Note – I’m apparently into alliteration on my blog titles – please let me know if that habit is completely annoying.

So I have to go to another meeting for work – note to all future English professors: if you don’t want to go to meetings, particularly at a small school, don’t mention good ideas or any things you see that could be improved. Mentioning those things seems to automatically sign you up for a meeting – like your calendar hears you say something about the need for quicker return on reimbursement checks and schedules you with the powers-that-be right away. It’s kind of creepy.

So that said, this post will be brief. But I did find, thanks to Madam Mayo, this great blog post by Delia Lloyd about professors that actually get out of the “ivory tower” and blog away. I’m so proud of them, really, I know that sounded sarcastic but I am proud. I think we, professors, teachers, students, everyone really, has an obligation to share what we know with the world. And blogs are a great way to do that.

Over at Eloise by the Book Piles, Eloise reminded me about OpenLearn, a great space where you can access lectures for free. It’s excellent.

Thanks to So Many Books, So Little Time for pointing me to how, once again, a big corporation is trouncing the little folks. Check out this post on Murder by 4.

Finally, in honor of my “week of favorites,” a celebration I’m starting here on my blog to help us stay more positive, and in honor of National Poetry Month, here’s a poem by one of my favorite poets, Wislawa Szymborska.
Lot’s Wife
They say I looked back out of curiosity.
But I could have had other reasons.
I looked back mourning my silver bowl.
Carelessly, while tying my sandal strap.
So I wouldn’t have to keep staring at the righteous nape
of my husband Lot’s neck.
From the sudden conviction that if I dropped dead
he wouldn’t so much as hesitate.
From the disobedience of the meek.
Checking for pursuers.
Struck by the silence, hoping God had changed his mind.
Our two daughters were already vanishing over the hilltop.
I felt age within me. Distance.
The futility of wandering. Torpor.
I looked back setting my bundle down.
I looked back not knowing where to set my foot.
Serpents appeared on my path,
spiders, field mice, baby vultures.
They were neither good nor evil now–every living thing
was simply creeping or hopping along in the mass panic.
I looked back in desolation.
In shame because we had stolen away.
Wanting to cry out, to go home.
Or only when a sudden gust of wind
unbound my hair and lifted up my robe.
It seemed to me that they were watching from the walls of Sodom
and bursting into thunderous laughter again and again.
I looked back in anger.
To savor their terrible fate.
I looked back for all the reasons given above.
I looked back involuntarily.
It was only a rock that turned underfoot, growling at me.
It was a sudden crack that stopped me in my tracks.
A hamster on its hind paws tottered on the edge.
It was then we both glanced back.
No, no. I ran on,
I crept, I flew upward
until darkness fell from the heavens
and with it scorching gravel and dead birds.
I couldn’t breathe and spun around and around.
Anyone who saw me must have thought I was dancing.
It’s not inconceivable that my eyes were open.
It’s possible I fell facing the city.

from The Academy of American Poets