Steven Harper's Blog, page 29
March 16, 2022
Carpe Jugulum
My seniors have a heavy reading list. MAUS. THE COLOR PURPLE. HAMLET. OEDIPUS THE KING. It becomes dolorous after a while.
I considered changing it up, but wasn't sure if I'd be able to. Introducing a new book means an entirely new set of lesson plans, activities, and assessments. It also means doing a very close read of the book with an eye to the classroom, and not to personal enjoyment. In other words, a lot of work. And I'm at a point in my career where I'm not really up for giving myself a lot of work--I have plenty already!
But last week, my three sections of seniors spent several days in the computer lab working on a project, and I found myself completely caught up on lesson planning and paper grading. Bored and at loose ends, I dove into CARPE JUGULUM.
I put together an entire unit, complete with activities and discussion points, and created a daily lesson map. And it looks good. Wow!
So I'm going to teach a new unit after all!
Seize the day! By the throat.
comments
I considered changing it up, but wasn't sure if I'd be able to. Introducing a new book means an entirely new set of lesson plans, activities, and assessments. It also means doing a very close read of the book with an eye to the classroom, and not to personal enjoyment. In other words, a lot of work. And I'm at a point in my career where I'm not really up for giving myself a lot of work--I have plenty already!
But last week, my three sections of seniors spent several days in the computer lab working on a project, and I found myself completely caught up on lesson planning and paper grading. Bored and at loose ends, I dove into CARPE JUGULUM.
I put together an entire unit, complete with activities and discussion points, and created a daily lesson map. And it looks good. Wow!
So I'm going to teach a new unit after all!
Seize the day! By the throat.
comments
March 13, 2022
My Relationship With Chocolate Milk
The painkillers I still have to take for my shoulder are a bit problematic. They make me feel fuzzy around the edges and they cause a certain amount of constipation. I can't do anything about the first problem, but for the second, I have a secret weapon:
Chocolate milk.
See, I'm a little lactose intolerant. Just a little. I can handle most milk products, but for some reason, commercial chocolate milk sets it off. When I was encountering the above-mentioned digestive problems with my painkillers, it occurred to me that chocolate milk might be a decent solution. I bought half a gallon.
Commercial chocolate milk is really thick and sugary, though, and I don't like it much. So I mixed it half and half with regular milk to water it down (milk it down?). Much better! And yep--painkiller problems cleared up nicely.
So now we have chocolate milk in the fridge.
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Chocolate milk.
See, I'm a little lactose intolerant. Just a little. I can handle most milk products, but for some reason, commercial chocolate milk sets it off. When I was encountering the above-mentioned digestive problems with my painkillers, it occurred to me that chocolate milk might be a decent solution. I bought half a gallon.
Commercial chocolate milk is really thick and sugary, though, and I don't like it much. So I mixed it half and half with regular milk to water it down (milk it down?). Much better! And yep--painkiller problems cleared up nicely.
So now we have chocolate milk in the fridge.
comments
March 9, 2022
Kidney Update
A while ago, I had my regularly-scheduled ultrasound appointment to see what my kidneys were doing to me =this= time. This is a two-stage process: first, the appointment with a tech who performs the ultrasound, and second the appointment with the urologist a few days later to talk about them.
During the session with the technician, I could see her screen as she ran the probe and its gooey lubricant over my sides. I've become adept at reading these things by now, and I could tell she had spotted stones. Techs usually don't like to answer patient questions about their results (in case the patient takes it as an official diagnosis), but I always ask. To my surprise, this time the tech said that she had indeed seen at least two stones, though she wouldn't say how big they were.
I was uneasy. I'd been getting twinges now and then, and was wondering if yet another surgery was coming up. I wasn't up for it. Not now.
A couple days later, I got an email alert that I had test results in my patient portal. They must have been the ultrasound reports. With my jaw clenched, I checked and found I was right.
Two kidney stones, one in each side. Both in the lower poles (the bottom of the kidneys). One was 5 mm, the other 9 mm.
At 5-9 mm, I happen to know, you have a 50% chance of being able to pass the stone, and a 50% chance it'll get stuck on the way out. Also, stones in the lower poles are really difficult to clear out with lithotripsy. They often require a scope and uretal stents, both of which always cause me enormous amounts of pain. Now I was getting panicky. Darwin did his best to calm me down, but it was a losing battle.
Darwin took me to the urologist's office because I couldn't face this alone, and because I had taken enough Xanax to stun a doberman.
At the office, we waited in tense silence in the waiting room while an enormously rotund man alternated talking to the receptionist and booming into his cell phone. He had a voice like a foghorn, and he bellowed to his unseen partner several salacious details about an estate case he was involved in. ("At this point, I don't give a damn about the kids," he snapped. "They aren't mentioned in the will, so they take what they can get.") He clearly wanted everyone around him to know he was a Very Important Lawyer. We found him both annoying and foolish.
Finally I was called into an examination room, and after the usual check-in procedures, my urologist entered.
"You have a couple kidney stones," he announced.
"I saw," I said. "Five and nine."
comments
During the session with the technician, I could see her screen as she ran the probe and its gooey lubricant over my sides. I've become adept at reading these things by now, and I could tell she had spotted stones. Techs usually don't like to answer patient questions about their results (in case the patient takes it as an official diagnosis), but I always ask. To my surprise, this time the tech said that she had indeed seen at least two stones, though she wouldn't say how big they were.
I was uneasy. I'd been getting twinges now and then, and was wondering if yet another surgery was coming up. I wasn't up for it. Not now.
A couple days later, I got an email alert that I had test results in my patient portal. They must have been the ultrasound reports. With my jaw clenched, I checked and found I was right.
Two kidney stones, one in each side. Both in the lower poles (the bottom of the kidneys). One was 5 mm, the other 9 mm.
At 5-9 mm, I happen to know, you have a 50% chance of being able to pass the stone, and a 50% chance it'll get stuck on the way out. Also, stones in the lower poles are really difficult to clear out with lithotripsy. They often require a scope and uretal stents, both of which always cause me enormous amounts of pain. Now I was getting panicky. Darwin did his best to calm me down, but it was a losing battle.
Darwin took me to the urologist's office because I couldn't face this alone, and because I had taken enough Xanax to stun a doberman.
At the office, we waited in tense silence in the waiting room while an enormously rotund man alternated talking to the receptionist and booming into his cell phone. He had a voice like a foghorn, and he bellowed to his unseen partner several salacious details about an estate case he was involved in. ("At this point, I don't give a damn about the kids," he snapped. "They aren't mentioned in the will, so they take what they can get.") He clearly wanted everyone around him to know he was a Very Important Lawyer. We found him both annoying and foolish.
Finally I was called into an examination room, and after the usual check-in procedures, my urologist entered.
"You have a couple kidney stones," he announced.
"I saw," I said. "Five and nine."
He nodded. "But fortunately, the ultrasound often magnifies them, and makes them seem about twice as large."
Eh? I had never heard of this phenomenon, and wasn't sure what to make of it.
"We could go after them," he continued, "but they aren't causing any swelling, and they'd be hard to target with lithotripsy. We could scope them out and put in stents--"
"Nope," I said.
"--or we could just wait and see," he finished. "Stones in lower poles don't tend to move much, which is good in that they might not bother you, but bad in that they might not pass on their own."
I felt some cautious relief. I didn't need another operation just yet. Okay, then.
We'll check them again in six months.
comments
February 26, 2022
Jack Reacher
So I finally had a look at REACHER.
Huh.
The show is based on Lee Child's books. The premise is that Jack Reacher is an overwhelmingly tall, hugely strong guy who enjoys a good fist fight. He wanders the country as a nomad--literally walking, since he doesn't own a car--and whenever he arrives in a new town, some kind of Awful Event happens, and Reacher is pulled into solving it.
The show is total white male wank fantasy. Reacher is tall, impossibly well built, freakishly strong, defends his woman, maintains his massive build by eating nothing but junk food, never, ever works out, always knows what to do, fucks like a snorting bull, notices everything, misses nothing, remains stoic even in the face of family tragedy (except for one scene where a single, manly tear trickles down his chiseled cheek), owns nothing but somehow manages to get his hands on cool cars and big guns whenever he needs them, and can take multiple hits with a crowbar without breaking a bone or even getting bruised. And he has a black sidekick, so he can say he isn't racist.
He's what every good old boy thinks they are, knows they aren't, and secretly longs to be.
One of the more interesting things (for me) to watch is the camera work. Alan Ritchie, who plays Reacher, is several inches shorter than the character is. So they compensate with camera tricks--having Reacher in the foreground, while other characters are in the background, putting Ritchie on a box so he can tower over someone in a close-up, using overhead shots that disguise everyone's height, and so on. They get quite clever about it, but once you notice it, you can't stop.
Having said all that, I found the show fun to watch, especially since Reacher keeps taking his clothes off. You won't find ground-breaking anything here. It's an occasionally gory action-thriller with a few sex scenes thrown in, but for what it is, it's a good show.
comments
Huh.
The show is based on Lee Child's books. The premise is that Jack Reacher is an overwhelmingly tall, hugely strong guy who enjoys a good fist fight. He wanders the country as a nomad--literally walking, since he doesn't own a car--and whenever he arrives in a new town, some kind of Awful Event happens, and Reacher is pulled into solving it.
The show is total white male wank fantasy. Reacher is tall, impossibly well built, freakishly strong, defends his woman, maintains his massive build by eating nothing but junk food, never, ever works out, always knows what to do, fucks like a snorting bull, notices everything, misses nothing, remains stoic even in the face of family tragedy (except for one scene where a single, manly tear trickles down his chiseled cheek), owns nothing but somehow manages to get his hands on cool cars and big guns whenever he needs them, and can take multiple hits with a crowbar without breaking a bone or even getting bruised. And he has a black sidekick, so he can say he isn't racist.
He's what every good old boy thinks they are, knows they aren't, and secretly longs to be.
One of the more interesting things (for me) to watch is the camera work. Alan Ritchie, who plays Reacher, is several inches shorter than the character is. So they compensate with camera tricks--having Reacher in the foreground, while other characters are in the background, putting Ritchie on a box so he can tower over someone in a close-up, using overhead shots that disguise everyone's height, and so on. They get quite clever about it, but once you notice it, you can't stop.
Having said all that, I found the show fun to watch, especially since Reacher keeps taking his clothes off. You won't find ground-breaking anything here. It's an occasionally gory action-thriller with a few sex scenes thrown in, but for what it is, it's a good show.
comments
February 25, 2022
An Unexpected Turkey
The company Max works for gave all the employees a turkey just before Thanksgiving. As a young single man, Max had no idea what to do with it. And I'd already bought a turkey for the family Thanksgiving. He put it in his freezer, where it sat forlornly in the middle, the only object in there.
This week, I told him to bring it over. I thawed it in the refrigerator, then brined it overnight. I also chopped up a bunch of bread and seasoned it. Today, I stuffed the turkey and it's currently roasting in the oven. The plan is to eat whatever we want, then divide up the rest for freezing. Both households will get a pile of meat.
It's an unexpected turkey!
ETA
The unexpected turkey turned out deliciously. I also made mashed potatoes, gravy, butter-glazed carrots, and the stuffing. The house smelled like Thanksgiving. It was actually a bit odd--the prep and the smells put me in a Thanksgiving frame of mind, and I kept thinking that everyone would be here any minute. Then I would remember that they weren't, and I thought, "It's Thanksgiving dinner without the stress!"
At one point, I realized I didn't have any potatoes, so I popped out to get some. On the way, I somehow found myself stopping at a small local bakery for pączki, a Michigan treat you can only get in the days before Lent. I somehow found myself getting four of them, and I somehow found myself bringing them back home with the potatoes. Huh.
Max couldn't get here for dinner, but Darwin and I had a lovely dinner, with an epic cleanup afterward. I dissected the turkey carcass and bagged up the meat for freezing. Some will go to Max, and some will stay with us. (Darwin is, as we speak, already chowing on some.)
And then, instead of pie, we had pączki. And food comas.
comments
This week, I told him to bring it over. I thawed it in the refrigerator, then brined it overnight. I also chopped up a bunch of bread and seasoned it. Today, I stuffed the turkey and it's currently roasting in the oven. The plan is to eat whatever we want, then divide up the rest for freezing. Both households will get a pile of meat.
It's an unexpected turkey!
ETA
The unexpected turkey turned out deliciously. I also made mashed potatoes, gravy, butter-glazed carrots, and the stuffing. The house smelled like Thanksgiving. It was actually a bit odd--the prep and the smells put me in a Thanksgiving frame of mind, and I kept thinking that everyone would be here any minute. Then I would remember that they weren't, and I thought, "It's Thanksgiving dinner without the stress!"
At one point, I realized I didn't have any potatoes, so I popped out to get some. On the way, I somehow found myself stopping at a small local bakery for pączki, a Michigan treat you can only get in the days before Lent. I somehow found myself getting four of them, and I somehow found myself bringing them back home with the potatoes. Huh.
Max couldn't get here for dinner, but Darwin and I had a lovely dinner, with an epic cleanup afterward. I dissected the turkey carcass and bagged up the meat for freezing. Some will go to Max, and some will stay with us. (Darwin is, as we speak, already chowing on some.)
And then, instead of pie, we had pączki. And food comas.
comments
February 23, 2022
Shoulder Surgery 17 (Progress!)
Today we had Measurement Day at PT. T-- first did the usual massage and stretching exercises, then ran tests. Raise my arm this way. How far can you push that way? Keep me from moving your arm up. Keep me from moving your arm down.
Afterward, T-- proclaimed that I was "ahead of schedule" on range of movement and on overall strength. In one particular motion, I was "on schedule," but I was way ahead on everything else.
This news, combined with the overall reduction in pain, made it a good day.
I think the speed of my recovery is due to . . . well, working my ass off. When I first started PT after the surgery, I asked T-- if there were exercises I should be doing at home. He seemed a little surprised that I asked, and said, "Sure. I can print you up a set." I got the impression that they don't usually give people home exercises--or that they don't ask. I'd been doing them every day, with the occasional Saturday off.
So go me!
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Afterward, T-- proclaimed that I was "ahead of schedule" on range of movement and on overall strength. In one particular motion, I was "on schedule," but I was way ahead on everything else.
This news, combined with the overall reduction in pain, made it a good day.
I think the speed of my recovery is due to . . . well, working my ass off. When I first started PT after the surgery, I asked T-- if there were exercises I should be doing at home. He seemed a little surprised that I asked, and said, "Sure. I can print you up a set." I got the impression that they don't usually give people home exercises--or that they don't ask. I'd been doing them every day, with the occasional Saturday off.
So go me!
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Shoulder Surgery 16 (Help With Pain)
The pain in my shoulder was easing a bit last week. Then Thursday evening came along, and the pain followed. It got worse and worse. I'd been off Vicodin, but had to go back on it--and it wasn't helping. I could take two pills and I could still feel the pain, though by then I was too smashed to care. The Meloxicam didn't do a thing for me, either. It made for a miserable weekend, and I wondered if I had done something to injure myself.
On Monday, I called the doctor's office to ask for an appointment, but Monday is surgery day, so I wasn't able to get in until Tuesday. The misery continued. It had gotten to the point where the pain was keeping me awake at night.
Tuesday I saw the doctor. He ran some strength and movement tests ("Keep me from moving your arm this way." "Raise your arm this way as high as you can."), then ran a sonogram machine over my shoulder. He showed me the screen, pointed out the bones, and showed me one of the tendons.
"It looks inflamed," he said. "That happens sometimes after surgery, and sometimes the inflammation feeds on itself. Inflammation causes pain, which causes more inflammation. That's probably why it feels like it's getting worse."
He gave me a shot of cortisone with a four-inch needle that hurt about as much as you'd expect and told me it could take a few days to start working. In the meantime, he gave me a scrip for a different pain killer: Tramadol, which I mentally dubbed "dammital."
I picked up the scrip and took one when I got home. It kicked in about half an hour later, and I discovered Tramadol doesn't make me as loopy as Vicodin AND it lessened the pain considerably.
Today I'm in way less pain, either from the Tramadol, the cortisone, or both, and it's a major, major relief. My mood is a lot better, too.
I'm hoping this improvement continues.
comments
On Monday, I called the doctor's office to ask for an appointment, but Monday is surgery day, so I wasn't able to get in until Tuesday. The misery continued. It had gotten to the point where the pain was keeping me awake at night.
Tuesday I saw the doctor. He ran some strength and movement tests ("Keep me from moving your arm this way." "Raise your arm this way as high as you can."), then ran a sonogram machine over my shoulder. He showed me the screen, pointed out the bones, and showed me one of the tendons.
"It looks inflamed," he said. "That happens sometimes after surgery, and sometimes the inflammation feeds on itself. Inflammation causes pain, which causes more inflammation. That's probably why it feels like it's getting worse."
He gave me a shot of cortisone with a four-inch needle that hurt about as much as you'd expect and told me it could take a few days to start working. In the meantime, he gave me a scrip for a different pain killer: Tramadol, which I mentally dubbed "dammital."
I picked up the scrip and took one when I got home. It kicked in about half an hour later, and I discovered Tramadol doesn't make me as loopy as Vicodin AND it lessened the pain considerably.
Today I'm in way less pain, either from the Tramadol, the cortisone, or both, and it's a major, major relief. My mood is a lot better, too.
I'm hoping this improvement continues.
comments
February 21, 2022
I Write Like a Fourth Grader?
So I've been playing around with this:
https://support.microsoft.com/en-us/office/get-your-document-s-readability-and-level-statistics-85b4969e-e80a-4777-8dd3-f7fc3c8b3fd2
I checked the grade level of a wide sample of my writing, and learned:
My fiction (both short stories and novels) consistently tests at about grade 4.1.
My non-fiction (essays, blogs, and novels) consistently tests at about grade 8.5.
My harsh, hint-of-legal-menace emails consistently test at about grade 10.
I'm a little surprised my fiction comes out at the fourth grade level, but on the other hand, I trained as a journalist early in my writing career, and I avoid ten-dollar words, which has a big impact on the score.
I also feel I should point out that the reading level for WRITING THE PARANORMAL NOVEL, which I wrote when I was in my 40s, and the reading level for my first pro sale "I'm a Hare-Raising Kid," an article for THE MOTHER EARTH NEWS I wrote the summer after seventh grade, both test out at grade 8.5.
Finally, I should mention that the first short story I ever sold ("Hoard" to SWORD AND SORCERESS IX), which I wrote when I was 24, tested out at 5.5--a grade and a half higher than any of my novels.
I'm not totally sure what to do with this information, but . . . there it is. :)
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https://support.microsoft.com/en-us/office/get-your-document-s-readability-and-level-statistics-85b4969e-e80a-4777-8dd3-f7fc3c8b3fd2
I checked the grade level of a wide sample of my writing, and learned:
My fiction (both short stories and novels) consistently tests at about grade 4.1.
My non-fiction (essays, blogs, and novels) consistently tests at about grade 8.5.
My harsh, hint-of-legal-menace emails consistently test at about grade 10.
I'm a little surprised my fiction comes out at the fourth grade level, but on the other hand, I trained as a journalist early in my writing career, and I avoid ten-dollar words, which has a big impact on the score.
I also feel I should point out that the reading level for WRITING THE PARANORMAL NOVEL, which I wrote when I was in my 40s, and the reading level for my first pro sale "I'm a Hare-Raising Kid," an article for THE MOTHER EARTH NEWS I wrote the summer after seventh grade, both test out at grade 8.5.
Finally, I should mention that the first short story I ever sold ("Hoard" to SWORD AND SORCERESS IX), which I wrote when I was 24, tested out at 5.5--a grade and a half higher than any of my novels.
I'm not totally sure what to do with this information, but . . . there it is. :)
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Copyrighting an AI
The verdict is in: the Doctor's holonovel and Data's poem about Spot can't be copyrighted:
https://ipkitten.blogspot.com/2022/02/us-copyright-office-refuses-to-register.html
I agree with the copyright office. An AI is a tool, and a tool can't copyright anything. A paintbrush can't demand copyright of anything it created. It seems to me, though, that the person or team who PROGRAMMED the AI could file a copyright for anything the AI created, just like an artist can copyright something the paintbrush creates.
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February 19, 2022
An Early Start to Vacation
Friday was supposed to be the last day of school before mid-winter break. The week has been an awful slog. Slow, slow days. More conflict than usual with the students. (One kid exploded in class when I told him to put his phone away, dropped F-bombs on me, made sexual slurs at me, and more. He won't be back for quite a while.)
On Wednesday, the storm was moving steadily toward Michigan. Looked like it would start with rain that would shift to snow late in the night. At first, the reports said we wouldn't get much accumulation because the rain would leave standing water that would melt future snow.
Then it all changed.
Thursday, we got rain all right, and it puddled, gathered, and flooded. The ground is frozen, and the drains were overtaxed. Then the temperature dropped twenty degrees in a single hour. The standing water started to freeze, creating a layer of ice. Snow fell on top of it, and turned the roads and walkways into a mess.
An assistant principal came around to all the classes sixth hour to warn everyone that the sidewalks and parking lot were slick with ice, so be careful going outside--and driving home. All after-school activities were canceled.
I had started off the day privately giving us a 60% chance school would be canceled for Friday. By the end of the day, I was up to 75%. I made sure my classroom was set to be abandoned for mid-winter break and that I had everything from my room that I would need at home next week, waited until the traffic outside cleared up, and headed out.
I had PT (I always have PT), and found the driving sticky but workable. I stopped at the store, expecting a big crowd, but didn't encounter one. I stocked up on what we needed for the weekend, and headed over to PT for my thrice-weekly dose of pain and tension. When it ended at 4:30, I checked my phone. A semi-frantic message from Darwin said the roads were really bad and I should consider ending PT early to come home before they got worse. Well . . .
Outside, I found my car covered in two inches of snow snow with an underlayer of ice. (Remember that PT is 90 minutes.) I had to break in, scrub the snow off, and chisel the ice away. The drive home was way worse than the drive to PT. Fortunately, it was only a few miles. Slow and steady wins the race.
I got home without incident. By now we were in full storm conditions. A howling wind blew ice pellets and snow over everything. Darwin and I brought in the groceries and slammed the doors shut, feeling like we'd escaped a monster.
And a couple hours later, I got the phone call, text, and email to announce that school would be closed on Friday. Mid-winter break started a day early!
comments
On Wednesday, the storm was moving steadily toward Michigan. Looked like it would start with rain that would shift to snow late in the night. At first, the reports said we wouldn't get much accumulation because the rain would leave standing water that would melt future snow.
Then it all changed.
Thursday, we got rain all right, and it puddled, gathered, and flooded. The ground is frozen, and the drains were overtaxed. Then the temperature dropped twenty degrees in a single hour. The standing water started to freeze, creating a layer of ice. Snow fell on top of it, and turned the roads and walkways into a mess.
An assistant principal came around to all the classes sixth hour to warn everyone that the sidewalks and parking lot were slick with ice, so be careful going outside--and driving home. All after-school activities were canceled.
I had started off the day privately giving us a 60% chance school would be canceled for Friday. By the end of the day, I was up to 75%. I made sure my classroom was set to be abandoned for mid-winter break and that I had everything from my room that I would need at home next week, waited until the traffic outside cleared up, and headed out.
I had PT (I always have PT), and found the driving sticky but workable. I stopped at the store, expecting a big crowd, but didn't encounter one. I stocked up on what we needed for the weekend, and headed over to PT for my thrice-weekly dose of pain and tension. When it ended at 4:30, I checked my phone. A semi-frantic message from Darwin said the roads were really bad and I should consider ending PT early to come home before they got worse. Well . . .
Outside, I found my car covered in two inches of snow snow with an underlayer of ice. (Remember that PT is 90 minutes.) I had to break in, scrub the snow off, and chisel the ice away. The drive home was way worse than the drive to PT. Fortunately, it was only a few miles. Slow and steady wins the race.
I got home without incident. By now we were in full storm conditions. A howling wind blew ice pellets and snow over everything. Darwin and I brought in the groceries and slammed the doors shut, feeling like we'd escaped a monster.
And a couple hours later, I got the phone call, text, and email to announce that school would be closed on Friday. Mid-winter break started a day early!
comments
