I just looked at what I think is the first post ever in this blog. In it, I talk about putting together my promotion folder for associate and my championship-level skills at noodling. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Monday, September 15, 2014
Pretensions revealed!
Oh, too funny. Two of the students were not in class with their stories today. Because I know they don't check e-mail, I called them to let them know what to do. One of the students was the Brit, and when I got his voice mail, it was all I could do not to laugh through my message to him: on his voice message, the young man is very clearly a New Yorker, if not born then certainly bred. Not a shred of British accent anywhere. He also seems to be working to make his voice deeper (he's too old for the voice-drop thing to still be going on, and as far as I know, that only takes a few months anyway). Oh, bless his little heart, but his pretensions have just been painfully revealed. I suppose I could find it obnoxious--and if he keeps it up for very long, it will become insufferable in every sense--but right now, I find it amusing, with perhaps a little whiff of sadness: what a shame that he feels he has to pretend to be something so very other than what he is.
I'm more concerned about the other student: his voice was shaking when he got on the phone, and not with nerves. Apparently, he's been ill--and I'm concerned he may not make it through the semester. I told him to keep in touch with me over the next few days so we can figure out strategies. I hope he does.
Otherwise, class went pretty well. The students--all but one--did not want to do a free-write, but most of them did want to talk about their experience writing their stories. Class was pretty short. Rather than starting off the story they are to read for Wednesday's class, I decided to do a "read around" of an extract from Douglas Adams's Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul. Most of them found it funny (one didn't), and I told them to hang on to the handout, as we'd use it again when we need to read something in class because they've been busy writing. I should find something else to read, too--or maybe instead (I have a feeling Adams is going to get old in a hurry). Maybe I can find an online trove of short-short stories.
There weren't a lot of students in Advisement today, so I got a good whack at marking homework for the various classes. And--in consultation with my support team over the weekend--I've decided not to rejoin the Curriculum Committee at this point, even though I was all set to do it. Reasons to rejoin: there is important work to be done; they're having a hard time getting enough members to do the work; I want to bolster my promotion folder. Reasons not to: one semester on a committee isn't going to make that much difference to my folder and, more to the point, I feel I have enough on my plate right now--especially with the addition of the promotion folder into the mix. Having bailed on that committee means that I have another good chunk of time tomorrow before P&B in which to finish off the homework. Good thing, too, as I don't think I could mark another thing tonight.
One other modestly interesting event from today, and instance of "faculty behaving badly." I went into the mail room to photocopy the students' stories so I have them to distribute on Wednesday--and one of my colleagues (a full-timer) was bitching heartily at another (an adjunct) about how he was wasting paper because he'd made a mistake of some kind in setting up the copier. Meanwhile, a student aide was trying to add paper to the machines, and was getting conflicting "instructions" from the adjunct: "Go get her set up first" and then when the student went to put paper in the other machine, the adjunct said, "But what about my stuff? Nothing's happening!" Meanwhile, the other copier starts up--and it's spitting out more copies of the adjunct's mistake, sending the full-timer even more ballistic: "You're wasting all these copies!" "I don't know what I've got, where it left off!" "Can't you just count them?" and the student aide is muttering, "You said to help her, right? Isn't that what you said?" while he's back trying to put paper in the first machine....
And these are adult professionals. Ye gods. I just waited and had a nice little chat with another colleague until the dust settled, the combatants had finished their copying and left the room, and the student aide had ensured that both copiers were properly filled with paper. Then I quietly went about making the copies of the student stories. Ridiculous.
Now, however, I'm going to toddle back over to my desk and at least put things in some kind of organized stacks. I think I have enough brain left for that, though I may not for anything else. The queen of noodling: that's me.
I'm more concerned about the other student: his voice was shaking when he got on the phone, and not with nerves. Apparently, he's been ill--and I'm concerned he may not make it through the semester. I told him to keep in touch with me over the next few days so we can figure out strategies. I hope he does.
Otherwise, class went pretty well. The students--all but one--did not want to do a free-write, but most of them did want to talk about their experience writing their stories. Class was pretty short. Rather than starting off the story they are to read for Wednesday's class, I decided to do a "read around" of an extract from Douglas Adams's Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul. Most of them found it funny (one didn't), and I told them to hang on to the handout, as we'd use it again when we need to read something in class because they've been busy writing. I should find something else to read, too--or maybe instead (I have a feeling Adams is going to get old in a hurry). Maybe I can find an online trove of short-short stories.
There weren't a lot of students in Advisement today, so I got a good whack at marking homework for the various classes. And--in consultation with my support team over the weekend--I've decided not to rejoin the Curriculum Committee at this point, even though I was all set to do it. Reasons to rejoin: there is important work to be done; they're having a hard time getting enough members to do the work; I want to bolster my promotion folder. Reasons not to: one semester on a committee isn't going to make that much difference to my folder and, more to the point, I feel I have enough on my plate right now--especially with the addition of the promotion folder into the mix. Having bailed on that committee means that I have another good chunk of time tomorrow before P&B in which to finish off the homework. Good thing, too, as I don't think I could mark another thing tonight.
One other modestly interesting event from today, and instance of "faculty behaving badly." I went into the mail room to photocopy the students' stories so I have them to distribute on Wednesday--and one of my colleagues (a full-timer) was bitching heartily at another (an adjunct) about how he was wasting paper because he'd made a mistake of some kind in setting up the copier. Meanwhile, a student aide was trying to add paper to the machines, and was getting conflicting "instructions" from the adjunct: "Go get her set up first" and then when the student went to put paper in the other machine, the adjunct said, "But what about my stuff? Nothing's happening!" Meanwhile, the other copier starts up--and it's spitting out more copies of the adjunct's mistake, sending the full-timer even more ballistic: "You're wasting all these copies!" "I don't know what I've got, where it left off!" "Can't you just count them?" and the student aide is muttering, "You said to help her, right? Isn't that what you said?" while he's back trying to put paper in the first machine....
And these are adult professionals. Ye gods. I just waited and had a nice little chat with another colleague until the dust settled, the combatants had finished their copying and left the room, and the student aide had ensured that both copiers were properly filled with paper. Then I quietly went about making the copies of the student stories. Ridiculous.
Now, however, I'm going to toddle back over to my desk and at least put things in some kind of organized stacks. I think I have enough brain left for that, though I may not for anything else. The queen of noodling: that's me.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
Wait, it's Thursday already?
The one advantage to being swept toward the white water is that things certainly do clip right along. I was packing up after the second section of 101 today, thinking, "OK, so before tomorrow's classes I need to..." and then I remembered: no classes tomorrow. It's Friday. Ohthankgod.
The department meeting was interesting--and Bruce strategically left the seminar hours issue until the last three minutes, so we could escape without spending the entire meeting brawling about them. The next meeting of the ad hoc committee will be interesting--and will pose a significant challenge, as we need to begin drafting up a specific, pragmatic proposal to present to the faculty at the next department meeting in October. Yikes and likewise zoiks. On occasion, it is not beneficial to have too many highly intelligent people in the room, as the focus can become very theoretical and arcane, but I choose to remain hopeful that the specific congeries of minds on the committee will actually yield clear and implementable results.
And for the record, I stayed for the entire department meeting. Usually I get fed up with people yammering and split, but today's was unusually focused and civil.
I just barely managed to get all the student assignments marked and handed back: I had to mark a few between classes and finish up the last one while students in the second class were working, but back they went, so my folders were cleared for the new batch coming in. (I also should note that, indeed, overall, the quality of writing is much more evenly decent than I'm used to in 101s. Thank God for ENG100.) Being able to get through marking assignments relatively quickly is one main advantage of fewer students, and it gives me some hope that I can crank through their papers in the very brief amount of time I've given myself for the task. Both classes seemed to be a little stunned at first, but in both, once again, the conversation quickly turned very lively. I did have to start with a bunch of handouts--including, I decided at the last minute, a revised version of what used to be called the "bozo errors." I now call it all "static," and since I no longer take specific points off, I'm hoping the whole thing isn't quite as scary and off-putting. However, it did occur to me that there is some value in giving the students a broader view of the kinds of static: not only the things we're covering in the "Daily 25" but also, for instance, avoiding any form of the word "you" to refer to people or readers in general, and the problem of misused/missing apostrophes. So, now they have the handout.
I also went over some of my correction marks--and instead of going into vast detail about any of them, I simply referred students to the pages in the handbook that cover various problem areas. In the first class, I was going over them, and after a minute or so, I said, "I find it interesting that no one is taking any notes." Instantly, notebooks are open and pens are out. Uh-huh. They just read a section in the handbook about being a good student, which included the recommendation to take notes about things even when the professor doesn't write them on the board or specifically say "take notes," but it's a clear reminder that just because they've read and understood something, it doesn't mean that they understand how it applies to them personally.
After class, I went to the meeting with the presidential candidate search team. It took me a while to find it, but I did. Along with me was the student who was so excited about the paper topic last class: she's a young activist, and I was thrilled that she was willing to come to the meeting. She spoke up, too, with articulate intelligence. I am very proud of her--and if she isn't running the student government association in two years, I'll wonder why. The search team themselves seemed to be listening very carefully and asking insightful questions. In fact, the whole event was a great deal more informal and relaxed than I was anticipating. Of course, we mostly were repeating what they've already heard, but the two questions that I remember most vividly were, "We hear lots of passion coming from everyone who's been to these sessions: across the board, everyone here seems very passionate about Nassau. What do you think accounts for that passion?" and "How much support do you get for professional development?" The first was more complicated to answer, but essentially it boiled down to the fact that our focus is on the students, and it's vividly clear to us just how much this education means to them, how much they need it, and what they deserve: we're not focused on our own research as much as we are on our teaching (although we are active scholars too, which led to the second question they asked), and because our focus is on that, what happens educationally is of prime importance to us. The answer to the second was easier: virtually none. I used the example of my trip to present a paper at the inaugural conference of the European Association for the Study of Literature, Culture and the Environment--a rather huge deal, and the conference was four days in Germany--and I got $200 to defray my expenses. And that's just one example. We do get sabbaticals: I should have remembered to give thanks and praise for that. But in the grand scheme of things, we sure could use a lot more support.
Anyway, it was a very interesting and busy day, as a capper to a very interesting and busy week. Fourteen more to go.
The department meeting was interesting--and Bruce strategically left the seminar hours issue until the last three minutes, so we could escape without spending the entire meeting brawling about them. The next meeting of the ad hoc committee will be interesting--and will pose a significant challenge, as we need to begin drafting up a specific, pragmatic proposal to present to the faculty at the next department meeting in October. Yikes and likewise zoiks. On occasion, it is not beneficial to have too many highly intelligent people in the room, as the focus can become very theoretical and arcane, but I choose to remain hopeful that the specific congeries of minds on the committee will actually yield clear and implementable results.
And for the record, I stayed for the entire department meeting. Usually I get fed up with people yammering and split, but today's was unusually focused and civil.
I just barely managed to get all the student assignments marked and handed back: I had to mark a few between classes and finish up the last one while students in the second class were working, but back they went, so my folders were cleared for the new batch coming in. (I also should note that, indeed, overall, the quality of writing is much more evenly decent than I'm used to in 101s. Thank God for ENG100.) Being able to get through marking assignments relatively quickly is one main advantage of fewer students, and it gives me some hope that I can crank through their papers in the very brief amount of time I've given myself for the task. Both classes seemed to be a little stunned at first, but in both, once again, the conversation quickly turned very lively. I did have to start with a bunch of handouts--including, I decided at the last minute, a revised version of what used to be called the "bozo errors." I now call it all "static," and since I no longer take specific points off, I'm hoping the whole thing isn't quite as scary and off-putting. However, it did occur to me that there is some value in giving the students a broader view of the kinds of static: not only the things we're covering in the "Daily 25" but also, for instance, avoiding any form of the word "you" to refer to people or readers in general, and the problem of misused/missing apostrophes. So, now they have the handout.
I also went over some of my correction marks--and instead of going into vast detail about any of them, I simply referred students to the pages in the handbook that cover various problem areas. In the first class, I was going over them, and after a minute or so, I said, "I find it interesting that no one is taking any notes." Instantly, notebooks are open and pens are out. Uh-huh. They just read a section in the handbook about being a good student, which included the recommendation to take notes about things even when the professor doesn't write them on the board or specifically say "take notes," but it's a clear reminder that just because they've read and understood something, it doesn't mean that they understand how it applies to them personally.
After class, I went to the meeting with the presidential candidate search team. It took me a while to find it, but I did. Along with me was the student who was so excited about the paper topic last class: she's a young activist, and I was thrilled that she was willing to come to the meeting. She spoke up, too, with articulate intelligence. I am very proud of her--and if she isn't running the student government association in two years, I'll wonder why. The search team themselves seemed to be listening very carefully and asking insightful questions. In fact, the whole event was a great deal more informal and relaxed than I was anticipating. Of course, we mostly were repeating what they've already heard, but the two questions that I remember most vividly were, "We hear lots of passion coming from everyone who's been to these sessions: across the board, everyone here seems very passionate about Nassau. What do you think accounts for that passion?" and "How much support do you get for professional development?" The first was more complicated to answer, but essentially it boiled down to the fact that our focus is on the students, and it's vividly clear to us just how much this education means to them, how much they need it, and what they deserve: we're not focused on our own research as much as we are on our teaching (although we are active scholars too, which led to the second question they asked), and because our focus is on that, what happens educationally is of prime importance to us. The answer to the second was easier: virtually none. I used the example of my trip to present a paper at the inaugural conference of the European Association for the Study of Literature, Culture and the Environment--a rather huge deal, and the conference was four days in Germany--and I got $200 to defray my expenses. And that's just one example. We do get sabbaticals: I should have remembered to give thanks and praise for that. But in the grand scheme of things, we sure could use a lot more support.
Anyway, it was a very interesting and busy day, as a capper to a very interesting and busy week. Fourteen more to go.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
White-water ahead
I'm not quite in the rapids yet, but I can sure see the ripples that show they're coming. I "should" stay and do some more work tonight: revamping the committee description for departmental assessment (yeah, Bruce gave that to me, sort of in exchange for the honor of being considered the committee vice-chair this semester), marking student assignments, setting up the observation I have to do for P&B... something. I may do that last one: it doesn't take long, and it would be good to cross it off the list of potential "Oh shit" moments. The committee description thing is going to be a snorting pain, unless someone on the committee happens to have the original description stored electronically somewhere. If not, I have to type it up. I'll need to be able to show the committee the old version and the new. I'll need to be able to actually think about what the changes have to be: what's out of date, what needs to be added. Fortunately, I think I still have somewhere the language Kristin and I were working on regarding Taskstream, so I can raid from that to include, but still. Argh. Fuck. Oh well.
I took a moment away from the blog there to send an e-mail to the assessment committee, asking if anyone has the document--and I nearly got lost in other conversation streams about ASLE issues and blah blah blah. It's been that kind of day. Among other things, I was trying to initiate a panel idea for next summer's ASLE (the CFP has gone out): oh, God, there's a whole long story there that probably isn't worth getting into, but one thing leads to another to another to another...
Like I said, I feel I'm being swept down river toward white water.
Of course, part of what's going on is that I'm feeling more than a little wild-eyed about my application for promotion. That's why I asked Bruce if it would be OK for me to call myself vice-chair of assessment--and chair of the Taskstream subcommittee: I feel like I need all the heft in that application that I can get. Of course, Bruce thinks I'm nuts to worry, but he forgets that I've seen other people with far more substantial applications than mine get turned down for precisely the kinds of things I'm missing (no leadership positions on committees, particularly on college-wide committees, that sort of thing). I've noted before the things I think weigh in my favor, but I truly do not want to have to go through this process again, ever, as long as I live. And I want to be able to let go of things, which I will be able to do once I've been fully promoted. I know I won't let go of all that I could, because of that awful "I care" factor, but even if I could let go of a few committees (like, oh, say, assessment)....
Basta.
There were very few students in Advisement today, so I started reading homework from the 101 students--and generally speaking, so far, the self-evaluations demonstrate a decent level of writing skill. We talked about this a bit in P&B: the implementation of the new ENG100--essentially an enhanced version of 101 for students whose placement scores live right on that boundary between remediation and not--means that there should be fewer truly weak students in 101. Conversely, it means that there probably will be far more truly weak students in 001 (all the more reason why I don't ever want to teach it). We did talk about the fact that it's likely that more of us will be called on to teach 100--but if that's the case, Bruce and Cathy (the Placement Coordinator) may have to decide to change the need for teachers of 100 to have taught several semesters of both 101 and 001, because there are a number of us who either won't or (as in my case) feel we honestly can't teach 001.
All that aside, however, right now, the news for my 101 classes is good: so far, I haven't seen any writing that makes me truly worry. And I know there's a certain amount of a kind of "honeymoon effect" in place right now, as well as a certain amount of brown-nosing that goes on, but the students do seem genuinely excited by the class, or at least are becoming persuaded that it might be useful. That's a lot of the battle right there. As I'm marking their self-evaluations, however, I'm seeing the floods of ink and starting to worry that they'll see those floods--even though it's blue ink, not red--and begin to panic. I'm already trying to think of ways to stem the panic. I'm also trying to figure out how to do that, talk to them about some "static" that we haven't covered in "Daily 25" lists (and one we can't without reinforcing a problem: the use of "you" to refer to people in general), and still have plenty of time to go over everything else we need to do.
But that's for tomorrow. Today was great. The students in Fiction Writing suddenly loosened up--almost completely. We all read our free-writes (including me) and then we started talking about "Hills Like White Elephants" and they started to catch fire, lots of sparks. The Brit was holding forth, condescendingly sharing the range of his knowledge (oh, so not)--and my sweet student from 102 and Nature in Lit started to laugh at how pretentious he is. I don't think he caught that she was laughing at him, but she was--and his bombast is pretty funny. I may have to do the "suppress the guinea pig" thing with him, but at the moment, he's not riding roughshod over the conversation, and there are plenty of students who are willing to jump in there with ideas, too, so he can't dominate too much. I may have to bring an egg-timer to the workshops, however: I don't need to say that it's particularly for him, but it's not a bad idea to keep an eye on how long people talk so everyone gets a chance to critique. (I need to do the math to see how long I can allow....)
In any event, after we talked about the story, I talked to them about what they're going to write and about the workshop process. I asked them to talk about what their fears are, and their responses were great. First, one young man said that his biggest worry is that the assignment is so wide open, it's hard for him to narrow it down to one choice. Yep: that's both the cool thing and the difficulty of being creative: no limits. I said it's healthy to never feel completely satisfied, to always feel you could do more, do better--but the lovely thing about the class is that it's all exercise, all experimentation. If selecting which idea to run with is the problem, throw a dart, or have a friend do the blind pin-drop thing (where the pin sticks, that's the one you do). Play! The Brit said he was worried about time. Yeah, welcome to college. Another young man said his biggest fear is that he'll write something that sucks. Oh, yeah: we're always our own worst critics. But no one in the class will humiliate you, inside or outside of class. (My sweet student said "Are you sure?" I said, "We won't because we're going to take the kind of care of each other that we'd want taken of ourselves. Do I need to make you take a blood oath?") Part of our job is to help you see what works in what you've written--and how to make it better.
And one young woman was very worried that she wouldn't know how to critique a class-mate's work. OK: what would you say to Hemingway about his story? "I hated it." OK, but you have to say something positive about it, can't hurt his feelings, so what could you say about it that was good? "I liked that it was like a mystery, and you had to figure out what was going on." Perfect! So that's how you'd start your critique. And what would you ask Ernest to do in revising the story? "I got confused about who was talking." Perfect! So you'd say that you thought it would improve the story if he provided some more pointers about who is saying what. And then someone said, "Of course, if Hemingway were here, he probably would be pretty mean." Yep: he was an asshole. (I may be slandering Papa here: I never met the man, but that's sure as hell the impression I get of him.) However, in this class, we're all here to help each other. The one opportunity I missed was to say, "Of course, Ernest wouldn't have to take any of our suggestions--and neither do you." But I'll do that next week, when I go over the critique process in more detail--and when I talk to them about their revision requirements.
It's interesting to note that after yesterday's happy post about how well the 101s are going, I started to experience significant anxiety--which is still struggling to rear its ugly head. Part of the problem, of course, is that I'm afraid I'm celebrating prematurely: my experience has taught me that everything can be beer and skittles until we get into the real battle of revision, and then students flip out left, right and center. I don't want to get too happy only to have my joys brought crashing down by a hefty dose of reality. But the true truth is that I don't know what the reality will be: I have no clue. All I can do is continue to take each moment and try to make it work to set up another successful moment, and another, and another. Still, I am--as my father would have said--highly ego-involved in the success of these 101s, and although I see all kinds of ways in which they could be utterly terrific, I've been burned before, so I'm more than twice shy.
The moment is what matters. Both classes yesterday were good moments. Today's class was a good moment. Right now is a good moment--because in just a minute or two, I'm out the door, reciting the Scarlett O'Hara mantra as I go.
I took a moment away from the blog there to send an e-mail to the assessment committee, asking if anyone has the document--and I nearly got lost in other conversation streams about ASLE issues and blah blah blah. It's been that kind of day. Among other things, I was trying to initiate a panel idea for next summer's ASLE (the CFP has gone out): oh, God, there's a whole long story there that probably isn't worth getting into, but one thing leads to another to another to another...
Like I said, I feel I'm being swept down river toward white water.
Of course, part of what's going on is that I'm feeling more than a little wild-eyed about my application for promotion. That's why I asked Bruce if it would be OK for me to call myself vice-chair of assessment--and chair of the Taskstream subcommittee: I feel like I need all the heft in that application that I can get. Of course, Bruce thinks I'm nuts to worry, but he forgets that I've seen other people with far more substantial applications than mine get turned down for precisely the kinds of things I'm missing (no leadership positions on committees, particularly on college-wide committees, that sort of thing). I've noted before the things I think weigh in my favor, but I truly do not want to have to go through this process again, ever, as long as I live. And I want to be able to let go of things, which I will be able to do once I've been fully promoted. I know I won't let go of all that I could, because of that awful "I care" factor, but even if I could let go of a few committees (like, oh, say, assessment)....
Basta.
There were very few students in Advisement today, so I started reading homework from the 101 students--and generally speaking, so far, the self-evaluations demonstrate a decent level of writing skill. We talked about this a bit in P&B: the implementation of the new ENG100--essentially an enhanced version of 101 for students whose placement scores live right on that boundary between remediation and not--means that there should be fewer truly weak students in 101. Conversely, it means that there probably will be far more truly weak students in 001 (all the more reason why I don't ever want to teach it). We did talk about the fact that it's likely that more of us will be called on to teach 100--but if that's the case, Bruce and Cathy (the Placement Coordinator) may have to decide to change the need for teachers of 100 to have taught several semesters of both 101 and 001, because there are a number of us who either won't or (as in my case) feel we honestly can't teach 001.
All that aside, however, right now, the news for my 101 classes is good: so far, I haven't seen any writing that makes me truly worry. And I know there's a certain amount of a kind of "honeymoon effect" in place right now, as well as a certain amount of brown-nosing that goes on, but the students do seem genuinely excited by the class, or at least are becoming persuaded that it might be useful. That's a lot of the battle right there. As I'm marking their self-evaluations, however, I'm seeing the floods of ink and starting to worry that they'll see those floods--even though it's blue ink, not red--and begin to panic. I'm already trying to think of ways to stem the panic. I'm also trying to figure out how to do that, talk to them about some "static" that we haven't covered in "Daily 25" lists (and one we can't without reinforcing a problem: the use of "you" to refer to people in general), and still have plenty of time to go over everything else we need to do.
But that's for tomorrow. Today was great. The students in Fiction Writing suddenly loosened up--almost completely. We all read our free-writes (including me) and then we started talking about "Hills Like White Elephants" and they started to catch fire, lots of sparks. The Brit was holding forth, condescendingly sharing the range of his knowledge (oh, so not)--and my sweet student from 102 and Nature in Lit started to laugh at how pretentious he is. I don't think he caught that she was laughing at him, but she was--and his bombast is pretty funny. I may have to do the "suppress the guinea pig" thing with him, but at the moment, he's not riding roughshod over the conversation, and there are plenty of students who are willing to jump in there with ideas, too, so he can't dominate too much. I may have to bring an egg-timer to the workshops, however: I don't need to say that it's particularly for him, but it's not a bad idea to keep an eye on how long people talk so everyone gets a chance to critique. (I need to do the math to see how long I can allow....)
In any event, after we talked about the story, I talked to them about what they're going to write and about the workshop process. I asked them to talk about what their fears are, and their responses were great. First, one young man said that his biggest worry is that the assignment is so wide open, it's hard for him to narrow it down to one choice. Yep: that's both the cool thing and the difficulty of being creative: no limits. I said it's healthy to never feel completely satisfied, to always feel you could do more, do better--but the lovely thing about the class is that it's all exercise, all experimentation. If selecting which idea to run with is the problem, throw a dart, or have a friend do the blind pin-drop thing (where the pin sticks, that's the one you do). Play! The Brit said he was worried about time. Yeah, welcome to college. Another young man said his biggest fear is that he'll write something that sucks. Oh, yeah: we're always our own worst critics. But no one in the class will humiliate you, inside or outside of class. (My sweet student said "Are you sure?" I said, "We won't because we're going to take the kind of care of each other that we'd want taken of ourselves. Do I need to make you take a blood oath?") Part of our job is to help you see what works in what you've written--and how to make it better.
And one young woman was very worried that she wouldn't know how to critique a class-mate's work. OK: what would you say to Hemingway about his story? "I hated it." OK, but you have to say something positive about it, can't hurt his feelings, so what could you say about it that was good? "I liked that it was like a mystery, and you had to figure out what was going on." Perfect! So that's how you'd start your critique. And what would you ask Ernest to do in revising the story? "I got confused about who was talking." Perfect! So you'd say that you thought it would improve the story if he provided some more pointers about who is saying what. And then someone said, "Of course, if Hemingway were here, he probably would be pretty mean." Yep: he was an asshole. (I may be slandering Papa here: I never met the man, but that's sure as hell the impression I get of him.) However, in this class, we're all here to help each other. The one opportunity I missed was to say, "Of course, Ernest wouldn't have to take any of our suggestions--and neither do you." But I'll do that next week, when I go over the critique process in more detail--and when I talk to them about their revision requirements.
It's interesting to note that after yesterday's happy post about how well the 101s are going, I started to experience significant anxiety--which is still struggling to rear its ugly head. Part of the problem, of course, is that I'm afraid I'm celebrating prematurely: my experience has taught me that everything can be beer and skittles until we get into the real battle of revision, and then students flip out left, right and center. I don't want to get too happy only to have my joys brought crashing down by a hefty dose of reality. But the true truth is that I don't know what the reality will be: I have no clue. All I can do is continue to take each moment and try to make it work to set up another successful moment, and another, and another. Still, I am--as my father would have said--highly ego-involved in the success of these 101s, and although I see all kinds of ways in which they could be utterly terrific, I've been burned before, so I'm more than twice shy.
The moment is what matters. Both classes yesterday were good moments. Today's class was a good moment. Right now is a good moment--because in just a minute or two, I'm out the door, reciting the Scarlett O'Hara mantra as I go.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
The enrollment shuffle ends--at last
Although withdrawals will still go on, yesterday was the close of the "add" period, so I won't have any new bodies in my classes--except, perhaps, the appearance of some who have been AWOL. Over the weekend, I noted on Facebook that a student had sent me an e-mail: he was newly registered in the earlier section of 101 and wanted to know what he'd missed. I sent him all the needed information, got very polite replies--and today, he'd withdrawn from the class. A completely different new student has taken his place on the roster, but that student was conspicuously absent from class today and has not contacted me at all. Somehow, I don't think this new young man is primed for success. One other late registrant who was in class on Thursday has also withdrawn. Fair enough.
There's been less shifting around in the later section. One student was absent the first day. She showed up on Thursday, filled with energy and verve--and wanted to chat with me after class. She told me she loves a challenge, that she spent the summer soul-searching and has returned to college with renewed energy, determination and drive, oh, so very perky and ready to be the star, teacher's pet. And today? Absent again. Uh-huh. I had my suspicions, and they've been confirmed. If she does return to class, I'll have to tell her she's already in a hole and had better stop digging.
One student also withdrew from Fiction Writing--the one I thought I saw in the Bradley Hall lobby yesterday. I don't know why she withdrew, especially since she said she wants to pursue something in the English field, already has a B.A. in art.... Of course I want to speculate, but I'll just have to resign myself to the mystery. Who knows.
Before I get to talking about today's classes, however, I want to say that I'm already feeling frazzled about committee work. One of the new (actually returning) members of P&B mentioned that the committee description for the departmental assessment committee might need updating--and that we probably also needed to have on file descriptions of the various ad hoc committees, most of which I've been on. This is paperwork that is largely used for promotion folders: rather than each individual reinventing the wheel in describing what the committee does overall, we simply include the blanket description and then write up our own unique contributions to that overall work. I was reminded that I need to be sure I have the description for each committee I've been on for my own promotion folder, but more exasperating, albeit necessary, is the revision and/or creation of committee descriptions. Please god let me not be the one who has to do that, for any of them.
The fires are already being lit under the Tasksteam subcommittee of assessment, too, and man, I want to run screaming from the room every time someone even says the word "Taskstream." I do not not not want to have to grapple with all the things we still need to do in order to be in compliance (a word I particularly detest) with Taskstream requirements. Fuck. Ah well.
I'm interested to note that for at least part of the P&B meeting, my knickers were in a knot because I was not nominated to be the secretary. Note that this position is separate from recording secretary--the person who actually takes the minutes: the "secretary" is really more of a vice-chair, runs meetings if/when Bruce is unable to--which actually and quite unusually will happen twice this semester. I've been secretary for the last few years, which seems logical, given my position as Bruce's assistant, and the person nominated actually might as well be Bruce's assistant or co-chair or something. She is, I grant you, far more energetic, motivated, and productive than I will ever be, and she deserves to be treated as indispensable to the running of the department--because she is. My pouting fit was simply my vanity kicking in, my desire to be formally acclaimed princess. Not only is Cathy completely appropriate as the person to run P&B meetings in Bruce's absence, as I will be on sabbatical in the spring, it doesn't make sense for me to have the position only to have to turn it over to someone else in December. I'm amused to see just how much my ego gets attached to these things that I profess to find little more than a pain in the patoot.
Classes, I'm delighted to report, were not at all a pain in the patoot. In fact, I think they went tremendously well. Fortunately, I've requested that I have access to a laptop with a projector attached, so I can show students things on the computer during class. I could type in the "Daily 25"--faster and neater than writing it on the board. I also realized that I wanted students to start thinking about their first papers--but hadn't planned to hand out the paper assignment until next class. Oops. But, aha! I went to my own faculty home page, downloaded the paper assignment, and was able to project exactly the part I wanted them to focus on.
For each paper topic, I've given a huge overall topic--this first paper, it's "The Problem with Education in America Today"--and instead of providing more of a prompt, I've followed that big, vague topic with a quotation that I hope will spark conversation. So, first I had students write down their notes about what they saw in the quotation; then I asked them to use the quotation and their own experience to start making notes about what they think the problem (or some problems) with education might be. The quotation in question follows:
I followed classic "Active Learning" strategy. First, they wrote down their own ideas; then I put them in small groups to share ideas; then we talked about their ideas with the class as a whole. The other thing that I think worked well about the task is that we'd just been talking about annotation and notes, which had been the subject of their reading in the handbook for today and which they will apply to the first article I provided as their homework for Thursday. So they were doing a little mini-practice in class of what they will do in more detail as homework--and they already have a sense that their annotations and the expanded notes from their annotations will help them formulate ideas for their papers.
And they got into it. They were very interested in the ideas in the quotation. Again, the students in the later section understood the language better than those in the earlier section, but both classes were deeply interested in the ideas, and both classes loved having a chance to talk about what they think about problems with education. Clearly, the topic is of concern to them, and the fact that I'm not ramming my ideas at them but am asking for theirs is getting them jazzed. One student in the later section has been involved in her community, fighting for school budgets, and she's practically jet-propelled with excitement about the fact that she gets to write a paper in which she can air her (very strong) views. One student in the earlier section, who I'd have sworn was far from a fan of me or my methods, said today, as he was leaving, "I love this class."
O hallelujah! I can't say for sure, but I'm getting the feeling that this approach may actually work. Wouldn't that be a thrill? I'm serious: I'm as jazzed as they are. I grant you, they have yet to encounter my insistence "on accuracy and a rational control of all processes and methods," and some no doubt will balk--both classes mentioned the fact that some students do not want to learn, are content to coast, don't want to be challenged (oh, how true)---but they really are getting the sense that they can own the material, that it matters, that they have a voice, something to say. Glory be.
I'm so ecstatic about this I don't know how I'll manage to wind down, but this is a terrific high to take with me as I leave campus. May it sling-shot me into an equally wondrous day tomorrow.
There's been less shifting around in the later section. One student was absent the first day. She showed up on Thursday, filled with energy and verve--and wanted to chat with me after class. She told me she loves a challenge, that she spent the summer soul-searching and has returned to college with renewed energy, determination and drive, oh, so very perky and ready to be the star, teacher's pet. And today? Absent again. Uh-huh. I had my suspicions, and they've been confirmed. If she does return to class, I'll have to tell her she's already in a hole and had better stop digging.
One student also withdrew from Fiction Writing--the one I thought I saw in the Bradley Hall lobby yesterday. I don't know why she withdrew, especially since she said she wants to pursue something in the English field, already has a B.A. in art.... Of course I want to speculate, but I'll just have to resign myself to the mystery. Who knows.
Before I get to talking about today's classes, however, I want to say that I'm already feeling frazzled about committee work. One of the new (actually returning) members of P&B mentioned that the committee description for the departmental assessment committee might need updating--and that we probably also needed to have on file descriptions of the various ad hoc committees, most of which I've been on. This is paperwork that is largely used for promotion folders: rather than each individual reinventing the wheel in describing what the committee does overall, we simply include the blanket description and then write up our own unique contributions to that overall work. I was reminded that I need to be sure I have the description for each committee I've been on for my own promotion folder, but more exasperating, albeit necessary, is the revision and/or creation of committee descriptions. Please god let me not be the one who has to do that, for any of them.
The fires are already being lit under the Tasksteam subcommittee of assessment, too, and man, I want to run screaming from the room every time someone even says the word "Taskstream." I do not not not want to have to grapple with all the things we still need to do in order to be in compliance (a word I particularly detest) with Taskstream requirements. Fuck. Ah well.
I'm interested to note that for at least part of the P&B meeting, my knickers were in a knot because I was not nominated to be the secretary. Note that this position is separate from recording secretary--the person who actually takes the minutes: the "secretary" is really more of a vice-chair, runs meetings if/when Bruce is unable to--which actually and quite unusually will happen twice this semester. I've been secretary for the last few years, which seems logical, given my position as Bruce's assistant, and the person nominated actually might as well be Bruce's assistant or co-chair or something. She is, I grant you, far more energetic, motivated, and productive than I will ever be, and she deserves to be treated as indispensable to the running of the department--because she is. My pouting fit was simply my vanity kicking in, my desire to be formally acclaimed princess. Not only is Cathy completely appropriate as the person to run P&B meetings in Bruce's absence, as I will be on sabbatical in the spring, it doesn't make sense for me to have the position only to have to turn it over to someone else in December. I'm amused to see just how much my ego gets attached to these things that I profess to find little more than a pain in the patoot.
Classes, I'm delighted to report, were not at all a pain in the patoot. In fact, I think they went tremendously well. Fortunately, I've requested that I have access to a laptop with a projector attached, so I can show students things on the computer during class. I could type in the "Daily 25"--faster and neater than writing it on the board. I also realized that I wanted students to start thinking about their first papers--but hadn't planned to hand out the paper assignment until next class. Oops. But, aha! I went to my own faculty home page, downloaded the paper assignment, and was able to project exactly the part I wanted them to focus on.
For each paper topic, I've given a huge overall topic--this first paper, it's "The Problem with Education in America Today"--and instead of providing more of a prompt, I've followed that big, vague topic with a quotation that I hope will spark conversation. So, first I had students write down their notes about what they saw in the quotation; then I asked them to use the quotation and their own experience to start making notes about what they think the problem (or some problems) with education might be. The quotation in question follows:
“Education
is good just so far as it produces well-developed critical faculty . . . A
teacher of any subject, who insists on accuracy and a rational control of all
processes and methods, and who holds everything open to unlimited verification
and revision, is cultivating that method as a habit in the pupils. Men educated
in it cannot be stampeded . . . They are slow to believe. They can hold things
as possible or probable in all degrees, without certainty and without pain.
They can wait for evidence and weigh evidence . . . They can resist appeals to
their dearest prejudices. Education in the critical faculty is the only
education of which it can be truly said that it makes good citizens.” (W. G. Sumner.
Folkways: A Study of the Sociological Importance of Usages, Manners,
Customs, Mores, and Morals, New York: Ginn and Co., 1940. 632-633. From The Critical Thinking Community,
“Sumner’s Definition of Critical Thinking. July 23, 2014. Web.)
I followed classic "Active Learning" strategy. First, they wrote down their own ideas; then I put them in small groups to share ideas; then we talked about their ideas with the class as a whole. The other thing that I think worked well about the task is that we'd just been talking about annotation and notes, which had been the subject of their reading in the handbook for today and which they will apply to the first article I provided as their homework for Thursday. So they were doing a little mini-practice in class of what they will do in more detail as homework--and they already have a sense that their annotations and the expanded notes from their annotations will help them formulate ideas for their papers.
And they got into it. They were very interested in the ideas in the quotation. Again, the students in the later section understood the language better than those in the earlier section, but both classes were deeply interested in the ideas, and both classes loved having a chance to talk about what they think about problems with education. Clearly, the topic is of concern to them, and the fact that I'm not ramming my ideas at them but am asking for theirs is getting them jazzed. One student in the later section has been involved in her community, fighting for school budgets, and she's practically jet-propelled with excitement about the fact that she gets to write a paper in which she can air her (very strong) views. One student in the earlier section, who I'd have sworn was far from a fan of me or my methods, said today, as he was leaving, "I love this class."
O hallelujah! I can't say for sure, but I'm getting the feeling that this approach may actually work. Wouldn't that be a thrill? I'm serious: I'm as jazzed as they are. I grant you, they have yet to encounter my insistence "on accuracy and a rational control of all processes and methods," and some no doubt will balk--both classes mentioned the fact that some students do not want to learn, are content to coast, don't want to be challenged (oh, how true)---but they really are getting the sense that they can own the material, that it matters, that they have a voice, something to say. Glory be.
I'm so ecstatic about this I don't know how I'll manage to wind down, but this is a terrific high to take with me as I leave campus. May it sling-shot me into an equally wondrous day tomorrow.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Monday report
Advisement was just busy enough to keep me occupied, without being so busy that I felt frantic. I was prepared to do some committee work there if need be: at this time of the semester, I don't have enough student work to evaluate to need the time in Advisement for that purpose, but by the time I'm there again on Wednesday, I'll have collected homework from my 101s, so with luck, I'll have plenty to keep me busy, even if the spate of students has dried up, now that adding classes is no longer an option.
Most of the students today were intelligent and pretty much on the ball. The only weird event was that a mother had come steaming in with her son in tow and was kicking up one hell of a fuss in the carrel next to mine: she kept saying "This is absolutely not acceptable" and "I need to speak to a supervisor or someone in charge." The poor woman who was trying to help her was at a total loss, as the mother apparently believed everything that had happened with her son's registration was NCC's fault--and, in the "educational institution = store at the mall" frame of mind, believed that any rule need not apply because "the customer is always right." Fortunately, the adviser who was trying to help finally managed to turn the woman over to one of the higher-ups--though the mother (and her son) had to wait until the higher-up finished what she was doing (and was huffing and stamping around the waiting area, irate that she wasn't being tended to immediately)--and once the person with more knowledge and authority was in charge, the noise level decreased. But Jezus it was hard to advise the student I was sitting with: rather mousy student, and I could barely hear her over the opera going on next door.
I hate parents like that. I couldn't get any kind of read on her son, but ye gods, what an example she's setting for him of how to be an adult in the world.
Fiction Writing went well. One student is still AWOL: I haven't met him yet (and wonder if I'm going to). Another was absent. I don't know their faces for certain yet, but I'm pretty sure I saw the absentee in the lobby of Bradley Hall on my way to my office prior to class. I wonder if that really was my student, and if so, why she wasn't in class. Ah well.
In any event, in order to start breaking the ice a little, I started us off with a free-write, then we went around the room: each student said his or her name ("Hi, I'm Betty") and we'd all chorus a hello ("Hi, Betty!). Then the student would read what he or she wrote, no apologies allowed. After the student finished, we'd give a chorus of thanks (Thanks, Betty!")--though I confess we sort of fell apart on that a bit (I think some memory lapses: "What was her name again?")--and then gave a round of applause. They're warming up, but I can tell it's going to be a little while before they're fully into the swing of things. I did make everyone share something from the little conflict exercise they did at home (which I just realized I forgot to collect), and then I just sort of yacked at them for a bit about basic story elements, set them up to do the homework for Wednesday (reading Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants" and writing up some notes about the literary elements), and sent them on their way.
But, getting to the fun stuff: the student with the British-esque accent is poised to be a hoot and a holler. Bear in mind that the story assignment is to think of ordinary conflict: nothing too dramatic, but the kind of conflict that anyone could experience. No serial killers, no mafia hits, no alien invasions (or not yet anyway). But when Mr. Brit shared the conflict he's working on, it's about high nobility plotting to overthrow the Crown Prince of a sort of parallel-universe Britain circa 1547. He was very specific about the date, but when I questioned him about why that date, he said that he was interested in the medieval period: he quickly corrected what he said to include the Renaissance (which started approximately 1450, as usually dated, so 1547 is hardly medieval), but simultaneously was proclaiming himself a history buff, so the error was amusing. Then I pressed him a little further about the date: not just the 1500s, or even early 1500s, but specifically 1547: did something in particular happen that year in actual British history? He said he couldn't remember if it was the end of the reign of King Henry the Second or King Henry the Third--and the "nope, wrong" buzzer was going off in my head: off by five Henrys. I confess, I had to check to be sure, but that's when Henry VIII died. (The blunder also makes me doubt that accent even more. Really, could a Brit get to college age and not have at least a vague sense of when the various dynasties were, especially the Tudors? I know far too many American students couldn't get within 50 years of when Lincoln was president--remember those students who seemed genuinely to believe that he was the first president of the United States--but I expect Brits to know their own history a little better, though I'll exempt the Wars of the Roses.)
OK, so the young man is a little too full of himself, but for now, at least, I'm more charmed by his bluster than otherwise. I didn't call him on his grasp of history, but I did mention that perhaps the scenario wouldn't quite qualify as "ordinary" conflict. After class he told me that he's been working on that story for years. I said that, although I do want him to write where his passion lies, I also want him to challenge himself to take on things that might be very different, just to stretch his abilities. He said he has a couple other story ideas he's working on, and perhaps he'll use one of those instead--but I can tell that the challenge with him will be to rein him in, rather than spur him on. Which is fine by me.
But it does remind me that I need to reinforce that their stories should be short: the requirement is 4-5 pages, and although they're free to write more, their classmates don't have to read or critique more than the first four pages--and I won't read or critique more than ten. If Mr. Brit is working on a novel (or even possibly an epic fantasy series, for all I know), he needs to give us just 4-5 pages of the start of a chapter: no more.
Between Advisement and class, I did some organizing of handouts for the 101s (including clearing the folders of old handouts), so I think I'm pretty well set for tomorrow's classes. We do have a P&B meeting, for which I should review the minutes and find my notes about things to remember to bring up, but otherwise, I'll need to take advantage of the time in my office for other tasks. Front and center is the promotion application: I decided to bring all the various folders and scraps back to the office, so I can work on it here, rather than at home. It was useful to have it at home over the summer, so I could get a start on it, but now, I don't want work at home if I can keep it away. I've already typed up thoughts I've been working on in the wake of the seminar-hours committee--in an attempt to clarify the issues for myself, if nothing else, though I hope what I wrote out will be helpful to other committee members as well. And the rest of the committee work hasn't geared up yet. I need to keep reminding myself of that: I don't need to be frantic; the strand of pearls is, at the moment, intact. Saying that, I just remembered two little things I want to take care of, both of which will have to wait for tomorrow, when the regular office staff are in (the evening office person is OK for what she's usually called on to do, but she can't handle the "real" stuff that the day folks manage). But I can at least get things set up so I can take care of those two little bits first thing in the morning--and then I can do a leisurely pack up and toddle off.
Most of the students today were intelligent and pretty much on the ball. The only weird event was that a mother had come steaming in with her son in tow and was kicking up one hell of a fuss in the carrel next to mine: she kept saying "This is absolutely not acceptable" and "I need to speak to a supervisor or someone in charge." The poor woman who was trying to help her was at a total loss, as the mother apparently believed everything that had happened with her son's registration was NCC's fault--and, in the "educational institution = store at the mall" frame of mind, believed that any rule need not apply because "the customer is always right." Fortunately, the adviser who was trying to help finally managed to turn the woman over to one of the higher-ups--though the mother (and her son) had to wait until the higher-up finished what she was doing (and was huffing and stamping around the waiting area, irate that she wasn't being tended to immediately)--and once the person with more knowledge and authority was in charge, the noise level decreased. But Jezus it was hard to advise the student I was sitting with: rather mousy student, and I could barely hear her over the opera going on next door.
I hate parents like that. I couldn't get any kind of read on her son, but ye gods, what an example she's setting for him of how to be an adult in the world.
Fiction Writing went well. One student is still AWOL: I haven't met him yet (and wonder if I'm going to). Another was absent. I don't know their faces for certain yet, but I'm pretty sure I saw the absentee in the lobby of Bradley Hall on my way to my office prior to class. I wonder if that really was my student, and if so, why she wasn't in class. Ah well.
In any event, in order to start breaking the ice a little, I started us off with a free-write, then we went around the room: each student said his or her name ("Hi, I'm Betty") and we'd all chorus a hello ("Hi, Betty!). Then the student would read what he or she wrote, no apologies allowed. After the student finished, we'd give a chorus of thanks (Thanks, Betty!")--though I confess we sort of fell apart on that a bit (I think some memory lapses: "What was her name again?")--and then gave a round of applause. They're warming up, but I can tell it's going to be a little while before they're fully into the swing of things. I did make everyone share something from the little conflict exercise they did at home (which I just realized I forgot to collect), and then I just sort of yacked at them for a bit about basic story elements, set them up to do the homework for Wednesday (reading Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants" and writing up some notes about the literary elements), and sent them on their way.
But, getting to the fun stuff: the student with the British-esque accent is poised to be a hoot and a holler. Bear in mind that the story assignment is to think of ordinary conflict: nothing too dramatic, but the kind of conflict that anyone could experience. No serial killers, no mafia hits, no alien invasions (or not yet anyway). But when Mr. Brit shared the conflict he's working on, it's about high nobility plotting to overthrow the Crown Prince of a sort of parallel-universe Britain circa 1547. He was very specific about the date, but when I questioned him about why that date, he said that he was interested in the medieval period: he quickly corrected what he said to include the Renaissance (which started approximately 1450, as usually dated, so 1547 is hardly medieval), but simultaneously was proclaiming himself a history buff, so the error was amusing. Then I pressed him a little further about the date: not just the 1500s, or even early 1500s, but specifically 1547: did something in particular happen that year in actual British history? He said he couldn't remember if it was the end of the reign of King Henry the Second or King Henry the Third--and the "nope, wrong" buzzer was going off in my head: off by five Henrys. I confess, I had to check to be sure, but that's when Henry VIII died. (The blunder also makes me doubt that accent even more. Really, could a Brit get to college age and not have at least a vague sense of when the various dynasties were, especially the Tudors? I know far too many American students couldn't get within 50 years of when Lincoln was president--remember those students who seemed genuinely to believe that he was the first president of the United States--but I expect Brits to know their own history a little better, though I'll exempt the Wars of the Roses.)
OK, so the young man is a little too full of himself, but for now, at least, I'm more charmed by his bluster than otherwise. I didn't call him on his grasp of history, but I did mention that perhaps the scenario wouldn't quite qualify as "ordinary" conflict. After class he told me that he's been working on that story for years. I said that, although I do want him to write where his passion lies, I also want him to challenge himself to take on things that might be very different, just to stretch his abilities. He said he has a couple other story ideas he's working on, and perhaps he'll use one of those instead--but I can tell that the challenge with him will be to rein him in, rather than spur him on. Which is fine by me.
But it does remind me that I need to reinforce that their stories should be short: the requirement is 4-5 pages, and although they're free to write more, their classmates don't have to read or critique more than the first four pages--and I won't read or critique more than ten. If Mr. Brit is working on a novel (or even possibly an epic fantasy series, for all I know), he needs to give us just 4-5 pages of the start of a chapter: no more.
Between Advisement and class, I did some organizing of handouts for the 101s (including clearing the folders of old handouts), so I think I'm pretty well set for tomorrow's classes. We do have a P&B meeting, for which I should review the minutes and find my notes about things to remember to bring up, but otherwise, I'll need to take advantage of the time in my office for other tasks. Front and center is the promotion application: I decided to bring all the various folders and scraps back to the office, so I can work on it here, rather than at home. It was useful to have it at home over the summer, so I could get a start on it, but now, I don't want work at home if I can keep it away. I've already typed up thoughts I've been working on in the wake of the seminar-hours committee--in an attempt to clarify the issues for myself, if nothing else, though I hope what I wrote out will be helpful to other committee members as well. And the rest of the committee work hasn't geared up yet. I need to keep reminding myself of that: I don't need to be frantic; the strand of pearls is, at the moment, intact. Saying that, I just remembered two little things I want to take care of, both of which will have to wait for tomorrow, when the regular office staff are in (the evening office person is OK for what she's usually called on to do, but she can't handle the "real" stuff that the day folks manage). But I can at least get things set up so I can take care of those two little bits first thing in the morning--and then I can do a leisurely pack up and toddle off.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Oh yeah, and...
...I knew I'd forget! As I was waiting to go into the classroom for my second 101 of the day, the class before was letting out--and lo, there was the Viking from last semester's Nature in Lit. I smiled and said, "Hi!" and first he looked startled, then he gave me a rather brusque "I still hate you" type hello in return. I mentioned to the professor that he'd been my student last semester, and she said she already had a sense that he is "edgy." I said he and I hadn't gotten along, and she said, "What should I do?" I said, "Nothing. He's very smart, it's just that his edges and mine didn't work well together. Just enjoy him: I'm sure you'll have a great time with him." But if she's already picking up on "edge," I'll be very interested to see if he lasts in her class before he blames her for his problems, blows up, and leaves--or if he does eventually explode, how long it takes for him to get there.
I did notice that little mousy girlfriend was not in tow. This could mean nothing: she could simply not have been in class today. But I confess I rather hope that she got sick of being bullied and got out of the relationship. I realize I'm assuming she was being bullied: maybe not; maybe she was perfectly capable of holding her own despite what I observed. I'll probably never know--unless at some point in the future, I see them exiting class together.
In any event, I'm always amused when I encounter students who have decided to hold a grudge and watch them when they're faced with my cheerful, "Hey, nice to see you!" demeanor. I truly do not hold a grudge against the Viking. (I'd be hard pressed to think of any student I hold a grudge against; I'm far more likely to remain upset with myself for something I think I've mishandled than to feel I need to keep snarling at a former student.) I think he has a lot of potential, and I truly do hope my colleague can enjoy him and that he has a great experience in her class. I don't know why I felt so snakebit by the nasty remarks on Rate My Professor yet not at all by encountering a student who is clearly utterly pissed off with me. Maybe it's the anonymous versus the actual.
Anyway, I just wanted to make note. I'll try to remember to make note of any future sightings, especially if there is any change in their overall tenor.
I did notice that little mousy girlfriend was not in tow. This could mean nothing: she could simply not have been in class today. But I confess I rather hope that she got sick of being bullied and got out of the relationship. I realize I'm assuming she was being bullied: maybe not; maybe she was perfectly capable of holding her own despite what I observed. I'll probably never know--unless at some point in the future, I see them exiting class together.
In any event, I'm always amused when I encounter students who have decided to hold a grudge and watch them when they're faced with my cheerful, "Hey, nice to see you!" demeanor. I truly do not hold a grudge against the Viking. (I'd be hard pressed to think of any student I hold a grudge against; I'm far more likely to remain upset with myself for something I think I've mishandled than to feel I need to keep snarling at a former student.) I think he has a lot of potential, and I truly do hope my colleague can enjoy him and that he has a great experience in her class. I don't know why I felt so snakebit by the nasty remarks on Rate My Professor yet not at all by encountering a student who is clearly utterly pissed off with me. Maybe it's the anonymous versus the actual.
Anyway, I just wanted to make note. I'll try to remember to make note of any future sightings, especially if there is any change in their overall tenor.
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