January 3 to January 20, 2007

January 3, 2007. Tomorrow we fly to Phoenix, Arizona, for a "second Christmas" with our daughter, son-in-law, and three grandsons. I hate flying. In fact, I don't much enjoy traveling. I'm a stay-at-home stick-in-the-mud who cannot derive any pleasure from airport hassles or from driving long distances – especially when the only purpose is to be someplace different for only a few days.

I don't mean that I don't enjoy visiting the kids, but I regret that the only feasible way to do it when they live thousands of miles away is to hop on an airplane. I can't identify at all with retirees who spend a good part of their time traveling around the country or the world. Much as I may like to see some of the places I've never seen, I don't subscribe to the travel agents' slogan that "getting there is half the fun." Getting there is a royal pain in the butt.

I'm not afraid of flying. I just dislike airports and consider five or six hours being crammed into a plane a kind of torture. It's uncomfortable and boring. I can stand a little discomfort when I'm doing something interesting or being bored when I'm otherwise comfortable, but when the two are put together, I'm a basket case.

I don't know where I should sit when I'm in a plane. My wife usually takes the middle seat, and I sit by the window. I don't know why, as there's really not that much to see; usually much of my view is obstructed by the plane's wing. Maybe on this trip I'll try the aisle seat. On every flight, I try to control my bladder so that I don't have to climb over people to get to the toilet in the rear of the plane. It never works; I always have to get up once during the flight. So maybe an aisle seat is better.

As far as I know, I'm not claustrophobic, but I hate being crammed into the cabin of a plane. The people bother me more than the lack of breathing room. Before the plane takes off, some individuals are always trying to cram into the overhead compartments huge items that they should have checked through. The airlines should be much more strict about the size of the things they allow people to carry on. Hell, you won't need that stuff until you get there, and you can go through the baggage claim hassle like the rest of us. I can understand the fear of lost luggage (it haunts me too), but you don't have to keep everything with you.

One can always count on a handful of inconsiderate bastards on any flight – people who talk so loudly to each other or on their cell phones that they can be heard throughout the cabin. I include among them people with unruly, undisciplined children. In my opinion, all kids (including babies) should be drugged to sleep before the plane takes off – or the airlines should isolate people with kids in a soundproofed section.

Airports now resemble the bus and railway terminals that I used to hate when I was traveling to and from college. They may be a bit cleaner and have some glossy modern features, but otherwise they're just as depressing. I try to divert myself by observing the curious antics of the diverse mix of humanity, but after a while, this pastime is neither entertaining nor amusing.

Part of the problem is that everyone is always in a hurry, and people in a hurry are invariably rude. I understand that as, once or twice, I've had to rush to catch my plane because of circumstances beyond my control. However, it doesn't happen often because I always allow more than enough time, allowing for delays in getting to the airport, long check-in lines, and just about every other conceiveable setback. I conclude that most people don't. Despite all the advice from the airlines to get there early, I suspect that many people optimistically project a scenario in which everything will go like clockwork and so wind up scrambling when there's the slightest glitch. Most people don't or won't follow directions very well.

As always, I'll try to start with a positive mindset and hope for the best. Maybe I'll get to Phoenix without feeling as if I've just spent several hours in a cross between a jail cell and an insane asylum. Somehow, though, I'm afraid that the trip out will be the same as usual, and then part of me will be brooding over the trip back. It's a feeling that is hard to suppress.

January 10, 2007. Back from our trip – and I regret to report that people on the trip were true to form. On the way out, they were lugging into the cabin huge bags that could scarcely get down the narrow aisle and attempting to stuff them into the overhead compartments, sort of like trying to get a hippo into a bathtub.

The trip back was simply too long. We got to Sky Harbor (the Phoenix airport) extra early, expecting it to be very busy because of an exodus of people from the area after the BCS football game (Ohio State's ignominious loss to the Florida Gators), which was played the day before. However, that turned out to be unnecessary. After a long wait at the airport, we sat on the plane for an hour and a half before it took off. The pilot said that the delay was to wait for clearance from the destination airport – Newark. I believe that since the Newark, NJ, airport has to be the one of the most inefficiently run major airports in the US. Consequently, we reached in Newark at 7:30 p.m. Eastern Time even though we had checked in at Phoenix at 10:30 a.m. (8:30 a.m. Phoenix time). In real hours, travel from airport to airport took nine hours, for a four-hour flight. That doesn't count travel time to and from the airports. A long day.

We had a moment of panic too in Newark because the board said that our luggage would be on Carousel 4, but it arrived (eventually) on Carousel 1. Had we not heard someone else complaining aboit the misdirection, we might still be looking for it. No wonder so many people resist checking their bags!

January 12, 2007. My English Composition class for the spring semester starts next week. As recently as a week ago, I was wondering whether I wanted to take on this part-time responsibility again. The fall semester was very discouraging, with an unusually high percentage of students failing, mostly because they failed to do the work and not because they couldn't do it. When large numbers of students who enroll in a class decide that doing even the minimum amount of required work is too much, the instructor becomes discouraged. Even though the course is a requirement (and, for many, a burdensome one), I have to wonder about the work ethic and good sense of those who sign up – and pay tuition – but fail to put in the effort necessary to learn anything.

A few days ago, however, I was informed that some of the part-timers (adjuncts) might be "bumped" from their classes. This sometimes happens when college enrollment is lower than expected and full-time instructors need to be reassigned to classes scheduled for adjuncts. I realized then that I would be disappointed if I did not have a class. Although I had many personal projects in the fire that could well fill the time freed up by not having to teach the class and grade the constant flow of essays, I knew I would miss the students and the opportunity to at least try to get through to them. Money wasn't even a factor since an adjunct's compensation is so small that we don't even count it in the family budget. As I tell my students every semester, I'm there because I want to be there, not because I have to be there. I wish that more of them could say the same.

Anyway, I wasn't "bumped," and it now appears that I shall be obligated to meet with a full complement of 30 students. I can't be blamed for having mixed emotions. Realistically, I know that a third to half will drift away before the semester is over. I know that I will spend a considerable amount of time in the first six weeks of semester correcting and commenting on essays from students who will ultimately drop out. I can't even predict who these individuals will be because sometimes even quite capable students throw in the towel for reasons I'll never know. Nevertheless, though I'm a born pessimist, I insanely approach each semester with the hope that the proportion of willing and teachable students will be higher than it was last time. So now I'm scheming and trying to dream up variations in my approach and methods that will make the students want to get it. I've got to be at least a little crazy to think that I can change the ingrained thinking of young adults, but anyone who thinks that writing and understanding the language is important has to be, nowadays, a bit of an eccentric, if not a complete nut case.

January 20, 2007. A student writes (in a diagnostic paragraph at our first class meeting): "The development of writing skills is unimportant to me and can be summed up very shortly why. My writing skills are supperior [sic] to other students. In a world where if you're not first, you are last; being the best is what seperates [sic] people."

Am I to suppose that the student is pulling my leg? Or is the student the victim of hubris, believing – without an iota of proof – that he is better than his peers? Is he possibly one of those individuals who has been so twisted by the schools' emphasis on "self-esteem" that he has developed an oversized ego founded on false self-esteem – i.e., insufferable arrogance?

I wonder whether this student will even accept my assertion that his opening sentence makes no sense. "The development . . . can be summed up very shortly" is a clear-cut example of faulty predication. Will he also accept my comment that shortly is not a synonym for briefly. Will he recognize that he has misused the semicolon? Perhaps the only criticism that he will accept is that he misspelled superior and separates, and he will defend himself with: "I said I was the best writer, not the best speller."

If he is serious, I doubt that he will accept the most damning criticism of all – that the main idea of the paragraph is not only unsupported but cannot be supported since he cannot, at the first class, know how well anyone else in the class writes. Even I don't know that yet.

One of the topics for the next paper, a full-length in-class essay, is: "Becoming aware of what we don't know – that is, becoming aware of our own ignorance – is the first step toward becoming wise." I have suggested that he choose this topic.