The Reality of Part-timers (Re:the Dreams of Academics)

Folks,


We are cancelling part-time faculty orientation due to low participation. Of 34 PT faculty, only 7 have indicated they will attend.
(They list those who confirmed attendance and one "maybe." Is this a list of the honorable part-timers? Does this imply a list of shame for those not on the list? Perhaps.)
We appreciate the enthusiasm demonstrated by those who responded.

Part-time Faculty Manuals will be left at the Mailroom.

    ****

You make me feel like a beggar then want me to feel
guilt as well?

When you disregard the basic wish of a teacher to want to make a living by teaching by holding them as a part-timer ad infinitum, wiping out the very department that they work in, and pay zero benefits with no mention of a pay raise since the 1980's, what enthusiasm do you expect from them?

The Dreams of Academics

9:00 a.m. – Coffee – Frankenberger


(If needed, use this time to get an ID card – Student Solutions Center, Riggleman Hall)

9:30 a.m.

• Welcome—President Welch and Dr. Zook, Provost and Dean of the Faculty

• Practical information – Donna Lewis, Assistant Dean for Assessment

• Feedback from PT Faculty: “What joys and challenges, if any, have you faced as a part time faculty at UC?”

• Liberal Learning Outcomes and You – Dr. Barbara Wright, Dean of the School of Arts & Sciences and Associate Dean for Curriculum

• Assessment / Using rubrics

10:30 Technology Training / Updates – Library Classroom

12:00 p.m. – Lunch and conversation: Frankenberger Art Gallery

Dark Eyes - Bob Dylan

Oh, the gentlemen are talking and the midnight moon is on the riverside


They’re drinking up and walking and it is time for me to slide

I live in another world where life and death are memorized

Where the earth is strung with lovers’ pearls and all I see are dark eyes



A cock is crowing far away and another soldier’s deep in prayer

Some mother’s child has gone astray, she can’t find him anywhere

But I can hear another drum beating for the dead that rise

Whom nature’s beast fears as they come and all I see are dark eyes



They tell me to be discreet for all intended purposes,

They tell me revenge is sweet and from where they stand, I’m sure it is.

But I feel nothing for their game where beauty goes unrecognized,

All I feel is heat and flame and all I see are dark eyes.



Oh, the French girl, she’s in paradise and a drunken man is at the wheel

Hunger pays a heavy price to the falling gods of speed and steel

Oh, time is short and the days are sweet and passion rules the arrow that flies

A million faces at my feet but all I see are dark eyes



Copyright © 1985 by Special Rider Music

A History of Love, Part 8

The life lessons that love provides are the only ones probably worth telling because they are so real. They make us real. They transform our lives.

Remember the end of The Name of the Rose?

"And yet, now that I am an old, old man, I must confess that of all the faces that appear to me out of the past, the one I see most clearly is that of the girl of whom I've never ceased to dream these many long years."

Those not guilty, please move along.
I thought so.

We are the guilty, after all

I do not want to give readers the impression that I was a sincere, honest, loving, fully mature guy who just had problems picking the right girl. I don't think I knew what I wanted or maybe what I did was pure fantasy. Like most men, the physical attraction is the prime directive. Based on this, you're looking at trouble, buddy, but I stumbled along, making huge mistakes.

One of the big ones I made was to tango with my friend's girlfriend. Yikes!

Everything about Miss T was attractive to me. She was wild, crazy funny and liked crazy humor (my speciality). She was a free, Irish spirit and my friend had discovered her first. Of course, I coveted her.

My friend, the king of ambiguity in all matters, seemed to dating her, but then again it's not like she was his Yoko Ono shadow either. In my greed, I justified my asking her out.

I thought we were great together and certainly we had a great time, but the axe had to drop sometime. And one evening at my friend's house, standing around in the kitchen, he came right out with it.

The topic suddenly took the sharp bend: "...kinda like sleeping with someone's girlfriend?" Direct stare. He was pissed.

I plead nolo contendre. I can't remember, but there was a period of chilling off between us for a while. Eventually, time and tide made us friends again.

There went my chance for a future stained glass window portrait.

Must there be betrayal?

Yes, there must.

I betray, she betrays, we all betray.

St. Jean, patron saint of the gut wrenching
effects of love. 

There is one last lesson that I learned during the college years and Jean taught me a truly real lesson.

I suppose men and women go through stages where, if they have the options, they seek companionship as needed. Away at college? Get a boy toy.

 Jean was truly beautiful. A natural blond, she had the blue eyes set on stun, a flawless complexion and all the luxury amenities you could ask for.

Why did she pick me after one very drunken music major party?

Because I was there.

Even thought I sensed a distance to her, we seemed like we were dating or least I thought we were headed that way. She bought me some Black Velvet (fitting, yes?) for my 21st birthday.

Then, like an idiot, I fucked up. I wrote her a letter telling her about how I felt about her. She sat on my lap, reading it because I did not have to courage to say those words to her. The "l" word was used and that was the beginning of the end.

Soon after that, a distinct chill was between us. Finally, I cornered her as we were leaving the cafeteria. She told me that she hadn't been honest with me and that she had a boyfriend at home. For her, seeing the word "love" scared her and she couldn't deal with that.

If that wasn't enough of a blow, I saw her out very soon after that helping some guy wash his Corvette. That was my first experience with the horrors of rejection that I felt physically. My gut felt like I had swallowed heavy lead and then been punched.

I didn't know what to do, so I sought out my roommate Dan and told him what had happened. His solution was to go to the Short Creek Social Club ( truly a redneck hell hole by anyone's standard) and start drinking as soon as possible. The alcohol helped, but the feeling didn't go away for quite a while.

That which comes, goes.

Years later, I told that story to a good friend. He said, "He said you're lucky she didn't continue a relationship with you."

"Why not?"

"Just think of how many guys she fooled around on since then."

The mind boggles.

A few months after she graduated, I called her. She was friendly, but even Mr. Dim Witted Hope-Against-Hope could sense a brushoff. I was hoping one last hope. "Hope is unreasonable," as Mr. Fripp says.

The feeling of letdown afterwards made me pick up a guitar begin to immediately try to musically medicate myself. It worked and out came, "call me tonight," an instrumental that I have quite a bit of affection for some thirty years later.

Much more than I do for the inspiration.