The Joys of Adjuncting

A journalism student from one of the colleges I teach at interviewed me and some other adjunct professors about a month ago about adjuncting. End result? I only got one line in the story, and of COURSE it’s the one where I equated my gig at a second college to “running a meth lab.” But the one and only photo for the article has a nice clear shot of my bald-ass head.

*slow clap

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When Plagiarists Keep It Real

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This week, at both colleges where I teach, someone posted flyers advertising for a paper-writing service. They marketed themselves as a “current Master’s student.” I was struck by the seeming audacity and doublethink of this. So I called the ad, pretended to be a student, and set up a meeting. I wanted to find out how someone in academia came to the conclusion that writing papers for others is kosher. I also wanted to hear from students about their feelings regarding plagiarism. Check it the story over at the Stony Brook Writing & Rhetoric blog.

Why I Haven’t Blogged As Much Lately

I haven’t blogged in a while. The semester’s crazy busy now, but that isn’t why I haven’t blogged. I’m behind on pretty much everything work- or writing-related. I’m behind for reasons that are sending me to a neurologist next week, because of what happened five thousand, one hundred ten nights ago.

On days like this, you best believe school's open.

On days like this, you best believe school’s open

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Buffalo winters are so brutal, the people develop an unspoken collective agreement. People in New York City have unspoken collective agreements due to the lack of space; privacy and freedom are like the white spy and the black spy in Spy Vs. Spy: there is no endgame. Only the back and forth. Only the tide.

The winters are so soul-sucking, reach so deeply into you, they’re a violation of sorts, an internal wrongdoing. The only way to survive them after awhile is to block out portions. You get tunnel vision. Everyone at some point in a Buffalo winter turns on the autopilot and just breathes and stays upright till spring. Springtime in Buffalo is actual real magical spacetime. Earth exhales and the permaslush gray that seeps sky and street of life goes poof. Continue reading