Plagiarism, Part II

I suppose it's get off my lawn time.

Richard Posner, in his book "The Little Book of Plagiarism," points out that with the advent of digital technology, it's become increasingly easy to catch plagiarists. I'm concerned, however, with his light treatment of the ease with which today's digital environment facilitates plagiarism. He does mention paper mills -- where students can go to buy papers to turn in at school, and focuses on Turnitin, a software program developed to catch digital-age plagiarists. I'm concerned, though, that in the academic world, he's left too many shades of grey, offering loopholes to student plagiarists who don't view what they're doing as plagiarism.

We have a friend who teaches English at a private university. The last time we talked with her, she lamented about a student who had been caught plagiarizing not only the papers he was to turn in for the class, but also the personal journal entries he was to have written throughout the semester in order to pass the class. He stole someone else's personal journal entries and tried to pass them off as his own, and saw nothing wrong with his theft until he was caught. Then, of course, the traditional plagiarists' excuses came out: He was too busy to do the work himself. Now, how hard is it to sit down for five or ten minutes a day and record personal thoughts? Well, pretty hard, I suppose, if you've blown off the assignment a whole semester and have to catch up in a day or two in order to get a good grade. That's sad.

What's also odd about Posner's treatment of plagiarism in the book is that he leaves out personal consequences, never once -- at least I think never once -- mentioning the concepts of guilt or remorse. Are we to the point that those caught plagiarizing do not feel badly for the stupidity they've performed? Or, in a treatise of this magnitude, do personal responsibility and remorse not have a place? Or pride. Pride in a job well done, well cited, creative if not necessarilyoriginal? That's the kind of thing that keeps me from cheating or plagiarizing. I want to know, like Edmond Rostand's Crano de Bergerac, that I rose, if not high, at least alone.

Oh, the drama

There's been a lot of drama in my life over the past 48 hours. Drama that involves possible plagiarism (not on my part, thank you very much). skullduggery, spies, a comparison to the attack on Pearl Harbor, being sworn to secrecy by a guy who works for the armed forces in undisclosed locations so undisclosed even Dick Cheney doesn't know where they are, and jokes (mine) about cyanide suicide pills. The drama is not job-related. It's hobby related. Which tells me I should have stuck with the damn stamp collecting. Just whatever you do, do not go near the Internet at all over the next few days or you just might die.

Mascot-wise: No decisions yet. I have one vote against Cutty the French pig, calling him "gross." But then since the comment is from my sister who was once chagrined to learn her father used her purse to smuggle horse sausage out of the Netherlands, her opinion is tained. But as she did post the first comment on my blog, I will count the vote and let the record show that unless the worldwide Internet community rallies in Cutty's behalf, he's doomed to the slaughterhouse. Which is just as well.

I decided today that I am official sick of winter. Usually, the feeling hits me much later in the year, say late February or early March, but the older I get, the less and less I like winter. I think the freezing rain we had Thursday night pushed me over the edge. I spent a good five minutes today hacking away at that storm's remnants, watching their bits fall to the ground at Wal-Mart from our minivan. It felt good.