I've been thinking about a contrasting example to the student who sparked the last post. This one is a student with a troubled history, on probation. Bad family situation, and no money. He was struggling, and told me he couldn't afford the books. Now, I put everything on reserve, but students don't like to go the library. They like e-reserves. I do provide some materials that way, but that isn't possible for all the reading.
At about the midpoint of the semester, I told him he would fail the class if he continued with the same behavior; I said he could get a D or C at most if he stepped up immediately. When addressing the entire class, I said that one of my frustrations is that students aren't resourceful. For instance, one of the books that is assigned is an edited collection of journal articles - the vast majority of the journals are available in online format from the university library. Do students who don't buy the books ever search the library catalogue and get the articles that way? No. They either whine to me, or try to play the games of multiple guess and forum of ignorance.
You know what? He took it to heart and made extreme effort for the second half of the semester. He took my advice about being resourceful; searched the library for the articles and used them. His writing and class participation were good, very insightful. The end result? A B- in my class, and he emailed me not to ask why he didn't get a higher grade...but to tell me that his GPA wound up being OK this semester and he wasn't kicked out. Also he said that he knows he has to try harder next year. So he'll be able to be at college for his senior year! This made me very happy. I wouldn't mind having him in class next semester; it was well worth my time to work with him.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
"Why" number four arrived. From an "E" this time. My response probably would have made me upset, if I received it from a professor when I was a student. But I've never been a slacker who feels entitled and demands explanation and a grade change. Have I ever been a slacker? Well, yes, on occasion. Have I felt entitled? Probably, but very rarely. Both things together? Never. Did I ever demand explanation? Once, in seventh grade (mentioned near the top of this post, in the Unintended Lesson Imparted section). How about a grade change? Perish the thought! I took my lumps, sometimes undeserved ones, such as that time in seventh grade. Also in grad school when I dissented from the company line philosophically and got zinged (but only by having my A lowered to A-, never something catastrophic).
When I asked that seventh grade teacher "why," it wasn't about the 50. It was about the end of semester grade, which I believe was in the C+ range. It surprises me to think back on it now, that I had the courage to ask her, but I recall that my parents encouraged me to do so, since I was upset by the grade. I asked her if I got C+ because of the 50. (It didn't count enough to bring it down that much.) She said no, it was because I was too quiet. She was right about that. I was quiet in class in junior high school. I'd been acculturated to be that way, had been rewarded for such behavior. Teachers generally preferred silent adolescents. I doubt that was the real reason she penalized me. It was the last time I ever questioned a grade.
I'm remembering another of my teachers from the Seven Teachers story encouraged me to ask "why" when I got an 80 in pottery in high school. I describe her in the Exceptional English Teacher section. She required a journal for class and I wrote in it how upset I was over the grade. So she commented nearby, telling me to ask the teacher why? (Believe it or not, I still have my journals from her classes and that's why I know it was underlined.) I never asked, though.
A couple of days ago, my sister emailed me this picture:
Conformity in this case didn't mean being a nerd, or even an artist. About half the class time was spent with kids throwing clay at the clock, sneaking out of the classroom (one of the art rooms had a door to the outside, bad idea) and other foolishness. At the end of each quarter, we had to have 10 projects done. There was a day when we put them out on display, and the teacher walked around evaluating them. My brother was also in the class, and he was many projects behind, so a couple of days before, he took a ball of clay, punched it, fired it, called it an ashtray. He made several projects using that same method. I'm not sure what his grade was, but I do remember it was higher than an 80. Other kids made elaborate bongs and pot pipes. They got a lot of praise, and probably a 95. Remember it was the '70s and my school was near Woodstock.
I liked pottery and didn't let this school experience dissuade me. Our town library had a kiln and a wonderful librarian who fired it for us. We gathered as a group of all different ages. Some made pottery, others ceramics. It was a much more nurturing environment than school. It's true that the vase isn't exactly a museum piece, but my sister has been using it for 35 years!
When I asked that seventh grade teacher "why," it wasn't about the 50. It was about the end of semester grade, which I believe was in the C+ range. It surprises me to think back on it now, that I had the courage to ask her, but I recall that my parents encouraged me to do so, since I was upset by the grade. I asked her if I got C+ because of the 50. (It didn't count enough to bring it down that much.) She said no, it was because I was too quiet. She was right about that. I was quiet in class in junior high school. I'd been acculturated to be that way, had been rewarded for such behavior. Teachers generally preferred silent adolescents. I doubt that was the real reason she penalized me. It was the last time I ever questioned a grade.
I'm remembering another of my teachers from the Seven Teachers story encouraged me to ask "why" when I got an 80 in pottery in high school. I describe her in the Exceptional English Teacher section. She required a journal for class and I wrote in it how upset I was over the grade. So she commented nearby, telling me to ask the teacher why? (Believe it or not, I still have my journals from her classes and that's why I know it was underlined.) I never asked, though.
A couple of days ago, my sister emailed me this picture:
She asked me if I had made it for her when I was in high school. I responded, yes, but not in school, at our town's library in West Shokan. I did take pottery in high school, but the teacher wouldn't let me make something like this. She felt my stuff was too utilitarian, symmetrical and boring and she didn't like us using colorful glazes; she made us use dull '70s earth colors. Admittedly, I'm no sculptor (nor do I have my sister's level of artistic talent) but I wasn't completely incompetent and I still wonder why so much of high school is about extinguishing nonconformity.
Conformity in this case didn't mean being a nerd, or even an artist. About half the class time was spent with kids throwing clay at the clock, sneaking out of the classroom (one of the art rooms had a door to the outside, bad idea) and other foolishness. At the end of each quarter, we had to have 10 projects done. There was a day when we put them out on display, and the teacher walked around evaluating them. My brother was also in the class, and he was many projects behind, so a couple of days before, he took a ball of clay, punched it, fired it, called it an ashtray. He made several projects using that same method. I'm not sure what his grade was, but I do remember it was higher than an 80. Other kids made elaborate bongs and pot pipes. They got a lot of praise, and probably a 95. Remember it was the '70s and my school was near Woodstock.
I liked pottery and didn't let this school experience dissuade me. Our town library had a kiln and a wonderful librarian who fired it for us. We gathered as a group of all different ages. Some made pottery, others ceramics. It was a much more nurturing environment than school. It's true that the vase isn't exactly a museum piece, but my sister has been using it for 35 years!
Today makes three emails asking "why" - this time, about a B. Why do students think B is a bad grade? It makes me suspect grade inflation is true. Sure, I too was a "grade monger" - I wanted As - but I never complained to a professor. Different times or insufficient assertiveness? Fear/doormat syndrome or respect/the way things used to be?
This is disturbing. Could it be a strategy to assemble a list of suspects? Maybe I have watched too many Criminal Minds. I confess to being interested in true crime stories, but I cannot fathom what sort of person would want to collect his stuff.
Reading this column on Wednesday mornings is one thing I miss in my new paper-free life. This comic strip is another. (Both are in The Record.) I've subscribed to the syndicated comics I liked in both the TU and Record (a couple had been yanked already in one of the many redesigns that were purportedly making the papers better but really were just stripping out content and replacing it with crap). I've also subscribed to Dear Abby and Annie's Mailbox and find the emails satisfactory. Other stuff gets missed even though I check the websites (because the reading pattern is different in print v. online) but overall, I don't miss the papers as much as I expected. I will have to buy it for a while when I need to mulch my garden though! For that, it is invaluable.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Testing out the "share" button on my sister's blog: Paintings by Janette Kahil. It works!
Also - decided to change the background of the template.
Also - decided to change the background of the template.
Surprisingly, I received only one** email immediately after grades became accessible, demanding to know "why" (about a C+). Since it is raining, meaning no gardening or yardwork of any kind :-( [the grass is going to be up to my knees, and my weed whacker will be too wimpy to handle it], I decided to get the grade breakdowns out of the way.
I can see that the end of the academic year, the more leisurely summer pace, over a decade of college teaching, and turning 50 on the horizon are conspiring to make me reflective. So here's a scattered group of things that were brewing in the back of my mind while I was up to my eyeballs in assessment.
Students with special needs: According to the U.S. Department of Education, from 1977 to 2002, the number of children served under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act rose by over 2.7 million, a 73 percent increase. In 2002, 2.8 million students were classified with specific learning disabilities, 3.6 times the 796,000 students identified in 1977. In 1977, learning disabled students made up fewer than one-quarter (22 percent) of all those with disabilities, compared to almost half (44 percent) in 2002. Autism increased 96 percent in those same 25 years.
Considering these data*, I suppose it is to be expected that eventually colleges would see increased numbers of students who have been identified as having disabilities. I notice it, more every year. It isn't something I mind, and it hasn't been a major issue up to this point. However, if the number grows somewhat larger, I could see a time when classroom aides will be necessary.
Dogs in the Village: For the past dozen years, we've been the only one of our close neighbors to have a dog. We've all lived here forever (at 24 years we are the newest). On one side, there were never any pets; on the other, although they have always had cats, after their last dog died (in the '90s), they did not get another. Then, a few months ago they adopted two small puppies. About a month ago on the other side, the eldest son moved home and he has a large young dog.
Our two (really just Sam) will bark almost without provocation, and Sophie, while more mellow, doesn't stop easily once she gets going. The two puppies are now nearly grown, and they are adorable, plus very excitable and yippy. The big dog is also almost grown, handsome and luckily, seems to be placid. But recently some contractors have been doing work; it was a barkfest plus machinery noises for hours...during those nice days we had, while I was grading. Bring on the rain!
Chaz: I'm not a Letterman fan but I watched the night Chaz Bono was on. I always watched the Sonny and Cher show with my family when I was a kid, and I remember little Chastity. I was very impressed by what he had to say, and I thought his openness was extremely brave. Dave was somewhat less jerky than usual.
Assignment changes dynamics: I am always tweaking assignments and expectations, experimenting, and trying to make assessment less painful. This semester I made a major change in journal and online discussion requirements. I eliminated the paper option for the journal, and combined the two into one assignment. The peer commenting aspect really intensified it. That always took place in the online discussion, but making the basis a lengthy journal post rather than brief, cursory dialogue completely altered the character of it.
I think the impact also spilled over into FTF class discussions. It was responsible for the edgy dynamic I noticed in both classes, more than the long winter, the kegs n eggs fiasco, no fountain day, the bad job market, or two student suicides. It seemed to spark more intellectual challenge. And the assessment changes worked like a charm! Adding in the requirement for students to enter their peer and group assessments into a blackboard tool really lightened the burden for me at the end of the semester. This freed up time for me to figure out how to evaluate the new discussion journal assignment, and it allowed me to make this reflection.
*Data: I remember when I worked at SUNY System, there was a heated debate about whether "data" was singular or were plural. The things academics sweat! Reminds me of "Word for the Wise" on NPR (I have been perceived as nerdy for finding it interesting).
Added: I resolved the argument about data by not taking sides, instead forcing the singular v. plural, for instance writing "a piece of data" or "data elements."
**Finally, make that two emails, this one after the breakdowns were posted. (Another C+.)
I can see that the end of the academic year, the more leisurely summer pace, over a decade of college teaching, and turning 50 on the horizon are conspiring to make me reflective. So here's a scattered group of things that were brewing in the back of my mind while I was up to my eyeballs in assessment.
Students with special needs: According to the U.S. Department of Education, from 1977 to 2002, the number of children served under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act rose by over 2.7 million, a 73 percent increase. In 2002, 2.8 million students were classified with specific learning disabilities, 3.6 times the 796,000 students identified in 1977. In 1977, learning disabled students made up fewer than one-quarter (22 percent) of all those with disabilities, compared to almost half (44 percent) in 2002. Autism increased 96 percent in those same 25 years.
Considering these data*, I suppose it is to be expected that eventually colleges would see increased numbers of students who have been identified as having disabilities. I notice it, more every year. It isn't something I mind, and it hasn't been a major issue up to this point. However, if the number grows somewhat larger, I could see a time when classroom aides will be necessary.
Dogs in the Village: For the past dozen years, we've been the only one of our close neighbors to have a dog. We've all lived here forever (at 24 years we are the newest). On one side, there were never any pets; on the other, although they have always had cats, after their last dog died (in the '90s), they did not get another. Then, a few months ago they adopted two small puppies. About a month ago on the other side, the eldest son moved home and he has a large young dog.
Our two (really just Sam) will bark almost without provocation, and Sophie, while more mellow, doesn't stop easily once she gets going. The two puppies are now nearly grown, and they are adorable, plus very excitable and yippy. The big dog is also almost grown, handsome and luckily, seems to be placid. But recently some contractors have been doing work; it was a barkfest plus machinery noises for hours...during those nice days we had, while I was grading. Bring on the rain!
Chaz: I'm not a Letterman fan but I watched the night Chaz Bono was on. I always watched the Sonny and Cher show with my family when I was a kid, and I remember little Chastity. I was very impressed by what he had to say, and I thought his openness was extremely brave. Dave was somewhat less jerky than usual.
Assignment changes dynamics: I am always tweaking assignments and expectations, experimenting, and trying to make assessment less painful. This semester I made a major change in journal and online discussion requirements. I eliminated the paper option for the journal, and combined the two into one assignment. The peer commenting aspect really intensified it. That always took place in the online discussion, but making the basis a lengthy journal post rather than brief, cursory dialogue completely altered the character of it.
I think the impact also spilled over into FTF class discussions. It was responsible for the edgy dynamic I noticed in both classes, more than the long winter, the kegs n eggs fiasco, no fountain day, the bad job market, or two student suicides. It seemed to spark more intellectual challenge. And the assessment changes worked like a charm! Adding in the requirement for students to enter their peer and group assessments into a blackboard tool really lightened the burden for me at the end of the semester. This freed up time for me to figure out how to evaluate the new discussion journal assignment, and it allowed me to make this reflection.
*Data: I remember when I worked at SUNY System, there was a heated debate about whether "data" was singular or were plural. The things academics sweat! Reminds me of "Word for the Wise" on NPR (I have been perceived as nerdy for finding it interesting).
Added: I resolved the argument about data by not taking sides, instead forcing the singular v. plural, for instance writing "a piece of data" or "data elements."
**Finally, make that two emails, this one after the breakdowns were posted. (Another C+.)
Monday, May 16, 2011
Grades are done! YAY!
Within the next few days, I will post breakdowns in blackboard so students can see how they fared on the final, for participation, etc. Tomorrow I will get to the academic stuff that has been waiting, such as fall enrollment. Also up ahead are my end of semester activity report and the blackboard upgrade for the summer class.
However, if it wasn't raining, before thinking of any of that, I'd be outside cutting the grass and rototilling the garden. As it is, the weather may prompt me to finish it all, long before deadlines loom. Just as well, then I can garden without guilt when the sun finally comes out.
I am definitely going to get back to my Mark Twain book. Also, I have to write the pitch for my nonfiction story. And get working on the two sci-fi stories that have been brewing. All things that can be done when it is raining.
But right now, time for some reflection.
I arrived at college at age 16 in 1978, intending to major in pre-law. After one semester I determined that I liked history better. So I majored in US History. The economy and job market at that time were similar to now. I did not pursue education curricula and had no interest in teaching.
I had a variety of jobs in my twenties, in Oneonta where I went to undergrad (and lingered a little while afterwards, adored that town), in NYC and Westchester after college - some tolerable, some drudgery, some temporary, none very lucrative. Each only lasted a year or two (and often less).
I had a lot of fun, and was not focused on climbing the career ladder. Finally I sort of figured out what I wanted to do (and what I didn't), did figure out where I wanted to live (and where I didn't), and I had a vague idea that I might be ready for grad school at some undetermined point in the not-too-distant future.
I moved to the Capital District, got a clerical temp job at a State agency. My boss taught me how to use a spreadsheet, which wound up being a valuable skill, one that turned me from computer phobe into a computer enthusiast. She became an important mentor for me.
I went back to school for the MPA when I was 28. I thought I wanted to take the human resources concentration, but found I liked data analysis, statistics and policy more. I also thought I wanted to work for a state agency, but instead I found an internship at SUNY System - I took it because it came with a tuition waiver - and eventually that made me gravitate toward education.
They hired me when I graduated, and I stayed there nearly ten years. During that time I was told "you'll never move up if you don't get a doctorate" and although I had promised myself when I pursued the MPA that if I went on to a doctoral program, I would go back to studying my true love: History, I did the expedient thing instead, and applied to the educational administration and policy PhD.
By the time I finished it (an aside, but I almost didn’t - four years in, I decided either the job or the doctoral program had to go because I needed time to pursue other interests such as writing...a year later goodbye job) 22 years after graduating high school - I had been volunteering as a docent at Historic Cherry Hill, and through that experience, discovered that I didn't want to be an administrator - I wanted to teach college! That was in 2000, when I was nearly 39, and I have now been teaching for 11 years.
I'll be 50 this year and will probably work for another 20 years if my health stays good [I have excellent family genes, so keeping my fingers crossed] and also I'm born the first year of the social security age being raised before you can collect or be on medicare so I may have no choice but to not retire.
My track record is to spend about a decade in each setting (exploration in the twenties, administration in the thirties, teaching in the forties) before I move on. So what's next for me? In twenty years I could fit in two more "careers."
It would be nice if one of the ten years could be full-time freelance fiction writing, which is really what I have always wanted to do. Unfortunately I don’t think I could generate enough income that way, until I am also collecting my pension. I know that’s a cop out, that if I really wanted it I would take a risk and “just do it.” I’m either too risk adverse, or not confident enough.
Appreciating change is a part of why I like teaching; every semester is new, a chance to start over and experiment. I have never had a job I liked as much as teaching, so at this point I am satisfied and this is mostly joking. But I do like new challenges. Not that I spend one moment worrying (I don’t) but I am adjunct, so I am mindful of keeping my options open (one reason for the research and consulting).
I also know that I probably won't be in the classroom for another 20 years. There will come a time when I will be too out of touch to be effective as a college instructor. I'm hoping that doesn't happen too soon but I can't be unrealistic either.
I shared sentiments like this with students in online discussion and one protested:
Bob would probably say it was only apple polishing, but I say it’s not :-). Spring ‘11 was a good semester.
Within the next few days, I will post breakdowns in blackboard so students can see how they fared on the final, for participation, etc. Tomorrow I will get to the academic stuff that has been waiting, such as fall enrollment. Also up ahead are my end of semester activity report and the blackboard upgrade for the summer class.
However, if it wasn't raining, before thinking of any of that, I'd be outside cutting the grass and rototilling the garden. As it is, the weather may prompt me to finish it all, long before deadlines loom. Just as well, then I can garden without guilt when the sun finally comes out.
I am definitely going to get back to my Mark Twain book. Also, I have to write the pitch for my nonfiction story. And get working on the two sci-fi stories that have been brewing. All things that can be done when it is raining.
But right now, time for some reflection.
I arrived at college at age 16 in 1978, intending to major in pre-law. After one semester I determined that I liked history better. So I majored in US History. The economy and job market at that time were similar to now. I did not pursue education curricula and had no interest in teaching.
I had a variety of jobs in my twenties, in Oneonta where I went to undergrad (and lingered a little while afterwards, adored that town), in NYC and Westchester after college - some tolerable, some drudgery, some temporary, none very lucrative. Each only lasted a year or two (and often less).
I had a lot of fun, and was not focused on climbing the career ladder. Finally I sort of figured out what I wanted to do (and what I didn't), did figure out where I wanted to live (and where I didn't), and I had a vague idea that I might be ready for grad school at some undetermined point in the not-too-distant future.
I moved to the Capital District, got a clerical temp job at a State agency. My boss taught me how to use a spreadsheet, which wound up being a valuable skill, one that turned me from computer phobe into a computer enthusiast. She became an important mentor for me.
I went back to school for the MPA when I was 28. I thought I wanted to take the human resources concentration, but found I liked data analysis, statistics and policy more. I also thought I wanted to work for a state agency, but instead I found an internship at SUNY System - I took it because it came with a tuition waiver - and eventually that made me gravitate toward education.
They hired me when I graduated, and I stayed there nearly ten years. During that time I was told "you'll never move up if you don't get a doctorate" and although I had promised myself when I pursued the MPA that if I went on to a doctoral program, I would go back to studying my true love: History, I did the expedient thing instead, and applied to the educational administration and policy PhD.
By the time I finished it (an aside, but I almost didn’t - four years in, I decided either the job or the doctoral program had to go because I needed time to pursue other interests such as writing...a year later goodbye job) 22 years after graduating high school - I had been volunteering as a docent at Historic Cherry Hill, and through that experience, discovered that I didn't want to be an administrator - I wanted to teach college! That was in 2000, when I was nearly 39, and I have now been teaching for 11 years.
I'll be 50 this year and will probably work for another 20 years if my health stays good [I have excellent family genes, so keeping my fingers crossed] and also I'm born the first year of the social security age being raised before you can collect or be on medicare so I may have no choice but to not retire.
My track record is to spend about a decade in each setting (exploration in the twenties, administration in the thirties, teaching in the forties) before I move on. So what's next for me? In twenty years I could fit in two more "careers."
It would be nice if one of the ten years could be full-time freelance fiction writing, which is really what I have always wanted to do. Unfortunately I don’t think I could generate enough income that way, until I am also collecting my pension. I know that’s a cop out, that if I really wanted it I would take a risk and “just do it.” I’m either too risk adverse, or not confident enough.
Appreciating change is a part of why I like teaching; every semester is new, a chance to start over and experiment. I have never had a job I liked as much as teaching, so at this point I am satisfied and this is mostly joking. But I do like new challenges. Not that I spend one moment worrying (I don’t) but I am adjunct, so I am mindful of keeping my options open (one reason for the research and consulting).
I also know that I probably won't be in the classroom for another 20 years. There will come a time when I will be too out of touch to be effective as a college instructor. I'm hoping that doesn't happen too soon but I can't be unrealistic either.
I shared sentiments like this with students in online discussion and one protested:
I don't think that you will be done teaching because you don't think you are effective any more. I think there will be a loss of interest or you just really can't teach anymore; you're satisfied at the time in your career, so it will be ok for you to retire. Being ineffective is a very bold statement, one that can be misinterpreted. As long as you have the effect on your students the way you do now, and you keep them interested with the material you teach (for example, applying it to their lives), then I really don't see how you can't teach for another 20 years- if you want.
Bob would probably say it was only apple polishing, but I say it’s not :-). Spring ‘11 was a good semester.
Almost finished with grades - but not quite, will have to work several hours tomorrow. (It's still Sunday to me; I am in summer owl mode.) I receive daily emails from students asking for their grade. My answer is always the same: they will be available. 12 noon Tuesday 5/17 (that's the university's common date / time). My deadline from the Registrar is Monday 5/16 11:59 pm and believe me, I need every minute! I announced this several times at the end of the semester in every class, and posted it on the home page of each course's blackboard site, but still the emails dribble in. Some even acknowledge what I said about when final grades would be ready, but ask anyway.
Speaking of birds (I mentioned owl mode), we watched The Black Swan tonight. Before this, I had no desire to see it for some reason. (That isn't really like me, generally I want to see the Oscar nominated movies.) We were standing there at red box, and another couple was right behind us. Both of us hate to be rushed (tailgated, as we say), so I said, "why don't you go ahead of us?" They did, and while they were browsing the movies, we were discussing the new releases that are pictured on the machine. The Black Swan was one, and I (loudly) whispered that I wasn't interested in it. They guy who was reviewing the movie selections looked up and said it was one of the best movies he'd ever seen! We must have acted as if we were going to choose it, because at that point they said, "why don't you get your movie first?" Maybe they felt pressured by tailgating too? So I felt kind of obligated to get his suggestion.
After watching it, I would describe it as an art movie, but not really an entertaining movie - to me there is a difference. It left me feeling the way Ingmar Bergman movies do. Not that it was similar to one of his movies, but I am always so tense and anxious while watching them (and for a while afterwards). That is the same sensation I had tonight. I can see why Natalie Portman won best actress. She nails it, but her character isn't a bit likable. Nor is it a sympathetic portrait of ballet dancers. They are shown to be uptight, backstabbing, vindictive, mentally ill, anorexic, among other unflattering things. I imagine dancers hated this movie.
It's sort of funny what "art" brings to mind. Back in Oneonta, I was in a writing group. Our goal was to create radio plays. I was invited to join by my writing tutor, who had been an editor. I remember when I first met him, he thought I was a dancer, not a writer. I don't mind dancing (and I even won a contest at about that time), but I am not sure why he had that impression. I suppose it must have been the Danskin leotards and Chinese shoes I wore all the time (although those were very common fashions). Or perhaps I was graceful, in those days before orthotics and walking with a cane?
Speaking of birds (I mentioned owl mode), we watched The Black Swan tonight. Before this, I had no desire to see it for some reason. (That isn't really like me, generally I want to see the Oscar nominated movies.) We were standing there at red box, and another couple was right behind us. Both of us hate to be rushed (tailgated, as we say), so I said, "why don't you go ahead of us?" They did, and while they were browsing the movies, we were discussing the new releases that are pictured on the machine. The Black Swan was one, and I (loudly) whispered that I wasn't interested in it. They guy who was reviewing the movie selections looked up and said it was one of the best movies he'd ever seen! We must have acted as if we were going to choose it, because at that point they said, "why don't you get your movie first?" Maybe they felt pressured by tailgating too? So I felt kind of obligated to get his suggestion.
After watching it, I would describe it as an art movie, but not really an entertaining movie - to me there is a difference. It left me feeling the way Ingmar Bergman movies do. Not that it was similar to one of his movies, but I am always so tense and anxious while watching them (and for a while afterwards). That is the same sensation I had tonight. I can see why Natalie Portman won best actress. She nails it, but her character isn't a bit likable. Nor is it a sympathetic portrait of ballet dancers. They are shown to be uptight, backstabbing, vindictive, mentally ill, anorexic, among other unflattering things. I imagine dancers hated this movie.
It's sort of funny what "art" brings to mind. Back in Oneonta, I was in a writing group. Our goal was to create radio plays. I was invited to join by my writing tutor, who had been an editor. I remember when I first met him, he thought I was a dancer, not a writer. I don't mind dancing (and I even won a contest at about that time), but I am not sure why he had that impression. I suppose it must have been the Danskin leotards and Chinese shoes I wore all the time (although those were very common fashions). Or perhaps I was graceful, in those days before orthotics and walking with a cane?
Saturday, May 14, 2011
I'm reaching the part of the assessment process where the last cell gets an entry - and the final grade pops up. I examine each letter grade - most seem appropriate, but if it is a failing or bad grade, or one that is borderline in terms of awarding a higher grade, I reflect on the assignments, the class characteristics, and the student. I don't curve grades as a whole; it isn't really necessary, except occasionally - for instance at the end of the semester of the hybrid class, grades in that section were noticeably lower than in the other sections, so I had to equalize them. Clearly the design and delivery impacted performance for the entire class.
In general, though, my classes are structured so that students can get good grades. Sadly, not everyone does. I wonder if they will be shocked by the grade, or if they are expecting it. I wonder if they will email me Tuesday afternoon, demanding an accounting. With some students, it is apparent all semester that they are facing challenges, struggling but trying. However, there are others who are extremely capable but put in minimal effort yet feel entitled. I calculate whether what is fair is also expedient (for me), but I always wind up erring on the side of fair when there is a judgment call. This is one reason for why I go to the mat on academic dishonesty. It isn't fair to do otherwise, so even though it isn't expedient, I don't shy away from the process.
In general, though, my classes are structured so that students can get good grades. Sadly, not everyone does. I wonder if they will be shocked by the grade, or if they are expecting it. I wonder if they will email me Tuesday afternoon, demanding an accounting. With some students, it is apparent all semester that they are facing challenges, struggling but trying. However, there are others who are extremely capable but put in minimal effort yet feel entitled. I calculate whether what is fair is also expedient (for me), but I always wind up erring on the side of fair when there is a judgment call. This is one reason for why I go to the mat on academic dishonesty. It isn't fair to do otherwise, so even though it isn't expedient, I don't shy away from the process.
Grading's going so well...and no more alarm clock until late August! So I can do what I love, stay up late and write.
I'll be turning 50 in September. A lot of my friends from high school and college are also celebrating "the big five-oh" this year or next, or have hit that milestone in the past year or two. I'm constantly writing happy fiftieth birthday greetings on facebook, and summer parties are on the horizon.
I remember Mimmie telling me, when I was a teenager and she was in her 70s, that she still felt the same on the inside. I didn't really understand it at the time, but I finally do! It isn't that you don't mature emotionally - internally (externally is a given). Of course you do. But in some ways your perceptions don't change - and the mirror can be something of a shock!
I thought it might be fun to gather some photos and writing to mark the beginning of every decade. All of this was written pre-GPB, and is squirreled away, here and there. (Packrat city - a minimalist would have a convulsion.) I'm choosing the first things I run across that fit the timeframe. So here goes:
I was around 10 in both of these early '70s photos (above and below). I'm pretty sure the fashion show one took place when I was in fifth grade, in 1971-72. My mother sewed the green polyester dress, and knitted the green cable sweater for our dog, Pud. But I might have been 11 in the one with the raccoon, because I remember getting my long hair cut in sixth grade.
It's funny that more of these photos don't show my hair extremely long or extremely short - because I've worn it those two ways for more years than the medium length it seems to often have been at the decade changes. Maybe if I'd done half-decades as intervals instead? It's also surprising that animals are only prominent in these two! Where are the rest of my buddies through the years?
Here's something I wrote when I was 10 or 11:
"Priss," as she was referred to in the city reported to Linda that she was going to camp out. She didn't give any details, just that she was going to camp out. Linda laughed. "You, you!?" she mocked. Prissy was determined to do it. She said, "just because you're from the country and I'm not doesn't mean you're braver than me!"
"And when will you perform this feat that will make history?"
"Saturday night."
"You'll have to prove it to me."
"I will, I will!"
Saturday night came. As Prissy didn't live in the country, she had brought her camping equipment to her grandmother's house, which was in the country. She walked into the woods, but when she got there she was terror filled. An owl hooted and she screamed. A dog began to howl and she started walking back home. She finally reached the house. She decided to pitch the tent in the backyard. After almost crushing her hand with the hammer, she called her grandfather out to help her. While he was pitching the tent, she decided to start a fire. "Ol" Gramps ended up doing that too.
She had pork 'n' beans that were raw on the inside and burnt on the outside. She crawled into her sleeping bag. She was petrified. A few hours later, she went crying to "Gramma."
"Gramma! Gramma! I'm scared! I'm hungry! I'm lonely!" She slept in the guest room the rest of the night. The next day she sadly told Linda of the previous night's happenings. Linda smiled.
"Don't worry. I'm a liar. I'm terrified to sleep out alone. I hardly sleep well in my own room or in groups." Prissy couldn't believe her ears. "Oh, you!" she said. Both girls smiled as they walked away.
This story comes complete with illustration, a precursor of Nileston News, perhaps?:
Here's something I wrote when I was nearly 20:
August 31, ‘81
Today’s Chuckle: How not to do it
“My dear,” he said, “that’s a poetic name!”
“Thank you,” she replied, emotionlessly.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a moustache?” he asked.
“I think I’ve heard this routine before," she replied, leaving.
September 2, '81
“Please listen to what I’m not saying.”
“Don’t expect anything and you’ll never be disappointed.”
A doodle that was nearby:
I was 21 in this next picture. I distinctly remember the day it was taken, and not because it was a yearbook photo or the age was significant. Becoming 21 didn't have the same meaning in those days, when the drinking age was 18. I remember because it was a couple of days after my birthday, and a dear friend had just committed suicide - he died the day before I turned 21, in fact.
Later, when I looked at the proofs, I was surprised that they didn't capture how sad I felt that day. Maybe the photographer somehow retouched the pain away?
This is from a nonfiction article I wrote in 1991:
My mother frequently used the word "bungalow" to describe the various houses that she and my father lived in when they were first married. To me, it meant a small, probably rented, damp, dark, and (of course) unpleasant temporary residence. As an adult, I still thought of bungalows as small structures, but they seemed much more appealing, especially when I was searching, with a limited budget, for my first house.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered while doing research that while some of my thinking was misguided, not all of those childhood images were incorrect. The literature does not mention bungalows as being particularly damp, dark, or unpleasant; in fact, Gustav Stickley (1912/1982) wrote in The Craftsman that they are "houses that are durable, beautiful, comparatively inexpensive and always convenient" (p. 59).
The picture below was taken the day I got my master's degree in 1991, when I was nearly 30. My only comment: hair!
I have done some of my best writing while riding on Amtrak. Here is something I wrote in my journal in 2001:
In the Chronicle this week, a grad student writes about Western culture and the changes that education has imposed on him. He hasn't figured out the big picture. I don't know whether I've discovered the big truths but one thing I do believe is that the answer is somewhere in what is the most small - the personal.
I was sparked to write that opening by two men who were sitting behind me on this morning's ride. They spoke of their children, who I got the impression are in their 20s - one is at Stanford, the others living in NYC. They remarked about the differences between going to SUNYA or Siena, where you meet other students from Gloversville and Long Island, or going to college in NYC, where you meet peers from all over the world.
"That's the good thing about having kids scattered all over," said one, "you get to travel." The other responded, "my wife doesn't like to travel. She doesn't like disruption, and she misses her own bed."
Why did the conversation remind me of the Chronicle? (Aside, of course, from the fact that I recently read the article.) Because, as with so many of these snatches of dialogue overheard on the train, they concern opinions and insights on big picture life issues. Is there something about the train that encourages such thought? Are the riders educated folk, deep thinkers, or is it the scenery and the rhythm of the ride?
The big picture questions always bring me to the same conclusion - it is what's most personal that is also most important - not going to NYC to meet people from all over the world - but seeing your mother, who hates to travel.
Here I am at about 40. It was probably the summer of 2001, near the pool in S'ville. I turned 40 a week after 9/11, and I remember how much that overshadowed "the big four-oh" and how relieved I was that I had opted not to have a big party. (That's assuming relief can be used to describe anything at that time)
I cropped myself out and made a tiny picture, which is why it isn't the best quality, but it seems sort of artsy.
And this is me now, at age 49; this is the picture I have been using as my most recent fb and blogger profile. Taken Christmas time at Dinosaur BBQ in Troy; we met there for a family dinner.
What I will be writing when I am 50?
I'll be turning 50 in September. A lot of my friends from high school and college are also celebrating "the big five-oh" this year or next, or have hit that milestone in the past year or two. I'm constantly writing happy fiftieth birthday greetings on facebook, and summer parties are on the horizon.
I remember Mimmie telling me, when I was a teenager and she was in her 70s, that she still felt the same on the inside. I didn't really understand it at the time, but I finally do! It isn't that you don't mature emotionally - internally (externally is a given). Of course you do. But in some ways your perceptions don't change - and the mirror can be something of a shock!
I thought it might be fun to gather some photos and writing to mark the beginning of every decade. All of this was written pre-GPB, and is squirreled away, here and there. (Packrat city - a minimalist would have a convulsion.) I'm choosing the first things I run across that fit the timeframe. So here goes:
I was around 10 in both of these early '70s photos (above and below). I'm pretty sure the fashion show one took place when I was in fifth grade, in 1971-72. My mother sewed the green polyester dress, and knitted the green cable sweater for our dog, Pud. But I might have been 11 in the one with the raccoon, because I remember getting my long hair cut in sixth grade.
It's funny that more of these photos don't show my hair extremely long or extremely short - because I've worn it those two ways for more years than the medium length it seems to often have been at the decade changes. Maybe if I'd done half-decades as intervals instead? It's also surprising that animals are only prominent in these two! Where are the rest of my buddies through the years?
Here's something I wrote when I was 10 or 11:
"Priss," as she was referred to in the city reported to Linda that she was going to camp out. She didn't give any details, just that she was going to camp out. Linda laughed. "You, you!?" she mocked. Prissy was determined to do it. She said, "just because you're from the country and I'm not doesn't mean you're braver than me!"
"And when will you perform this feat that will make history?"
"Saturday night."
"You'll have to prove it to me."
"I will, I will!"
Saturday night came. As Prissy didn't live in the country, she had brought her camping equipment to her grandmother's house, which was in the country. She walked into the woods, but when she got there she was terror filled. An owl hooted and she screamed. A dog began to howl and she started walking back home. She finally reached the house. She decided to pitch the tent in the backyard. After almost crushing her hand with the hammer, she called her grandfather out to help her. While he was pitching the tent, she decided to start a fire. "Ol" Gramps ended up doing that too.
She had pork 'n' beans that were raw on the inside and burnt on the outside. She crawled into her sleeping bag. She was petrified. A few hours later, she went crying to "Gramma."
"Gramma! Gramma! I'm scared! I'm hungry! I'm lonely!" She slept in the guest room the rest of the night. The next day she sadly told Linda of the previous night's happenings. Linda smiled.
"Don't worry. I'm a liar. I'm terrified to sleep out alone. I hardly sleep well in my own room or in groups." Prissy couldn't believe her ears. "Oh, you!" she said. Both girls smiled as they walked away.
This story comes complete with illustration, a precursor of Nileston News, perhaps?:
Here's something I wrote when I was nearly 20:
August 31, ‘81
Today’s Chuckle: How not to do it
“My dear,” he said, “that’s a poetic name!”
“Thank you,” she replied, emotionlessly.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you have a moustache?” he asked.
“I think I’ve heard this routine before," she replied, leaving.
September 2, '81
“Please listen to what I’m not saying.”
“Don’t expect anything and you’ll never be disappointed.”
A doodle that was nearby:
I was 21 in this next picture. I distinctly remember the day it was taken, and not because it was a yearbook photo or the age was significant. Becoming 21 didn't have the same meaning in those days, when the drinking age was 18. I remember because it was a couple of days after my birthday, and a dear friend had just committed suicide - he died the day before I turned 21, in fact.
Later, when I looked at the proofs, I was surprised that they didn't capture how sad I felt that day. Maybe the photographer somehow retouched the pain away?
This is from a nonfiction article I wrote in 1991:
My mother frequently used the word "bungalow" to describe the various houses that she and my father lived in when they were first married. To me, it meant a small, probably rented, damp, dark, and (of course) unpleasant temporary residence. As an adult, I still thought of bungalows as small structures, but they seemed much more appealing, especially when I was searching, with a limited budget, for my first house.
Imagine my surprise when I discovered while doing research that while some of my thinking was misguided, not all of those childhood images were incorrect. The literature does not mention bungalows as being particularly damp, dark, or unpleasant; in fact, Gustav Stickley (1912/1982) wrote in The Craftsman that they are "houses that are durable, beautiful, comparatively inexpensive and always convenient" (p. 59).
The picture below was taken the day I got my master's degree in 1991, when I was nearly 30. My only comment: hair!
I have done some of my best writing while riding on Amtrak. Here is something I wrote in my journal in 2001:
In the Chronicle this week, a grad student writes about Western culture and the changes that education has imposed on him. He hasn't figured out the big picture. I don't know whether I've discovered the big truths but one thing I do believe is that the answer is somewhere in what is the most small - the personal.
I was sparked to write that opening by two men who were sitting behind me on this morning's ride. They spoke of their children, who I got the impression are in their 20s - one is at Stanford, the others living in NYC. They remarked about the differences between going to SUNYA or Siena, where you meet other students from Gloversville and Long Island, or going to college in NYC, where you meet peers from all over the world.
"That's the good thing about having kids scattered all over," said one, "you get to travel." The other responded, "my wife doesn't like to travel. She doesn't like disruption, and she misses her own bed."
Why did the conversation remind me of the Chronicle? (Aside, of course, from the fact that I recently read the article.) Because, as with so many of these snatches of dialogue overheard on the train, they concern opinions and insights on big picture life issues. Is there something about the train that encourages such thought? Are the riders educated folk, deep thinkers, or is it the scenery and the rhythm of the ride?
The big picture questions always bring me to the same conclusion - it is what's most personal that is also most important - not going to NYC to meet people from all over the world - but seeing your mother, who hates to travel.
Here I am at about 40. It was probably the summer of 2001, near the pool in S'ville. I turned 40 a week after 9/11, and I remember how much that overshadowed "the big four-oh" and how relieved I was that I had opted not to have a big party. (That's assuming relief can be used to describe anything at that time)
I cropped myself out and made a tiny picture, which is why it isn't the best quality, but it seems sort of artsy.
And this is me now, at age 49; this is the picture I have been using as my most recent fb and blogger profile. Taken Christmas time at Dinosaur BBQ in Troy; we met there for a family dinner.
What I will be writing when I am 50?
Friday, May 13, 2011
Only one assignment per class left to grade, and three leisurely days to do it! This is my most efficient semester ever.
So, I can post this. My sister sent me this link yesterday. I had to save it until late last night, after I was burned out on grading, but it is definitely worth watching. Simply remarkable!
Mary Margaret, "the first lady of radio," lived in West Shokan, my hometown. My sister was at her place yesterday, doing a plein air painting. Here are a couple of pictures I took a few years ago, standing near her house, looking toward the Reservoir:
Her place is now a bed and breakfast.
In Favorite Recipes of the the Watson Hollow Inn, there is this note:
Lemon Icebox Cake
My-T-Fine lemon pudding, 1 package
Juice of Lemon, 1
Heavy cream, whipped, 1 cup
Sponge layers
Use directions on pudding package, reducing water to 1 1/2 cups and adding lemon juice. When cooled to room temperature, add stiffly beaten cream; fold in. From purchased sponge layers, remove all brown crumbs top and bottom. cut each layer in half, making four layers. Cover each layer and sides of cake with filling. Place in refrigerator 2-3 hours.
From a 1960 newspaper clipping in Mimmie's scrapbook:
Mrs. Roosevelt is Luncheon Guest of TV Personality
Mimmie prepared Party Cheese Pie for the occasion.
Party Cheese Pie
Crust:
Ritz Crackers, finely rolled, 36
Butter or Margarine, softened, ¼ cup
Sugar, ¼ cup
Blend together cracker crumbs, butter or margarine and sugar. Press firmly on to bottom and sides of 9 inch pie plate.
Filling:
Softened Cream Cheese, 2 - 8 ounce pkgs.
Eggs, 2
Sugar, ½ cup
Vanilla, ½ teaspoon
Beat cream cheese until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time; beat well after each addition. Add sugar and vanilla. Pour into crumb crust; bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes. Cool 5 minutes; spread topping and continue baking 5 minutes longer. Chill.
Topping:
Beat together 1/2 pint sour cream, 2 tablespoons sugar and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla. Spread over filling.
Fresh or frozen fruit (strawberries, raspberries, cherries) can be used instead or in addition as a topping for Party Cheese Pie, and for the Icebox Cake, angel food layers and chocolate frosting can be used instead.
Chocolate variant for Icebox Cake:
Prepare sponge layers the same. Melt 4 ounce bar of German's Sweet Chocolate. When cool, fold into1/2 pint whipped heavy cream. Fill and frost layers. Refrigerate 2-3 hours.
So, I can post this. My sister sent me this link yesterday. I had to save it until late last night, after I was burned out on grading, but it is definitely worth watching. Simply remarkable!
Mary Margaret, "the first lady of radio," lived in West Shokan, my hometown. My sister was at her place yesterday, doing a plein air painting. Here are a couple of pictures I took a few years ago, standing near her house, looking toward the Reservoir:
Her place is now a bed and breakfast.
In Favorite Recipes of the the Watson Hollow Inn, there is this note:
"Mary Margaret McBride was a cherished friend and featured guest at the Inn. Her favorite dessert was the Lemon Icebox Cake and for many years it appeared on the dessert list as "Mary Margaret's Favorite" (p. 84).
Lemon Icebox Cake
My-T-Fine lemon pudding, 1 package
Juice of Lemon, 1
Heavy cream, whipped, 1 cup
Sponge layers
Use directions on pudding package, reducing water to 1 1/2 cups and adding lemon juice. When cooled to room temperature, add stiffly beaten cream; fold in. From purchased sponge layers, remove all brown crumbs top and bottom. cut each layer in half, making four layers. Cover each layer and sides of cake with filling. Place in refrigerator 2-3 hours.
From a 1960 newspaper clipping in Mimmie's scrapbook:
Mrs. Roosevelt is Luncheon Guest of TV Personality
Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt, widow of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, lunched with Mary Margaret McBride, noted television personality and author at Watson Hollow Inn, West Shokan.
Mimmie prepared Party Cheese Pie for the occasion.
Party Cheese Pie
Crust:
Ritz Crackers, finely rolled, 36
Butter or Margarine, softened, ¼ cup
Sugar, ¼ cup
Blend together cracker crumbs, butter or margarine and sugar. Press firmly on to bottom and sides of 9 inch pie plate.
Filling:
Softened Cream Cheese, 2 - 8 ounce pkgs.
Eggs, 2
Sugar, ½ cup
Vanilla, ½ teaspoon
Beat cream cheese until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time; beat well after each addition. Add sugar and vanilla. Pour into crumb crust; bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes. Cool 5 minutes; spread topping and continue baking 5 minutes longer. Chill.
Topping:
Beat together 1/2 pint sour cream, 2 tablespoons sugar and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla. Spread over filling.
Fresh or frozen fruit (strawberries, raspberries, cherries) can be used instead or in addition as a topping for Party Cheese Pie, and for the Icebox Cake, angel food layers and chocolate frosting can be used instead.
Chocolate variant for Icebox Cake:
Prepare sponge layers the same. Melt 4 ounce bar of German's Sweet Chocolate. When cool, fold into1/2 pint whipped heavy cream. Fill and frost layers. Refrigerate 2-3 hours.
Blogger was down this morning, and now it's back, but all posts since 5/11 have been removed. These kinds of issues were routine in 2002, when I first started to use Blogger, but for years I've rarely had a problem when I want to post. Looking at the status updates makes me realize that bugs are not uncommon, I just have good timing!
There are people in the ecommunity who hate Blogger; it's no different than any other popular software or hardware. There have always been people annoyed with and trashing AOL, Google, IBM, etc. and all their users, particularly once the services and users trend mainstream, old and unhip. If I cared, I would probably look into something else, but in economic terms, it's not worth the effort I'd have to expend.
Anyway, status says they are working on it, and will restore everything soon. So I'll take this an an omen to not take a break, instead I'll get back to grading and forgo making a new post right now. Happy Friday!
Later: Hmm. Supposed to be fixed? Yesterday's post is back, but comments are missing, and the tag is weird. Maybe it will take a little more time.
Still later: I tried to change the label, and the post became my newest post? Strange. So I copied and pasted it below.
This is my post from Thursday, May 12, 2011.
Yesterday was my last day on campus for the semester, the day I clean up my office, go to the end of semester luncheon, change my telephone voice mail message, etc. It was a nice day at the end of a good semester, and much appreciated. There have been a few semesters where grading was so burdensome (ie, teaching six sections, two of which were huge; or my exotic portfolio assessment design) or other parts of life were calling (ie, Spring '09 and '10 at Albany Med) and I wasn't able to spend a day on campus. My automation of the assessments is really making a difference. (Fingers crossed, knock on wood.) This is when the hard drive dies! No, lesson learned and still remembered, all is routinely backed up on a flash drive. Or maybe this is when a time-consuming plagiarism case crops up? Perish the thought! The dean asked me yesterday if I'd found any this year. I had to think a moment, but the answer is no.
I will have to be there one more day at some point before my summer session class starts (late June), because I am part of the pilot who are upgrading our Blackboard courses and we are "required" to have training. Unless the training is a webinar (my preference), then no trips to campus for me until late August, but I suspect it will have to be FTF.
Not to be snotty, but I've been an early adopter for (almost) my entire working life. I'm an independent, self-directed learner, which is why I support online approaches. I've never needed much (or any) training to use software or courseware. I even know (more than) a few things about hardware. So training has always made me "itchy."
But I'll be "good" and attend a training. It will have other benefits, besides learning the new Blackboard. It's not a bad idea for me to be around people occasionally during the long summer break. I tend to slip into borderline agorophobia ~ and serious night owl syndrome otherwise.
I'm looking forward to gardening as soon as grading is done. It's going well but this weather is killing me! Once I am done it will probably turn rainy. The grass needs weed whacking again and that's what I want to be doing.
I have several other things I want to write about (ranging from Chaz on Letterman to some stream of consciousness on assessment and student demands to my usual animal rights schtick) but I have procrastinated enough already. Back to grades you slacker!
There are people in the ecommunity who hate Blogger; it's no different than any other popular software or hardware. There have always been people annoyed with and trashing AOL, Google, IBM, etc. and all their users, particularly once the services and users trend mainstream, old and unhip. If I cared, I would probably look into something else, but in economic terms, it's not worth the effort I'd have to expend.
Anyway, status says they are working on it, and will restore everything soon. So I'll take this an an omen to not take a break, instead I'll get back to grading and forgo making a new post right now. Happy Friday!
Later: Hmm. Supposed to be fixed? Yesterday's post is back, but comments are missing, and the tag is weird. Maybe it will take a little more time.
Still later: I tried to change the label, and the post became my newest post? Strange. So I copied and pasted it below.
This is my post from Thursday, May 12, 2011.
Yesterday was my last day on campus for the semester, the day I clean up my office, go to the end of semester luncheon, change my telephone voice mail message, etc. It was a nice day at the end of a good semester, and much appreciated. There have been a few semesters where grading was so burdensome (ie, teaching six sections, two of which were huge; or my exotic portfolio assessment design) or other parts of life were calling (ie, Spring '09 and '10 at Albany Med) and I wasn't able to spend a day on campus. My automation of the assessments is really making a difference. (Fingers crossed, knock on wood.) This is when the hard drive dies! No, lesson learned and still remembered, all is routinely backed up on a flash drive. Or maybe this is when a time-consuming plagiarism case crops up? Perish the thought! The dean asked me yesterday if I'd found any this year. I had to think a moment, but the answer is no.
I will have to be there one more day at some point before my summer session class starts (late June), because I am part of the pilot who are upgrading our Blackboard courses and we are "required" to have training. Unless the training is a webinar (my preference), then no trips to campus for me until late August, but I suspect it will have to be FTF.
Not to be snotty, but I've been an early adopter for (almost) my entire working life. I'm an independent, self-directed learner, which is why I support online approaches. I've never needed much (or any) training to use software or courseware. I even know (more than) a few things about hardware. So training has always made me "itchy."
But I'll be "good" and attend a training. It will have other benefits, besides learning the new Blackboard. It's not a bad idea for me to be around people occasionally during the long summer break. I tend to slip into borderline agorophobia ~ and serious night owl syndrome otherwise.
I'm looking forward to gardening as soon as grading is done. It's going well but this weather is killing me! Once I am done it will probably turn rainy. The grass needs weed whacking again and that's what I want to be doing.
I have several other things I want to write about (ranging from Chaz on Letterman to some stream of consciousness on assessment and student demands to my usual animal rights schtick) but I have procrastinated enough already. Back to grades you slacker!
Monday, May 09, 2011
Drowning in end of semester evaluation! No, make that - I'm treading water. Or how about more positively - swimming. I suppose that's the most apt because I'm making progress. As I mentioned in my last post, I made many changes this semester in assessment and I think it will pay off. It is also resulting in some interesting observations. I won't elaborate a lot until I'm finished, but something that is emerging from the revised approach is that many more students than in the past gave themselves and their group a score (I require peer, self, and class assessment of a project, but the form it takes for the "self" is a short essay, and for all class, students are not required to include their own group). In one class in particular, the vast majority scored themselves and their group the highest. Quite a few chose A+. This is true even for groups that obviously didn't perform as well as other groups, and for students who tended toward slacker. Well, that's the essence of constructivism, right?
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Not a great picture, but you can see how beautiful she was. RIP Heidi.
On a different subject, Bob is off to visit his mother today. One good thing about the oppressive grading schedule is that I am not expected to make that awful drive right now. I am nervous in the car anyway, forget traveling in the metro area for long distances...takes years off my life! After church my sister will pick me up and we're going to her son's. She's bringing my parents also, hopefully it will be a good day for them. I know they are so sad. Normally I would just work like crazy all day, but I am going to make an exception. I'll probably pay the price for it, but that's OK. I made some significant changes in assessment this semester that I really hope pay off -- so far, so good (more on that subject another time).
Saturday, May 07, 2011
Heidi died yesterday morning. I can't wrap my mind around it. She was only five, and obviously ill only since Monday. How can that be? I am thinking GSDs are prone to strange illnesses? Or the name wasn't a good idea?
Feeling the need for some better news on the dog front, so here goes.
Feeling the need for some better news on the dog front, so here goes.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
Sad news yesterday. Heidi, my parents' GSD, has cancer. Sounds like it is kidney cancer, which is what Rudy had. I thought he was young (9 at diagnosis, 10 when he died), but Heidi is only 5. They got her from German Shepherd Rescue two years ago, shortly after their 8 year old GSD died - of cancer. Mandy was also from GSD Rescue. They've had three dogs die too young from cancer in the past seven years - Hobo, a Doberman who one of the best dogs to ever live, died in 2004 of bone cancer when he was 8. He was diagnosed at age 7. Six years ago, my Rudy died. Why are all these dogs getting cancer and dying too young?
I was thinking they've had three dogs in the past seven years, when sometimes you can go twice that long or more, having the same dog. My Penny lived to be 16 1/2, and Howie lived to be 15 1/2. Sophie is 12 right now, the upper range for a Basset (and she's doing great since her surgery in November). It's kind of strange, but in both Sophie's (especially) and Howie's cases, I have and had to fuss over them their entire (long) lives, because they were sickly - while Rudy was the picture of health, energetic and shiny almost right up until he died (too young) - hardly a moment of worry. But that was true even more of Penny, and look how long she lived.
I was thinking they've had three dogs in the past seven years, when sometimes you can go twice that long or more, having the same dog. My Penny lived to be 16 1/2, and Howie lived to be 15 1/2. Sophie is 12 right now, the upper range for a Basset (and she's doing great since her surgery in November). It's kind of strange, but in both Sophie's (especially) and Howie's cases, I have and had to fuss over them their entire (long) lives, because they were sickly - while Rudy was the picture of health, energetic and shiny almost right up until he died (too young) - hardly a moment of worry. But that was true even more of Penny, and look how long she lived.
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…
This morning, I received official notification of my grant. Yay!
Just now, I took some soda and seltzer to the conference room where I will be having a meeting this afternoon to put it in the fridge – I decided to put it in the crisper drawer – as I was fitting in the last six pack, one of the cans of ginger ale came loose, hit the floor, and as in Murphy’s Law, it opened up and sprayed me in the face, all over my pants, shoes, socks. I am soaked with soda, as if someone hit me with a hose. It only went on my shirt a little, but my pants are ridiculously wet.
Thankfully my pants are black, if they weren’t I think I’d have to go to Stuyvesant Plaza and buy a new pair. But I am very sticky!! Ugh. I hope once it dries it is not so uncomfortable. Why couldn't it have been a can of seltzer?
As I was attempting to blot it up with paper towels in the bathroom, all I could do was laugh. Spring semester 2011 ends with a flourish!
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