PAIN FOR A DAUGHTER

Blind with love, my daughter
has cried nightly for horses,
those long-necked marchers and churners
that she has mastered, any and all,
reigning them in like a circus hand --
the excitable muscles and the ripe neck;
tending this summer, a pony and a foal.
She who is too squeamish to pull
a thorn from the dog’s paw,
watched her pony blossom with distemper,
the underside of the jaw swelling
like an enormous grape.
Gritting her teeth with love,
she drained the boil and scoured it
with hydrogen peroxide until pus
ran like milk on the barn floor

Blind with loss all winter,
in dungarees, a ski jacket and a hard hat,
she visits the neighbors’ stable,
our acreage not zoned for barns;
they who own the flaming horses
and the swan-whipped thoroughbred
that she tugs at and cajoles,
thinking it will burn like a furnace
under her small-hipped English seat.

Blind with pain she limps home
the thoroughbred has stood on her foot.
He rested there like a building.
He grew into her foot until they were one.
The marks of the horseshoe printed
into her flesh, the tips of her toes
ripped off like pieces of leather,
three toenails swirled like shells
and left to float in blood in her riding boot.

Blind with fear, she sits on the toilet,
her foot balanced over the washbasin,
her father, hydrogen peroxide in hand,
performing the rites of the cleansing.
She bites on a towel, sucked in breath,
sucked in and arched against the pain,
her eyes glancing off me where
I stand at the door, eyes locked
on the ceiling, eyes of a stranger,
and then she cries...
Oh my God, help me!
Where a child would have cried Mama!
Where a child would have believed Mama!
she bit the towel and called on God
and I saw her life stretch out...
I saw her torn in childbirth,
and I saw her, at that moment,
in her own death and I knew that she
knew.

So I've been gaining some progress on moving in to Mountainview (key word here: "some"). I never realized how much stuff there was in the other house, and how much work it would be to find places for all the things I didn't decide to get rid of. Luckily, I've gone for the keep-most-of-everything-in-boxes-in-the-cellar method, and the house isn't too cluttered as of now. I've got a lot of decorating done in my room, which I figured was the best place to start because it's out of the way of everyone else and there's no painting or wall-papering to be done.

Because the walls and floor are all wood panelling, it's already got a nice warm aura about it, so I kept the color palette toned down and rich. I found a gorgeous coverlet at Moghul Gallery on ebay -- it's a quilt made of vintage Indian saris in shades of bottle green, a burgundy/wine color, and some teal blue, embroidered in gold thread with beadwork. It's very elaborate so I made it the centerpiece of the room and worked around it, bringing in the colors to other areas and complimenting it as best I could. I've got a Chinese painted parasol in the far corner, which ties in the white of the filing cabinet and nightstand, and white muslin curtains to brighten the window area. I haven't brought out all the books I want on the shelves yet, but I did fill in the empty spots with some of my favorite earth-toned pottery pieces, a green carved incense burner, and a collection of 18th-century glass bottles in clear, green, and blue that were found around our old house. To brighten it up I also draped one of the shelves with the yellow dupatta Nadia brought me from Pakistan. There was no lighting other than the lamp I had on my nightstand, so just today I added a string of Chinese lanterns across the ceiling slant.

It's looking better, but there's still a lot to do. I need:

• bulletin board on wall next to filing cabinet, so I can keep writing in plain sight for revisions
• to make prints for French memo board and hang it on the wall
• full-length mirror for the back of my door
• some kind of pictures or flat decorations for my closet doors
• CD rack
• rug
• floor cushions
• backrest in dark green or maroon
• chair for corner by closet and window
• jewelry box for countertop by shower, and
• a more decorative mirror
• shower caddy

"You know that point in your life when you realize the house you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of a sudden even though you have some place where you put your shit, that idea of home is gone."

~ Andrew Largeman, Garden State

This morning we went to Chenango Bridge for a walk-through of the new house. Until today I'd only ever seen it from the outside. I'm not really sure what I was expecting.

Of course, I had just downed a Starbucks doubleshot espresso on the way so I was able to remain very optimistic, but ...

The living room and dining area were carpeted in a hideous shade of grass green, and the matching drapes looked like they had come straight out of a Lemony Snicket book. But I was forced to admire them, because the owner (who had grown up there) thought they were the greatest thing ever, and had them especially cleaned before selling the house. Dry-cleaning the drapes alone cost him over $400. And it's a terrible waste because they will be the first thing to go -- I'd rather have newspapers over the windows, they are truly that ugly. They remind me of that monster on Sesame Street who lived in the garbage can. But, at least they are better than the curtains on every basement window, stamped with a pattern of the Kool logo.

And speaking of the basement... above the door to the basement is a little light like the kind you see outside television studios when they're filming something. Apparently the owner's father, who built the house, got really mad when anyone left the adjacent hallway door open while he was in the basement, because if he came out of the basement and opened the door it would hit the other door. So he installed the light, which is on whenever anyone's in the basement, so whoever is upstairs knows not to leave the adjacent door open. Seriously. When I saw that light and heard the story I wanted to burst out laughing.

This guy who built the house also tried to dig a bomb shelter in the backyard, until one of the walls collapsed and his wife yelled at him and made him fill in the hole. Which is why there is now a random concrete slab off the back of the house. Some porch.

The bathroom upstairs is really tiny and built into the back dormer, and has no shower because the owner's parents "never took showers." Instead they built a shower for him set into the wall of what used to be his room. Just a random shower not connected to the bathroom at all. And speaking of, this bedroom is completely lined with wood floor to ceiling, no paint or wallpaper anywhere, so we've been referring to it as "the wood room". It's really weird because none of the other bedrooms are like that, it's just so random.

And the kitchen countertops are bright blue. Like, blogger blue.

Then there's the fireplace. A family of raccoons had been living in the chimney until a week ago when the people came home and discovered them, and the mother and 3 of the babies climbed out. There's still one baby left, that's apparently too small to climb out of the chimney yet, and the mother keeps bringing it food. But there's nothing to be done yet, because the piece won't come off the bottom of the chimney so no one can open it up to get the raccoon out. And the regular-sized ladder doesn't reach to the top of the chimney. So all they can do for now is wait and see if it gets out on it's own.

Have you ever spent some weeks looking for yourself, only to turn around and realize that you've been there all the time but now everyone else has gone?

I've done it again.

It's like searching everywhere for a pair of glasses that have been right on top of your head, and when you finally notice and put them on, you wonder why you ended up here, as if you'd forgotten you knew your way by heart because in your panic you thought you relied on the glasses. And now you're here for absolutely no reason. And it took so long to find the glasses that now you can't remember what it was you needed them for, no matter how pressing it had seemed in the moment.

I feel very, very alone.

Today while browsing the latest headlines, I noticed an article on the BBC news about the House of Lords rejecting a law which "would have removed the threat of prosecution from those who go abroad to help an 'assisted suicide'". So because assisted suicide for the terminally ill is illegal in the UK, if a person were to travel to, say, the Swiss clinic Dignitas to die, their spouse could not accompany them or they would risk prosecution under the Suicide Act.

All this controversy about physician assisted suicide etc. etc. really makes me angry. In my opinion, it's almost ridiculous. It's hard for me to comprehend how government can possibly have this much say over an individual's rights, and I don't know how people stand for it.

Assisted suicide is illegal in the U.S. as well except for in Oregon and Washington, and even in those states there are strict laws concerning when this can be legal. How can the state place these kind of limits on personal liberty? Isn't the choice concerning time and circumstance of death a highly personal matter, and shouldn't we each have the right to make those sorts of decisions? When one is terminally ill and death is imminent, why can't one have the choice to die with dignity? Those opposing PAS talk about the effect it has on family and friends. What is the effect on family and friends who watch their loved one waste away, or discover them dead in much worse circumstances than the person would have chose ... or those who go tens, even hundreds of thousands of dollars into debt to keep their loved one alive, when the last thing that person wants is be kept alive to suffer through another day? What if said person doesn't even recognize his or her family, and isn't really even aware that he or she is alive? Who are we to lock anyone into that sort of half-existence?

True compassion would require that assisted suicide become legal. Of course it could be abused, like any law in the legal system. But the bottom line is that when we are already dying, and our quality of life is hastily declining, we should have every right to avoid needless suffering and choose a peaceful, painless death. I don't see how any argument can really be made against this. Of course it is hard on families. Death is never easy to deal with. But isn't it easier to know that your loved one has died in the time and place they wanted, with everything in order and their wits about them, than to have it on your conscience that you fought for another few weeks or months that they never wanted and couldn't enjoy? And after all, if it were you, what would you want?

I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then.

~ Clarissa Vaughn

Dear Leonard. To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. Leonard, always the years between us, always the years. Always the love. Always the hours.

~ Virginia Woolf

It would be wonderful to say you regretted it. It would be easy. But what does it mean? What does it mean to regret when you have no choice? It's what you can bear. There it is. No one's going to forgive me. It was death. I chose life.

~Laura Brown

I wrote this poem today, inspired by Red, the poem by Ted Hughes that I recently posted. I know it's pretty similar in concept, and the first lines are practically identical, but I don't think it's necessarily considered plagiarism. I hope not. Because I sort of like the way it turned out.


Yellow


Yellow was your color.
Yellow
Was the thing you made hold onto you,

Wound around your finger.

You always liked the way honey
Wouldn't show you your reflection,
Were fond of the way caramels
Melted against glass.

You
Were yellow.
Mornings, the way
Roman shades filtered sunlight

And at night, the lantern
Burning scrolls of fog.
They came to you like moths
You, death with a halo

Lifting buttercups to your chin.

I remember
Sand in your shoes
And the letters you cut out of
The yellow wallpaper.

Did you ever tire of admiring
How amber meant forever
To the insect caught inside?

I wanted you to see
The glory of red,
The innocence of white,
The mystery of blue.

But you wrapped yellow around your finger
Again, twice,
Like marriage

And rubbed lemons over your freckles,
Because you were tired
Of connecting the dots.

Red was your colour.
If not red, then white. But red
Was what you wrapped around you.
Blood-red. Was it blood?
Was it red-ochre, for warming the dead?
Haematite to make immortal
The precious heirloom bones, the family bones.

When you had your way finally
Our room was red. A judgement chamber.
Shut casket for gems. The carpet of blood
Patterned with darkenings, congealments.
The curtains -- ruby corduroy blood,
Sheer blood-falls from ceiling to floor.
The cushions the same. The same
Raw carmine along the window-seat.
A throbbing cell. Aztec altar -- temple.

Only the bookshelves escaped into whiteness.

And outside the window
Poppies thin and wrinkle-frail
As the skin on blood,
Salvias, that your father named you after,
Like blood lobbing from the gash,
And roses, the heart's last gouts,
Catastrophic, arterial, doomed.

Your velvet long full skirt, a swathe of blood,
A lavish burgandy.
Your lips a dipped, deep crimson.

You revelled in red.
I felt it raw -- like crisp gauze edges
Of a stiffening wound. I could touch
The open vein in it, the crusted gleam.

Everything you painted you painted white
Then splashed it with roses, defeated it,
Leaned over it, dripping roses,
Weeping roses, and more roses,
Then sometimes, among them, a little blue
bird.

Blue was better for you. Blue was wings.
Kingfisher blue silks from San Francisco
Folded your pregnancy
In crucible caresses.
Blue was your kindly spirit -- not a ghoul
But electrified, a guardian, thoughtful.

In the pit of red
You hid from the bone-clinic whiteness.

But the jewel you lost was blue.

What really confuses me is being in a situation where I think, out of the blue, "it would be really weird if ___ showed up right now," and I have just enough time to wonder why I even thought of that person, and then he/she appears? Or when for no reason at all I picture people doing or saying something that has nothing to do with anything that's going on at the moment, and I ask myself why I even pictured that because it's so bizarrely disconnected from anything I'm experiencing in the real world, and my mind seems to answer that it's because I just had a dream about that recently -- and then it actually happens, even though it's completely unexpected?

Situations like this happen so often, many times weekly, even daily. And I should be used to it by now, but every time it totally messes up my mind. Like back in first grade when I'd have just completed a complicated picture on an Etch-a-Sketch and then somebody would accidentally shake it a little and even though most of the lines were left on the screen I just couldn't picture in my mind what it had looked like.

Or like when you see a tiny stray thread on the hem of a skirt and you try to break it off, but instead it pulls so the entire skirt is bunched up, twisted, and bruised-looking. And you wonder why you didn't just let it go.

God, this life is strange sometimes.

I've decided my primary goal throughout the summer is to become healthier. I'm going to drink eight glasses of water a day so I'm not dehydrated anymore (and so I stay away from the temptation of bowl after bowl of ice cream). I've also heard increased water intake is good for the complexion, another incentive to stick to this resolution. And speaking of healthy skin, even though I don't really care whether or not I look tan, I'm going to make myself get some sun every day because I know it's good for me.

I'm also going to do Yoga every other day. My muscles are way too inflexible right now -- most of them barely get used, and my leg muscles are so tight that I can't even keep my heels on the floor during the Adho Mukha Svanasana pose. My arms are so weak from not shooting archery anymore, that halfway through the routine they start shaking when I use them for support. I am determined to get more fit and more flexible. Plus, when I get good at Yoga, I can use it as a stress reliever. Which I am probably going to need next semester. I've decided that once I have had sufficient practice following instructional videos, I'm going to reward myself by signing up for a legit class.

And finally, to make sure I get enough exercise over the summer, I'm going to continue walking in the mornings and go jogging every 2nd or 3rd morning. I've never tried to go jogging before this summer, and the one time I tried it didn't go so well. But I'm going to not eat breakfast first next time. And I'm going to start with intervals so it's not as hard. The lower my expectations, the better I'll feel I did. We'll see how long this lasts.

On a brighter note. Today I bought the album "Taller Children" by Elizabeth and the Catapult. They did a brilliant cover of Leonard Cohen's song "Everybody Knows", which I immediately fell in love with. I wasn't crazy over the rest of the album, because I didn't think the lyrics to their own songs were anything amazing, but it was still enjoyable to listen to and I have a feeling it'll grow on me.




Everybody Knows

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That's how it goes
Everybody knows
Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died

Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long stem rose
Everybody knows

Everybody knows that you love me baby
Everybody knows that you really do
Everybody knows that you've been faithful
Ah give or take a night or two
Everybody knows you've been discreet
But there were so many people you just had to meet
Without your clothes
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

And everybody knows that it's now or never
Everybody knows that it's me or you
And everybody knows that you live forever
Ah when you've done a line or two
Everybody knows the deal is rotten
Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton
For your ribbons and bows
And everybody knows

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming
Everybody knows that it's moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there's gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows

And everybody knows that you're in trouble
Everybody knows what you've been through
From the bloody cross on top of Calvary
To the beach of Malibu
Everybody knows it's coming apart
Take one last look at this Sacred Heart
Before it blows
And everybody knows

Everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Oh everybody knows, everybody knows
That's how it goes
Everybody knows

Everybody knows

<
rant>

If there is one thing that hurts more than anything else, it's when my mother can't stand to see me happy. It's when her endless thirst for drama, conflict, and war comes running after me, teeth bared, long after I've backed away from the challenge. It's when I'm accused of "romanticizing" the life she's forced me to live, because I've brought resilience out of the wreckage of the past two years, and begun to pick up the pieces as I learn to survive on my own -- because I'm finally starting to realize that I'm the only person I'll always be able to rely on for the rest of my life. It's when she repeatedly informs me that I've made her life hell. It's when she starts to shed tears for her own entertainment, and makes me feel overcome with guilt even though I am the one being victimized. It's when she denies the words that are etched across my mind for the rest of my life. It's when I tear myself away from the temptation of apologizing for nothing, of trying for the millionth time to make everything better, and instead trudge to my car to face another day knowing that our relationship will turn out the same as the one she has with my estranged grandmother. It's when I lie awake at night staring at the rocking chair she used to sing me to sleep in when we were mother and child, in that different life we had fifteen years ago. It's when I wish I had a mother to give me advice and hold me while I cry and believe in my dreams. It's the sick jealousy I feel when I see my friends' mothers, and the guilt that floods my mind when I become aware that I am jealous. It's the embarrassment I feel when anyone asks.

If there is anything I have learned from all of this, it is never to become that person. The person who thrives off of other people's unhappiness, who stumbles through life bruising other lives. I will never be like that. I will never do this to my child.

< /rant >

In response to this post by Susanna at Dreaming as the Summers Die:

I feel like my life is a house whose front door hardly anyone uses. Other souls come climbing through the windows, waltzing in the back and side doors, slinking up the cellar stairs, seeping under cracks and creeping in through crannies, scuttling around the attic and down the chimney. They never come out the way they came; they find another way, leaving a trail through my life, patterns in the dust on the floor. But the few who enter the front door -- who come into my life in the most obvious ways -- step into the foyer, wait, and are gone.

I was just thinking today about how some aspects of my character haven't changed very much throughout my entire lifetime. It's almost like my personality now is founded on who I was as a child and even a baby. I'm sure the examples I thought of are just strange coincidence, a pattern that only appears to exist, like the monkeys typing theory. But still, now that I've thought about it I bet there are some people out there who theorize that we are born as who we will be, that our personalities and character traits are already a part of our soul, that environment and circumstance have nothing to do with our development as a person. It's strange to think about. But anyway, here are the examples I thought of, just as curiosities:

• My first words were when my parents took me for a walk and I saw a bird fly past. According to the story, I pointed and shouted, "Bird! Pretty bird!" For my entire life, I've had a fascination with birds and anything with wings. When I'm bored, I can stare at a backyard birdfeeder for hours on end. I pick up feathers that I find outside and use them as bookmarks. Once when I was 10 I found a flamingo feather in the bird room at the Syracuse zoo and begged the zookeeper to let me have it. I have an inkwell on my desk with quill pens in it as a decoration. I love feather jewelry. And I don't really care that much if any other animal gets run over (yes, I know, that's terrible of me to say) but when a bird gets hit by a car, I'm depressed for the entire day. I saw a sparrow get hit by a semi-truck once on Route 369 on the way to class, and it was so upsetting I burst into tears and even now I sometimes see it replayed like a video clip in my head. It's one of the worst things I think I've ever seen. As ridiculous as that sounds. I think its because birds are supposed to be free from all the lowly things down here -- they're supposed to fly and sing and be careless and detached from everything. When I see an eagle or something soaring high above the earth, I feel weightless and alive, and the world seems right again. When I see a dead bird by the side of the road I feel dirty and corrupt and caged in by my very existence.
• The other interesting thing I noticed about this story -- if it is true -- is that immediately after speaking my first word, I strung together an adjective and a noun. Since then, I've gone through many plans for possible career choices, but I always come back to being an English major. Always. I wonder if it's possible to be born with one's brain wired in a certain way, so that linguistics come especially easy.
  

• My favorite movie as a toddler was Beauty and the Beast. Belle was pretty much my childhood hero. I always wanted to dress up like her in my "belle dress", and I had a bunch of mini plastic "belle dolls" from the disney store that I took with me everywhere I went. I think it's funny that I ended up being a lot like the character of Belle. I had a vivid imagination and was always daydreaming about things being different than they were, and I learned to read really early which is why I hated kindergarten and persuaded my parents to homeschool me. By the time I was 10 I had read the entire childrens' section in the Moore Memorial Library. I always dreamed about having a library like the one in the Beast's castle, with ladders I could swing on. I still want to have my own library when I get a house of my own. And there will be ladders on the shelves, just wait and see.

• My favorite color when I was about 2 years old was red. All of my coloring books were monopolized by red crayon. I wanted to wear red all the time, and I painted one of my belle doll's blue dresses red. I cried and cried when we moved from our red victorian house in Tully to the white one in Greene, and according to my parents, I had a tantrum when I found out we were moving and shouted "I don't want Carly [the daughter of the people who bought the house] to have my red house!!!" I swore I was going to have a red house and a red car when I grew up, and I told my parents when I was old enough to dye my hair I would dye it red. Well, I've never looked particularly good in red because of my skin tone, and truthfully I don't even care for the color that much anymore, at least in terms of clothing and accessories, so I hardly ever wear it. But I think it's really funny that my first car coincidentally ended up being bright red, and the first time I dyed all of my hair instead of just streaking it, it ended up being red (though that was mostly unplanned).
  

So I was wandering around Binghamton on my way home from Vestal tonight, shopping for father's day and just trying to think of stuff to do in general so I wouldn't have to come back here and be bored again... When suddenly I started thinking about books and got the distinct urge to write. I didn't know what, I just really really wanted to write. It seemed like forever ago since the last time I just sat down and wrote something worth keeping. So I hurried to check out and drove home in the rain with the radio blasting, thinking the whole way about how I was going to plan out some amazing plotline and write this really stirring, thought-provoking, philosophical, character-driven story that I would be so proud of.

Of course, I didn't actually plan it, I just planned that I was going to plan it. When I got home.

So now here I am, at home, staring at a blank notebook wondering what the hell I was thinking. And wishing I hadn't been in such a rush to leave Vestal so I could've remembered to bring some charcoal and chalk for my collage. Or remembered to get some cash from the ATM. Or gotten the hair conditioner I so desperately need right now. Or brought something back to wear to work tomorrow.

Couldn't I at least have had the presence of mind to stop at a Starbucks and write instead? At least somewhere where there are people around to use as inspiration. Instead me sitting alone inside this huge empty house and its silent, brooding atmosphere, staring out the windows at the gloomy rain-blurred view.

Now seems like a pretty good time to curl up on the couch with a movie.

Why do my days so often come to this?

All day today there have been trucks driving up and down our road delivering cow manure to be spread on the fields of nearby farms. The smell seems somehow worse this year, maybe because it's so rainy and overcast. Usually I can stand the slight whiff of dried manure in the distance, even, almost, welcome it as a familiar scent unique to the country. But this is so disgustingly fresh and overpowering that it has made me lose my appetite every time I step outside.

I could go on complaining about it but I am not, in fact, in a negative mood today. So instead, as I am about to light a stick of incense, I have been thinking of smells that I do like. As far as I can think right now, these are my top ten:

1) Coffee
2) Campfires
3) Horses
4) Books
5) Leather
6) Tangerines/ Clementines
7) Lilacs
8) The Ocean
9) Cedarwood
10) Warm home-baked bread

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Discovered this recipe at Grace's yesterday when we were looking for something to bake for Great Gram's birthday. It's really easy to make, takes less than 10 minutes to prepare, and even though it takes a while to bake it's worth every minute. Maybe it's just me cause I haven't had homemade shortbread in I-don't-even-know-how-long, but I ate one of the corners as I was putting it on the plate yesterday and I thought it was the best ever.

So anyways here's the recipe:

Preheat the oven to 300.

Mix together:
1 and 1/4 sticks (10 tablespoons) unsalted butter
1/4 cup powdered sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons regular sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt

Beat on medium speed until fluffy. Then, gradually sift over the top while stirring:

1 and 1/2 cup all-purpose flour

Knead until well-blended. Press into 8x8 inch pan. Create a decorative pattern with a fork (insert all the way through the dough). Bake for 45-50 minutes, until lightly golden with the edges slightly darker.

Remove from oven and place on rack to cool. When barely warm, cut into bars or squares, almost all the way to the bottom. When completely cool, retrace cuts. If you like, you can sprinkle sugar over the top.

My world has been turned inside-out.
I hold my soul like a balloon, the inner workings of my mind reflected on its surface.

Some songs, new & old, that are currently on my ipod and get replayed pretty often. I've had a lot of people ask me lately for suggestions on music to listen to, I think we're all getting bored of our current selection since we have so much time to listen over the summer. Anyway, if anyone hasn't heard any of the songs on this list -- go listen. And if anyone has any suggestions for me, please leave comments! I too am on the lookout for some new music.

Here's my list (I've tried not to include too many multiple songs by the same artist, but in some cases I just couldn't help it):

“Eyes on Fire” – Blue Foundation

“Gila” – The Beach House

“Wishing Well” – The Airborne Toxic Event

"Sometime After Midnight" -- The Airborne Toxic Event

“Middle Cyclone” – Neko Case

"People Got A Lotta Nerve" -- Neko Case

“Comme des enfants” – Coeur de Pirate

"Violet Hill" -- Coldplay

--AND EVERYTHING ELSE BY COLDPLAY --

“Old Letters” – Company of Thieves

“Oscar Wilde” – Company of Thieves

“Daniel” – Bat for Lashes

“Flightless Bird, American Mouth” – Iron & Wine

“Cornflake Girl” – Tori Amos

“Winter” – Tori Amos

"Smells Like Teen Spirit" -- Tori Amos

"Mr. Zebra" -- Tori Amos

“Never Say Never” – The Fray

“Over My Head (Cable Car)” – The Fray

“Sleeping In” – The Postal Service

“Low Happenings” – Howling Bells

“Writing to Reach You” – Travis

"Why Does it Always Rain on Me?" -- Travis

“Bottle It Up” – Sara Bareilles

“Broadripple Is Burning” – Margot & The Nuclear So and Sos

“New Slang” – The Shins

“Girl Inform Me” – The Shins

“Funnyman” – KT Tunstall

“Hopeless” – KT Tunstall

“Again & Again” – Holly Brook

“The Kids Don’t Stand a Chance” – Vampire Weekend

“Tiger Mountain Peasant Song” – Fleet Foxes

“On the Radio” – Regina Spektor

“I Dare You to Move” – Switchfoot

“Who Will Save Your Soul?” – Jewel

“Cath” – Death Cab for Cutie

"Soul Meets Body" -- Death Cab for Cutie

"Quelqu-un ma dit" -- Carla Bruni

"Delilah" -- The Dresden Dolls

"Kingdom of Rust" -- the Doves

"Somewhere Only We Know" --Keane

"Stop Acting Like You Know More About the Internet Cafe than Me" -- Peachcake

... and, in case you didn't get the earlier message, anything and everything by Coldplay is absolutely brilliant. I only included the one song on this list because probably most of the people who are reading this already know that Coldplay is the first thing I would recommend listening to. I've been listening to all of their albums non stop for close to exactly one year now, and I'm still not tired of them.

Observations I have made today:

- While baking chocolate chip cookies just now, I realized that:

• I always listen to reggaeton and Latino hip-hop on AOL radio while baking, but I never listen to it otherwise...
• While making anything with vanilla, I purposely let the tablespoon overflow so there's about twice as much vanilla as the recipe calls for...
• I can follow the exact same recipe and it never looks the same as when my mom makes it ...
• and I have absolutely no idea how to tell when stuff is done baking.

Also, a good story. On the way home from our trip to Binghamton, Grace and I were driving near the end of our road, by the farmhouse with all the horses, and there was this guy standing in the field near the road, next to a parked pick-up truck -- rough-looking type with a cowboy hat on, shielding his eyes to look at the horses, and as we drove by he turned to look at us, and we saw with amazement that he was actually wearing a black bandit mask!! It looked like he was plotting to steal the horses. I don't know what was actually going on but it struck me as hilarious and I laughed so hard I thought I was going to die. Just thought that was weird enough that it was probably worth sharing ...

Also. As I am sitting here typing this, a male cardinal is repeatedly flying out of the rhododendron bush to slam into the kitchen window. He's been doing this for 3 days straight. Apparently he thinks his reflection is another male cardinal. So far he's managed to dislodge the window screen from its frame, scratch up the glass window pane, and probably knock himself out a couple of times. Every few minutes he hits the glass so hard with his beak (which, amazingly, is still intact) that he falls, disoriented, to the ground and has to get back up to sit in the bush again and stare at the window reflection. It's so annoying. I think I'm going to go crazy if I have to watch this for another 5 minutes.

And in case anyone cares to know, I just retyped the word "rhododendron" different ways for 4 minutes, waiting for the spell-check highlight to go away, before I finally gave up and looked it up in the dictionary, which took 25 seconds. I am brilliant.

So yesterday I was trying on clothes and the memory randomly surfaced in my mind of how Amy and Joy used to tell Grace and I that we were fat, merely because the two of them were twiggy little 8 and 10-year-olds, and Joy later explained that she never actually thought we were fat, she was just jealous that Grace and I, both older, were more fully developed. All this time I'd assumed that she was speaking for both her and Amy, but now Amy unabashedly informs me that actually, she sincerely had thought we were fat. Thus turning a good laugh into a not-so-good discovery. I was horrified. I couldn't stop thinking about it for the next few hours. I felt really sympathetic for my past self, and, as a form of it, my current self.

Later on, we were playing ping pong in the top of the barn, and it was really hot up there so I rolled my shirt up and tucked it into my bra. I suddenly realized that Amy was staring at me and she goes, "Holy cow, where did YOU get ab muscles?? It's not like you ever exercise or anything!" Which, of course, was a very backhanded compliment, as it revealed the fact that she still expected me to be out of shape and, well, fat like she apparently used to think. But it also vastly improved my self image after her earlier comments. Especially since I hadn't previously been aware of the fact that I even had ab muscles.

And then I got to thinking about how hilarious it is that my sister commenting on my abs should make me feel so much better about myself.

So, to prove that I don't care how my body looks, I've since eaten 3 bowls of French Silk ice cream, and am currently devouring 6 oz of Dove chocolate with a cup of chocolate raspberry coffee.

Because that really shows everyone exactly what is important to me, right?

...Yeah. Now that I've admitted all this publicly on my blog, I can't stop laughing at myself.

Today I got home to find a booklet from Starbucks in the mail, obviously an offer for gold card members because it has the same black background and gold foil coffee cup on it like my favorite card in my wallet ... so I was really excited to open it and even more excited to find three coupons for a FREE iced brewed coffee, a FREE iced caffe mocha, and a FREE caramel frappuccino. I was so happy I forgot about everything else for awhile and thought about how lucky I am and what a great life I have.

And then I realized later on how crazy it is that it takes free coffees to make me realize this.

What makes the whole situation ironic is that I paid $25 for the gold card in the first place. So it's probably only just starting to pay for itself after these coupons, since I always use the money I save with the card discount to tip the barista. I don't count the free wireless internet because I can get that anywhere on campus. So yeah. Apparently I only have this card because it's pretty and makes me feel special.

And because coupons for free coffee make me feel like I am leading a great, amazing life.

I feel slightly ridiculous all of a sudden.

Just thinking about how the best part of completing something, whether it's cleaning out my car, converting all my CDs to my ipod, rolling coins, running errands, writing papers, finishing a good book, etc., is not how I feel right when I complete it but when I look back on it later and think, oh wow, I actually finished that, and I forget how much time it actually took up because it's suddenly a couple of steps behind me and, distanced from it, I don't ever have to think about it again.

And then I consider that my entire life is comprised of a range of of seemingly important tasks that I list in my mind and focus my all on completing, only to put them behind me, like climbing a ladder while looking down so I don't realize there's nothing at the top til my hand doesn't reach anything. It's like playing Mahjong, matching up tiles at top speed just so you can turn over new ones because that's what the rules say you're supposed to do, and all you're left with at the end is an empty table.

There's got to be something more to life than this.

LOAD UP ON GUNS
AND BRING YOUR FRIENDS
IT'S FUN TO LOSE
AND TO PRETEND
SHE'S OVER-BORED
AND SELF-ASSURED
OH NO, I KNOW A DIRTY WORD

HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HOW LOW

I'M WORSE AT WHAT I DO BEST
AND FOR THIS GIFT I FEEL BLESSED
OUR LITTLE GROUP HAS ALWAYS BEEN
AND ALWAYS WILL BE UNTIL THE END

HELLO, HELLO, HELLO, HOW LOW

WITH THE LIGHTS OUT IT'S LESS DANGEROUS
HERE WE ARE NOW
ENTERTAIN US
I FEEL STUPID AND CONTAGIOUS
HERE WE ARE NOW
ENTERTAIN US

YES

HELLO, HELLO

WITH THE LIGHTS OUT IT'S LESS DANGEROUS
HERE WE ARE NOW
ENTERTAIN US
I FEEL STUPID AND CONTAGIOUS
HERE WE ARE NOW
ENTERTAIN US
A MULATTO
AN ALBINO
A MOSQUITO
MY LIBIDO

YES
A DENIAL
A DENIAL

After a long week of being out all day every day doing something or other... it felt good to sleep in, eat a gigantic cinnamon bun with lemon frosting for breakfast, and drink Seville Orange coffee while watching old episodes of Friends on the DVR. Wearing my new AE sweatpants (rolled up, of course, given my shortness) and a gray tank top, with a messy ponytail and no makeup, I've spent the last 30 minutes or so doing the dishes, sorting laundry, wishing I didn't have to do either, and staring out the window at the backyard birdfeeder. I know I should be thinking about going to my sister's softball game, but I'm too lazy to get ready to go, even though Bagsai field is in close proximity to the Front St. Starbucks. And as for driving there ... I cringe every time I think about the dwindling amount of gas in my car's tank as its value continues to shoot skyward. It's so much cheaper for me to stay home and read trashy romance novels with another cup of coffee and our current supply of chocolate chip cookies ... maybe end up watching music videos on Youtube ... clean up my room so parts of the floor might miraculously be revealed ... no, even that sounds like too much work. I'm better off sitting here blogging for the rest of the day.

So today I almost went out for breakfast for the first time in my life. Unfortunately I didn't wake up until 8 so I went to pick up Alex(andra) at 9:30 (and got lost on the way -- navigating a traffic-less Riverside Drive enough to find Laurel St. is just too much for me). By that time neither of us were hungry so we went to the mall instead. And since it was early, I got an awesome parking spot right near the door. And we were practically the only people in the mall. It was pretty darn amazing.

Unfortunately, I had my credit card handy so the purchases got a little out of hand. I bought a gorgeous pair of peacock-feather earrings at Penney's, and a pair of painted green earrings (kind of an Indian-type design) to go with a floral draped-front top I got at Mandee. Okay, so here's what I hate about shopping at Mandee, despite the fact that I've had some really great finds there. The security devices there are gigantic and they're not only placed on every single store item, they're also put in places that make most inconvenient to check for fit. Like under one sleeve, or right in the middle of the back where your bra fastens, so all you see when you're trying on a shirt is a big round bulge where it should be flat, and the pulls it creates in the fabric so you just can't be sure if it fits well enough. So ... all in all, it remains to be seen whether I keep or return this shirt.

When we had lunch (Ruby Tuesdays) I had an embarassing moment where I was thinking so hard about nothing that when the waitress asked if we were ready to order I automatically answered yes before realizing that I did not, in fact, have any idea what I wanted to order. Now any normal person would have made something up on the spot, but I, being me, as it were, I had to say, "Oh, wait, actually, I still need a minute," and follow it up with a nervous little ha-ha "look everyone I'm laughing at myself" laugh just to complete the picture. Lucky for me, we were practically the only customers so the waitress wasn't pissed. But still. I wasn't exactly embarassed for myself but I had that awful little nagging feeling in the back of my mind, telling me that I should be embarassed for myself, which was almost as bad. The good that came out of this situation was that I actually took the time to examine the menu thoroughly to make up for it, and as a result I ended up ordering Avocado Quesadillas, which I have never had before, and which I have never thought of having before, which means that I killed two birds with one stone in one sitting. Yeah. They were really really good. I actually almost ate all of them, which is pretty much a record for me. I never eat more than half my food in restaurants.

I forgot my coupons for Victoria's Secret, which was pretty sad cause I really really really wanted to get one of those new BioFit 7-way bras, which are slightly amazing. But I guess it's probably better that I saved myself the $50. Or the $100 since I kinda found something else I wanted too. I can't shop in that store. I always end up practically emptying my savings account in one visit. And all I have to show for it is a little pink shopping bag. Oh my life.

So ... instead of going bankrupt, I did the rest of my shopping at American Eagle, where I actually bought my first pair of sweatpants ever. Well, not ever as in ever, more like ever as in like ever. As in, it's been more than 5 years, and maybe more than 8 years, and maybe as much as 10 years, since I've gotten a pair of sweatpants. So I am very proud of myself for that. Though not so much as I am of the fact that I saved 20% by asking if I could apply for an American Eagle credit card. And they gave me the 20% off even though I wasn't approved. Because when have I ever been approved for a credit card? But usually I apply anyway on the off chance that I will be for the first time in my life and I might end up saving a couple dollars. And this time, I didn't even have to be approved to save. This is like a milestone moment in my shopping career.

So anyways. After that we drove to BCC and it was really creepy cause Tichener Hall was pretty much abandoned. It was so silent it was eerie. I hurried as fast as I could and went in the empty communications department and sorted through a box of photography portfolios to try and find mine, but alas, it seems to be missing. Which is really annoying cause I drove all the way there. And there were like $40 worth of prints in it. From Staples, where they were playing the Shins while I waited, which makes them momentos of an important moment in history. On the positive side, I went to the Mechanical Building and cleaned out my locker, which had a mean letter on it from the Security lady saying that if everything wasn't cleaned out by the 20th it would be thrown in the garbage. That made me extremely satisfied to know that I was cleaning it out a day late. Because I've always delighted in anything that makes her job more difficult. Well not always. Just since she started making my life more difficult. Long story. Anyway. There wasn't really anything important in there anyway, just a pile of old papers, a stack of Supplemental Instruction brochures, and a box of French vocabulary flashcards. At least I got to keep the word-lock that I was using. Not that I'll probably ever use it for anything else, but it's still pretty cool.

So after BCC we went to the Cyber Cafe. I looked all over for evidence that they sell iced coffee, since I really really wanted a Peruvian Dark but it was way too hot out to drink it hot. Finally I asked and right when the girl said they did, I realized that right under the two lines I'd been reading over and over again on the drinks menu, were the words "Iced Coffee" and the list of prices. Yep. I'm pretty intelligent sometimes. But the iced coffee was really refreshing, and after that combined with the Harmony Cheesecake, I felt ready to face the world again.

Traffic was really bad and, having to make a left turn, I was prepared to wait for ages pulling out of the parking lot, but luckily some nice old chap decided to let me go ahead of him while he waited for a traffic light anyway. So I went on my merry way, waving at him in happy thanks, when all of a sudden everyone in the car yelled and there was a squeeling of brakes and I discovered with horror that some guy in a white car was speeding down the center turning lane and luckily I gathered my wits about me just in time to slam on the gas and get out of his way. It was a narrow escape. The idiot came within two feet of hitting my car, and then he had the nerve to be angry at me, when in fact he was the reckless driver in the situation at hand. Considerably shaken, we continued on our way. Later, driving down 434 on the way back to Vestal, in the right lane, I came upon a large truck/ moving van type thing, in the left lane, with its signal on as if it were about to switch lanes. It did not, however, switch lanes, despite the fact that I kept my distance from the Verizon store to the travel agency. So, assuming they had accidentally left the signal on, I prepared to pass them since we were going about 30 MPH. However, as soon as I gained on them they began to swerve into my lane. So I hung back again and waited, but they still continued to drive along in the left lane. Finally, fed up, I began to speed past them, and then they really started to swerve into my lane, so much that Amy started yelling in the passenger seat. So I slammed on my brakes and sure enough, they practically ran me over to get in the right lane. It was really weird. We had a good laugh over it though.

So we get home, tired and hungry from a long day of shopping and driving around the Southern Tier. When, tramping up the driveway with our arms full of shopping bags, what to we find? A water fountain blocking out way onto the porch. We were so exhausted that it took us a moment to realize that it was not, in fact, a water fountain, but a hose. Our tired eyes took in the facts of the situation: a) no one was home, b) the hose seemed to have been accidentally left on and then burst open, as was evidenced by a long split in the seam, and c) this seemed to have been going on for awhile, since the nearest window well was overflowing with water, and judging from the distant but steady dripping noise, said water was making its way into the basement.

The first thing I thought to do was bail out the water in the window well. Unfortunately the bird feeder is right above it, so I ended up with bucketfuls of equal parts water and sunflower seed shells (and probably bird crap too, which thankfully I didn't think about at the time). In a hurry, I dumped it right on the new flower bushes my mom had apparently been planting earlier that day, so that the perfectly spread mulch was now full of birdseed.

Sure that that would be the first thing she'd freak out about upon her homecoming, I hurried inside to find that the half of the cellar closest to the window was covered in about an inch of water. Of course, this also happened to be the side of the basement in which all the cardboard boxes were stacked. So not only did I have to spend the next hour mopping up the flood scene, we also had to move all the floor-to-ceiling boxes and empty the bottom ones to survey the damage within the soggy cardboard.

All in all, it was not a fun ending to the day. The only good side of it is that I did not, in fact, get blamed. Which is a definite first.

So yesterday afternoon Alex came over and we walked to the corner ice cream store (I think it's called Lickety Split but I'm not entirely sure so I'm not going to call it that for certain). Anyway, on the way there I nearly stepped on a dead baby bird on the sidewalk. It was so sad. It was completely bald with a wrinkled eyelids (at least its eyes were shut -- there is nothing I hate more than seeing dead eyes) and tiny little wings and it was all curled up on its tummy like a baby only it was really really dead looking and its skin was a sickening gray-pink color. I yelped and jumped over it and was really horrified, wondering where it had come from, whether it had just fallen out of its nest or been killed and left there by a cat or something. And then I wondered what would happen to it now, if someone would clean it up or if a cat or dog would eat it or if it would just lie there and rot or if someone else would unsuspectingly step on it like I almost did. But that's beside the point. The point is (wasn't, but it can be) that it may have been a bad omen for what was to come.

When we arrived at the ice cream store, we took forever deciding what to get. Finally we ordered and the girl gave us our ice creams and we went to pay and ... we discovered there is tax on ice cream.

Yes, in other words, we didn't have enough.

And I can tell you, being $0.30 short on ice cream you've already started eating is not a comfortable experience. Especially when the girl just stares at you like you're an idiot. At least she took pity on us and just let us go. Cause I was starting to think I'd have to give her my cell phone as an investment (or whatever that's called) while I ran back home to get the thirty cents.

Regardless, I felt like I was eating stolen ice cream the whole way home. I have resolved to take an extra 30 cents next time I go there.

So just a few minutes ago I was sitting in my sister's room drinking coffee while she wandered around putting away clothes and art supplies and whatever else was randomly lying around. While she was hanging up shirts in her walk-in closet she started singing something like, "love is a battlefield, you better get your armor on," and I commented that whoever wrote that song wasn't very original. She argued that it was a brilliant song (I have never heard it so I have no idea what she was talking about anyway) and I said it couldn't be since the lyrics are the most important part of a song and if they're not original who would bother listening to it? She snorted through her nose and remarked that I shouldn't be talking since "All your favorite songs have random poets in them that no one has ever heard of." I was really confused and asked her to name one since I had no idea what she was talking about. "You know," she replied, "like that one about some guy, Oscar Wilde." I laughed so hard I nearly had coffee come out my nose. "Oscar Wilde is a playwright," I said, "And pretty much everyone has heard of him." "No they haven't," she insisted. "Um, yes they have -- even Poppy knows who he is," I pointed out. "Well that's because he probably had to study him in school." "Exactly," I said, "Because lots of people have to study Oscar Wilde in school, which is why they all know who he is!" She rolled her eyes. "Um, no. They forget. You learn this stuff and then you forget cause you never use it and who really cares. No one remembers what the capitols are of every state, do they? That's why they have that show, Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader? Because no one really knows all that useless stuff anymore." I nearly died laughing. I'm not sure if it was because of what she said or the obnoxiously sarcastic tone of voice she said it in. Amy can be pretty stubborn sometimes.

A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
Adrienne Rich

My swirling wants. Your frozen lips.
The grammar turned and attacked me.
Themes, written under duress.
Emptiness of the notations.

They gave me a drug that slowed the healing of wounds.

I want you to see this before I leave:
the experience of repetition as death
the failure of criticism to locate the pain
the poster in the bus that said:
my bleeding is under control

A red plant in a cemetary of plastic wreaths.

A last attempt: the language is a dialect called metaphor.
These images go unglossed: hair, glacier, flashlight.
When I think of a landscape I am thinking of a time.
When I talk of taking a trip I mean forever.
I could say: those mountains have a meaning
but further than that I could not say.

To do something very common, in my own way.

So I watched P.S. I Love You again tonight and it gave me a brilliant idea. I'm going to buy shoes off the clearance rack and go crazy decorating them with ribbons and buttons and whatever I find lying around. It'll be fun.

Katie Hogan

Professor Halligan

ENG-220-08

1 May 2009

Inquiries from Contemporary Ethical Controversies

In the academic environment, college and university professors must partake in ethical decision-making on a daily basis. In addition to more minor decisions – such as whether or not to use outdated material in the classroom, curve exam grades, provide opportunities for extra credit, etc – they are often faced with decisions that have much more substantial ethical implications. Sometimes, their decisions may effect not only the academic wellbeing of their students, but also their student’s personal lives. In this paper, I will examine the question of whether or not it is morally acceptable for a faculty member to establish a romantic relationship with the parent of a student. I take the position that this is unethical both professionally and in a personal sense (with regards to the moral ideals that ought to exist within any social interaction). It goes against the professor’s obligations, undermines the professional and personal ideals (of the institution as well as the student-faculty relationship), and has negative consequences that are potentially damaging to the student and everyone involved. All in all, this type of behavior completely denies the ethical principles which should be considered in college and university teaching, not to mention the respect for persons that ought to shape anyone’s decision in such a situation.

In a personal interview, classmates Rebecca Goodrich and Samantha Messina initially expressed the opinion that although this type of behavior in a faculty member may not necessarily be immoral, it is certainly “weird and immature.” Yet the reason it is seen as “immature” is related to the power balance of the situation, which is precisely what makes it so utterly inappropriate. The professor is supposed to be in the power position of the student-professor relationship; he or she is the one assigned responsibility for the academic setting and to violate that dependability, to step out of the assigned role, is to shirk responsibility and run away from professional duty as if one is a mere child (unable to consider moral ideals, obligations, and consequences) rather than a thinking adult.

In a situation like this, the faculty member makes a shift from occupying a professional role to a personal role. The boundaries between personal and professional roles can be envisioned using the analogy of the “lines on the road” model, where the academic setting is imagined to be a multiple lane highway, with the lines representing the various dimensions of the educator’s position as classroom instructor, advisor, mentor, etc. as well as the possibility of involvement with the student’s personal life (for example, establishing a personal friendship with a student). The faculty member should “make relatively clear transitions between the various dimensions of the job: look carefully in all directions, signal your intention to change lanes, and so on” (Ashby 82). It is common sense not to drive on the line down the middle of two lanes – a driver must choose one lane or the other and make it clear which side of the road he or she is on. Ashby points out that “every relationship involves the dynamics of power,” and, ideally, “as monitor of the relationship the [professor] points out changes in roles and context, and also pays attention to moments of confusion or discomfort as they may arise either in the professor or in the student. At these moments it is the responsibility of the professor to engage in an open conversation with the student about that confusion or discomfort; we need to guard against our tendencies to ignore or deny the confusion or discomfort we detect in a student or in ourselves” (83).

Whether or not the student is comfortable with and/or accepting of the professor dating his or her parent, this type of situation puts everyone involved in an awkward position. Most importantly, it creates a dual relationship (meaning that the student and the professor have more than one kind of relationship between them). Dual relationships, according to the Society for Teaching and Learning in Higher Education, should, as a general rule, be avoided:

“To avoid conflict of interest, a teacher does not enter into dual-role relationships with students that are likely to detract from student development or lead to actual or perceived favoritism on the part of the teacher” (Murray 60).

Actual or perceived favoritism is a very real concern in a situation like this. The appearance (or real existence) of conflict of interest can not only upset the student’s classmates, but also cause the student herself or himself to feel as if his or her grades are biased (either positively or negatively), that he or she is being granted special attention by the professor merely as the child of the professor’s significant other (or has been a successful student only because he or she is thought of by the professor as a means to an end), or on the other hand, is being purposely avoided by the professor so as to avoid such an appearance or to avoid an uncomfortable discussion or unpleasant encounter. The student may also feel that his or her classmates have turned against him or her in suspicion of conflict of interest, and may undervalue work he or she has done for the professor’s course(s) and feel that the assigned grade is not genuine. The student may look back on introductions or recommendations from this professor, and feel as if he or she has merely been playing the role of a pawn in the game of the professor. Anything he or she has achieved in relation to this professor will appear to have no inherent value. Self-doubt and loss of academic ambition are very real dangers in this type of situation, and for a professor to cause this is plainly a violation of his or her position within the academic institution. These many possibilities, whether real or perceived, serve to illustrate the delicate balance of power that is easily upset by a decision as important as being involved with a student’s parent.

This type of situation creates the same risks to the professional relationship as does a close friendship or even a sexual relationship between the student and the faculty member. In regards to student-faculty friendships (also a dual-role relationship), Ashby notes, “we are primarily concerned here about whose needs are being served. In a personal friendship, there is a mutuality of needs. In a professional relationship, the relationship exists so that the professional can meet the needs of the person being served by the professional” (qtd. on 86) and “to us it seems a territory ripe with confusion, misunderstanding, and potential disasters” (86). Similar problems hold true, of course, with sexual relationships between students and faculty. The American Association of University Professors has a statement on “Consensual Relations Between Faculty and Students” which indicates “In their relationships with students, faculty are expected to be aware of their professional responsibilities and avoid apparent or actual conflict of interest, favoritism, or bias” (qtd. in Ashby 87). “Such relationships – because of the power differential inherent in the professional-client relationship – constitute significant violations of professional ethics” (87). I bring up the issue here of faculty-student relationships because, in many ways, they present the same problems as does a relationship between a faculty member and a students’ parent. If these types of dual relationships are discouraged, why would the situation of a faculty member dating a student’s parent not also be frowned upon? Surely by posing the same risks to the student’s academic well-being, they must be equally unethical.

There are other reasons why is this such a violation of professional ethics. In a personal interview, classmate Rebecca Goodrich pointed out that the professor “is not supposed to cross that line … especially due to confidentiality.” Here, she is referencing the confidentiality agreement installed by the institution. In Ethical Principles for Teaching, Murray et. al states that:

Student grades, attendance records, and private communications are treated as confidential materials and are released only with student consent, for legitimate academic purposes … This principle suggests that students are entitled to the same level of confidentiality in their relationship with teachers as would exist in a lawyer-client or doctor-patient relationship. Violation of confidentiality in the teacher-student relationship can cause students to distrust teachers and to show decreased academic motivation. (61)

The Employee Information book at Broome Community College asserts:

Broome County Charter and Code Article, Code of Ethics, Section 19-3 Standards of Conduct prohibits employees from disclosing confidential information acquired in the course of employment or for using such information to further personal interest. The Family Educational Rights and Privacy Act of 1974 (Buckley Amendment) establishes specific rights for students and/or their parents and prevents the release of certain information without the written consent of the student. (4-5)

A faculty member in a relationship with a student’s parent could be expected to share confidential information with that student’s parent (either intentionally or unthinkingly). In this position, it would be very difficult (or nearly impossible) not to. Whether or not the professor does, the student would reasonably feel that his or her confidentiality was being threatened. But confidentiality is often an ambiguous abstraction. What is a violation of student-faculty confidentiality is difficult to define. Certainly it is prohibited for a professor to discuss – or even mention in passing – a student’s grade or GPA, or what classes the student has attended or withdrawn from. But confidentiality does not necessarily end there. Even for a straight-A student with a 4.0 GPA, more strict confidentiality is often an important consideration. There are many reasons for this, and in every case the student’s personal feelings and relationship with his or her family will be the deciding factor. Nevertheless, the consequences of breaking this confidentiality (even unintentionally) must always be considered. For example, for many students, hovering, overly-involved, and demanding parents make it seem essential to them that their classes never be discussed at home. Even when the student has nothing to hide, he or she does not want to be hounded for information, reminded to do homework, or constantly offered unwanted advice – all unhealthy contributions that often lead to bad grades and overall disinterest. In addition, many students avoid unnecessary stress by keeping their family lives entirely separate from life at school – for some, college can actually become an escape, were the student can abandon all his or her extra psychological baggage that was loaded on by the parent. In many cases the separation of home and school as important and essential to the preservation of peace and academic excellence as the separation of church and state is to a democracy. For a professor to be suddenly discussing the college goings-on with such a student’s family presents many problems for the student. Whether or not the information a faculty member might share with the parent is of any real importance, or anything to do with the student in question, is not always the issue – what matters more is sometimes the fact that the student’s academic life is being discussed at all. Suddenly, college seems like a branch of the student’s personal life, rather than a separate life he or she may escape to. The type of information the professor may share with a student’s parent is also a concern, even if it has nothing to do with the student in question. What student wants his or her family to be caught up in the university gossip, especially when it comes from such an obviously biased source? Untrue or exaggerated gossip about other faculty members may make the student uncomfortable and is potentially damaging to his or her academic future. There are many, many cases to take into account when considering the moral implications of this situation and its consequences, but for the purpose of this paper, I will stop here and leave the rest to personal reflection.

In a broader sense, the situation of a professor establishing a relationship with a student’s parent is essentially prohibited by more than one moral obligation (restrictions on behavior). Most critical is what Ruggiero refers to as “professional obligations,” since all academic institutions, like most professional organizations, “have detailed codes of conduct that specify the obligations members are expected to honor” (97). For example, the American Association of University Professors Statement on Professional Ethics requires that:

Professors demonstrate respect for students as individuals and adhere to their proper roles as intellectual guides and counselors. Professors make every reasonable effort to foster honest academic conduct and to ensure that their evaluations of students reflect each student’s true merit. They respect the confidential nature of the relationship between professor and student. They avoid any exploitation, harassment, or discriminatory treatment of students.

As a connotation to this rule, the University of California’s Faculty Code of Conduct states that “The integrity of the faculty-student relationship is the foundation of the University’s educational mission. This relationship vests considerable trust in the faculty member, who, in turn, bears authority and accountability as mentor, educator, and evaluator.” This statement is intended to prohibit sexual relationships between students and faculty members, but it is obvious that it’s writers would discourage relationships between faculty members and the parents of students, for the very same reasons. In a 2001 study on student and professors’ views on the ethics of faculty behavior, both students and professors thought becoming sexually involved with a student was unquestionably unethical (Korschgen and Morgan). The same sample also considered unethical “telling colleagues a confidential disclosure told to you by a student,” and “allowing a student’s ‘likability’ to influence your grading,” both of which become significantly more likely when the faculty member is seeing the student’s parent. In a 2006 study on business students’ ethical evaluations of faculty misconduct, not only did students view sexual involvement with a student as unethical (even after the course was completed and the grades filed, signifying that there is something more at risk here than classroom bias), but they also indicated that “beginning an ongoing friendship with an undergraduate student” and even “hugging undergraduate students” should be considered inappropriate familiarity with students (Kidwell and Valentine 293). Therefore, it would seem that the familiarity caused by romantic involvement with a students’ parent, whether or not the student and the professor accept this as a positive situation, is entirely inappropriate.

In addition to the obligations a professor would not be upholding by becoming romantically involved with a student’s parent, this behavior goes against several moral ideals. The ideal of justice, for example, “opposes ‘playing favorites’ and giving unfair advantage to one person or group” (Ruggiero 107). Temperance (or lack thereof) also comes into play here; Ruggiero explains that “the temperate person … is the one who exercises control over his or her desires and therefore escapes domination by them” (107). The ideal of honesty commands that the faculty member not lie to or conceal the truth from the student in question or from other faculty members (108), which is likely to occur in a situation like this from the knowledge that the professor is making an unethical decision and from fear that he might be judged. Finally, though certainly not the least of the ideals, is compassion. If the professor has compassion, he will understand the students’ difficulties in being a part of this situation, and do his best to alleviate the student’s emotional discomfort (108). This could, of course, mean thinking through the consequences and making a different choice to begin with; but it could also mean that the professor does his best to end the relationship and apologize to anyone who was negatively affected by this unprofessional, unethical conduct. After all, the underlying principle of ethics is respect for persons, a virtue that the professor clearly would not be acting on in this case.

Works Cited

Ashby, Homer U. Jr. and Carol Hepokoski. “ ‘Can We Talk?’: Boundary Crossing and

Sexual Misconduct in Seminary Teaching.” Teaching Theology and Religion, vol. 5 no. 2, 80-89. 2002.

Auster, Carol J. and Jonathan Knight. “Faculty Conduct: An Empirical Study of Ethical

Activism.” The Journal of Higher Education, Vol. 70, No. 2 (March/April 1999). Ohio State University Press.

“Employee Information.” Broome Community College, 2008-2009.

“Faculty Code of Conduct.” University of California. 26 April 2008

.

Fisch, Linc. (ed.) Ethical Dimensions of College and University Teaching. New

Directions for Teaching and Learning, No. 66. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, Summer 1996.

Goodrich, Rebecca. Personal Interview. ENG-220-08, March 2008.

Kidwell, Roland E. and Sean Valentine. “Business Students’ Ethical Evaluations of

Faculty Misconduct.” Quality Assurance in Education, Vol. 16 No 3, 287-300. 2008.

Korschgen, Ann J. and Betsy Levonian Morgan. “The Ethics of Faculty Behavior:

Students’ and Professors’ Views.” College Student Journal, Sept 2001, Vol 35 Issue 3, 418.

Messina, Samantha. Personal Interview. ENG-220-08, March 2008.

Ruggiero, Vincent Ryan. Thinking Critically About Ethical Issues. New York: McGraw

Hill, 2004.

“Statement on Professional Ethics.” The American Association of University Professors.

26 April 2009

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So there's been all this controversy lately surrounding Miss California Carrie Prejean and her reply to a question about the legalization of gay marriage. I wasn't sure at first what was true and what was exaggeration since I hadn't watched the pageant, so I didn't want to say anything about it. But today I watched the video clip on YouTube and I have a better idea now of what is going on. Mega-blogger Perez Hilton (who I'd never actually heard of before, but who I now think is obnoxious, overly flamboyant, and egotistic), as a judge on the panel, asked Miss California whether she thought all States in the USA should be following suit and legalizing gay marriage. Her reply was that she thought it was great that Americans are able to choose between gay marriage and "opposite" marriage, but that in her country they believe in "opposite" marriage and that her personal beliefs (she added that she hoped not to offend anyone) are that a marriage should be between a man and a woman.

Now, I'm not entirely sure what my views are on gay marriage (which isn't surprising since I'm not entirely sure what my views are on marriage in general). I think everyone should have the right to spend their life with whomever they love -- that's one of the basic rights we have as humans and one that cannot be denied. And I do not think the government should have anything to do with it. But at the same time I don't know any of the legal aspects of marriage so I will keep my thoughts to myself for now. What's more important is the fact that this is a POLITICAL question and has no place in a beauty pageant. Prejean was put on the spot to answer a question that should have nothing whatsoever to do with the Miss USA competition. Furthermore, she was asked for her opinion, so what did everyone expect her to answer? She gave her opinion because she was specifically asked for it, she didn't go around picketing against gay marriage or say anything about the matter until she was put on the spot. In addition, she added that she hoped not to offend anyone with her answer. Of course, the more prudent thing to do would to have not given an opinion on such a controversial issue, but I don't know if the contest rules allow for that and either way she had no time to think ahead and consider this.

I'm not making special allowances for Prejean. I think she could have handled the situation differently. I laughed at her when she used the term "opposite" marriage, it may just have been her overdone makeup and the beauty pageant setting but I thought she seemed really uneducated, even though I know she must be smart to have gotten this far. I don't think she should have become a spokesperson for anti-gay marriage activists, I think she should have abandoned the issue altogether. Like I said, there's a place for opinions and politics have nothing to do with a beauty pageant. But at the same time, this is a young 21-year-old woman who is being vilified and verbally abused and attacked through the media for expressing her opinion. Homosexuals who want their opinions and lifestyle to be accepted and respected are not granting the same acceptance and respect to Prejean for hers.

When will people learn to tolerate and respect the opinions of others? Why do they all feel so threatened when one person dares to speak up for their thoughts? I'm so disgusted with people sometimes.

Right now I'm in the library study room (air-conditioned, yay!) drinking a chilled Starbucks dark chocolate raspberry mocha frappuccino. I bought them at the Giant last week on a whim while looking for honey in the coffee isle (what, it made sense at the time). It's been awhile since the last time I had one -- I think they used to have dark chocolate peppermint the first winter I went to school at BCC ... so I guess it was probably the winter of '07. Of course they were exorbitantly overpriced then, it being the BCC food court. Probably like $5 for just one of these little 9-oz glass bottles. I wouldn't be surprised. But it's not that expensive to buy a 4-pack at the grocery store, so I figured what the hey, I may as well splurge on my last week of school. Its a good energy builder for my early morning classes.

Other than that, I'm trying to decide which questions to choose for the Philosophy of Ethics take-home exam essays. I'm considering writing about how a Buddhist might critique Kantian ethics or Aristotle's Nichomachean ethics, because that sounded like an interesting topic. But I'm not sure where to start. I don't really have that firm a grasp on what a Buddhist would think of either of these. Even though I am more interested in Buddhism than any of the other viewpoints we studied in ethics class. It's strange how life works out sometimes isn't it? Anyway. One thing I thought of is how Aristotle thought everyone should be as well-rounded in their virtues as possible and if I remember right, he valued courage and I think he might have supported the killing of others (like in warfare) for reasons he might see as ethical (again this could be wrong but I'm just brainstorming from a vague memory here) ... and a Buddhist is not supposed to kill or allow the killing of anyone ... so that could be one aspect I could write about. Not quite sure where I'm going with this .... I guess I'd better go look into it .....

Yeah. Nothing like brainstorming while blogging. Welcome to finals week in my lazy, unmotivated, procrastinating mind.

As of today, there are only (drumroll) six weekdays left to the semester, and I have only one exam (French) on the Monday of finals week. I can't believe my last semester at BCC is already almost over! It's been almost 3 years since the very first class I took here (ENG 110) when I was 15 ... it seems like forever ago. At the beginning of this semester it seemed like it all went so fast, but now -- maybe because of how busy I've been all semester, working 3 jobs and struggling to finish my homework every day -- it seems like it's about time and I just want to be finished already. It's going to be weird at first, after being so stressed out all semester between work and school and life in general, to suddenly have free time again. I'm not sure I'll know what to do with it. To keep myself from becoming a workaholic, I'm going to make a list of things I want to do over the summer. Hopefully it will be somewhat more successful than my spring break list.

To Do Over Summer 2009

• try to write a blog entry every day
  
• finish reading Atlas Shrugged
• buy a digital SLR camera (the Nikon D40?)
• actually read my digital photography textbook from this semester ...
• go to studio hours every week for ceramics, and try out the Clayground studio
• take a kickboxing class
• write
• go on a roadtrip
• visit relatives in Indiana before they move to Louisville
  
• go on a picnic
• go to a spa
• meet up with all the friends I haven't seen in awhile
• visit my great grandmother once a week
• make homemade ice cream and smoothies
• pick up archery again
• try out nail tips
• get my nose pierced
• try escargot
• go to Tioga Downs
• visit the I Love Lucy museum
• visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art
• go to the midnight showing of the new Harry Potter movie
• watch Silence of the Lambs
• watch Silk
• watch Amelie
• watch a bazillion other movies I haven't seen
• listen to some new indie music and get a lot of new CDs no one else has ever heard of
• go skinny dipping
• go to a restaurant and order dessert first
• go camping
• read more about Buddhism
• have Nadia teach me how to make Indian foods
• do my family genealogy
• go to the First Friday art walk
  
• have campfires
• go to a concert at the Cyber Cafe
  
• visit my grandma in Sidney
• get some new sheet music for the piano
• go to the opera
• clean out my hard drive / make a backup of important files
• clean out closet and take clothing to consignment shop
• redecorate shoes
• make a collage
• put together a book of poems
• get a new job
• clean my car
• get an ebay sellers account
• sell unwanted textbooks
• sell other unwanted books to make room for new ones
• take part in BookCrossing
  
• make homemade smoothies
  

It's easier to copy & paste this than it is to go on a rant of my own. Suffice it to say that I am still in awe over the stupidity and gullibility this "pandemic" has brought out in the world's population.

EPIDEMIC OF THE ABSURD

Swine Flu Fears Lead to the Ludicrous

The world is taking the danger represented by swine flu seriously with measures in place across the globe to prevent the spread of the virus. Some efforts, though, have bordered on the absurd.