my bud at the embassy, and he said he'd let me know when he heard from his admin unit in Eastern European Capital. Then he wished me a merry christmas and a happy new year, 2008. I find it very, very ominous that I am being wished a happy new year, as it seems to say "nothing will happen until well into January about your visa". The 2008 bit just gives me hives, though I'm sure it's a typo. Right? Right?

What does one do if one's visa doesn't come through before one's departure date? I am freaking out, just a little bit. I am a contingency plan type...I have to come up with a valid alternate plan in order to not go mental with worry. I just cannot come up with a good plan yet, since non-refundable tickets are involved.

Some xmas ideas

In trying to come to terms with the fact that the big day is in a week, I've finally made a gift list. Due to our impending move out of the country, I'm happy to receive little in the way of actual material goods, but there are a few little things we need. If you are looking for an idea for me, here are some suggestions:

Lonely Planet Western Europe guide
LP Eastern Europe guide
(we already have one for the specific country we are going to, and we have a general eastern european phrasebook too)
one pair of warm socks
merino long underwear top in black
new Ian Rankin novel, The Naming of the Dead
money towards travel and a camera
money towards winter boots (possibly) and maybe luggage

Nothing heavy or cluttery if possible, cuz I have nowhere to put it. The clothes that I'm packing are pretty specific, so ideally I'd rather not get clothes as presents either. I hope my list doesn't seem too demanding. I don't need much, and I really appreciate the thought that goes into gift giving. Feel free to get me nothing, or only a card (ideally of the hand-made or recycled variety).

And if you haven't sent me a gift list yet, send it on asap.

This just in, kiss the ring edition

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?

Made Bishop of Agagni by Pope Formosus, you became Pope yourself in 896 by putting your immediate predecessor, Boniface VI, to death. Your reign lasted all of fourteen months. However, you firmly assured your place in history by putting the rotting corpse of the aforementioned Formosus on trial in the splendidly named Synod Horrenda. Naturally, Formosus was clad in full papal vestments. Having dug up the stinking remains once already, you proceeded to have them found guilty, reburied, re-exhumed, relieved of the three fingers of the right hand used in consecrations and finally thrown into the Tiber. All ordinations performed by the luckless Formosus were annulled. After this delightful display of gratitude, you were promptly strangled, paving the way for an increasingly short-lived series of successors and the reinstatement, dereinstatement and rereinstatement of Formosus' Papal deeds.

Yeah, I'd go there.

I am back from points elsewhere, and have happily sunk into the sofa cushions. I'm not coming out, not for a good long while. There's no chance that I can make that plan stick with all I have to do this month, but for tonight, that's how we're playing it. I'd like the ask the cosmos not to send anything more in the way of major life events my way, please, just for a little while.

Finally, the Beast has crashed next to me and is snoozing peaceably. He's spent the last 5 hours puking his kibble, running around in a frenzy, rearranging my pencil case and destroying my stuff. Normally he does that to get attention, but tonight he went so nuts that kicking him out of the room and shutting the door didn't even make an impression. He continued running up and down stairs (welcome to the apartment, new downstair neighbours!) and making loud crashing noises. There's enthusiasm, then there's taking it too far. Someone's getting a trip to the vet in their stocking this year.

Tomorrow is final grades submission.

Oh my god, I'm switching into live blogging mode here: there's a drunk dude outside the window whistling in the storm. It's one thirty in the morning, and for some reason the whistling combined with the wind is totally creeping me out. Why is a whistled tune so menacing? For defensive countermeasures, I'm going to pull my feet up onto the couch so that nothing can grab at them from beneath me. If the phone rings, I'm sooooo not answering. I'm pretty sure I know where the call will be coming from, and I'd rather live in blissful ignorance. There are occasionally times that I'm glad that my criminally negligent landlord put metal grated doors on our house. Apparently The Whistler in the Dark is one such occasion.

Now that most of the hair on the back of my neck is off sentry duty, where was I? Oh yes, it's the final step towards the end of term. The zeros have been doled out, the attendance marks counted and The Hardworking rewarded.

I am going to make myself a strong hot chocolate with Triple Sec and watch Buffy til I pass out with the cat.

Out of town for a few more days, mostly lacking internet connection until then, no new posts until Friday.

Some of the science behind Russian spy Litvinenko's poisoning. I find this story and all its bizarre twists so fascinating.

A full day of grading papers ahead. So far, the first paper was plagiarized from letters to the editor at the NYTimes and Jesus-Saves websites. Sweet.

RIP Burt

The Wildlife Rescue centre called this evening to let me know that the bird I brought in, Burt (a Rock Pigeon*), had been put down. Despite being in good spirits and not having a concussion, the fracture was in a bad spot in his thigh and the pain was too much for him. Fixing the leg wasn't an option, because of where the break was located.

I found Burt on Friday at 5:30, on my way home from the library. I watched him walk determinedly into a lane of traffic, but turned away when a car sped towards him. I didn't see him get hit, but I did see feathers and saw him waddle painfully into a snowbank in the gutter. He tried to make himself really small, but he was in the gutter of one of the busiest intersections in the city. I scooped him up and felt his little heart beating fast, but he didn't struggle or flap his wings. I put him into my cloth bag and carried him home.

I've dealt with injured birds before, so I knew what to do when I got him home:

*Put the bird in a cardboard box with a lid and breathing holes (I covered the bottom of the box with a roll's worth of wadded up toilet paper for a soft, nest-like feel).
*Keep the bird in a warm, dark and quiet room.
*Don't handle the bird or feed it, just let it relax in its box.
*Get it to wildlife rescue as soon as possible for care (or a humane passing).

It's really amazing how much a bird will calm down once its in a covered box. I had to turn the light on briefly and Burt started flapping his wings almost immediately. I turned the lights off and he calmed down again.

To my surprise, Burt lived through the night (they often die of shock or internal injuries), even though there was a little streak of blood in the bottom of the box. He obviously had a terribly broken leg, but he was in good spirits and quite calm. I drove him to Wildlife Rescue as soon as I could, and they took him right in for assessment and treatment. The admitting vet was pretty cute, so that didn't hurt either. He said it might be necessary to put Burt down, but at the very least it would be quick and painless if so. Much better than waiting to die in a snowbank on a busy street, at the mercy of vehicles or sadistic humans.

The WRA is one of my absolute favourite (animal) charities. Their facilities, right in the middle of a beautiful regional park, are excellent and the work they do is awesome. They deal with oil spill birds and all kinds of wildlife emergencies. They even took care of an injured wolverine that wandered into a suburb. This was such a rare opportunity (wolverine are almost never seen, never mind handled) that vets and scientists came from all over to study the creature and its rehabilitation.

*I hesitate to say that Burt was a pigeon, because the reactions I get when I say "pigeon" are often negative. "But they're diseased rats-with-wings!" you might be thinking to yourself. Well, this bird didn't appear diseased (just injured), and I wore gloves and kept him segregated in the entryway of the house. Humans and companion animals like cats and dogs can transmit scary diseases and parasites too, but I don't generally recoil in horror at the thought of helping one of them. And for the record, had Burt been a human, I would have stopped to help him too. No creature deserves to suffer.

Link: What to do if you find injured birds or other wildlife.

The Cheat, Part II

I've set up a meeting with my plagiarist, who, it turns out, is already on probation. If the university accepts the case against him, he will likely no longer be in school next year. I'm feeling quite conflicted about this. On one hand, he's pretty shameless about cheating (tests, homework, essays, everything) and I definitely feel that this cannot be allowed to go on.

Another prof I know just lets students hand in a new essay to replace the plagiarized paper. That seems to go beyond lenient into the unethical and lazy. She's close to retirement and just doesn't want the hassle anymore. Maybe I'm young and naive, but to me, it seems that if you aren't willing to deal with big issues like academic dishonesty, maybe you should stop altogether. You really aren't doing anyone a favor if you pass the buck, especially the student.

In any case, I'm pressing on with this even though it's tying my stomach in knots. I don't really want to be the reason that this guy has to leave, but then again, it's not my series of choices that has gotten us to this point. I just need to chant "accountability, accountability" a few more times and I'll be okay.

Dealing with a serial cheater

I'm disappointed to find that a student for whom I developed some sympathy early on has a history of cheating in my course. I've reviewed his PhD level final assignment (after receiving an email less than 12 hours before the deadline asking what to write about). As I mentioned in the comments section of someone else's blog, I particularly like the branch of German theoretical critique that the student has adopted. It's amazingly in synch with a German social scientist whose work can be found online. So in synch that the student uses 98% of the same words in his assignment.

As a new prof, I'm learning the ins and outs of my school's policy on academic dishonesty. I'm documenting away, meeting with the student and the dean and backing everything up. I've been warned by other profs that my university is very pro-student, and will often find in their favour. I hope, as there is evidence of months worth of dishonesty, that this will not be the case. To have the uni find against me in my first case of plagiarism would likely put a sour spin on what has been a great teaching experience so far.

UK travel

I almost titled this London Calling, but a decade of bad travel writing and lame headlines stayed my hand. In 41 days, I will be flying to the UK for four nights in London, before boarding a small plane headed for my new Central European home. So, I'm soliciting ideas of things to do while there. Accomodations are sorted, and I already know that I will be taking in a Chelsea match on the Saturday (I'll be in town Thursday until Monday morning), walking over that pedestrian bridge and having tea and scones in the crypt of some church (right, Jess?). I will do some of the "must see" tourist things, but I like off the wall and bizarre things too.

Any suggestions?

That's Professor Hardass to you

Today marks the last day of my first term as a full-on instructor. Overall, it's been fabulous. The students, for the most part, have been incredibly engaged and interesting. Class discussions have been lively and have yielded new insights in the subject matter we've been covering.

I thought my first teaching carnival post would be about conquering stage fright. For the three months up to my first class, I felt queasy at the thought of standing in front of a class again. I surfed the net obsessively looking for yoga stretches, breathing exercises, visualization, anything that might help me not completely freak out on the big day. I showed up an hour early and tried out my laptop on the university's projection system. That advice about always checking your technology before your class or presentation? Spot on. Nothing happened. It took a full hour with the tech guys to figure out the problem. On the upside, the tech department now loves me. The other benefit of having an hour long freak-out over my technology is that my nerves melted away and never came back. I thought I would stammer or blush, but I haven't had a problem with standing there in the spotlight for 3 hours in a row. When I spoke at my grandmother's funeral last week, my uncle came up to tell me that it shows which profession I'm in.

The one thing I hadn't really thought about is that I am now the point where the buck stops. As a TA (working for a supremely incompetent new prof), I pretty much ran the show. I lectured, marked everything, organized discussions and dealt with the frontline of unhappy and confused students. But I always had the recourse of saying "well, Prof X's policy is such and such". At the end of the day, I wasn't the bad guy. For the first time, I am the one doling out the zeros to plagiarists and saying no to ridiculous requests for midterm re-writes. It feels weird to be the hard-ass. I guess I'm still kinda amazed that I am actually teaching my own class, that I'm the prof.

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