Gender Through Comic Books Online Course

Very cool news from comic writer Mark Waid:

For the last few months, a talented university teacher named Christy Blanch has been putting together a college-level course called “Gender Through Comic Books”–but it’s not limited to college students. It’s the world’s first comics-related Massive Open Online Course (MOOC)–meaning that it will be FREELY AVAILABLE to ANYONE across the world who has web access and who’s interested in comics and in the creative process. There’s no obligation, NO COST, and all you have to do is take thirty seconds to enroll at the following site:

This course is presented by (my alma mater) Ball State University on this very interesting Canvas Open Online Course platform that I’ve heard of several times before.

It’s about comic books, gender and women’s issues, writing. Boy is this up my alley. I signed up for it. If you’re interested in similar topics, you should too.

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The Laws of Physics Don’t Apply to Me

College Application essay by Hugh Gallagher, author of Teeth:

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently. Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.
I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.
Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I’m bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.
I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don’t perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat .400. My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me.
I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations for the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me.
I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven. I breed prizewinning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.
But I have not yet gone to college.

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When your professor says this…. he really means this…

Author Unknown

This needs some minor revision. = I never actually got around to reading this.

My office hours are by appointment only = I like to get out of here early.

Ten percent of your grade is based on class participation. = I’ll be fudging your grades.

This won’t be on the test. = Nap time!

Bring the text to class. = I don’t have a clue how to lecture – we’ll just kill time with group read-alongs.

Continue ReadingWhen your professor says this…. he really means this…

You Know You’re Not in College Anymore When…

You’re waking up at 6 am instead of going to bed.

Beers at lunch get you reprimanded.

College sweatshirts are ‘casual’ instead of dress up.

Your parents charge rent.

The four food groups are no longer beer, pizza, chips and cereal.

It’s ‘getting late’ when it’s 9:30 p.m.

Three words: Student Loan Payments.

You make thousands of dollars a year – and still can’t afford that dream Porsche.

You start eyeing the Light Beer Section appreciatively.

Pickup football games mean that at least one person will be in the hospital by game’s

Discussing with your friends:
THEN: GPA’s, spring break plans, and tonsil hockey;
NOW: mutual funds, interest rates, and wedding plans.

Sleeping on the couch is a no-no.

Naps are no longer available between noon and 6 p.m.

Sneakers are now ‘weekend shoes’.

Dinner and a movie – The whole date instead of the beginning of one.

Pregnancy now brings thought of tax deductions instead of coronaries.

Jack and Cokes become Dewers on the Rocks.

The only drugs you take are Tums and Tylenol.

The weak single you hit in the intramural softball game is now remembered as a Varsity dinger for the League Championship.

You get your news from sources other than USA Today, ESPN Sportscenter, and MTV News.

Random hook-ups are no longer socially acceptable.

You wear more ties in a week than you even owned while taking in college.

You find yourself reminiscing fondly of 2-hour Calculus exams.

You empathize with the characters from ‘Friends.’


Wine appreciation expands beyond Boone’s and Mad Dog.

You actually eat breakfast foods at breakfast time.

Grocery lists actually contain relatively healthy food.

When drinking, you say at least once per night, ‘I just can’t put it down the same as I used to.’

Over 90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work, not video games.

You’re actually willing to pay a bit more to drink in a bar that’s not full of ’21-year-old kids.’

Golf is beginning to seem a lot less silly.

Continue ReadingYou Know You’re Not in College Anymore When…

You Might Be a College Student If…

You have ever price shopped for Top Ramen, you might be a college student.

You live in a house with three couches, none of which match.

You consider Mac and Cheese a balanced meal.

You have ever written a check for 45 cents.

You have a fine collection of domestic beer bottles.

You have ever seen two consectutive sunrises without sleeping.

Your glass set is composed of McDonald’s Extra Value Meal Plastic Cups.

Your underwear supply dictates the time between laundry loads.

You cannot remember when you last washed your car.

You can pack your worldly possesions into the back of a pick-up (one trip).

You have ever had to justify yourself for buying Natural Light.

The first thing you do in the morning is roll over and introduce yourself.

You average less than 3 hours of sleep a night.

Your trash is overflowing and your bank account isn’t

You go to Wal-Mart more than 3 times a week

You eat at the cafeteria because it’s"free", even though it sucks

You are personally keeping the local pizza place from bankruptcy

You wake up 10 minutes before class

You wear the same jeans 13 days in a row –without washing them

Your breakfast consists of a coke on the way to class

Your social life consists of a date with the library

Your idea of "doing your hair" is putting on a baseball cap

It takes a shovel to find the floor of your room

You carry less than a dollar on you at all times because that’s all you have

You haven’t done laundry in so long you are wearing your swim suit to class

Your midnight snack is microwave popcorn

You celebrate when you find a quarter

Your room is so cold that your toilet freezes over

Your walls are plastered with posters of half naked men or women

You have built up a tolerence for certain beverages (he he he)

You wear a sweat suit for so long that it stands up by itself

Your backpack is giving you Scoliosis

You get more sleep in class than in your room

Your idea of feeding the poor is buying yourself some Ramen Noodles

You can sleep through your roommate’s blaring stereo

You live in an area that is smaller than most mobile homes

You get more e-mail than mail……

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A Student’s Guide To Bawstin

(for all of you who were not bon heah)
By John Powers, Globe Staff:09/11/97

The truth, now. How many of you said "Boston University" to the cabbie at Logan Airport and ended up at Boston College? You’re right. It wasn’t a misunderstanding. The cabbie knew you weren’t bon heah, so he took you for a ride. By now, you know that nobody in the Hub calls it Boston University. We don’t really call it the Hub, either, except in headlines. By the time you graduate, you’ll also be able to tell Southie from the South End, know how to pronounce Gloucester, and who should have been at first base instead of Bill Buckner. You’ll know who the cahdnal is, how to take the T to JP and what the blinking red light atop the old Hancock Building means in the summer. And if you’re smaht, you’ll know how not to get cahded at the packie.

Herewith, a student’s survival guide to Bawstin:

How we tok: We don’t speak English. We speak whatever they brought over here from East Anglia in 1630. The Bawstin accent is basically the broad A and the dropped R, which we add to words ending in A – pahster, Cuber, soder. For the broad A, just open your mouth and say "ah," like the dicta says. So car is cah, park is pahk. If you want to talk like the mayah, repeat after me: "My ahnt takes her bahth at hahpast foah.’

When we say: \ We mean:
bzah: odd, or a place where they sell stuff.
flahwiz: roses, etc.
hahpahst: 30 minutes after the hour
Hahwahya?: How are you?
khakis: what we staht the cah with
pissa: superb
retahded: silly
shuah: of course
wikkid: extremely
yiz: you, plural

How we’ll know you weren’t bon heah:
You wear a Harvard sweatshirt.
You cross at a crosswalk.
You ask directions to "Cheers."
You order a grinder and a soda.
You pronounce it "Worchester."
You walk the Freedom Trail.
You call it "Copely Square."
You go to BU.

Getting around: Boston is a mishmosh of 17th-century cow paths and 19th-century landfill penned in by water. You know:"One if by land, two if by sea." Charlestown? Cahn’t get theyah from heah. And which Warren Street do you want? We have three:plus three Warren Avenues, three Warren Squares, a Warren Park, and a Warren Place.

Pay no attention to the street names. There’s no school on School Street, no court on Court Street, no dock on Dock Square, no water on Water Street. Back Bay streets are in alphabetical odda. Arlington, Berkeley, Clarendon, Dartmouth. So are South Boston streets: A, B, C, D. If the streets are named after trees (Walnut, Chestnut, Cedar), you’re on Beacon Hill. If they’re named after poets, you’re in Wellesley. Dot is Dorchester, Rozzie is Roslindale, JP is Jamaica Plain. Readville doesn’t exist.

The North-East-South-West thing: Southie is South Boston. The South End is the South End. The North End is east of the West End. The West End is no more. A guy named Rappaport got rid of it one night. Eastie is East Boston. The East End is Boston Harbor.

About our "cuisine" : Boston cream pie is a cake. Frappes have ice cream; milk shakes don’t. Chowdah does not come with tomatoes. Soda is club soda. Pop is Dad. If it’s fizzy and flavored, it’s tonic. When we mean tonic water, we say tonic water. Scrod is whatever they tell you it is, usually fish. If you paid more than $6 a pound, you got scrod. Brown bread comes in a can. You open both ends, push it out, heat it, and eat it with baked beans. They’re hot dogs. Franks were people who lived in France in the ninth century.

People without last names: Dapper, Whitey, Raybo, Larry, Natalie, Roger, Julia and Yaz.

Things not to do: Don’t call it Beantown. Don’t pahk your cah in Hahvid Yahd. They’ll tow it to Meffa. Don’t swim in the Charles, no matter what Bill Weld tells you. Don’t sleep in the Common. Don’t wear orange in Southie on St. Patrick’s Day. Don’t call the mayah "Mumbles." He hates that. Don’t ask what she’s majoring in. You don’t care.

Things you should know: There are two State Houses, two City Halls, two courthouses, two Hancock buildings. There’s also a Boston Latin School and a Boston Latin Academy. How should we know which one you mean? Route 128 is also I-95. It is also I-93. It’s the Sox, the Pats (or Patsies), the Seltz, the Broons. The Harvard Bridge goes to MIT. It’s measured in "smoots." Johnson never should have hit for Willoughby. The subway doesn’t run all night. This isn’t Noo Yawk. Ray Flynn used to be mayah. It’s Comm Ave, Mass Ave and Dot Ave. Yaz wore 8, Ted wore 9. The drinking age is 21. If you use a fake ID, make sure it isn’t from Mississippi. Argeo Paul Cellucci, the governor, is just acting. To get back to Logan from BC, take the Green Line to the Blue Line – then grab the bus.


The Hub: A Bostonian once called this city the Hub of the Universe. It was:in 1775.

The Big Dig: The downtown highway project that’s taking longer and costing more than it should. The latest excuse for why traffic here is bzah.

The old Hancock Building lights are actually a weather forecast: Steady blue, clear view. Flashing blue, clouds due. Steady red, rain ahead. Flashing red, snow instead. In the summer, flashing red means the Sox home game has been called off.

Continue ReadingA Student’s Guide To Bawstin

Fun Things To Do in a Final Exam

Bring pets.

Bring cheerleaders.

Bring a pillow. Fall asleep (or pretend to) until the last 15 minutes. Wake up, say "oh geez, better get cracking" and do some gibberish work. Turn it in a few minutes early.

Get a copy of the exam, run out screaming "Andre, Andre, I’ve got the secret documents!!"

If it is a math/science exam, answer in essay form. If it is long answer/essay form, answer with numbers and symbols. Be creative. Use the integral symbol.

Continue ReadingFun Things To Do in a Final Exam