I finally have an internet connection in my campus office! Our building was, as I understand it, the very last on campus to get wireless internet. My office is in one of the original campus buildings with thick stone walls that are not conducive to wireless reception, so apparently it has been a challenge.

We had a good class today. Five of my friends came in to sing some live music at the beginning of class and we were able to talk about what the music they've been studying from a performer's perspective. They also got to see a countertenor up close and personal, which is always a good thing (I get to tell them about castrati on Wednesday. That's usually an eye-opener). I had too much to say as usual. I really wonder sometimes what I look like in front of the class. When I get excited about what I�m talking about (which happens a lot, because I love this stuff and I think other people should too), I talk about 90 miles an hour. And I'm vaguely aware that I very rarely stand still. I figure it is either keeping them awake because they're afraid they'll miss something, or I�m wearing them out by being too frenetic and they just think I�m crazy. I never expected to be one of those hyper-kinetic professors, but it appears that is my natural bent. I just hope I�m not sacrificing too much coherence to my enthusiasm.

One of the things that's been interesting about the process of putting lectures together is coming to terms with my way of essentializing the trajectory of music history. What do I think is important? How do I perceive evolution? I see why so many people think about writing textbooks after teaching courses like this for a while. Nothing quite measures up to one�s own ideology.

Ideology is one thing, but pedagogy is another. I�m still very much learning as I go. The homework set I got back today was less positive than the last group and I can tell that at least part of it is my fault. While most are getting it, a substantial enough minority is confused in a way that I know it was because of a choice I made quite consciously in the way I presented material. I knew there was a possibility of confusion, but I thought I�d written the assignment clearly enough. Apparently not. This isn�t really a problem in the general scheme of things for grades, as I can always make exceptions if it seems like a student made an honest mistake. But I don�t want them to get discouraged because of an error in judgment that I made. On the plus side, the student who was really struggling and came to my office hours in a panic did fantastically well. It�s as if something flipped a switch for him. I love it when that happens.

AJ is getting the used to the idea of me teaching and is quite entertained by the fact that we both go to school on Mondays and Wednesdays, �but only I go on Fridays.� This morning he grabbed his backpack and I my 9,000 pound bags of books and CDs and we drove AJ to school together before my husband dropped me at the train station. I stopped at my former place of employment, which has a new office and an almost 100% new staff (not surprising, since it�s been 3 years since I worked there). My boss and my friend F., who�s the reason I stopped by, are still there. The last job I held there seems to be a revolving door for them. Since I left, there have been 5 people in that position and it�s open again. I suspect it has something to do with the reasons why I found it difficult to do that job�the boss wants someone with independence and skills but also wants to micromanage, because, I think, it�s her area of expertise. I can see that she�s a good boss in many respects, but I�m not sure that there is ever going to be anyone who will meet the boss� strict requirements who will want to do the job the way the boss wants it done. But it was nice to catch up with F., whom I haven�t seen in months. We�re plotting some marathon biking this summer (come join us, rs536!) and possibly a knitting fest as well.

When my train pulled into my home station this evening, my husband and AJ were waiting on the platform, AJ with his hands pressed firmly over his ears against the grinding of the engine. One of the best things about going to work is the pleasure of coming home.

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