Okay, so my students are writing essays about "binge drinking." There's a ton of literature out there about "binge drinking." Why should they have to reinvent the wheel? Isn't it easier just to go out on the Internet and copy and paste your way to an essay? Especially if you're a bio/engineering/computer science major and you just need to get your damned English 1102 requirement out of the way? Damn straight it is.

I wrote in my journal last night. Honest, I did. And I promise you, it was some of the best literature ever created. Honest to God. But I forgot to click "save" before I exited from my Web browser, and all that wonderful creation was lost forever.

Today we went to see "Let me Sing" at Charlotte's Booth playhouse. It's kindof a history of American musical theater all in one play. Not a bad show, but it hits you a little over the head with the race issue. Five second summary: The whites stole "American" music from the African Americans.

Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a very friendly glass of Cavit pinot grigio. I'm going to try to describe the experience as precisely as I can. First of all, this is not at all the ideal setting. My beat-up wooden kitchen table is a pale yellowish color, which doesn't allow me to see the color of the pinot clearly. The glass, though elegant, is etched with a lovely floral pattern that again distracts from a proper appreciation of the color and texture of the wine. I've just finished

Yo! Just heard Melly-Mel on NPR today. Turns out Grandmaster Flash performed one of the first records to be indoctrinated into Smithsonian's recording hall of fame, which just happened over the past couple of days.

Today I emerged from Fretwell hall to see the first misty raindrops of the month, gently trickling down the red brick pathways of campus. The drizzle was slight enough to just dampen me on my quarter-mile walk to the parking deck, but heavy enough to still feel like rain. This is nostalgic weather for me, reminding me of too many Seattle days waiting for the school bus, or walking to The Cricket for an evening of conversation and endless coffee refills.

So. What now?

I think a key to a productive life is simply to not to ever slow down. It really could work--just never stop for a rest, simply move from one tough task to the next. The question is, are we then reduced to the status of automatons? I've just finished grading literally hundreds of student essays. (Okay, it was actually about 40, but you get the idea!) My immediate inclination is to sit down on my comfortable green couch, uncork a bottle of cheap wine, and channel-surf my way int

Man! I'm still not even halfway through. I'm now on number 17 out of 45. Grading is unbelievably challenging because each student has a new set of problems. Some students have mastered the basics, so you need to push them to develop their voice, or find a more unique and interesting way to tell their story. On the other hand, others have so many problems that you just need to pick a few of them for them to concentrate on so they'r not overwhelmed.

[Sung to the tune of "rawhide"]

Grading, grading, grading,
Let's keep them papers grading,
grading, grading, grading, away!
Write 'em up, move 'em out, roll 'em up, send 'em in,
Write 'em up, move 'em out, grading!

It's blood and sweat and typos,
It's rolling, dangling participos,
It's incomplete sentencos, grading!

Write 'em up, move 'em out, roll 'em up, send 'em in,
Write 'em up, move 'em out, grading!

Daily. Daily. Daily. Daily. As in seven days a week. This is going to require some discipline. I have a good excuse, though. I really do. I was dealing with frantic children. Children who shouldn't have to be personally responsible for their own fates. You see, my kids (age 9 and 11) had to fill out admissions forms for private school yesterday. In ink! If they mess up, they might not get in! Of course, it really wouldn't be the end of the world if they didn't get in. My son, just like hundreds

I was looking over last night's entry, and I think I might actually have a semi-decent point there. I wonder why that is? Why is it that I can handle mind-numbingly dull work, but not semi-boring-but-occasionally-interesting work? I get up every morning and fastiduously do the dishes, making the kitchen spotless [all right, if I was truly fastiduous, I'd have done the dishes last night, but I'm on a roll here, okay?], but my home office is a complete disaster area. To clean the office is definit