May 26, 2009

  • Smile and Get Fat

    Ouch.  My wife had some problem uploading her files to the Blackboard of her university's course management system.  She missed a deadline not because she failed to prepare everything on time, but solely because our computer has some problem when you click on the cut and paste option, a problem I do not yet understand.  I don't cut and paste much, or, I do, but have never experienced any problem, and cannot understand exactly what she means.  

    She refused to tell the professor of her mistake because she said it would not have happened had she not cut it so close to the deadline; she would have had time to check it thoroughly and would have caught the error. 

    I told her we don't generally operate that way in the West, or that is my understanding.  She still refused to alert the professor to the problem.   She will lose 20 percent from her grade because she turned in the paper after the deadline.  She caught it two hours later, when she logged onto her site to double check and make sure everything was OK.  

    She utterly refuses to allow me to get involved in anything related to her work with her degree.  I would like to have written a letter to her professor to explain, but she would not let me.  So, here we are.  Our fortunes are combined, yet I am excluded. 

    Furthermore, she practices a double standard.  When I studied in my computer science program last spring semester, she read everything about my course, and knew the syllabus and grade requirements better than I did.  I am the primary childcare provider in our family, and did the programming course "off the cuff," just winging it from one assignment to the next, never having enough time to read the textbook to my heart's content, a most frustrating experience. 

    Wifey wanted me to do that course, as a kind of back-up job security plan.  I told her that if I could finish that and do well with it, I would know that I would not mind being a computer programmer.  Well, that panned out to be very true.  I could not have imagined how much I would love programming, particularly algorithm formulation.   There are still a few little commands that I forget, but I made much progress in one semester. 

    So, now we know that if need be, if my wife fails to get a job (something she strongly fears, being a non-native speaker of English aiming to teach ESL in the U.S.) and should I fail to earn enough money preaching and in the other ideas I have for private business services, then she would like to farm me out as a computer programmer, par excellence. 

    She says that her course of study does not permit the involvement of anyone else, other than the student.  But I don't see why I could not write a letter to the professor and try to explain the problem with our computer, and also her mix-up with uploading.  She got mixed up somehow, flustered, in trying to upload essays for three different one-hour courses at the same time, for the same deadline.   She used to just take one course at a time, and now she's taking three.  She says that that is all her fault, though, implying she has no right to explain her situation and hope for any leniency on the grade.  I told my Mom, a teacher in high school, and she thought surely the professor would see it differently if she could talk directly with my wife. 

    One thing about my wife is that she doesn't lie.  That is odd, really.  I mean, she does not even exaggerate.  Of course, I suppose that is a lot easier when you are so anti-social, as my wife...  If you don't say much, then you have far less opportunity to stretch the truth, no?  And that is something my friends have noticed, that when my wife speaks, it is something you would never question. 

    I have learned, though, that she is right most of the time.  Maybe too, in this case, she is right; it really is entirely her fault.  It is her computer (or ours), and she knows the disadvantage she has with it, also knows her difficulty with computers.  Too, she spends an inordinate amount of time on her English writing, poring over each sentence with a fine toothed comb.  Too, she's got a grand husband for that, as I sleep with the children while she stays up all night to work, seven nights a week.  She couldn't have a better situation for study.  And, I earn all the money we need.  I do all the shopping, hang the laundry to dry, and wash dishes (though she does that more than I in between semesters). 

    The sole chore she does exclusively is one I have zero interest in, and that is going to the bank to handle our money.  I don't like waiting in lines, and I do not know how to manage a money machine.  That, and I am not interested in learning. 

    I have never learned how to work a hand phone, and I cannot program a VCR, either.  My children are far better than I on working the TV remote control.  I can do just the minimal functions, like fast forward (DVD actually), reverse, and play.  Oh, also, I can click on the subtitle button, that, and jump forwards by a whole scene.  That's enough for me.  But, my children are all over that stuff.  It's like second nature to them. 

    Well, I spouted off.  I believe that is all this entry was for.  I have a fine wife.  Only, she is an odd person in some ways.  I would like to have her blessing to do private work in America.  That is the only kind of work I am interested in. Too, it is what I have done here for thirteen years straight, with grand effect, great pleasure and sublime satisfaction.  But, she believes America will be different, less kind to me as a businessman.  I believe that all businesses are essentially alike, that you merely follow the Golden Rule, providing the same quality of service you would want if you were in the client's shoes.  That's it.  Not for her. 

    But, I don't believe God wants me to ever be a wage slave again unless I have no other choice.  I used to deliver pizzas while I was in grad school, and that was fun, and I made good money, but I knew I was not delivering a great service ... just making people smile and get fat.  I don't want to remember myself that way, would you?

    Love, Padooker