Monday, June 25, 2007

Library gaming (from Inside Higher Ed)

Inside Higher Ed has an interesting article encouraging librarians to think like gamers:


“The librarian as information priest is as dead as Elvis,” Needham said. The whole “gestalt” of the academic library has been set up like a church, he said, with various parts of a reading room acting like “the stations of the cross,” all leading up to the “altar of the reference desk,” where “you make supplication and if you are found worthy, you will be helped.”

So if this hierarchical model doesn’t reach today’s students, what will?

James Paul Gee, a linguist who is the Tashia Morgridge Professor of Reading at the University of Wisconsin at Madison and the author of Why Video Games Are Good for Your Soul, argued that librarians need to adapt their techniques to digital natives. A digital native would never read an instruction manual with a new game before simply trying the game out, Gee said. Similarly, students shouldn’t be expected to read long explanations of tools they may use before they start experimenting with them.


Some thoughts:

  • Do I really have to play video games? Way back when, I tried a few of the text-based games that the Little Professor and Acephalous spoof so beautifully (heck, I even participated in MUD and MOO activities), but a game for me = less effort than work. If I have to put that much effort into it, I'd rather just work, thanks.

  • If preferring to experiment rather than to RTFM makes me a digital native, then I guess I am one, no matter how much I dislike the term.

  • I've seen the "library as church" metaphor before but had never thought of the reference desk as its altar.

  • It sounds as though those of us who are already building a "find this" model assignment and turning students loose rather than lecturing about the Library of Congress system are doing the right thing.

  • Wouldn't it be great if someone built a game that was based in finding library materials? To tell the truth, this would probably be more popular with teachers than students, but if it meant one less lecture on doing a keyword search, students would surely embrace it.

    On a more serious note, it's true that most students would rather deal with technology for an hour than ask a reference librarian something that would get them where they want to be in five minutes. From the article: "Even then, he said, librarians shouldn’t say that they are providing formal training, but should say things like 'let me show you a short cut,' the kind of language students use with one another all the time."

    Sometimes students are intimidated by the process, but sometimes there are other reasons. Although about 95% of the reference librarians I've encountered have been more than helpful, I've met a few who were so irritatingly condescending (a la the "priest at altar" model) that I steered clear of them: "This is the library catalogue online, you see? You can put in your search terms here, and then you can narrow your search by adding words." Sometimes, too, as the article says, they want to lecture about the history and nature of the resource before helping anyone to use it.

    Oh, and "dead as Elvis"? He's totally alive.
  • Grad school compendium

    This link is a little belated, but Horace has a great compendium of advice for grad students at To Delight and To Instruct.

    And while you're at it, read Dr. Virago's great post on the research project she teaches.

    Thursday, June 21, 2007

    Will work for praise

    Reviewing and evaluating is part of our job; if you think about it, it's most of our job as professors. We're paid for it, in one way or another: salaries (for teaching); books or checks, for manuscript reviews for presses; a "professional service" line on the cv for being a manuscript reader for a journal.

    If I'm honest about it, though, the real reward for some of this is just plain praise. I was really pleased when a number of the students this summer took the time to say (in turning in their last project) "thanks--your comments really helped" or "I learned a lot" or "I really enjoyed the class." Maybe I'm naive; a cynic might say that they're trying to ingratiate themselves so that a softened-up, benevolent Dr. Undine will go easy on the grading. Since all the grading is pretty straightforward, however, and (in an online class) there's no wiggle room for "participation," I'd like to think that they were sincere.

    The same holds true for reviewing. Although there's a pro forma quality to thanking the reviewers in the acknowledgments part of a book, when an editor this week took the time to thank me for my comments and pointed out the ways in which they'd be helpful for the author, it made my day. Eventually I'll fill out the forms and collect my check (or books), but right now, I'm still basking in being paid in praise.

    Wednesday, June 20, 2007

    Random Bullets of Almost Summer

  • Does everyone put off all kinds of tasks (shopping for clothes, painting, various household things like buying a doormat) until summer, or is it just me? It's as though I've been underwater and come to the surface, only to notice that the car needs to be cleaned and that the nondescript dark wool stuff I wear all winter really ought to be put away, now that it's June.
  • I believe that my cat could run some branches of the federal government better than they are run now. Let's review the sequence:
    1. Government announces that passports will be mandatory next January for travel to Canada and Mexico and that some new kind will be mandatory this summer.
    2. People with travel plans in the works dutifully apply for passports.
    3. Government is shocked--shocked!--to see that people are applying for passports in record numbers. From the Washington Post: "'We simply did not anticipate Americans' willingness to comply so quickly with the new laws,' Maura Harty, assistant secretary of state for consular affairs, said in a written statement to a Senate Foreign Relations subcommittee." Apparently more than 110,000 passport applications are "piled in closets, the supervisor's office, and the break room."
      If you tell people they can't go out of the country if they don't comply, why would you be surprised if they try to comply? That's like being a McDonald's manager and saying "Who knew that people would show up for lunch and that there'd be a noon rush?"

  • The productivity apps are having an effect: I can see the clock ticking even as I'm writing this.
  • Now I'm off to get more house maintenance stuff done (oil change for car) before getting back to work.

    [Edited to add: I forgot the big one! Summer school is over and the grades are in--whoopee!]
  • Saturday, June 16, 2007

    Productivity apps

    Part of the peri-writing process described below really doesn't have much to do with writing at all (like ordering books that I might need someday from abebooks.com). Since hope springs eternal, though, here are three downloads for Firefox that I'm trying out in hopes that they'll help productivity.

  • Do you hate those flashing little movies that come up on every site nowadays? I used to move the screen up and down, skipping paragraphs, even, so that I could stand to read the text at the NY Times and other sites. This extension (Flashblock) blocks them and puts a little F in the space instead. You can click on it if you want to see the picture.
    I completely love this extension. https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/433.

  • Pageaddict: https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/3685 . I just saw this one via Lifehacker and am trying it out. It'll tell you how long you spend on various web sites, which could induce enough guilt to get you back to work.

  • Timetracker: https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/1887. This is another one I saw on Lifehacker and just installed. It keeps track of the time you spend web surfing. You can set it up to ignore legitimate, work-related sites. Again, I'm hoping the guilt factor will spur on some productivity here.
  • Thursday, June 14, 2007

    On Wasting Time

    Dr. Crazy has a post up about wanting the summer fun to start. If you're an academic, it never can because--surprise!--there's always another book to read, manuscript to work on, and so forth.

    Exactly right. When I emerged from the cocoon of feeling too sick to work earlier this week, I thought, "all right, now I'll be productive." I have deadline-driven writing to do, but my brain is still in lazy sickness mode: it's hard to sit at the desk, let alone to work or to make my brain think about what it ought to be thinking about. What I apparently can do, very well, is to sit in a trance and think about the work I'm not getting done.

    About the best I can manage now is what I call "peri-writing." It's not really writing, or even pre-writing, but it's the work that surrounds writing. This involves huge amounts of time (in between reading a manuscript sent to me for review) spent looking up things I ought to read, making notes of things I should look at, and so forth. The manuscript review is part of this, because I can then say to myself, "hey, this person isn't as lazy as you are, and here's a manuscript to prove it. Get moving!"

    Tuesday, June 12, 2007

    Why professors in English should be happy about The Sopranos

    We should be happy about The Sopranos.

    I don't mean just The Sopranos, although that's been the focus of a media frenzy for the past few days. I mean any well-written television program that inspires the kind of response that viewers have had to shows recently--Buffy and the rest of Joss Whedon's creations, or maybe Lost (which I haven't seen) and some others.

    As I read the media frenzy (which was excellent procrastination fodder, by the way), I came across the following items:

  • The HBO site actually crashed after The Sopranos aired because people were trying to get to it, presumably to enter their opinions (which are about 60/40 opposed to the ending, from what I've read).
  • The New York Times and other major papers covered the ending. Even NPR, which usually acts as if it has never heard of television and is above all that crass, plebian interest in the visual, weighed in.

    What I'm seeing, though, as a person who teaches about interpreting texts is . . . a huge interest in interpreting texts.

    Everyone has an idea about the ending (see some theories at the New York Times, and everyone passionately wants to share those interpretations. Isn't that what we dream about as classroom teachers?

    On interactive boards, people talked about symbolism and the meaning of the number three. They evoked Dante's Inferno to explain what David Chase was up to this season. They explored imagery, the length of shots, and point of view. They brought up allusions to literature, to the Bible, to music, to Italian legends about cats, and to previous episodes in the series. Every glance and gesture had meaning, and determining that meaning became the order of the day.

    And, when some people got too far off base, others would correct them: "Where's the evidence for that?" Do you hear that? That's the sound of "Where's your support for that in the text?" When someone posted a particularly analytical or insightful comment, others praised it. Those with a greater range of allusions chimed in with the information and were thanked.

    Finally, the final episode made these interpreters of texts deal with uncertainty. Multiple interpretations, undecidability, fragmentary glimpses of an ultimately elusive meaning, the wish to posit an author/authority function that frustratingly won't respond--hmm, have any classroom instructors dealt with that in modernist/postmodernist works before?

    I don't say that we have to teach The Sopranos, though there are a lot of critical essays on this and on Buffy already. What we ought to take away from this, though, is that there is a hunger for interpreting texts, if it's the right text and the motivation is there. Supplying those is our job.
  • Monday, June 11, 2007

    Online class: student voices

    This is the last week of the online class. What I've mostly been doing is grading the things the students have sent me and keeping the discussion going. (I have not made peace with WebCT/Blackboard but have wrestled it to a standstill.) I have only met one of them in person, but I have a sense of their personalities (or think I do) from our frequent online contacts.

    It's a lot like a face-to-face class in some ways. Some are cheerful and personable in their interactions ("Hi Professor Lastname" "Have a nice weekend") and some are less so, sending the attached materials but leaving the message blank. A couple are petulant. In the first week, one of them wrote to say, "Hey Undine. You set this up in a confusing way." In my coldest tones, I explained that I was sorry he felt that way (see non-apology apology, the art of) but that everyone else had managed to figure out how the class was organized, especially since the organization was explained in three e-mail messages and the syllabus, which I suggested he review. He had settled down by the next week.

    I guess the amazing part to me is that from a collection of names on a roster a few weeks ago, they've become real students to me. I know they were real students before, of course, but I mean students with real voices. You know the way that you can sometimes see a student after a few years and maybe remember a paper that he wrote or a comment that she made yet not remember the student's name? That kind of student voice.

    Tuesday, June 05, 2007

    On Grad School: Our Motto is "Catch up!"

    Dr. Crazy's recent and much-admired post on grad school has Horace at To Delight and To Instruct collecting such posts. Since she and others have said more gracefully the important parts, what follows is a short response, in random bullet form.

  • I did not experience grad school as a process that broke down my entire sense of self and rebuilt it, a la the boot camp model. I didn't experience my professors as cruel, either; that may be because they weren't, or it may be because I was too oblivious to notice.
  • One of the biggest differences between grad and undergrad was that in grad classes, you were supposed to "get it" without being told. If a name was mentioned casually, you didn't raise your hand and ask but went scurrying off to the library to figure out who it was before anyone could figure out that you didn't know who it was. If a professor said, "Nice work. This should be publishable," he never gave any suggestions about how to make it publishable, or where it could be sent, or what conferences it might be suitable for, or anything else. If I had to identify an unofficial model for grad school, it would be "Catch up!"
  • Another motto would be "nobody cares what your problems are." This may sound heartless, but in retrospect, it prepared us for real jobs. In reality, as grim as it sounds, mostly people don't care if you're having a bad day, or you're depressed, or you just can't get motivated to do what you promised. They just want it done, and whining about it (which was semi-acceptable at lower levels) just wasn't acceptable. You could gripe to your fellow grad students about X or Y, but you were expected to suck it up, a useful talent--and policy--for later life.
  • Another useful thing to note is that you don't have to--and indeed shouldn't--express every opinion you have. I recall sitting in a class in Old English one time and being struck by an image in the poem we'd read for that day that I thought was quite beautiful. "Purple passage!" scoffed the professor, and the rest of the class laughed. My opinion didn't change (still hasn't--take THAT, Professor X!), but I recognized the wisdom of keeping my mouth shut. (And I've published more than he has, too, so there!)
  • Some theories and approaches are indeed transformative and will blow your mind. What they don't tell you is that some, well, aren't and won't. You can work your way through mind-bogglingly dense prose sometimes and discover genius, but sometimes that prose is just a cover-up for mind-boggling banality. The painful part is that both take equal time to read and decipher, and the critical fad significant critical paradigm of today may well be yesterday's news in a year or two. I've been out of grad school long enough to have seen this in action, so trust me on this.
  • Snotty, pretentious, PITA fellow grad students do exist. Avoid them, if possible, since they carry a negative energy that's hard to break free from.

    So, what's the short version? Grad school isn't a Vincent Price chamber of horrors. Keep your own counsel, take pleasure in and sustenance from the good friends you'll make, do your work, and believe that you can do it.

    technorati tag:

  • Good Timewaster

    If you have time to waste, or if you're grading, check out Making Light's comments section, in which the commenters render great works of literature in lolcat and leetspeak. A sample (Pride and Prejudice) at #96:

    Rich man can has girl.

    Bngli: i can has dance?
    J4N3: k
    l12: i can has dance too?
    DarC: no u ugly go way
    l12: LOLz
    Bngli: BRB

    MrC0lnz: l12 i can has heart?
    l12: no gway
    Chrltt: u can has me
    MrC0lnz: K BRB

    Wikm: IM IN UR TOWN SEDUCIN UR DAUTERS
    lyd14: o hai

    DarC: i can has heart?
    l12: no gway u rude

    l12: IM IN UR PEMBERLEY ADMIRIN UR STUFF
    DarC: hai
    l12: OMG thought u were AFK!!1!

    Monday, June 04, 2007

    Office Space

    Thomas Hart Benton at the Chronicle writes about why he's moved from his nice home office (with an Aeron chair! I've never even seen a real Aeron chair!) to the barn:

    Another more common distraction at home and at work is the availability of the Internet. I am a regular reader of at least 30 blogs and more than a dozen newspapers. And I am constantly browsing for new book recommendations on Amazon.com and searching for books on sale at several other sites like Daedalus, Labyrinth, and Edward R. Hamilton. That feels like the moral equivalent of work, even though it is really procrastination.

    All of those activities, combined with my addiction to e-mail, means that I receive a continuous flow of custom-tailored information that is almost always more interesting to me than what I am writing.
    . . . .

    So for all its lack of amenities, my third office in the barn offers fewer temptations to avoid writing. I have no Internet connection, and there's no one here to speak to besides myself. So far, my productivity has improved significantly, even though my desk is a door on two sawhorses, and I am sitting on a box.


    In other words, the writing space he's now chosen makes it easier to write, an idea that fuels some of my most persistent fantasies about writing (that it's easier in a coffee shop, for example). I write in my study at home or sometimes in a library; it's hard to write in my office on campus for the reasons Benton mentions.

    But.

    I have been known to harbor what is known in my family as a "writing house" fantasy. This fantasy encompasses everything from a tiny house placed in the backyard to something along the lines of Mark Twain's study in Elmira. Sometimes I dream of building one of these on the side of a mountain that's about 10 minutes from here (on land I couldn't afford anyway, of course). In my dreams it might look like Michael Pollan's writing house, or it might be something more fanciful.

    Curse you, Thomas Hart Benton! Now I am in full writing house fantasy mode, when all I really need to do to be productive is turn off my Internet connection.

    Sunday, June 03, 2007

    Procrastination and Productivity, Redefined

    From the New York Times:

    “The longer you work, the less efficient you are,” said Bob Kustka, the founder of Fusion Factor, a productivity and time-management consulting firm in Norwell, Mass. He says workers are like athletes in that they are most efficient in concentrated bursts. Elite athletes “play a set of tennis, a down of football or an inning of baseball and have a pause in between,” he says. Working energy, like physical energy, “is best used in spurts where we work hard on a few focused activities and then take a brief respite,” he says.

    And those respites look an awful lot like wasting time.

    It has taken me years to make tentative peace with my stops and starts during work. Every morning I vow to become a morning person, starting full speed out of the gate. And every morning I daydream, shuffle papers, read e-mail messages and visit blogs, and somehow it is time for lunch. Then, at about 2 p.m., a sense of urgency kicks in, and I write steadily, until about 5 or 6, when I revert to the little-of-this, some-of-that style of the morning.

    I apparently have an avatar working for the New York Times, or maybe just someone who watches how I work.

    Saturday, June 02, 2007

    Posts on grad school

    Horace at To Delight and To Instruct is collecting posts on grad school advice; let him know if you have some.

    Friday, June 01, 2007

    Day for Night

    In Diary of a Mad Housewife, the heroine reads Proust when she is sick. I had a colleague once who said that she didn't mind being sick because then she caught up on all her theory reading--Foucault, Derrida, and all that.

    Theory reading and Proust.. Are they kidding?

    The weightiest material I've been able to manage this week is the New York Times online and some blogs. Even that reading fails, though, when you're up and feverish at night. At those moments, television is your best friend.

    Since I am usually asleep within seconds, I did not know what insomniacs must have known for years about television in the middle of the night: that dreams of perfection and wealth can be yours if only you follow the instructions of those who have shows at 2:30 a.m. Here is some of what I learned:
  • People have become rich! rich! rich! (which apparently involves lying around on boats with a cool drink) in real estate with no money down. You can't lose!
  • A kindly man will show you how to turn on your computer and open up Word if only you get his series of DVDs.
  • You can buy your own tiny plastic helicopter that really flies and send it careering around your house via remote control, to the probable consternation of your cats and definite danger to the eyes of anyone in its path.
  • Extremely buff people get that way by using a series of increasingly bizarre contraptions and videotapes at home. This is especially true for a blonde woman who due to cosmetic surgery can no longer move any muscles in her face.

    I don't take Nyquil unless I'm desperate because it inspires Hunter S. Thompson-esque dreams and leaves me exhausted the next day, but I'm beginning to wonder if lying there and watching tv when you have a fever doesn't have much the same effect.
  • Tuesday, May 29, 2007

    Random bullets of (post) conference

  • The conference was good: lots of good panels, lots of necessary meetings, and pleasant encounters with colleagues from other institutions.
  • Some of my students were presenting there for the first time, and they did an excellent job. If you think about it, we're not responsible for how they perform (except indirectly), but you know what? I felt proud anyway.
  • At the airport, I was introduced to the latest dance craze: the change-the-plane shuffle. Because of mechanical problems, we had to leave the plane we were on and travel to a whole other concourse to get on another plane. Trekking over to another concourse was a thoughtful idea; they probably thought we'd like the exercise after sitting on the plane that wasn't going to take off for so long.
  • To judge from today's e-mail, everyone at the conference spent all day yesterday busily following up on things, generating tasks, and so on. Don't they know the Rewards Rule for Conferences? When you get back, you get to spend the whole day doing something that you actually enjoy.

    I don't always observe the Rewards Rule, but since I have come down with a nasty cold, I did yesterday, which was devoted to . . .

    a combined Barbara Stanwyck and Joan Crawford film festival, screened here at home in glorious black and white.

  • Friday, May 25, 2007

    Everything old is new again

    Brief conference update:

    I've noticed that a lot of my students don't wear watches (they use iPods or cellphones to check the time) and have started paying attention to this when in sessions as well. Some of the people here (mostly men) don't wear watches, either, but I've seen them pull their cellphones out of their pockets and check them quickly, which means, I suppose, that they're checking the time and not their messages.

    Yes! We are back to the age of the pocket watch, when men did this all the time, and I think it is charming.

    Tuesday, May 22, 2007

    The broccoli of travel

    Conferences are the broccoli of travel. Want proof?

  • Although I will dutifully eat broccoli without much enthusiasm for it, some madness causes me to buy it because I always think I will like it better than I do. Ditto for responding to a CFP.
  • Everyone I know and respect seems to be enthusiastic about eating broccoli, and I thus believe that I should share this feeling. Ditto conferences.
  • When it comes right down to looking at the broccoli on the plate, though, I secretly wish that I had a nice, ripe tomato instead. I eat it because there's no way of getting around it. (Professional development and conferences, anyone?)
  • Once I've eaten the broccoli, I feel as though I have Done a Good Thing for my health and all that. I don't enjoy eating the broccoli, but I enjoy knowing that I have eaten it. In conference world, this translates into getting back and knowing that you don't have to do it again for a while.

    At least it's not the brussels sprouts of faculty meetings that I'm facing.
  • Quick update

    I'm working on a paper and will shortly be on my way to a conference; I'll post in a few days.

    Thursday, May 17, 2007

    It's a blog world, after all

    This is what comes of reading blogs right before falling asleep:

    I dreamt that I was traveling all over blogland. I helped Profgrrrl pick out a house to buy and helped Dr. Crazy with her cleaning project. I stopped by jo(e)'s to admire her lake and listened to music I hadn't heard before with Professor Zero and Chaser. I saw Horace's and Ianqui's pictures from their travels abroad. There were other travels, too, but these are the ones I recall.

    Very strange.

    Tuesday, May 15, 2007

    OT: Charities in the news

    From the Los Angeles Times:

    In his will, Di Stefano allotted $33 million to Greenpeace International. The year before he died, Greenpeace International dissolved and was absorbed by the related Greenpeace Fund.

    The Salvation Army went to court, arguing that the specific organization named by Di Stefano no longer existed and therefore was not eligible for the gift. Instead, the Salvation Army said, that portion should be divided among itself and the other six charities.


    Didn't the Salvation Army just inherit a gadzillion dollars from the widow of Ray "More Money than God" Kroc of McDonald's? Does this strike anyone else as being, well, really greedy on the part of the Salvation Army?

    Saturday, May 12, 2007

    Does this mean I can come out of the (grammar) closet?

    From WaPo:
    The National Council of Teachers of English, whose directives shape curriculum decisions nationwide, has quietly reversed its long opposition to grammar drills, which the group had condemned in 1985 as "a deterrent to the improvement of students' speaking and writing."


    I don't teach diagramming sentences in a formal way, as the instructors in the article do. I do, however, assume that students can follow the simplified versions (S-V-DO,S-LV-SC) once I've explained them, and yes, cruel taskmistress that I am, I do make them learn the difference between a clause and a phrase. (Mistress Undine cracks her whip and points to the board, and the students dutifully chant, "That's a direct object and not a subject complement, Mistress Undine.")

    For the record, I did learn to diagram sentences at one point. I learned this concept late, and it was a revelation to me, as was the idea of the thesis statement, the topic sentence, and all the other supposedly repressive accouterments of traditional writing instruction. I had somehow gotten away without learning them for an embarrassingly long time (due to being a reader and hence a decent writer, I suppose), but when I did learn them, guess what happened?

    a. My wounded sense of self went to sit in a corner because it was crushed by the cruelties of form, and I never wrote another creative word.
    b. I began to march in lockstep with the other prisoners of the five-paragraph essay (which I had NEVER heard of until I began to teach first-year composition, at which point I learned that it was an instrument of the devil).
    c. I loved the idea that there was a system, form, and structure to language that would not only explain it but would make me a better writer and a better reader, because I had tools for analysis. [If you picked this one, you picked right.]

    If there are ways that we can help students to improve their writing, and if sometimes the lightbulb goes on because we've given them a concept and (gasp) even made them work on a sample that isn't their own writing once in a while, shouldn't we do it? Isn't that more productive than refusing to explain the concept of, say, an appositive because we want them to divine it from their inner consciousness even if it takes five drafts to do so?

    Wednesday, May 09, 2007

    Brief interlude in reading

    Sometimes, when I am reading a novel in which every page introduces a new set of characters, all bristling with nicknames and dialect but with little else to distinguish them, and I have to start writing down a list to remember them . . .

    I long for a Henry James novel: four characters and 800 pages of nothing but artistic descriptions and endless, leisurely dissections of their innermost thoughts.

    Four is a good number. I can keep track of four.

    I'm just saying.

    Tuesday, May 08, 2007

    Goodbye, semester; hello, summer session

  • I turned in grades on Friday. My summer school class started today.
  • Since it's an online class that I've taught before, I've been updating and rewriting and generally fine-tuning the materials. This was my "weekend off."
  • However, I console myself by thinking that movie stars of old like Clark Gable and Barbara Stanwyck also had to turn around after finishing a movie and report right away for the next one. That's it: I'm a movie star.
  • Is anyone else demented enough to enjoy (very briefly) the period of setting up the gradebook in Excel, when everything's all shiny and the reality of grading hasn't set in yet?
  • You notice I didn't say anything about enjoying Blackboard/WebCT. I estimate that I spent a good hour of the time just waiting for it to upload and load things, to say nothing of the times that it just plain melted down and declined to do anything at all.
  • Among my grievances is the tiny box--about the size of an address label--that Blackboard/WebCT allows for those who want to write something in HTML and thus control the appearance of the page. Add that to the copious amounts of garbage code that Word inserts into everything, and inserting code into the page becomes an exercise in patience, like those artists who write names in calligraphy on a grain of rice.
  • I really should stop complaining about Blackboard/WebCT, but the school uses it and isn't inclined to change.
  • Friday, May 04, 2007

    Reality Check

    Stern PSA voiceover asks "Has this ever happened to you while you were grading? Abusers of the addictive drug of grading may experience flights from reality, flashbacks, and an inability to escape from their grading-riddled world."

  • You look at a word like "receive" or "separate" that's correctly spelled and all of a sudden . . . it looks wrong because that's not the way you've seen it spelled the last twenty times you've read it.
  • You could swear that you taught your students that story and essay titles were punctuated with quotation marks . . . and yet . . . the evidence of their papers tells you that your mouth was moving but no sounds actually escaped that day.
  • You know that Faithful Student can talk about literature and speak in sentences, because you've heard her do it in class, but the evidence of the paper before you tells you that you were hallucinating all along.

    Grading. What a long, strange trip it's been.
  • Thursday, May 03, 2007

    Random Bullets of Grading

  • Why is it that no matter how much and how carefully I proofread an exam, I often misnumber the questions in one segment?
  • Why, after I've explained the directions (which are printed at the top of each section of the exam with some words in bold) would a student who ought to be able to answer the identification questions with ease neglect to answer the number of them that she was supposed to answer?
  • Why do some students come to an exam that they know will contain essay questions without bringing paper with them? (I don't use blue books, but they know that they need to bring paper.)
  • Why do other students write their essays on paper that to all appearances they've been carrying around in their back pockets since the beginning of the semester, if indeed they're not using heirloom paper carried around by their parents when they were in college? The wrinkles in this stuff makes it about as droopy as an old linen handkerchief.
  • Why do I put the paper of the student whose writing has tortured and wordy syntax at the bottom of the pile? It's not as though the writing is going to get better once I've gone through the rest of them.
  • How does this student manage to write about twice as much as his classmates, which means that I have to work my way through twice as much bad writing?
  • Wednesday, May 02, 2007

    Cliche watch: "digital native"

    In a professional meeting recently, I heard someone lament that she was not a "digital native" and referred to herself as an "immigrant" in digital culture.

    Maybe this has some usefulness as a metaphor in education circles. Maybe it has achieved some status because of the current fashion in literary studies for metaphors of cosmopolitanism, immigration, transnationalism, migrations, etc.

    Mostly, though, as used in conversation, the "digital native" idea creates a false distinction. It assumes that there is a fundamental inability to understand a technology if you haven't grown up with it, which is an assumption or belief and not a fact. It also assumes that various technologies cannot become naturalized or do not seem natural to those who haven't grown up with them.

    The concept of "digital native" seems to come from the touching belief of each generation that its technologies are so transformative, so life-changing, that no one over the age of seven can grasp their full impact except as an outsider. My students might like to say (in their favorite cliche) that this has been true since the dawn of time, but let's just take the twentieth century:

  • 1920s: "These kids today and their automobiles! They don't have to harness up Bessie to the wagon to go into town anymore. They're so mobile! How will we ever understand the ways they think? We are not automobile natives and can never, ever catch up. "
  • 1950s: "Why, this new generation can actually SEE Jack Benny on television instead of just hearing him on the radio! This will totally transform the way we teach. Teachers will become obsolete, since everyone will just listen to a master teacher on television. We are not television natives and can never understand the ways in which their brains are wired." (If you don't think this is accurate, check out an old Life or Time magazine from the era.)
  • 2000s: "These kids today are digital natives, and we, poor sods, are always going to be digital immigrants. They think in completely new ways, and we can never, ever catch up!"

    I don't know why this metaphor annoys me so. To be honest, it's no more annoying than the Boomer/Gen X/Gen Y cliches that lazy magazine writers bring out when they have a big chunk o' space to fill with feel-good or feel-bad anecdotes. ("Boomer Files" in Newsweek, anyone?) When I hear people use "digital native," though, a lot of times they're flapping their hands about how they'll just never get the whole concept of these internet tubes in the ways that the young folks do, which seems to me both (1) lazy and (2) a fundamental evasion of the problem, which is their unwillingness to engage with digital culture.

    Well, guess what? This divide isn't generational. I know 70-year-olds who can reinstall hard drives, reset a computer's BIOS (or whatever it is), and use Photoshop in ways that would put the rest of us to shame and supposed "digital natives" who can't send an attachment.

    So do I think that the digital revolution (to be pretentious about it) has changed the ways in which people, and especially our students, think, read, and access information? Of course it has. But the "digital native" idea? Ultimately, that's a stereotype that, like most of them, tells less about the people being categorized than about those who seek to categorize them.

    [Update 12/5/07: There's a good (and more serious) essay about this, including additional links, at Confessions of an Aca/Fan.]
    [Edited to add: There's also just the slightest possibility that corporations and advertisers have found a way to make a buck by preying on our insecurities and anxieties about teaching "digital natives," just as they've managed to do when selling us mouthwash and deodorant. Nah, that couldn't happen.]
  • Tuesday, May 01, 2007

    Dr. Popularity

    If you're teaching a course required for graduation, and you're teaching it online (as I am this summer), chances are that you've never felt so popular in your life.

    The class has been filled for a few weeks now. Since it's a writing class, I can't add anyone unless I'm willing to look like St. Sebastian. (Overloading a writing class not only makes bad sense pedagogically but also encourages administrative types to wonder whether EVERYONE shouldn't have an overload--not a popular idea.) I have to tell everyone who contacts me to (1) call the department and ask to be put on the waiting list, if there is one and (2) check the online registration to pick up a space if someone drops.

    Although I have to give this same advice to everyone, I'm getting a variety of appeals:

  • "Hi. I have a full slate of courses in the fall and can't take this class then. I need to graduate in the fall, so can you let me in?" I forbear from suggesting that this person might have thought about taking the course before being a graduating senior.
  • "I need this course because I have to stay home this summer and take care of an ailing family member." Sorry--I wish I could, but I can't. It'll be offered again this fall, though.
  • "Hey there. Can you let me into this course? [Complex registration story follows.] I know it means more work for you, but it would be better for me." Yes, I'm sure it would. No, I can't let you in.

    I've heard back from at least one who was able to pick up the course when a spot opened up. I wish I could be happier about this, but sometimes that just means that someone's been dropped because of fees/a registration hold/tuition nonpayment, which means I'll get another message in a week or so:
  • "Hi. I was enrolled in your class, but I got disenrolled because of [insert bureaucratic foulup here]. Can you let me back in?"

    And the answer again will have to be "sorry--no."
  • Monday, April 30, 2007

    Point to Point Navigation

    I am what might politely be termed "directionally challenged." This means that, although I can read a map, I am usually lost, especially if someone's idea of giving directions is "go north two blocks and turn west." Say what? How would I know which way west is?

    Thus when people tell me that they've driven into (to use joe's system of naming) Big City Like No Other or Windy City or the Land of the Bean and the Cod to see a show, an exhibit at the museum, etc., my impulse is more to ask "what route did you take?" and "where did you find a place to park?" than about the exhibit itself.

    Due to frequent trips there, though, I can almost navigate around City Where Every Major Street Ends in a Bridge without getting too lost or without hurtling across a bridge into another city (and sometimes into another state). I would like to think this is because I know the streets, but after I took the wrong exit on a recent trip (i.e., not the one that Google Maps told me to take), I was able to get to the hotel by thinking to myself, "I must be close, because the trees look right." And I did get there, all because the trees looked right.

    This doesn't bode well for taking up orienteering as a hobby, but did I ever feel as though I'd accomplished something once I got to my destination!

    Friday, April 27, 2007

    Anyone have some ruby slippers?

    I am at a conference, and I *so* want to be home. Classes are over, and all that's left is a mountain of grading and a big heap of writing to do. Oh, and maybe something I *want* to do for a change: put some tomato plants in the garden to feed my addiction. For me, tomatoes = the crack of vegetables.

    Here, I'm pretty much done. Paper presented? Check. Chaired a session? Check. All that's left is a meeting at which I have to speak informally, so I guess I have to stay.

    But if I had a pair of ruby slippers, I'd be clicking them three times and channeling Dorothy.

    Thursday, April 26, 2007

    Short observation: your tax dollars at work

    Dear State Representative,

    Why does the road between East Nowhere and Palookaville widen out to three lanes going in the same direction? Does the blowing of tumbleweeds and sagebrush across the road close one lane from time to time? Do the cattle trucks really need to speed shoulder to shoulder between East Nowhere and Palookaville? Is there a reason why this road gets the Autobahn treatment while the road from U town to Big City is a two-lane road?

    Are you going after the "Bridge to Nowhere" vote? Are you in cahoots with Ted Stevens?

    Wonderingly,

    Your constitutent

    How to tell if the writing is going well

    If the kitchen is clean, right down to those portions of the stove that have to be cleaned with toothpicks . . .

    And the microwave is so clean that it has no signs of ever being used . . .

    And the rugs all have tracks from the vacuum cleaner . . .

    Then the answer is no. No, it's not going well.

    Tuesday, April 24, 2007

    Poetic justice

    Message yesterday from Stu Dent (to borrow Profgrrrl's pseudonym for them):

    "Hi, I'm sorry I haven't been in class for a while but I've been very sick. Here is my paper."

    Stu Dent didn't make it to class today, either.

    Today, as I'm walking into the library, I see Stu Dent walking jauntily down the hall, not looking a bit sick.

    I said hello and gave him The Look. He did have the grace to look embarrassed.

    Sunday, April 22, 2007

    OT: A whistleblower at the FDA saves dogs' lives

    At a time when US pet food companies are importing tainted materials to put into pet food, here's a story about Victoria Hampshire, a vet who was demoted and nearly fired from her job at the FDA for trying to protect dogs from an unsafe medicine:

    http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/18137930/


    Almost 500 dogs had died after taking Proheart 6 — surpassing all competitors combined.

    But Wyeth was known for strongly defending its drugs from claims of harm. . . .
    Many vets also liked replacing pills with the twice-a-year shot, which put heartworm prevention back into their hands. One vet with ties to Wyeth lectured colleagues about seizing on Proheart 6 as a “hook” to pull in healthy pets for profitable regular exams.

    . . .
    [Hampshire] was sent to an interim FDA office job within the capability of “anybody with half a brain,” she says. She didn’t know where the investigation would lead. She didn’t know who might be bent on ruining her career, but she looked for a better job somewhere. She saw — or imagined — warning signs and potential enemies everywhere. She hoped for protection from members of Congress she contacted.

    . . .

    In June 2005, a Wyeth manager made a sales call at an Alabama veterinary practice, where he openly blamed Hampshire for the Proheart 6 recall, according to a confidential letter written by a vet there to the FDA. The Wyeth employee boasted that the company had her investigated by private detectives, and she had been “taken care of,” according to the letter obtained by The Associated Press. He then predicted the drug’s swift return to market.

    Read the whole thing; it has a happy ending.

    Saturday, April 21, 2007

    WebCT and Blackboard: Feed me!

    Last year, I wondered what the much-touted/much-reviled WebCT and Blackboard merger might mean for faculty who're forced to use them.

    Well, the name has changed, but you'll be glad to know that the two are still instructing us in patience and voluntary simplicity by means of repeated frustrations.

    In trying to get my online summer course ready (and avoid grading papers), I worked in WebCT/Blackboard this morning. Here's the process: A pop-up box tells me I need something something new Java something. I dutifully try to download it. "Failure to save to directory," it then tells me. I try again. And again. And again. I try the online install and the download install. Same result, whether I'm using my favorite (Firefox) or the Browser of Gates (IE).

    Whatever this Java plugin is, the new and not improved WebCT/Blackboard is hungry for it, for it emits a pleading pop-up box every single time I click on a page. I've discovered that I can rack up about 14 pop-up boxes before I have to close them all and start again.

    It's a little like trying to type in the midst of a nest of hungry birds.

    Friday, April 20, 2007

    Glad it is the weekend? You bet.

    This is the kind of day it's been: I called Business X to fight with them (or really to inquire politely) about an error they'd made. I got voicemail and decided to leave a phone message with my phone number.

    "Hello, this is Undine Lastname, and I'm calling about Y problem. You can call me at . . . at . . . "

    Yes, dear readers, I could not remember my phone number. The number I have had for several years--eleven, to be exact.

    I think I'll quit while I'm ahead.

    Thursday, April 19, 2007

    Joining the media boycott

    MaggieMay is disgusted with the media's treatment of the tragedy at Virginia Tech, and I don't blame her. What should be respectful and a celebration of the life of the victims has turned instead into a circus.

    I rarely watch television news at all, so when I turned to CNN and MSNBC to get some information this week, I was--well, dismayed would be a polite term for it.
  • I saw blonde newstwits (Nancy something and another one who'd had a lot of plastic surgery) interrupting Nikki Giovanni by inserting banal comments into Giovanni's discussion of the situation.
  • I saw two young men remembering their friend, now gone, and celebrating his accomplishments and life, only to be cut off by the male newstwit asking, "How did you feel about the shooter's video?" They told him that they were there to celebrate their friend's life and were not going to talk about that (good for them!).
  • Above all, I saw endless, endless footage of the murderer, granting him the triumph that he would have wished, while a long, self-serving screed by the president of NBC explained how careful they were not to give the shooter the triumph that he would have wished.

    I'm with Maggie May. "Disgusted" about covers it.
  • Monday, April 16, 2007

    No words

    From the New York Times:
    At least 33 people were killed today on the campus of Virginia Tech in what appears to be the deadliest shooting rampage in American history, according to federal law-enforcement officials. Many of the victims were students shot in a dorm and a classroom building.

    Words are inadequate.

    Sunday, April 15, 2007

    Perils of Advising

    Scene: my office.

    A student comes to the door. She is red-eyed, hacking, wheezing, and having frequent recourse to a woefully inadequate and well-used Kleenex.

    She: "I'm sorry I'm late. It's just that I'm really, really sick."

    Me: "It looks as though you don't feel too well today. Do you have your schedule made up? Would you like some Vitamin C drops?"

    She: "Here it is"--and draws out a crumpled index card that has obviously been keeping company in her bookbag with the aforementioned Kleenex.

    We get through the advising session. The next student comes by.

    Next student: "Hi! I think that person before was sick. I saw you take out the hand sanitizer and clean your hands. Everybody in my dorm is sick, so be careful when you collect the papers next week."

    So my secret is out. I keep a hidden bottle of Purell (66.2% alcohol, or something like that) in my desk drawer. Like Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe with a bottle of rye, I have thus become a closet user of alcohol to fend off the world, albeit in a much less fun way than Marlowe seemed to manage.

    Friday, April 13, 2007

    Feet of clay

    As in most grad classes, the students in mine this semester read criticism as well as the primary texts. We read some purely theoretical pieces, too, but since the students have already had whole classes in theory, the secondary readings tend to use theory more as a lens for interpretation. In choosing the secondary readings, I didn't do a "greatest hits" approach but tried instead to provide a mix: some classic or essential pieces on the work, articles from a variety of critical perspectives, very recent articles, and articles that are representative of the critical discourse on the primary work. I don't set out to give them bad articles, but some "representative" articles may be more workmanlike than stellar.

    It's been interesting to see the class's progression from a more hesitant to a more confident engagement with these secondary texts. Some of them are written by The Greats (and anyone who doesn't think academia has a star system is kidding herself), and sometimes it's entirely clear why certain analyses are classics. Some aren't called classics but are clearly excellent work on the text.

    The students have also become a lot more adept at critiquing the weaknesses in a piece, however, and that's even better. They're able to spot flaws in logic or an interpretation that's simply a point-by-point application of Theory A to Text B, without much illumination of either.

    On a couple of occasions lately, they've also discovered errors in the article. By errors, I mean attributing whole long speeches on which the author's interpretation rests to an entirely different character in the primary work. Think something like this: "King Lear enters the stage carrying the dead body of his beloved daughter Goneril" or "'From hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee' cries Ishmael as he strikes at Moby-Dick." And this is in Prestigious Journal A and Prestigious Journal B.

    Okay, so Homer nods, and so do academics and their editors. It'd be nice if errors wouldn't happen, but they do, and so finding this stuff is good in two ways:

    It teaches students that they, too, are full participants in this process and that the Great Gods of Academe can have feet of clay without necessarily losing their crowns.

    And, in the immortal words of Joe E. Brown in Some Like it Hot, it shows them that "Nobody's perfect."

    technorati tag:

    Thursday, April 12, 2007

    Quick update

    Done with the short essay (3000 words), and a big thanks to Chaser for getting me moving.

    Friday, April 06, 2007

    Canonicity

    Yesterday I had a conversation with an advisee that went something like this (as run through the era/field anonymizer):

    Me: And in that course in the fall, we'll be studying Charles Dickens, William Makepeace Thackeray, and George Eliot, among others.

    Student: I'm not sure who they are, but I've read Lady Audley's Secret in another course; will we be studying Mary Elizabeth Braddon?

    Or, for Americanists:

    Me: We'll be reading Mark Twain, James Fenimore Cooper, and Nathaniel Hawthorne, among others.
    Student: I'm not sure who they are, but I've read Harriet Wilson and Dan DeQuille. Will we read them, too?

    Well, the answer would be "yes, we'll be reading them, too" in both scenarios, but it was interesting to see that authors whom scholars regularly designate as "little known" had been taught in classes (sometimes in two or three successive classes) while the "famous" and supposedly canonical authors didn't register a blip on the student's radar.

    I consider this progress. Yet I also want students to read it all--the supposedly great and (formerly?) famous as well as the recently rediscovered and newly canonized. But how can you do it all?

    Tuesday, April 03, 2007

    Visitors

    One way to know it's spring is that people from the visit office or grad office call and ask if a prospective (accepted) student can come to visit your class.

    I've always said yes, although to judge by the effusive thanks sent my way, this isn't a universal reaction on the part of colleagues. Having a visitor can be a little awkward, since the class dynamics are pretty well set by this point in the semester, but hey, I'm not empanelling a grand jury here; it's a public space, and we ought to open it up for something like this. Not everyone feels this way, though; I've known people who've refused to share a syllabus with someone in the department even when the class was a widely taught service class.

    So there's always a little drama: will the visitor make everyone shine, or will everyone clam up so that I'm doing my best Ben Stein impersonation? More to the point, will we scare off this person for good or make him or her decide that this is the place of his or her dreams?

    I don't know how the visitor felt about it, but the class was great: people making connections, sharing insights, pointing out things in the text and criticism--in other words, talking and learning in an exciting way. It was a good class. I wouldn't go so far as to say that the visitor sharpened us up, but maybe the change did us good. Oh, and if the visitor decides to attend? That's just gravy.

    technorati tag:

    Monday, April 02, 2007

    True confessions: Five books I haven't read

    After seeing Lennard Davis's article "Huckleberry Who?" at Paper Chaser, I decided that full disclosure was in order. Has this ever been a meme? It should be. I give you herewith five books I've never read:

    1. The Lord of the Rings. Comment: Yes, I failed to read this trilogy at a time when everyone was reading it. No, I haven't seen the movie(s), either.
    2. Doris Lessing, The Golden Notebook. Comment: I got so bored hearing people talk about this one that I never read it. Shorter Golden Notebook, based on interminable conversations in which people talked about it: Anna Wulf (or is it Martha Quest?) is oppressed by men and domesticity, finds self.
    3. Anything Harry Potter. I did see one of the movies, though.
    4. Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain
    5. Shakespeare's Cymbaline

    Davis says that Pierre Bayard "admits to giving lectures on books he hasn't bothered to read." How did he get away with that, and what's that magic pixie dust he used to do it?

    Service, service, service

    This isn't traditional service--no meetings are involved--but I've done nothing since Friday but knock down and cross off list items. Write letters. Spend too many hours doing a newsletter (a responsibility and a true time suck that I plan to hand off very soon to someone else). Respond to requests. Write reports. Respond to e-mails. Update information for class. Read submissions for awards and grants. Prepare for class, including a lot of reading since this is a new work.

    Profgrrrl has a post saying that she envies her students, who get to read interesting things while she writes reports, and Paper Chaser wants someone to race her to the finish line on a piece of writing for Friday so she'll get some writing done. I might take her up on that.

    Wednesday, March 28, 2007

    Missed connections

    A few years back, a reporter from the Chronicle contacted me about a story. Which story? you ask. Good question. I was away at the time, so I didn't get the message until a few days later. I left a couple of return messages, but the reporter never called back. I figured that whatever the story was, the reporter had gotten the information needed and didn't think I'd need to be called back. I'm still a little curious, though.

    Recently, the phone rang in my office. "Hello, I'm So and so from A Press. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"
    Me: "Sorry, I'm on my way to class right now. Can you call back at X?"

    Stupidly, I didn't write down the person's name or phone number, and I didn't get a call back. Here, for your viewing pleasure and in descending order of fabulousness/increasing likelihood of reason for the call, are my speculations about the call:
    a. "We've heard that you're working on a manuscript in X area and wonder if you'd be interested in sending it to us."
    b. "We'd like you to review a manuscript in X area" or "Here is a fabulous book [that scoops the project you're working on]; would you care to write a few words about it?"
    c. "We have a book proposal we'd like to get a preliminary opinion on. Can we send it to you?"
    d. "You did a textbook review of X book. Can we quote you in the materials?"
    e. "Your former student, Y, has applied to be a book rep with us and has given your name as a reference. Can we ask you a few questions about him?"
    f. "The credit card number you use to subscribe to our journal has expired. Can we get a new number from you?"

    I'm guessing F.

    [P. S. If it's F, of course I won't give out the number immediately but will call the press directly instead.]

    Saturday, March 24, 2007

    Dreaming Alice James

    I'd like to think that I'm not the only who who dreams about students and teaching. There are the usual panic dreams: I can't find the classroom where I'm supposed to teach, or all my books have somehow been locked in my junior high school locker, to which I've forgotten the combination. Or I'm supposed to give a lecture on the Merovingian kings or statistics or something else I know absolutely nothing about.

    This dream was different: I was trying to lead my students across campus to an event that I'd assured them would be fascinating. Somehow in the dream I didn't know what the event was until I got there, but it was a one-woman show based on the life of Alice James (as she appears in Jean Strouse's biography), illnesses, intelligence, James family hysteria, and all. Although this wouldn't have been their first or even their forty-seventh choice of a fascinating extracurricular activity for class, they were interested enough because of reading Henry James to stay through the whole show.

    Does anyone else have teaching dreams?

    Friday, March 23, 2007

    A new place to write?

    Unless it's a teaching or meeting day, I usually work at home. When I read profgrrrl and other bloggers talking about all the work they get done at the local coffee shop (indy or Starbucks), though, I start thinking, "Yeah, that's the way to go! I ought to go to Starbucks, too." Then I remember three things:

    (1) I don't drink coffee.
    (2) I don't like pastries.
    (3) Even if I liked both, part of the point of getting out of the house when writing is to avoid the occasion of sinfood. It's the "hmm--I'm stuck on a paragraph; let's see what's in the fridge" syndrome, the one that says there are no calories in food eaten while procrastinating.

    So the coffee shop just doesn't feel comfortable to me. Libraries, however, are a different matter; whatever they pump into the atmosphere in those places makes me stop the nonsense and get to work. At Former U, I used to work in the library all the time, but at Present U, I'm too far away to make library work feasible when there's no actual need to be there.

    But Local Regional U has a spanking new library, all light wood and tall windows and big tables to spread out work. It has peace and quiet and wireless. After working down there for a few hours today, I couldn't tell if they were putting the magic writing discipline atmosphere in the ventilation system, but I'm sure going to give it a try.

    Wednesday, March 21, 2007

    Research love, good and bad

    As I once again spend the day reading background materials for what's actually a fairly small piece of writing, I'm trying to remind myself that research love comes in two flavors: bad and good.

    What I mean by "research love" is the stage of a project in which you're really interested in it to the exclusion of other things: you read about it, think about it, even dream about it, and that's all you want to do.

    Yes, I taught my classes this week (and will teach some more before the week is through), but all I really wanted to do was to talk about the work that's put me into this state. I wanted to read about this even between classes yesterday, which I didn't do, because part of getting ready for a class for me involves reviewing and writing notes and rereading the works I'm teaching as close to class time as possible, so that I'm in that particular zone for the class.

    Is there a bad side to this? Yes. It involves a disease that should be called dissertatio procrastinatis or some such thing, because dissertation writers get it, too--that feeling that once that obscure ILL book you ordered came in, you'll get right on to the writing, but until then, any writing would be premature.

    And it would, in a way, because it would bring the research love phase to a close and subject it to the hard rocky path of reality that's called "writing." I'm hoping that, as I start writing this piece, the research love phase will energize the rest of the process.

    Monday, March 19, 2007

    Message lost in cyberspace?

    This is mostly a PSA post repeating something that this blog and others have mentioned:
    if you're expecting some piece of work from people (i.e., you're organizing a panel, editing a book collection, sending out manuscripts for review, and so on), please send a quick message to acknowledge its receipt. You don't have to write anything fancy--"thanks" will do--but write something.

    So far, in the past few weeks, I've had nothing but complete silence after sending the following: repeated messages to a possible panelist for a panel I'm organizing, a manuscript review, a message to a student who hasn't shown up to class in a month advising her to drop, and a proposal for a conference panel. I usually send a copy to myself at a different address the same time just to be sure that the messages all got sent, and they did.

    After two messages, of course, sometimes people will respond by saying, "Yes, I got your message and the earlier one, too." Then why on earth didn't you respond the first time?

    Why don't people respond? My current theories run from the sane (they didn't get the messages) to the considerably less than sane (they gave up e-mail for Lent? they're conducting an elaborate psychological experiment in which I'm an unwilling, non-IRB-approved participant?).

    Maybe they enjoy all the attention I lavish on them with repeated messages. Maybe they're suckers for those obnoxious little red exclamation points that flag "important" messages and are waiting for me to use them. Or maybe they think I'm not really serious because I don't use the delivery confirmation feature.

    Whatever the reason, unless the e-mail's from the long-lost son of a Nigerian dictator who's just waiting to wire you millions once you give him access to your bank account, it's polite to answer the e-mail.

    Saturday, March 17, 2007

    How to tell that spring break is almost over

    If, for the past few days, you've gotten through some of your list . . .
    And you've become so involved in and excited about your work that you lose track of time when reading . . .
    And you wake up bursting with ideas that you want to write about . . .

    Yup. It's just about time to grade some papers and start reading materials for class.

    Wednesday, March 14, 2007

    Cliche watch (again)

    I've already written about how cliches like "we take this very seriously" don't mean much except in the bizarro world sense of meaning the opposite of what they say.

    Now two of my other favorite political cliches are in the news.

    One is the profession that one is doing something "in good faith," which if you look at the outcomes associated with such words is almost never the case.

    Example from the New York Times:
    Mr. Sampson’s e-mail message, sent to the White House and Justice Department colleagues, suggested he was hoping to stall efforts by the state’s two Democratic senators to pick their own candidates as permanent successors for Mr. Cummins.

    “I think we should gum this to death,” Mr. Sampson wrote. “Ask the senators to give Tim a chance, meet with him, give him some time in office to see how he performs, etc. If they ultimately say ‘no never’ (and the longer we can forestall that the better), then we can tell them we’ll look for other candidates, ask them for recommendations, interview their candidates, and otherwise run out the clock. All this should be done in ‘good faith’ of course.”


    That set of quotation marks says it all about the level of cynicism with which this phrase is too often employed.

    The other is the perennial favorite of passive voice construction "mistakes were made." Again from the New York Times:


    Attorney General Alberto R. Gonzales fell back on a classic Washington linguistic construct on Tuesday when he acknowledged that “mistakes were made” in the dismissals of eight federal prosecutors last year.

    The phrase sounds like a confession of error or even contrition, but in fact, it is not quite either one. The speaker is not accepting personal responsibility or pointing the finger at anyone else. It is a construction that other officials, from Richard M. Nixon’s press secretary to Ronald Reagan to John H. Sununu and Bill Clinton, have used when someone’s hand was caught in the federal cookie jar.

    It is similar to a form of apology often heard here and in Hollywood, perhaps most memorably by Justin Timberlake’s press agent after the 2004 Super Bowl halftime incident involving Janet Jackson. “I am sorry if anyone was offended by the wardrobe malfunction during the halftime performance,” the agent said.

    In 1991, Mr. Sununu, then the chief of staff to President George Bush, was caught violating various White House travel rules. He retreated behind the language of obfuscation. “Clearly, no one regrets more than I do the appearance of impropriety,” he said. “Obviously, some mistakes were made.”


    I teach this when I teach passive voice, not merely as an example of the construction but as an example of how language can be used in powerfully corrupt ways, and by powerful people, to distort and destroy meaning.

    Examples like this can show students that we're not just saying that language matters because we're English teachers with a vested interest in abstruse subjects like voice and mode.

    We're saying it because we understand that language is power, and the sooner students understand that, the better.

    Tuesday, March 13, 2007

    Not productive but sort of fun

    Have you ever had this happen to you? You're reading along in a classic novel (one you've read before). You're sitting in a chair in the living room instead of at your desk because this is your idea of a festive and exciting thing to do during spring break. (Talk about the boring lives of academics!)

    All of a sudden you drift into sleep, or a sort of semi-consciousness, in which you're dreaming an alternate plot to the novel--same characters and everything--and the plot makes sense. After about 15 minutes you realize that you're sleeping and start reading again. You're confused because the plot you dreamed is still vivid, and you feel as though you've momentarily lost your place.

    Not that this has happened to me, of course ;-).

    Monday, March 12, 2007

    Does any of this count?

    As I sat down to work today, I was reminded of the recent conversation between Horace and Tenured Radical about what things count in terms of academic service, citizenship, or what have you. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my day:

    Work-related stuff
  • Wrote recommendation letter for student who graduated several years ago.
  • Finished and sent report on a short book proposal.
  • Read and return proofs for a short article.
  • Wrote e-mail responses to various people I've never met, answering questions about an author, about copyright, and about other issues. Most of these were of the "here's where you could find the answer to that" kind of replies. In my more self-deluding moments I see this as service to the community at large.
  • Wrote a gentle response to a grad student (not one of mine) who couldn't figure out where to find a book. I looked it up, pasted in the information, and then suggested that WorldCat could work the same magic for her. (Okay, I didn't use that level of snark in the message.)
  • Made plane and hotel reservations for upcoming conferences. This always takes about twice as long as I think it will.
  • Called about a journal subscription.

    Home stuff
  • Shredded and shredded and shredded the usual junk mail and credit card offers, since we're assured that meth addicts are ready to steal our identities if we don't do this. I don't know how so much of this gets sent, since I've opted out of all the mailing lists I could.
  • Wrote out bills, made online payments, etc.
  • Walked to the Literary Post Office to mail the bills. This is what passed for exercise today, since I ran as well as walked.



  • None of the home stuff counts, of course, but that's why I included it: none of the work stuff really counts, either. And yet neither space could continue to function if the tasks on this list and others like it didn't get done.

    Saturday, March 10, 2007

    Conversations with colleagues on research practices, (or advice to the gradlorn, part 2)

    Among the most compelling kinds of blogposts I read are those in which people talk about their research and their research methods; those are like chocolate to me, and there is no higher praise. A lot of bloggers have written about their research practices, including good recent posts by Dr. Crazy, Tenured Radical, Flavia, Dr. Virago, Mel, and Professor Zero.

    My IRL colleagues talked about similar methods when we talked a couple of weeks ago.

  • Both mentioned that they used freewriting and other methods to get started and that ideas had to be worked out over weeks, not written up in a mad dash a la the old days in grad school. (This is the "advice to the gradlorn" part of the post.)
  • One said that she often would write actual proposals based on various ideas she has, even if she hasn't seen a call for papers for that topic; in that way, she's ready if a call does come up. I'd never thought of doing this before, since usually the CFP and its promise (threat?) of a deadline spurs me to action rather than the other way around.
  • One also mentioned having some special program that allowed her to search her hard drive for materials related to her project. I mentioned using Google Desktop for a similar purpose, but it may be that her program is more specialized. I'm all about the free when it comes to software, so I probably will never know whether the special program does a better job.
  • We all agreed that reading and taking notes at the same time was disruptive; you read differently if you're stopping to write every few minutes. Of course, we were talking about reading primary texts; it's different, I think, if you're reading secondary sources.

    A few of my own methods:

  • The Post-It note is my best friend; I should have bought stock in 3M years ago just based on my own use of it to mark passages that later get transcribed into a file for use. Sometimes, if I'm in the midst of writing, the passages just get used even without being transcribed. Usually, though, I try to prepare a file of notes as well as quotations as part of the preparation; if I'm working with a short story collection, I write summaries, too. I always think I'll remember the stories, character names, and so on, but if I get pulled away for a several months because of department business, teaching, or other projects, I'm always glad that I took the time to note the particulars.

  • Dr. Virago mentioned putting questions into her research preparation files, and I do that as well. ("Preparation file" is my term for it; what do you call those things that aren't yet a draft but are more than notes?) The preparation file usually looks like a mess, with some paragraphs that are more formal in tone, some running dialogues in which I argue with myself about the validity/relevance/originality/logical inferences of points that I'm writing about, and notes about "didn't so and so say this in X?"

    About a research journal: I recently began to keep a record of words written for various kinds of tasks, including letters of recommendation, department service obligations, manuscript reviews, work on the main project, and so on. The idea behind this was to keep track of how much writing I'm doing is necessary but isn't going to keep my own work moving forward. It's been useful, but it's not a research journal.

    I'm working my way into keeping one, though, and am looking for advice, so if you keep one:

    Are these kept in a notebook or on a computer?
    Do you write in it every day, and if so, do you make yourself write a set amount?
    Do you go back to these and mine them for ideas, or does the mere fact of writing down the information help to spur on your writing?
    Do you keep your research notes in these, too, or do you just write about the writing process itself? Or do you write about the ideas?

    Thanks for any ideas.


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    Wednesday, March 07, 2007

    In which I am a comedian

    Snippet from class:

    Me: "So what else do we know about this character? That she's an herbalist?"

    Back row dies laughing. "Herbalist!"

    Me, slow on the uptake, a few seconds later: "Of legal herbs--you know, healing herbs."

    Monday, March 05, 2007

    Conversations with colleagues, or advice to the gradlorn

    Dr. Crazy and Dr. Virago recently had good posts about their research and writing practices--talking about book contracts, research journals, and the like. I recently met informally (i.e., pleasantly, as in not in a committee meeting) with some colleagues, and we got to talking about this, among other things. Here are a few points distilled from our conversation.

  • First of all, we all agreed that you have to work pretty darned hard, especially before you have tenure. This isn't exactly a newsflash, but one of the things that came out of the conversation is that we all do this because we really love it. Okay, maybe that's also not a newsflash, but the "advice to the gradlorn" point is this: if you can't envision working on your research as a pleasure as well as a duty, you should rethink what you're doing and maybe get into another field.

    This isn't meant to be harsh; it's just that, like acting, getting a Ph.D. and a tenure-track job is about like landing a good part in a Broadway play, except with less fame and less money. (This, BTW, is why I found watching A Chorus Line when I was an adjunct so depressing that I vowed never to see it again.) The odds may be a little better, but as the MLA Newsletter recently reported "PhDs in the fields represented by the MLA appear to have about a 35% chance of getting tenure" (27)--if you get hired in the first place. My point isn't simply to repeat these dismal statistics; it's to repeat what another colleague said when she'd considered acting as a profession: her professor told them that if they could envision themselves doing something else, anything else, that they ought to get out while they could.

  • This first piece of advice led to the second one: you'll have to work hard after you graduate, too, so get over it. This issue of work came up because we had all talked to seniors (and even some people in grad school) who seem to have bought into the idea that being a college professor is like being a high school teacher, except with fewer hours in the classroom so you can kick back and mow your lawn on a Wednesday afternoon. We've all tried to disabuse students of this notion, but a few of them seem to cling to it.
  • I guess the third piece of advice we came up with is that if you do get a job or want to get through, you have to learn to "suck it up." That doesn't mean that you have to put up with harassment or discrimination, but if you're annoyed because someone doesn't do your copying fast enough or give you a classroom with windows or whatever, there's no point in whining about it (except on blogs, of course, the proper forum for all manner of complaints). This goes double if you're on the first year of a tenure-track appointment: there's no way you won't feel overworked and underappreciated, and yes, you'll be tired, but it does get easier over time. I once saw a grad student having a complete melt-down hissy fit about copying during which she screamed (yes, screamed) at the entire office staff for not having her stuff done on time. I'm guessing that, professional as they are, they never went out of their way to help her again, and I wouldn't blame them if they didn't.

    I didn't get to the research advice at all--next post, maybe.

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  • Thursday, March 01, 2007

    Catching up

    I'll write a real post soon, but for now--

  • A couple of writing days that were textbook examples of bad practices: Write a paragraph. Decide it doesn't make sense, that the elements don't fit. Decide to check e-mail. Go back to paragraph. Delete most of it. Pick up a book. Read. Write some more. Repeat.

  • A class in which one of the groups of students did an outstanding job of talking about the story they'd chosen to discuss, so much so that they made me think about the story in new ways even though I'd taught it before. This is why we teach.

  • Figuring out how to transfer music and audiobooks from the iPod to a computer whose hard drive had been wiped out. I tried iDump and EphPod, but both kept crashing; what worked was (1) deleting iTunes; (2) plugging in the iPod so that the computer could see it as a plain hard drive; (3) copying the iPod folders to the Music folder; and (4) importing the Music folder into the iPod.

  • Having lunch out with some colleagues since a visitor was in town. Why don't academics do this more often? Everyone I know (myself included) eats hunched over a desk, wolfing down a sandwich or salad in the five minutes before office hours start. Well, almost everyone: some people are ambitious enough to bring leftovers from last night's veggi tofu lentil bake or whatever and microwave them, but that takes a lot of forethought.
  • Friday, February 23, 2007

    OT: Prius cult

    Late this afternoon, as I was on the treadmill, the ABC news came on and trumpeted a vital piece of information. No, it wasn't that cars don't get the MPG listed on the sticker or even that the Prius doesn't get the 60/51 that it's supposed to get.

    Here's the money quote, from a Toyota dealer interviewed in the piece.

    Q. "Do you think that people will stop buying the Prius now that the mileage figure has been revised?"

    A. "No, it won't stop them; they'll still buy them. Those people are a cult."

    Why does this give me the mental image of all of us cult members in our Priuses (Prii?) converging on a village square a la Invasion of the Body Snatchers, dragging our trailers full of compact fluorescent bulbs behind us?

    Sunday, February 18, 2007

    You can lead a horse to water . . .

    Recently, I was in a meeting with a colleague when he commented that a grad student "must have gotten bad advice from her advisor"; the context was something to do with a particular theory that a student did or didn't use.

    Maybe yes, and maybe no. As profgrrrl and others have commented from time to time, sometimes we're giving advice and they're not taking it. Sometimes the smaller stuff is easier than the large stuff: we can suggest that if they want to submit something to Journal A and Journal A wants Chicago style, they'll have a better chance if the manuscript is in Chicago style. That kind of thing is a no-brainer. The same holds true if it's a really big question--of ethics, say, or of a university deadline.

    It's the mid-level stuff that's the problem. Students aren't Play-Doh, after all. We can advise getting in touch with X person or including Y person on a committee, but ultimately we only have two kinds of power: moral suasion and the veto power enforced by quitting a committee. Since no one wants to do the latter except in the most extreme circumstances, we're left with persuading students that what we're advising really is in their best interests. Sometimes they don't believe us and go their own way. Sometimes they're right to do so.

    Sometimes, though, they're wrong, and their project will leave people scratching their heads about the "bad advice" they got from their advisors.


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    Thursday, February 15, 2007

    The Enormous Radio

    I've been thinking about John Cheever's story "The Enormous Radio" lately because of experiences that remind me of it. The story is a nice little parable about a couple living in an apartment building who one day discover that their new radio can pick up the sounds of their neighbors all over the building. They gradually get more and more hooked on listening to their neighbors' lives, even as this knowledge starts to undermine their faith in human nature and in each other. Cheever couldn't have dreamed how much of this would come to pass in living color what with reality tv and celebrity culture flooding the airwaves.

    I once had an office across the hall from someone who kept his phone and answering machine on speakerphone, which meant that unless I leapt up and shut my door every time I heard his phone ring, I had to listen to every detail of his conversations, from what he was picking up for dinner to symptoms described to his doctor.

    The part that's currently intriguing, though, is some kind of technological glitch that makes other people's car radios intrude when I'm driving. I'm not talking about the turn-it-up-to-11 booming bass patterns that some drivers like to share with the rest of us, so that we can better experience the feeling of having our ribs shake with the sound. I listen to the iPod in the car through one of those adapters that plugs into the car's electrical system, which somehow transmits the sound to the radio. But when certain cars or trucks pass, they override the signal from the iPod temporarily. I don't know how this works (Bluetooth? two-way radio?), but the end result is getting several seconds of sound from the other car. The result is that I get to hear--and speculate about who's playing--everything from Christian rock to oldies to hip hop and to try to figure out which of the cars in the line of traffic is transmitting it.

    So--a glimpse into others' lives, but not one that I seek or can control. It keeps things interesting.

    Tuesday, February 13, 2007

    Snapshots

  • Most absorbing pastime of the last few days: trying to make the hypothetical fax modem in my computer act like a fax machine. Most frustrating pastime: failing to make it work.
  • Most common pastime of the past few days. Driving in fog. Driving in fog. Driving in rain. Driving in fog at night. Driving in rain and fog at night. Being grateful that I don't live in a place that can get 10' of snow but gets fog and rain instead.
  • Other pastimes: Writing award recommendation letters for students. Preparing and teaching class. Reading. Meeting with grad students.
  • Least common (but pleasant) activities: Walking in the fog (I like the cool mist). Seeing the sun (10 whole minutes the other day!).
  • Books on the iPod: Simon Schama's Rough Crossings; Gore Vidal's Point to Point Navigation; Simon Winchester's A Crack in the Edge of the World. If you listen to the last one, be forewarned: you'll be 3 hours into it before you get beyond the Paleolithic era.

    [Updated to add]
    Professor Zero says in the comments that the fax modems in computers never work, and I think that's true. This one is a true diva: it declines to send faxes but is eager to answer my phone and greet callers with a piercing fax whistle. I finally unplugged it.
  • Saturday, February 10, 2007

    TGIF

    It's been a long week, and, Friday being the traditional night to cut loose and enjoy yourself, I didn't hold back, as you'll see from the following wild activities.

  • I spent some time playing the piano (at which I am completely terrible. I read music by spelling it out, like a 5-year-old reads words, although I can hear a melody once and at least pick it out on the keyboard).
  • I watched a movie I'd seen before and fast-forwarded through the dull parts to my favorite parts instead of dutifully watching the whole thing.
  • We got Chinese takeout food from the good Chinese restaurant rather than the one that's closer to us. For some reason, getting takeout food or going out to eat gives me all kinds of energy to work in the evening, whereas if I cook (even similar dishes), I'm ready to call it quits pretty early. This is a sign that I should get to eat out all the time, don't you think?
  • Sunday, February 04, 2007

    Note to ProQuest: You missed one

    We now have access to Proquest Historical Newspapers (well, the NY Times), and I am deeply thankful. I've spent some time just running searches to see what a thing of beauty it is.

    However, it doesn't have everything. I had used the old paper versions of the Reader's Guide and Book Review Digest to locate a review of a book by Obscure Author a few months back and, having found one in the New York Times, looked it up on microfilm. It's not available in the Historical Newspapers collection, though.

    The Historical Newspapers project is a real godsend, and I'm grateful for it. The work is done in India, to ensure accuracy (as I read in Business Week* at the gym this morning), and it's clearly a huge undertaking. I guess my point is really a plea to librarians: electronic resources aren't perfect, so please keep paper resources whenever possible so that we can cross-check them with the electronic ones.

    *Our gym has the dullest magazines on the planet--this was the most interesting one I could find, which tells you something.

    Saturday, February 03, 2007

    No job candidates today! No driving today!

    This week has been all about the job candidates, and our department is not done yet. As a member of the search committee, I've had to be there every day (which means I've put in more hours driving this week than I would in a part-time job), but it's been interesting listening to the candidates talk both in our smaller meetings and in their job talks. Some observations:

  • Since the entire reason we're hiring someone new is that we don't have someone who's exactly in the subspecialty for which we've advertised, it's exciting to hear someone talk about research in fields and eras that would bring a lot to the program. It's exciting to hear people talk about their research intelligently.

  • The turnout was excellent for both candidates and included people from other (related) departments as well. That's important, since (I hope) it showed the candidates that we're interested in them as well as vice versa. It is a courtship dance on both sides, after all, and I'm assuming that as in other searches, the candidates will have other offers.

  • The semi-formal events (lunches, cocktail parties, dinners) are fun but a little tricky. Talking too informally about family life can veer dangerously into prohibited EEOC waters, but at the same time, you don't want the dinner to be just another Q & A about research interests, which the poor candidate has by then been talking about all day. The events I attended struck a pretty good balance, although I did change the subject when someone wanted to go into enthusiastic detail about the many turbulent and terrifying flights she'd had when leaving from our airport--the one from which the candidate was scheduled to depart the next day. [A digression: What's up with people who do that, anyway? There is no circumstance, none, under which I want to hear about a bad flight, especially when I'm on a flight that isn't, shall we say, glassy smooth, and yet people in the seat behind me always feel compelled to tell horror stories to each other in a loud voice.]

  • About the talks themselves: Dr Crazy has a good post about this, so I'll only add the following:
  • Don't worry if you're a little nervous; we expect and allow for that.
  • Dr. Crazy says to be sure that you identify some of your more obscure references, and that's good advice--sometimes. But if you identify someone that people ought to know, you can come across as condescending. Saying "Abraham Lincoln, who was the sixteenth president of the United States," for example, or "Shakespeare, who was quite a well-known playwright in his day" (I'm making this up) is a bit much. I'd rather look up a reference later than hear this kind of statement; it's insulting. We have advanced degrees, too, so trust me: we'll keep up.
  • The "look up the department members to show interest" as part of doing your homework on the department can be a double-edged sword. Some candidates do it, and some don't; some of my colleagues are flattered by it, but I had one person a year or so ago say that she found it creepy. The majority wouldn't agree, probably (I don't find it creepy), but I thought I'd pass that along.
  • Thursday, February 01, 2007

    Inventions I want to see

    Driving home tonight, I listened to NPR and heard that someone has invented astroturf with fiber optic strands embedded so that now commercials can actually be shown on the field during breaks in football games.

    I don't watch football, so I don't know how necessary a technology this is (I'm guessing "not at all" would be the category), but here are some inventions that need to be looked into by those who do such things. (Yes, I'm mostly kidding, but wouldn't some of these be useful?)

  • In addition to searching the catalogue for books, a lot of people like to browse through the stacks looking for books in their field. Since I don't always catch them when they're on the New Books bookshelf, I browse for new books in my field when I'm up in the stacks, but that involves a lot of close looking at the labels.

    Wouldn't it be great if someone invented some kind of label highlighter or ink that would change color with the year? For example, new books each year would have the year on the Library of Congress code highlighted in, say, green, which would degrade slowly over the year to a different color--maybe yellow--and then on to brown, until after the 3rd year they'd just be regular white labels. There wouldn't be a new color for each year; they'd just have to invent one kind of ink that would do this and use it to highlight the year on the label (or maybe the entire label).

  • I also would like some kind of RFID technology that would allow you to wave your library card/university ID at a sensor and just pass through the gate with your backpack or bag of books, so you wouldn't have to unpack the entire load of books from your bag to check them out and then pack them up again.

  • If you drive regularly on two-lane roads that curve up and down hills, as I do, you know that sometimes it's impossible to tell right away whether an oncoming car is passing the car in front of it or whether the curve of the road just makes it appear that way. If roads had sensors that would make a car's lights blink when that center line was crossed (something that'll never happen), it'd be easier to tell whether you needed to dive for the shoulder or not.

    Of course there are fantasy inventions--the keys that shout "I'm right here, stupid!" when I'm looking for them, or the illuminated signs for cars that would say "Back off, fool! Tailgating won't make me go any faster, not in this fog"--but they're pretty ridiculous. I really would like to see the label thing, though.

    What inventions would you like to see?
  • Tuesday, January 30, 2007

    From the Chronicle: An "expert in pedagogy" talks about blogs

    From the CHE: an "expert in pedagogy"* talking about blogs:

    I began to feel overloaded, too. Don't get me wrong. I love blogs. I have my RSS feeds set to a number of blogs that help me stay current on personal and professional interests. But the key difference is that I am not forced to read any of those blogs. None of them were created because of someone else's course requirement.

    Frankly, the blog postings I required my students to write were just not very interesting. Those students are bright, insightful, frequently opinionated, and, as a whole, a pleasure to be around. Their blogs were not.

    When I included a requirement that all students integrate at least three forms of multimedia in their blogs by the end of the semester, I envisioned creations like podcasts and Gliffy concept maps.



    She goes on to add that (as everyone knows) blogs aren't inherently an interactive form for classes in the way that discussion boards might be and that the best blogs are written by people who are passionate about their subject matter.

    This makes me wonder if the problem was that the focus was on the extras--the glitzy multimedia stuff--instead of on the subject matter. Of course, if this was an educational technology course, maybe writing about the media they were using was the point. Making Gliffy concept maps (whatever they are) is doubtless just as valid for education as writing essays would be in a humanities discipline.

    Still, requiring that students use a technological tool when there's no compelling reason to do so except that the teacher wants you to (and we've all probably made this mistake at one point or another) could cause problems. The real trick is to make students so passionate about communicating something that can best be communicated through one of the technologies you've shown them to use (essay writing, blogs, multimedia, web pages, or whatever) that they're driven to learn it as a means rather than as an end.

    *She really is; this is a quotation from the article. She has some good ideas.
    ************

    FWIW, I do like to read my students' blogs. They have a definite subject matter, and the students often talk about it in interesting, smart, or funny ways. Yes, sometimes their inspiration flags--whose doesn't?--and they write a duty post or three, but not usually.

    I also never expected class blogs to foster community in the same ways that discussion lists have done in my classes in the past. Although I've seen some self-important pronouncements posing as research about what is and is not a blog ("It must have a community/links/specific topics/other" or "That's not a blog; that's an online diary/journal/story forum"), the truth is that in my class, it's a blog if I say it's a blog, and it's a blog for me if it's serving the purposes of the class, regardless of what criteria it meets for others.

    Part technology and part genre--is it a genre expressed through technology?--blogs resist such false dichotomies and attempts at containment. That's what makes them so messy and so interesting.

    Monday, January 29, 2007

    Some days, only chocolate-covered almonds will do

    What kinds of days make you stop at the store for chocolate-covered almonds when you haven't had any candy in the house since Christmas?

    1. Not the kind of day I had this weekend, where I finally responded to people who'd wanted copies of various conference papers and sent them.
    2. Nor the happy parts of the day when a student from a class I taught a few years ago stops by, all dressed up in a suit, just to say hello and tell me how well he's doing now.
    3. Nor even hearing some of the job candidates that the search committee worked so hard to choose, to interview at MLA, and to bring to campus; that's a nice part of the day, too.

    No. You go out of your way to buy chocolate almonds

    1. When you take a full slate of work into the office with you on a day you don't teach and instead spend it going over grad applications (and aren't done yet). I'm not complaining--it's important work--but if you're applying for a grad program, just know that your application has been thoroughly and carefully read.
    2. When your work computer decides that it's done with this whole internet thing and refuses to connect at all, and you and the tech guy spend a couple of hours figuring out what could have gone wrong.

    I know that all the cheery exercise and health magazines have a different cure for this ("Eat an apple!" "Take a brisk walk!"), but the almonds worked just fine. Now it's time to get to work.