The Slippery Slope of Googling Oneself (Updated 2008)

To my very happy surprise, several people I haven't seen or spoken to in years have found me through this blog (and haven't run screaming from the content). This blog shows up through a Google search on my name. Quite a few other things show up under a "Colin Milroy" google search, so I thought I should clarify what I've actually done.

Sadly, the very successful Canadian real estate agent is not me, nor am I on the Superintendent's Honor Roll at West Montgomery High School in North Carolina. 2008 UPDATE: There's another name thief in England! This fellow looks to be a successful engineer in England, further knocking down the Colin Milroy totem pole. But I have been able to earn the title of "awkward weirdo creepball" by one of my former students through the nice, anonymous Rate My Professor. Luckily, my other reviews are positive and I'm no longer teaching English.

I also did not place third in the South Jersey Jr. Honda (B Main) race of the Quarter Midgets of America. I'm not a successful real estate agent or quarter midget racer. However, I was in successful shows in Chicago such as A Clean Well-Lighted Place and Siskel and Ebert Save Chicago as a happy part of the Factory Theater ensemble (2008 Update) as well shows with Hi-Volt Theatre and several different shows with the Hypocrites theatre company as an actor and technician. I've done many shows with the Raven Theatre, I was part of Imagination Theatre, I worked as staff at the DePaul University's Theatre School, and I am a UIC alumni (scroll all the way down to the M's if you really want to see my academic identity). I'm very happy about most of the things that come up under Colin Milroy on Google because I actually earned some of these posts. However, I can't claim the fame of taking on the fog and turning upside down, but I love the "B" horror movie reference on that post. "B" horror and my name should always be synonymous.

What to do next...

I've got to continue with the writing despite my best attempts at putting it off. The last completed work of writing was Clarity in Amsterdam, and I really need to complete a story about my uncle. Like the Amsterdam story, I don't quite know how to wrap it up, but I hope the process of posting and editing will help. Speaking of unfinished business, I will get back to Pulp Friday, though it's been ages and that really is something that's developed as it's typed. I'm even ridiculous enough to look at little places for publishing this crappy writing. Lord knows I need the work. I did look over my thesis the other day since commencement is coming up, and I swear to God that no part of my thesis will ever be on here, except for humor's sake (shudder). So I'll try to get back to writing while on the maddening job search. Hope that helps.

Oh, and I got cast in a play. That immediately makes my life better. My first play in over three years. It's been too damn long and I'm so happy to be back there.

12 Day Hiatus

The grades are posted. My second go-round with teaching is in the bag. The second semester was definitely harder than the first, much to my surprise. Instead of teaching four different classes, I was teaching two sections of two classes, which is easier in theory because there's prep for two classes instead of four. Unfortunately, I discovered I still don't have a gauge for time in teaching. One class will fly by while I get to only two of the ten things I put on my lesson plan. Another class will fly through all ten lesson plan items in less than a half an hour, and I need to improv the rest of the class. Some lesson plans take 10 minutes, others take over an hour. Some papers take 15 minutes to grade, some take less than three minutes. If I teach again, I'll see if I can do a better job of planning and estimating. I also need to be crabbier. That way, there might be less late work and incomplete homework. While I appreciate the time taken to craft elaborate excuses, I can't deal with the ensuing logistics. Papers end up being in three different places in 10 different stages of grading. The best excuse to date; "I didn't do my homework because I got a concussion from hitting my head on a moving box while I was changing apartments." No more credit for alibi creativity. Frank McCourt was right to give his students a late slip writing assignment. Creativity and storytelling are at their best when making excuses.

The Grade Monster

I've got bittersweet feelings about today.

Sweet:
>March Madness begins today. Some the best games, competition, and sports drama of the year for the next couple of weeks. I'll be able to watch/listen to college basketball as I grade all of my final papers.

>I got to spend a little time in my nice DePaul classroom today, peacefully grading and listening to satellite radio music.

>My students are coming by my office with intelligent questions on their research papers.

>Despite a lot of mishaps, the quarter went pretty well and I learned a lot more about teaching.

>I've heard back from a lot people about possible work.

Bitter:
>This may very well be my last time of teaching at DePaul. I have to find work and I probably won't be teaching here in the fall. I can't afford to putz around with too much temporary work anymore. Student loans are hell.

>I have a mountain of papers to grade, and this only for two of my four classes. Over 40 final research papers on the legal system, 8 - 10 pages each, will surely drive me insane by Saturday, but I have to post final grades next week.

>Good teaching work is ending and there's currently no work to replace it. Hello, financial stress.

>Freshman research papers make for hard reading and grading. Assigning final grades is difficult because assessing performance is more than numbers. There will be people pissed with their grades. I have to document the grades very carefully, sifting and organizing loads of information. The grade monster is hungry, impatient, and still intimidating to me.


I hate letting go of things, and I'm still early in my teaching career, so I'm going to miss the connections formed with some students. I'm also glad that I won't see some of them ever again. I'm definitely going to miss the process, the routine established over the past 10 weeks, and the familiarity of setting. I predict there will be large consumptions of alcohol and basketball today and tomorrow to help me through the process: screaming at KU and Illini players to work the clock while I read my fifth paper about euthanasia, abortion, or the death penalty. It's going to be a beast.

Horrors!

My mind got rolling around last night, thanks to a great conversation with several good folks after a delightful Factory Theater show (go see it; lots of fun). Not only was the Factory Show a welcome break from the job stress and general Anxiety Monday dynamic, but I also got to talk about one of my favorite subjects: horror movies. Many topics within the subject were bandied about in the bar (Wes Craven, High Tension, really good movie scares, and lots more), but one of my favorite topics was the course of horror movies today. I saw Hostel, which was crazy over-the-top gore, but I have not seen the re-make of The Hills Have Eyes, originally done by Wes Craven. Apparently, The Hills Have Eyes goes much farther than Hostel in certain scenes in terms of realism. When I see the The Hills Have Eyes remake, I suspect I'll take issue with it if the gore and sadism is focused on being as real and graphic as possible. Horror movies are swinging back towards a trend they reached in the late 1980s when gore and special effects took precedence over scares and stories. Here's the thing: I love my gore and I love my sadism in horror movies. They're integral. I also love to have the shit scared out of me; gore is usually not as applicable to fright as is good composition. I want one or the other from my horror movies. I want straight-up shallow characters getting hacked to glorious bit with lots of bloody squibs, naked boobs, nubile-young-and-dumb victims from frat boys to coeds, comical torture, cheesy dialogue, and predictable settings. Or, I want a well-constructed scare along the lines of The Ring or the first Nightmare on Elm Street. I don't need ultra-realism from my horror. My own mind is sadistic and gore-filled enough; I don't need my horror fed to me. Intensely effective horror/torture scenes don't show all the details. A Clockwork Orange, Bill Pullman's nuts getting hammered in The Serpent and the Rainbow, and Janet Leigh's run-in with androgynous biker thugs in Touch of Evil all spring to mind, and there are many others. These movies left the money shot up to your mind, where it's far more depraved and horrible than any special effect could conjure, certainly if you have my mind. I'll still watch the Hills remade, just because of curiosity, but I wish for the swing back to a well-balanced horror genre of scare with story and effective gore. Otherwise, some outraged, uptight social group is going slow the genre down because of whatever spiritual virtue of theirs is getting too molested. I fear for our society if we don't get ourselves a good dose of movie horror.

The Second Horror Movie Soapbox Moment
A Truly Good Horror Movie

Back to the Search

Yesterday was the last day of classes at DePaul, so today should be all about the job search. I'll have a huge pile of research papers to grade come next week and one less paycheck. I'll apply pretty much anywhere now. I'll go to my old PC technician agencies, try other agencies, check Craig's List, and whatever else. I will NOT waste my time with Career Builder, which I tried for nine months, sending over 50 applications and getting not one single response. As evidenced by previous posts and additional rantings, the job search is a high source of frustration. Sending my resume into mail and digital oblivion has gotten very old and cost way too much. The only jobs I've secured in the past six years have been from some pre-existing connection: I knew someone who worked where I was applying or I had some past connection to the organization (I now welcome myself to the real world). The problem now is, being in the middle of a career change from tech support to teaching, I've got precious few contacts in the teaching world. I see no currently open teaching positions and my existing adjunct positions have run out. I was a bad-ass data entry man back in the day, and I actually know how to change jumpers on a motherboard (that's not a euphemism for anything, but it should be), so I have options. However, I got out of PC tech work for a reason: it blows. But having no money also blows, so priorities shift. Okay, self-analytic procrastination ends, now back to the job search, after pouring coffee, checking email, looking at the Tempo section in the Trib, and doing laundry. Really.

How to Get A Bad Evaluation from Your Students

Short, simple story method: look like an unprepared, unqualified, inexperienced dumb ass.

Long story method in ten easy steps:

1. Think you allowed yourself enough time in the morning to download and print two worksheets on the most crushingly boring subject in English, MLA documentation and citation (there's never enough time to do anything in the morning but shower and eat).

2. Lose the web page that you found last night to download said worksheets (email it to yourself, dummy).

3. Realize that the worksheet does not have anything for in-text citation, which is where most of your students need their help (d'oh!).

4. Rapidly download another worksheet on in-text citations with answers (this ought to work, but see what happens in the next steps).

5. Remove the answers so that your students can actually the worksheet in class as an exercise (again, this sounds fine, but bad things are coming).

6. Arrive late to class for the third time in a row (yes, the copiers are all broken and missing staples and everything had to be stapled by hand, but you don't accept whiny excuses from your students so they sure as hell won't hear any of the same crap from you).

7. Pass out the worksheets, one is for reference, the other a class exercise (ah, finally, I can take a breath and mark attendance...).

8. Notice sounds of papers turning rapidly and puzzled looks of students. Look at your copy of the worksheet and realize that you've deleted a crucial part of the exercises, along with answers. Now the exercise makes no sense without the stuff you deleted. Nervously ask your students if they're missing said part of worksheet knowing the answer already (SHIT! FUCK!!! Steps four and five are biting me hard in the ass).

9. Sheepishly bring up an electronic copy of the worksheet, put it up on the projector, and fill in the answers for the students while they fidget (be thankful you're in a technologically advanced place, dumbass, or this would be a total loss. Oh wait...)

10. Do all of this on the day of student evaluations. Pass out evaluations and pencils to students, give instructions for filling out written documentation of your incompetence, slink back to the office you share with a zillion other people and hope the reviews aren't too brutal. Lose the title of "professional."

So there we are. That's what I accomplished for American education today; a suck-fest with only myself to blame. I'll find out the reviews in a few weeks. Last quarter, I got some nice reviews and some negative reviews, mostly nice ones. I felt I did my work well, considering it was my first quarter of teaching, and the reviews fairly reflected my accomplishments. This quarter, I'm definitely not so sure I'll achieve the same results. I only wish I'd brought my clown suit today so I would at least have been able to put in some pratfalls or hit myself in the face with my briefcase for the class today. Then I might get a more balanced review: "Teacher looks like an unprepared, unqualified, inexperienced dumb ass, but that's what I expect from this clown."

Take That, Creative Circle! (A Welcome Balm for Anxiety Monday)

Now THIS is a nice response to a job inquiry:

On Mon, March 6, 2006 9:08 am, [name removed] said:
Hi Colin,

I do remember you and did forward your resume to the Upper School Head in consideration for the English position. You are correct, we have been receiving many resumes and are doing as thorough a job as possible in narrowing down the field. I expect the entire process to take at least a couple more months due to the importance of this position. Please keep an eye on our website, faculty contracts are just starting to trickle back in, and I do anticipate a few more open positions for the fall. In addition to the US English, if any other position is available that interests you, please feel free to send me another email or phone call. Please note that all open positions will remain on the website until a contract has been issued at which time the posting will be removed immediately. Thanks for your continued interest in Francis W. Parker School.

[name removed]
Director of Human Resources
Francis W. Parker School

-----Original Message-----> From: Colin Grant Milroy
Sent: Sunday, March 05, 2006 2:49 PM> To: [name removed]
Subject: Colin Milroy follow-up email

Hello [name removed],

I wanted to send you a follow-up email since we met at the Diversity Fair on February 4. I'm a friend of Beau Johnson, and you and I discussed how you live close to Beau and how he has raved about teaching at Francis Parker. I hope you won't think it too forward of me to send a follow-up email regarding your Upper School English Teacher position that starts this September. I ran across your ad in the Chicago Reader and I thought that I should check back in with you since you undoubtedly receive quite a bit of applications. I've attached a current copy of my resume for your review. Please contact me if you need any additional information from me. You can reach me at this email or call my cell phone at (xxx)xxx-xxxx. Thank you very much for your time.

Sincerely,
Colin Milroy

No promises, no guarantees, just communication and assurance that my time has not been wasted unlike other parts of my job search. At this point, I'm still freaking out about uncertain job status adding to my Anxiety Mondays, so I'm a wee bit sensitive. The original title of this post was going to be "RANT!!!" and I was just going to go from there, but big points to Francis Parker school for acting like a professional and being courteous enough to interact. It's nice to have something positive to say. I'm still facing joblessness in a few weeks, but it's encouraging to know my voice has been heard.

The Next Pulp Friday (PF 5)

Pulp Friday continues...

Previously on Pulp Friday:

PF 1
PF 2
PF 3
PF 4

Brian stares at the wreckage of our building's front door while I look at a a picture of Jenny, my dead wife. The door of our building being smashed in is one thing wrong, but the other is I've never seen the picture of my wife that I hold in my hands. I'd be more concerned with the latter except that the picture I'm holding was taped to the cluster of cinder blocks that were thrown through the door. I have to give equal attention to both abnormalities.

Brian, my downstairs neighbor in this building, shakes his head. "Jesus Christ," he says, "Chung's going to flip."

Chung's our landlord. A very stiff fellow who hates to spend money on this building.

I say, "Now we don't have to nag him about replacing the broken panes."

Still shaking his head, Brian says, "I'm worried because now we have to actually convince him to buy us a new front door."

That is a tall order, but I'm too immersed in this photograph to attempt any sort of conversation. My wife is in this photo, but her face is distorted, as if she was crying out in pain. It's just her head and neck, nothing below that. I can't imagine what's causing her face to do that.

Brian says, "Hey, there's a number on the back of the photo."

I turn the photo around and, sure enough, what looks like a phone number is neatly written on the back.

"Call the cops," I say to Brian, "I'm going to try this number."

I go back upstairs to my apartment and dial the number.

After four rings, there's a click and the ringing stops. No voice speaks on the other end.

"Hello," I finally say.

A high-pitched whisper on the other end says, "Sorry about your head. We weren't expecting you home for another hour at least. Make sure you use some ice."

"Who the hell-" I begin.

"Better just listen, rather than talk. There's a problem we need to discuss. It involves you personally."

"Swell. My day gets better."

"No talk, dear. Meet me in Welles Park on the tennis courts in ten minutes and come alone. Company wouldn't be good for Jenny."

Then the voice is gone and the dial tone growls at me.

This will continue...

Next on Pulp Friday: PF 6
PF 7
PF 8
PF 9

Clarity in Amsterdam, Part Five.

Continuing writings from travel about a year ago...

02/07/07 UPDATE: This piece was originally in five parts, but I've made changes and will be posting another part (maybe two) soon...

PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR

We’re confessing our sins in a city of vice. A city of legalized vice. Terrifying and thrilling at the same. There’s shame, pleasure, guilt, abandon, and no answers. A drawn-out, hazy and muted catharsis that’s unlike the instantaneous, knee-buckling tears usually expected from an absolving event. We both want to be condemned by the other. We’re looking for disappointment from the opposite face, a frown, an unspoken judgment, a confirmation of guilt. With that, we could collapse, let the shame, anger, and loss pour out, and we could scream our pain with fists clenched and knives in our guts. Then, there would be comfort, a possibility of understanding, and hopefully forgiveness.

Instead, we skip straight to forgiveness and understanding. The mystique of our secrets drops its heavy load, yet clings because the soul cleansing didn’t quite pan out. There will be no condemnation, but there will be no full release of the past, either. Instead, there will be the friendship that always was; someone there when you need them most, not to guide or absolve, but simply to be present. There is hope and support there and answers will come on their own time. Yet this is still unsatisfying.

I haven’t found any direction, I haven’t discovered anything new, and I wonder if I’ve really helped myself or done anything with meaning or importance. I begin to think I’ve been looking for a mental quick-fix. I suspect I may have put all my emotional investment in the wrong place, that putting all my issues in the open with my closest friend won’t be the instant balm I wanted it to be. I wonder if there will be anything of significance to help me or if this is simply an aimless distraction that further obscures uglier truths. The latter seems more likely.

Nevertheless, after a healthy combination of hashish and hot chocolate, I did experience some things that certainly felt like meaning for me.

The shit will continue...

PART SIX
PART SEVEN