So an Iowa County Judge has ruled that the gay-marriage ban is unconstitutional. I have little doubt that the wonderful state of Iowa will appeal it and make sure to stick to their conservative roots, but I am touched and uplifted that someone in the Midwest has the good sense not to be a bigot.

There is a large, very, very large difference between what churches may consider marriage and what the government needs to rule. The only reason for marriage being defined as between a man and a woman is that the word in our culture has been used solely in conjunction with the church and the church states it must be between a man and a woman. Marry, coming from the Latin maritare means only to wed, marry, to give in marriage. I’m not seeing much talk about a man and a woman there. Now I haven’t checked the OED and some of my professors would find fault with that, but I’m not going to do that right now. I’ll get back to you.

Churches get to be restrictive--they do, after all, have a very strict set of beliefs. Those beliefs don’t include equality for all. But our government, our wonderful, corrupted government isn’t supposed to pick and choose who gets what benefits in our society. We did it with minorities, and we did it with women. Somehow the country has survived all of that. What is so damned threatening about allowing two people to marry? Why is it such a scary thought to give spouses, no matter their gender, equal privileges across the board?

I’m curious, honestly. I would like to know, why the government shouldn’t allow gay marriage. I would like to know why it is so scary that there should be a constitutional ban. And I would really like to know the reasoning behind all of those answers.

And at the end of the day when our country is done doing its best to keep happiness and equality from its citizens I would really like to know what is gained from sitting around and hating people. People that aren’t committing hate crimes. People that aren’t engaging in heinous illegal activities. When AIDS was discovered people stood up and said it was punishment from God. When Katrina hit those same people said it was the wrath of God. Well, I don’t want any part of that God. And I have to ask you--if consensual sex is so offensive that he murders millions of people and denies them earthly love and happiness, why do you? Maybe it’s time for some people in this country to rethink their religion and their hate.

Oh the pain, oh the agony! No, not really, I’m just being dramatic. But, I do now have two half-dollar size blisters on the bottom of my feet. Even though it didn’t rain today I decided to switch flip-flops, you know, try to avoid falling on my ass. It worked--I didn’t fall down. But my other flip-flops gave me blisters.

I like going to school here, I really, honestly do. But I just don’t understand why everything is so bloody difficult! They tell the Ph.D. students that we will be given offices in the same building as the English faculty. They never tell us that we have to go pick them ourselves. And how the hell am I supposed to know what to pick? I just look for a desk that isn’t covered in stuff and claimed by somebody, but what if it is? What if I steal someone’s space? Nobody seems worried about it--nobody cares at all. But it’s like it doesn’t occur to anyone that this is my first year. That I might now know what’s going on. I mean really people.

Then there is the wondering for forty days and forty nights in the desert (a little bit literally actually) as I try to find my way from one building to the next and get to my classes on time. Are all the English classes in the same building? No, my first one is at one end of campus, my next one is at the other. Meanwhile I’m in jeans and uncomfortable flip-flops hiking my ass in 110 degree weather all the way.

And finally I come to school only to realize that my afternoon class is at 4, not 1 and I now have three hours to kill and nothing to do it with. So I came home and wrote you all this delightful blog. I’m resting my tootsies in the marvelous air conditioning and hoping that next week perks up. There can only be one first week right?

Oh yeah, and I almost got ran over in the parking garage. This crazy, CRAZY woman come flying around the corner, squeals to a stop in front of my hip, and after I walk past, barely past her car mind you, she squeals her tires as she speeds away. I’m assuming she was suffering from a really intense case of explosive diarrhea and was just doing her best to make it home. That really seems to me the only reason why someone would drive like a COMPLETE ASSHOLE. Well, that or she was just stupid.

I have over used my quotient of capital letters and I apologize. It’s just that I don’t know how else to get across the severity of craziness in that parking garage. I hope you all will forgive me, but I don’t really care. I accepted that I was a bad person long, long ago.

And finally, I feel it worth mentioning that I have landed back into Fraternity/Sorority Hell. Yes, in fact the campus is crawling with members of everyone’s favorite Greek Organizations. The amazing thing is that while I haven’t really been around it since I graduated from Western five years ago all the frat boys still act the same and even look the same. Frosted hair, carrying little to no books, choker-hemp necklaces and spiffy sunglasses. I try not to sterotype, but I’m prejudiced towards Frat Boys. I am, I admit it. I hate them until given a reason not to. It’s wrong, it’s childish and I should certainly know better, but my hate is unreasonable. Well, it might be very reasonable if you knew some of the guys I’ve known in my life. But regardless fraternities do not make boys into bad men. Not really. Even though it seems that way. Even though most learn a lot of bad habits from it. We can’t blame the frat. And I’m not. I promise. Honest.

Ugh. I love Vegas. But I’m kind of hoping it doesn’t take me four years to graduate.

I have an interesting topic to discuss today. At what point is the government entitled to use any means necessary to catch a criminal, and at what point do we say something is an unethical use of power?

I’m thinking of traffic cameras, and lie detector tests, and the use of MRI machines to scan the brains of criminals. I’m also thinking of Microsoft Vista and Windows Media Player 11 and how it checks to make sure you have paid for the rights to listen to music and haven’t burned it more than once. Should it be against the law to speed and run read lights and lie to cops? Sure. Those are all bad ideas (well, most of the time anyway). It should also be against the law to make private copies of songs and sell them for personal profit. But at what point is my privacy negated because of a corporations fear that all the fees aren’t getting paid?

It seems like, if the police have a warrant for my computer and they discover I’ve been breaking copyright laws then I deserve what I get. But the fact that my personal laptop, my home computer is watching my activities to make sure I don’t break certain laws really upsets me. Who is Microsoft to program safeguards into my programs without my permission? If I’m savvy enough to get ahold of pirated music, or just want to play the music I burned off a friend’s cd, where’s the line there?

There are some, many perhaps, who would say if it’s against the law that’s the end of it. You can’t do it and those who police you are allowed to use any means necessary to prevent you. I can see why that argument appeals. In general, our laws are good--usually they are there for a reason and, when going after a serial killer for example, it’s a good idea to catch him however possible. But here’s the deal with absolutes--if I say it’s never okay to break the law and the law may always use whatever means possible to catch me, I’ve just given up any context that might affect the situation.

Not all of our laws are good ones you see. Most people know that, even acknowledge that things like Slavery and Jim Crow were a bad idea. It was a good thing that people broke those laws, but we aren’t like that today. Our laws are good today. But are they? How do you know? What is your gauge to evaluate the ethicality or lack there of of our modern laws? If you speed and a traffic camera takes a picture of your license plate and sends you a ticket in the mail a week later, why does that give you an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach? Even those of you who shake your heads and say, “well then don’t speed” can’t tell me you really like the idea of that. Who is that camera helping I ask you? What does the ticket in the mail accomplish? You are punished for your bad behavior. Great. Why do you need to be punished? Did you hurt someone? Run over someone? Were you reckless? A danger? Why was your speeding bad? Because the law said so? Did you feel out of control while you were driving? Tell me, I want to know. Why does the government get to punish me? Is the government my parent? Should it have absolute power over my behaviors and the right to punish me without qualm?

What if you were speeding because your wife was in labor? Or your mother was dying and you needed to get there as soon as possible? Or because your child, sibling, friend had gotten into trouble and needed you to come pick them up? Are those good reasons to speed? What if you’ve never had a traffic accident in your life, and even though you were speeding you were doing so safely? What if you’re a complete wreck on the road and are constantly getting tickets for one thing or another, but weren’t misbehaving that night, except for the speeding of course. Should that make a difference?

Context. The problem with people is that everybody’s got a story. Everybody’s got a reason for why they are the way they are. Not all of them are good reasons--sometimes they’re pretty shitty ones, but everybody’s got something. So what do you gain by enforcing laws with machines instead of people? You’ll probably catch more “criminals.” Probably keep more cds and dvds from being burned. Maybe even people will speed less. But you give up context. A lot of people don’t think that matters; context is something criminals hide behind after they’ve broken the law. Maybe you’re right, but if you give up context now what happens when you need it further down the line? Or your kid? Or your grandkid? Or your friend? Why is it so damn important to enforce all those little laws all the time? What is gained by that?

Before you answer that go read 1984. And then read Brave New World. And then watch V for Vendetta. They all gave up context too. You look at the societies in those stories and tell me how we can give up context but not turn out the same. People were miserable in 1984, but blissfully happy in Brave New World. And they were all completely “safe” as long as they followed the law. But is it really better to be “safe” from the world when you’re under constant threat from your government? That’s what happens when you give up context, and I would love to understand how, and why, that’s such a good thing.

So I thought I should totally share the story of the best worst day ever. I feel I should start this story by setting the stage. I’m in Las Vegas, you know, the desert? Right, so it doesn’t rain all that often in the desert. And yet, since moving here all of two weeks ago it has rained three times, two of those times were substantial. Last night I woke up to thunder and lightning, the sort of thunder storm I expect in Illinois, but not so much in the desert. Cause it’s a desert.

So I get up, I get dressed, I’m running a little late but I should have plenty of time to make it to school. I decide to avoid the I-15 because it is doubtless backed up. My roommate supported me in this decision. Little did I know, though, just how wrong I was. Everything was going a little slow and everyone was driving cautiously, but I didn’t realize that cautiously in Vegas means not driving at all. That’s right, we all just inched our way to and through every stoplight at 5 mph. I understand it’s slick people, you crazy folks put oil in all your streets, sidewalks, what have you, and when it rains the oil makes things slick. I get that. But perhaps driving 5 mph when it isn’t quite that wet is being over cautious? I, therefore, found myself fifteen minutes late for my first class. It’s my first day, teaching my first class at UNLV, and I’m late. Exceptionally so. I hate my life.

At five minutes till I call the composition department to let them know I’m stuck in traffic. I figure they can send someone over to tell the kids or something. Thankfully when I got there everyone was still sitting I the classroom. Bless those freshmen. No one had come over to explain the situation to them so they were just sitting there dutifully waiting for me. Sometimes I love how much like sheep they all are. Due to running so late I didn’t have time to pick up my syllabus for the first class so I’m sans syllabus. Not to be deterred I wrote my name and email on the board, handed out the essay prompts and played it off like a pro. One crisis averted.
After that class I walked across campus, picked up my syllabus and began a trek back across campus to the, next class I was teaching. I had ten minutes. Plenty of time. Little did I know that when the sidewalks were wet my flip-flops would turn into frictionless traps of death! I don’t know how many times I slipped, but it was a lot. I never went down, thank goodness, but I did slip and slide my way across UNLV. It was a really long, annoying walk. By the time I got to my second class they are all standing outside the open door because “the Professor [wasn’t] there yet.” While the first class sat quietly, these guys couldn’t’ walk in and turn the light on with out me. I see it’s going to be a special sort of year.

I had a syllabus for those guys, though; I felt that made up for the fact that I was dripping sweat due to my exertion of trying not to fall on my ass all the way across campus. And, it was humid. That’s right. The only thing that makes the desert bearable is that it isn’t humid. It’s 100 degrees but you don’t care because it isn’t stifling. Today, however, it is somewhere around 85 or 90 degrees as I walk to class and very humid. I was sweating balls by the time I walked in. Nothing like making a truly memorable first impression.
So I now sit in Starbucks killing time until my first graduate course. The class I didn’t realize I had today and so don’t have the book for. It really is the best worst day ever.

Oh yeah, and I have gas. Viva Las Vegas baby. Viva, Las Vegas.

I am just a posting fiend! Actually I think it has to do with my loads of free time this week. Until school starts next week I’ve got naught to entertain me but myself and my toys. Wait…that sounds dirty. Wait…it is.

Anyway, I thought I would take this opportunity to share with you my dream last night. In fact, it is a reoccurring dream/nightmare that has been going on for some time now. I don’t remember the first time it happened, but I do know that how scared I am seems to vary with each individual dream. What is this dream you ask? What happens over and over again that could possibly stay locked in my psyche?

I’m being chased by Godzilla.

Now, you laugh. And perhaps you should. Goodness knows even I sometimes have a hard time keeping a straight face in said dream, but generally I’m so worried about staying alive that it isn’t too much of a problem. Last night’s dream is noteworthy specifically because I was trying to keep everyone around me alive and while I managed to save a room full of people one woman, who seemed strangely evangelical, refused to duck down and shut off the lights. Godzilla dutifully broke out the window and nailed her with a radiation blast that caused her head to explode all over the rest of us. Feel free to deconstruct that one.

The other thing about these dreams is that I’m always around the same two buildings, both skyscrapers and both office/apartment buildings. And for some reason at some point in the dream I have to leave the safety of one building to run to the other one. Usually that is when Godzilla starts coming towards the building and perhaps, to eat me. Unlike my snake dreams, though (which I hope to never relate and never have another one) Godzilla is not out to specifically kill me--instead, he is just walking around town destroying stuff being, you know, Godzilla. I know that if I die it is because I couldn’t get out of the way, not because the monster is evil. That makes it an odd combination of more terrifying and less terrifying all at once--if such a duality could exist. Perhaps I should say that the types of terror in the dream are more varied in sensation and intensity than any other nightmarish experience I’ve had.

I don’t know what prompts these strange dreams. While I am a Godzilla aficionado I haven’t watched any monster movies in quite awhile. I don’t generally have scary dreams at all. But, for whatever reason, I am on occasion chased by Godzilla. So long as it’s not Mothra I figure I’ll be okay. After all, nobody can escape the evil clutches of Mothrrrrrra.

Yes, that was sarcasm. Yes, I am aware it doesn’t translate well in type. That’s why I told you.

Some funny stories for you all. First, while sitting in this spiffy computer chair I’ve been granted I noticed that the two male Dobermans I now live with were camped out on the floor behind me. Hearing a strange sound I turned around and saw…both dogs licking their respective balls. If that isn’t somehow a poetic picture of males everywhere I don’t know what is. Later that night after enjoying a marvelous dinner of pasta with cheese I headed of to Barnes and Noble for some book shopping fun. No sooner had I walked through the door than I had to go to the bathroom, which is normal for B & N for some unknown reason, but I knew what was going to happen in the bathroom wasn’t going to be normal so I abstained. Shopping quickly and irritably (it is so hard to concentrate on trashy romance when one’s bowels are grumbling) I made my purchases and booked it home. I did not crap my pants but as I ran into said restroom with new purchase in hand I flipped on the vent and felt compelled to pray. Before I knew what was happening I found myself whispering “may everyone please forgive me for what I am about to do.” Indeed, what I did does need forgiveness and so I feel my instincts led me right in this instance.

Now, back to the B & N experience for a moment…there are no good trashy romances out right now that I haven’t read. At least not of the authors I like to read. I’m hopeful about the two I picked up tonight on expert advice, but I am still frustrated by the shelves and shelves of absolute crap in the romance world. Really, I might read Heather and Velvet and other such nonsense but I do it with a sense of irony. But books upon books like Taken, or A Viscount in her Bedroom. I mean honestly people! Isn’t A Viscount in her Bedroom and obvious thing? If you’re reading a book from the romance section it should be assumed he will be in her bedroom or at least a bedroom. A little more creativity please.

And what is with the proclivity of erotica these days? I’m not knocking it; it has its place, but when I’m looking for happily ever after and get something pulsating and leaking and engorged…well, you can understand my upset. Sex is a time honored tradition of trashy romance novels and we all love it, but erotica is not romance. For example, my true love, the one that I want, my soul mate for all eternity--not hot when he wants to share me with his cousins. Girl meets cowboy in Vegas? Has great possibilities there for obvious reasons (you know, I’m a girl in Vegas and I like cowboys) but two chapters in she’s come to his ranch--that he doesn’t actually know how to run because he’s not actually a cowboy--to spend the weekend and see if their farcical marriage can work and he’s smacking her ass before telling her to clean out the chicken coops. Again, not hot. In fact, I feel this is an excellent time for my list of things that are not hot. This might be ongoing but let’s at least get her started, eh?

1. Anything that leaks--as in she saw one drop leak from his tip. I just threw up in my mouth. Toilets leak. Not hot.
2. Anything pulsating, especially members. Have you seen Aliens? Things pulsate in Aliens before they burst open to reveal a slimy acid-drooling monster that kills you. Again, not hot.
3. Having my vagina described as any sort of foliage or landscape. I.e. flowering petals, blooming bud, parting slick folds, etc. I am neither flower nor mountain; nothing is blooming and nobody needs to be looking for the mountain pass, as it were. If it’s that hard let me draw a diagram.
4. Weeping. She saw him weep one single tear at her touch. Hint, not from his eye. Crying? Not hot.
5. Male hero that goes crazy causing bodily harm and/or impairment. Think throwing her to the ground, against the bed, locking her in a tower, forcing her to clean until she can’t move. I don’t care if he locks her up to protect her from himself; I don’t care if he is only mean to her because he can’t admit he loves her. Physical abuse…not hot.
6. Male hero that constantly questions the heroines virtue and is only contrite after “taking” her virginity. What I don’t need is a lover that calls me a whore or easy every time we talk and only believes I’m trustworthy upon making me bleed, literally.
7. Virginity as a “gift”. My hymen was not a pretty thing. Nobody wants to unwrap that for Christmas. And since when did a piece of skin become a gift? How about next time I sunburn and peel I just save an extra big chunk for him and give him that instead. Does that work? See what I mean? Not hot.
8. An extended metaphor. I do not want a man that talks about loving me like the sun on the plains, or how my love warms him like the sun on the plains--those are both similes but you get the idea. How about our love was the canyon in noontime, bright, warm and beautiful. Yeah, you extend the metaphor on me, especially after three-hundred pages or so and I’m out. At that point I’ll do anything just to escape the metaphor/simile that will never end.
9. Anything engorged. Pimples are engorged. Penis’ that are engorged…not hot.
10. Salty tear--usually accompanies weeping. But honestly I don’t want to lick up or have licked up any salty tears anywhere near me. If you’re licking actual tears than your licking my cheeks, not hot. If you’re licking other tears than it’s being described as a salty tear and we’re back to the crying as not hot again.

I think 10 is a good number to stop at for now. I’ll try and add on as things strike me. Feel free to make your own additions. I feel it imperative that this list be made and released to the world. For better romance everywhere!

I just can't deal with it any longer. What is it, you ask? Excellent question. It, is the way English composition is being taught all around the U.S. Now, some will be apt to point out that my grammar is faulty and I should not, therefore, criticize those that wish to improve the grammar of students. I say this with all due respect, but go screw yourself.

Language is a living thing and for that reason is constantly changing. Some rules are important; some rules are necessary for legibility. I agree; I even strive to make my students more than legible. But shoving helpful exercises down their throats about active vs. passive voice, dangling modifiers and the like. Good writing involves knowledge of grammatical rules, absolutely—good writing involves the writer both wielding those rules knowledgeably and breaking them knowledgeably. But we don't tell our students about breaking them, or how scholars, respected, venerated scholars break them all the time for fear that they won't first learn the right way. They won't understand what they are doing; they won't be a knowledgeable enough writer to make those sorts of decisions. They'll just hear, oh it's okay, and run off to wreak havoc on the literary culture of America.

To them I say have a little faith in humanity please. And if you are just to wounded, bitter, jaded, whatever, to have faith than stop writing manuals on how to write and let me do my job. I will have the faith for you. Those that use good grammar use it because they've managed to internalize it. It sounds right to them and they can, therefore, remember the rules. People that have no idea what academic sounds like learn nothing by completing exercises. Instead they participate in wrote memorization that falls completely by the wayside when trying to write something the least bit difficult.

So what is the answer? Well first you enable students to wield their own thoughts (regardless if those thoughts agree with you are what you know) with authority and power, and then you help them shape it into something academic. It is much easier to transfer from discourse to discourse after recognizing one's place in their own discourse first. But just throwing exercises at them and then punishing them for neglecting to perform correctly is akin to teaching a kid the C major scale and then yelling at them for not immediately playing all scales quickly and cleanly. Knowledge of similarity does not mean knowledge of all. Understanding that grammar makes your writing more legible, more correct, more powerful even, does not help you to say what you mean more clearly, correctly, or powerfully. And it also doesn't mean you're stupid! It just means someone threw a book at you (like the one I have to teach from right now) and made you recognize the nouns, verbs, and direct objects in your sentences than required that you research the state of minorities in American society and gave you a D for not making sense. Kids write incredibly incorrectly to their friends via text messaging and email, but they don't make any of the same mistakes they make in classroom writing. Figure that one out.

Why don't teachers recognize that raising the bar throughout the semester does more good than hitting them with rules and exercises devoid of context and expecting them to understand? Oddly enough, most English majors wrote reasonably naturally, so why on Earth do we expect our students to learn the same way we did? That's the most idiotic thinking I've ever encountered. At least outside Texas.

I would like to start this post with a possibly egocentric statement: I really love me. I know, I know, what a thing to say right? Isn’t it obvious that I really love me? And if I do or don’t why is that worth writing about? Well to all you people of the world no, it is not always obvious that I really love me--at least not as obvious as it is to me in this moment. And it’s worth talking about because I think we, as a people, forget that we can really love ourselves. I’m mean really and truly. I find it amazing that people across the globe can accept another person, faults and all, but still has things about themselves they are disturbed by.

This doesn’t mean one shouldn’t constantly be striving for self-improvement, on the contrary I feel self-improvement should be a daily goal of everyone in the perfect world, but it does mean that acknowledging your faults doesn’t have to lesson your love of yourself. I, for example, sometimes drool. In all honesty it might be one of my hotter moments, but I hope to not drool all over the gorgeous man I hope to someday share my bed. However, should it happen I will not feel like an idiot, or unsexy, or any silly such nonsense. I will simply be say sorry, drool happens.

I’m also extremely self-assured (as if there as any doubt following the “I love me” statement). But having watched many men I love and respect in my life lose their heads over women with a hint of self-doubt and intriguing naiveté I’ve come to accept that my don’t-touch-me-I’ll-take-care-of-myself attitude can be off putting. Hence why I’m still waiting for a man that says shut up, sit down, and don’t fight me while I take care of this.

So why does any of this matter you ask? Excellent question. I think sometimes that society as a whole imagines anyone who says they love themselves to be lying. Especially if there is something obviously wrong, or nothing obviously wrong. If the person is good looking and rich, s/he is obviously stupid or spoiled or hasn’t had to experience much of the world. If a person is ugly in any way than it is inconceivable that s/he likes him or herself when s/he is so obviously repulsive. If said person persists with his or her I love me attitude the world mocks them for clinging to it because s/he can’t just accept his or her ugliness.

And so I say to you, whomever it is that reads this someday, that I state for the world that I really love me. And I do it, without guise or defense mechanism because I feel it important that someone who is aware of her physical lackings, possible health risks, and sometimes dubious moral behavior, to admit to liking herself, honestly and truly, through and through. What I hope to communicate with this statement is that if I can you can. Perhaps a bit touchy feely for some of you, but I don’t really care. It’s my blog and if you can’t get a warm fuzzy feeling from my happiness and my wish for your own than you obviously need to give yourself some move self-love. Start with the kind you know and work out from there. It gets easier; I promise.

So, it's my first blog from Vegas. It's been a month and I was feel so very bad about not having written in so long, but looking back a month might be one of the smallest of my “big” gaps. I'm in a new city and as I considered what to say there were any number of news stories to chose from. All of them, however, would take considerable emotional effort from me, not to mention I haven't given them the sort of thought they deserve. For that reason I will instead talk a little bit about my new home.

To begin with, people in Vegas cannot drive. Now, when I say cannot I don't mean aren't physically able, but I do mean aren't mentally able. I know everyone likes to complain that Boston is the worst city in the world to drive in, but really that is only true if you don't know how the city drives. It is perhaps one of the least frustrating cities I've ever driven in. Vegas, however, is a study in annoyance. People are trying to get to the casinos or their hotel or whatever. Fine, grand, wonderful, but when there is obviously no parking lot entrance in sight why drive 20 mph? Just in case? Maybe you'll miss the GIANORMOUS NEON SIGN? Come on people! Other than that it is the easiest city I've ever driven in.

The school is pretty sweet. It's big; it's flashy. I like that. I like the people, I like the teachers. Unfortunately I don't always agree with the composition pedagogy. For instance, you can walk into an English 101 class and say I'm going to teach these kids what they need to know to make in life and if they don't get it that's their problem. Or, and I'm just throwing this out there, you can walk in and say hey, why don't I first see what you know, help you learn how to say it, and then improve both your thinking and writing skills. I don't know, it's just an idea. There are skills young adults need to learn to have a successful professional career, but can't I provide those skills in conjunction with focusing on helping them sharpen their minds and thought processes? People who learn to think and express themselves learn to write better by default. The two go hand-in-hand. I feel that if I approach my class with the attitude of them failing to learn what I provide as their problem I've already failed to a certain degree. People will rise to the standard you set for them.

So that's my little rant. I'll keep you updated on how the semester goes. I know, I'm just a youngin' in the teaching world and don't know everything yet. But I still feel, more strongly than anything else, that it is a priority to first teach students how to formulate thought before criticizing them for an inability to express it.