Straight, Gay or Lying? Bisexuality Revisited – New York Times

I just wanted to have an entry that said: “a team of psychologists directly measured genital arousal patterns.” If that’s not a euphemism, I don’t know what is.

Dear Blog: Today I Worked on My Book

The New York Times > Technology > Dear Blog: Today I Worked on My Book:

Okay, so it’s not really about me and the book; but it could be. That is if you count cutting and pasting things together 18hundred different ways instead of actually typing anything new writing.

“you can’t go back”

For children and technology

I’m certain that this Calvin and Hobbes comic fits into my children and technology collection :-)

Gay men would never be caught in something with popped collars, let alone fluorescent green polo shirts.

Greenlighters | MetaFilter

Exceptionally Productive

I’ve been quite busy getting work finished for our first ReadWriteThink content report of FY06. We added several Web sites to the Web Resources Gallery:

• Ohio Center for the Book
• Dickinson Electronic Archives
• NYPL Digital Gallery
• The Walt Whitman Archive
• Publishers’ Bindings Online 1815-1930: The Art of Books
• Newseum

I composed a lesson plan, which actually includes a List of Ten. The 9–12 lesson Star-Crossed Lovers Online: Romeo and Juliet for a Digital Age includes a list of Modern-Day Interpretation Projects (It’s a PDF). I plan to add it specifically to the Lists page, but I’m just listing it here for now. I have some additional ideas to add to the list of interpretation (e.g., create the cell phone address book of one of the characters, complete with icons and custom ringtones). There may be a second list of interpretations eventually. While the lesson plan uses Romeo and Juliet for the examples, I’ve written the Projects so that they use the word “text” rather than name the work that is involved—that way anyone can use them with any “older” text.

Tags: English language arts |
K12 instruction | lesson plan | Lists of Ten |
ReadWriteThink | Romeo and Juliet |

Odd layout problems

There’s something odd going on with this layout on Firefox/Win. I first saw it last night, but won’t have a chance to try to figure out what’s going on for a little while. Bear with me please. Thanks.

It’s not a toilet seat

The Washington Post has a story today on computers as nostalgic collectibles: “Geek Chic: Old Computers As Collectibles” (bugmenot login: youareidiots@mailintor.com / password).

And okay, I readily admit that I have some old technologies lying about because I just like old technologies. But the article libels my cute Mac iBook: “He keeps his circa-1999 iBook — the one that looks like a toilet seat — in the basement, next to one of those tiki lamps that repel mosquitoes.” It’s not a toilet seat, Jose Antonio Vargas, and I hope you get boils on your butt for your evil lies.

Tags: computer collectibles | iBook | technology news

Like the Schwan’s man, I always deliver

Like the Schwan’s man, I always deliver. Sure, it may not be when you wanted it. You may have been perfectly happy already. But eventually, the Schwan’s man delivers. And who could turn down the tasty goodness of a juicy bagel dog with cheese when it’s there at the door, ready to come in and be served?

Yes, like the Schwan’s man, I deliver, and forwith, we have one giant, catching-up-on-all-the-details, majorly huge, and enormogimongous travelogue. So poo ot all you whinypants who are running around behind my back being all, “Why don’t you stop eating and write something?” Just hush up, and read whiner.

Now in the days of CIWIC, long ago in the land of Win, there was a boy named Bargeplay. His mother, while a sweet and gentle woman, had been a Girl Scout and she was all too pleased with that Barges song. Every night of her pregnancy, she sang to the little amphibian in her tummy.

Barges, I would like to go with you. I would like to sail the oceans blue. Barges, have you treasurers in your hold? Do you fight with pirates brave and bold?

And when the baby was born, she named him Bargeplay, because she hoped that he would grow up to play with barges and other large things. He didn’t mind so much. Sure, it was an unusual name, but so is Jori Hepart. And besides, there were sailor benefits.

Little Bargeplay grew up quickly over the next 30-some years, and he found himself at CIWIC. The important thing to note, however, is that as he emphasized, most emphatically, he just wanted to play his tunes. How could he be in a lab with proximity to a computer and not be able to play his tunes. “I’m not a prima donna,” he toned like Badger in HBO TV series Curb Your Enthusiasm (see image). “I just want my music.”

Little Bargeplay’s friends flew into action. On their knees, they attacked the three different machines that he huffily sat down at. “Stay down there,” he said, not for the first time according to sources, “I can use you like that.” When his tunes finally filled the CCLI, he sang out, “I’m in heaven!” and went back to the larger issue “at hand.”

See, I had shared, perhaps unwisely, that I was reading a young-adult novel called p: ¬) ChaseR (Candlewick, 2002). The protagonist in p: ¬) ChaseR is a bit over-zealous about ASCII art. In addition to the many emoticons and ASCII art of locusts (the bugs), I was given the opportunity to see in one of young Chase’s e-mails Nakedman:

{: ¬) :  ·| 8=>

I shared Nakedman with Bargeplay and others in the CCLI. I even made Nakedman a friend, Nakedgrrl:

 __/
{: ¬) 8  ·| --
 --\

My sharing was meant to be so innocent. Nothing at all like the ASCII art that young Chase shares in the novel to portray himself at night, in bed, thinking of Maryanne:

p: ¬)          \            |
---------------------------|

And yet, my CCLImates turned quickly from my innocence to their own pervy wonderings. Their question: What would Dickie’s new ASCII art signature be? Conjecture, there was plenty; but no my friends, I am NOT going to ask him. If you are truly curious, you must ask him yourself. If I had to guess, I’d say his sig will be something like this:

                                                             
          |             |                    |    o          
,---.,---.|---     ,---.|---.,---..    ,,---.|    .,---.,---.
|   ||   ||        `---.|   ||   | \  / |---'|    ||   ||   |
`   '`---'`---'    `---'`   '`---'  `'  `---'`---'``   '`---|
                                                        `---'
                                                                     
                        |    o|                       |        o     
,---.,---.,---.. . .    |    .|__/ ,---.    ,---.,---.|        .,---.
`---.|   ||   || | |    |    ||  \ |---'    |   ||   ||        ||   |
`---'`   '`---'`-'-'    `---'``   ``---'    |---'|---'`---'    ``   '
                                            |    |                   
                             
|    |             .   .,---.
|--- |---.,---.    |   ||---'
|    |   ||---'    |   ||    
`---'`   '`---'    `---'`    

I had to leave the CCLI at this point. Nick was making me some wonderful paper airplanes, but the ASCII guesses were just too irreverant.

As always, there was a lovely dessert night, at which the Selfe’s served an unusual UP dessert: Brats and burgers. Cigars all around to burn away the itchy bugs. Marilyn Cooper arrived on her motorcycle—a big ol’ Harley with a sidecar for Pegeen. They roared into the Selfes’ yard, and not even the two giant poodles could convince her to park with the cars as she was supposed to. She drove right up into the house and parked in front of the fireplace. Pegeen, the singing prodigy, stood up on hind legs and belted out show tunes from Grease and Cats for 45 minutes, the beauteous melody broken only by the swatting of bugs and spraying of Deep Woods Off.

There was tequila, so it’s not clear in my notes what happened and what was simply pantomime of possible events. Several things were clear. The Super 8 is a happening place. Someone should invent Deep Woods On, then Dickie could wander into the woods and spray a tree or a rock or that pile of snow that he claims is in the woods with the ON and the bugs would go there instead of annoying everyone. And most importantly, pasty rhymes with nasty for the second year in a row. The evening ended, and I drove a friend to the Super 8 where he may or may not have met someone else.

Things Overheard at the Super 8 Lobby

1. A brown bandana!!! There’ll be fun tonight!
2. Random or shuffle?
3. Does it dock? Dock and load, baby.
4. That’s the way to get a head.
5. That sucks
6. FONDO!
7. Check out his bratwurst.
8. How do you feel about water sports?
9. Smuggler, stiff upper lip, or spy machine? Tell me your pleasure.

Herbert Wainwright, well-known compositionist from the University of Vlad, stared amusedly at the drink in Gracie’s hand. He might not be one of the fifteen compositionists at Purdue in the old days, but he knew a good drink when he saw one.

Another night, another meal at Cindy and Dickie’s—and this time, I am initiated into the Secret Society of Important Rhetoricians. We play the party game that’s sweeping the nations: Name the Rhetoricians. One person at the party names a school and a time period. Others attempt to name all the rhetoricians at the school at that moment in time. It’s the kind of game that the kids will be playing for decades to come.

As the evening dwindled on, Gail the aggressive sitter regaled us with stories of feral ferrets in Japan, attacking those who innocently try to take out the trash. There were tales also of big chairs, and a short game of Do you think we can fit Gail in the woodbox? The hilarity was ended though as we all thought on Michael and the Summer of the Dead Cats.

(please observe a moment of silence)

Gracie is not a cat. She is the smartest dog. She is the one who quit doing tricks for the dog intelligence test when the snacks run out. Gracie is amazingly optimistic. When there is food, she believes it will be hers. When there is not food, she has other things to do and you’re just in her way. The only time you’re useful, assuming you’re not giving her food, is if you’re preparing food to give to her.

Bosco is less focused, but deathly afraid of running into tubes with parachute thingies on the end. So much better to leap up on top like a lumberjack. Dickie buys Bosco a cute little plaid shirt and an axe. Bosco is a lumberjack, and he’s okay! He barks all night and he barks all day!

Days sweep by. Never enough time. Never enough. Cheryl is polishing the brass with a guy. There are no speed interviews however. Many pink notebooks, but no more interviews. Houghton is a town where not even K-mart can survive as an anchor store. Diplomatically, Anne gestures and warns, “Do not park between stores at the outlet mall for it will rain.”

Aboard the Keweenaw Star we sail out into Lake Superior, passing by all the little children playing in the water. Nick and I do our duty, shouting tips and commands: Do your homework! Read a book! Write a journal entry! The children continue to pump hands in the air, hoping the Keweenaw Star’s chatty admiral will blow the horn. Reading a book would be so much more useful than blowing something, but they are children and do not listen.

The three-hour tour is relatively without marine incident, despite having to dodge the landing sea plane, which was clearly no where near a sea. I use the men’s room, just for the impish joy of it. What are they going to do to me? There are no potty police on the Keweenaw Star, and the 7 layers of the Quincy Mine, mimicking the layers of hell, are very far away. I cannot be sent to live, pasty-less with Satan. We are too far out and yet still not close enough to the Bambi gates.

The captain did lament these trips. Always. Always. People did their Titanic impersonations at the front of the boat. Leaning out over the water. Just once, he wished he could throttle the engine and knock those losers in the water. But just as this notion passes through his mind, the water-skiing Huskie zips by the ship. Who can think thoughts of evil to humanity when there is a water-skiing college mascot nearby?

“That’s the best thing I’ve seen all week,” says Cheryl, “And I was over at the Super 8 the other night, so I’ve seen a lot of things.”

As we deboat, the captain warns us: Beware the big headed carp. He may leap out of the water as you try to step to shore. Beware, or you may be eaten alive. There is no need to call in the sniper from Marquette. The six town police cars are able to corral the captain and take him in for questioning.

Another fine adventure at CIWIC completed, we all went our separate ways. Do not lament my friends if you find you didn’t make the travelogue. I hate to have to say it, but bluntness is sometimes best: “If you do not see your name, sorry. You are useless to me textually.”

Tags: tengrrl’s travelblog

Writing, Lab Work, Packing, & New Love

Today’s Inbox Ideas section is on rap and hip-hop, which tied to an LA Times article.

I turned my draft in just before The Daily Show last night (which is ahead of time for me); so I managed to get some other reading done and get some sleep before going down to the CCLI to help a little with ECAC. Mostly I just pointed to things in FrontPage and tried to stay out of the way. I’ve found that if you stand in the passageway between the Mac and Windows portions of the lab, you (1) get the excellent breeze from the super fans, and (2) manage to avoid questions from either room. Course, I only used this tactic when they were working with software I couldn’t help with on both sides. Really. I promise.

I convinced myself that I really do have to leave Michigan this evening, and I began the packing process. I packed up the clothes that I won’t need and started piling the various hard drives and other such technology into the proper bags. The biggest accomplishment is probably that I packed the suitcase of books and wrestled it into the back seat. I’m not even sure that I used 1/2 of the pile of books that I brought with me, but that’s probably because I didn’t get much writing done on those 125 pages I was supposed to accomplish. Somehow I just can’t manage to write, and I’m about out of time. When time runs out, I’m into some major big trouble. Like MAJOR.

So did I write this evening while I watched the second running of The Daily Show? No. I couldn’t help it. I was too ashamed of my toenails, and I justified that if I just redid them, I would be able to pack the nail polish. See? Perfectly logical.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I’m in love. I saw someone with a baby 12-inch iBook. So cute. So lightweight. I want one. I have been searching around and daydreaming about replacing my cute clamshell iBook for months now. It has two annoying problems: the modem doesn’t work anymore, and its 6 GB hard drive is ridiculous by modern standards. Here, I’ve been thinking that I need a mega-huge, 17″ powerbook. You know. Big screen. Bigger is better, so they say. (I wouldn’t really know, being a pure young lady and all.)

When I saw the 12-inch ibook in the lab this afternoon, suddenly I rethought everything. Here I’ve been lamenting that my lovely, cool Win laptop is just too heavy to carry around and use. It’s an excellent machine, and it takes care of my needs for a work-engine computer. I was reluctant to go for a 17-inch Powerbook precisely because the Win laptop is a good machine. I couldn’t really justify two great machines. What I need is a more portable machine that I can carry around with me.

And that’s why the cute little 12-inch iBook suddenly seemed perfect for me today when I saw it. Oh, and I left out that it’s the least expensive of the laptops. How often does that happen?

Tomorrow, if that laptop’s owner is around again, I’m going to ask if I can put my hands on the keyboard. I always know about a laptop when I orient myself to the keyboard. That’s how I knew that the clamshell was the right one. The keyboard fit. If he’s not around, there may be a trip to Indy or St. Louis in my near future. Get me to an Apple Store :)

Tags: English language arts | iBook |
K12 instruction | music | NCTE Inbox