Recently I realized that I have a whole week off in between spring and summer semesters. That week deserves the italics, I care not what you think! A week! Precious, glorious, wondrous week off!
This is exciting. This is. Unexpected? I've been so busy I didn't even think to let it sink in that there are days between this semester and the next during which nothing is expected of me.
This is partly due to the fact that I will not be advising this summer. It should be nice to have a break, although I do enjoy advising (possibly little known fact: at parties/get-togethers/public event type things, I can always fall back on my advising knowledge when talking to people, especially in those lovely little awkward silence moments. Seriously, maybe it's because I'm around students a lot, but there is always someone who needs to know something about college or grad school or the GRE, etc etc. It's great).
Soon enough my kids will be clambering to explain to me that I've graded them wrong, that I missed the point of their essay, that they weren't actually absent from class on 27 occasions, that they did in fact turn in the assignment(s) I'm missing from them.... But not yet, folks. That will probably start on Monday.
I just have to be firm with them. Yes, this is your grade. Yes, surprising as it seems, I do know what I'm doing. No, you are not the first student I've ever had challenge me. And finally, no, I am not going to back down on this! You missed 27 classes, for heaven's sake.
Okay, that's a bit of hyperbole, but still. You get the general idea. This is one of the reasons I'm happy for the week-without-work. One of myriad.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
A quick fix
Three more classes to teach before this semester is over. I cannot believe it. Summer semester starts pretty much right away, so there isn't much time for me to be standing frozen, mouth hanging open (yes, this is how I would spend my free time [or at least what sounds best right now]: standing immobile, silent, eyes slowly losing focus), but still.
I don't understand why some kids wait until the end of the semester to discuss their grades. "You're being unfair," they say, or maybe something more like, "wtf's up with my paper grade?!"
I tell them the obvious; that if they'd talked to me about this sooner, maybe even a mere two or three weeks ago, we could have worked together to address whatever issues they were/are having. But with three classes left? I am no god, friends, and I don't pretend to be one! Maybe it's a compliment that they think there is still time to fix things?
I hate that term, by the way. The idea that things, people, anything, everything, can be "fixed." This suggests that with some effort whatever is wrong with the world, a person, a class, etc, whatever the problem is could be removed and the world, person, class, etc, would revert back to however it was before the problem surfaced. Back to something more like perfection. In my thinking, this would involve time travel, because whatever happens to us cannot be undone. We're permanently altered by the people, things, diseases, places, that touch us, and there is no "fixing" that. There is no clean reversion back to an antiseptic norm.
We are messy, confused, failing things, and there is no fix for us. If I could help my student "fix" the problems that resulted in her B- (which, lest you forget! would take much, much longer than three class periods, but anyway); if I could fix the problems, she'd still have other problems rise to the surface and bubble there.
Which is, I guess, my point here, although I'm more than a little wary of saying there is a point to this blog, maybe other than stating my exhaustion (hence the desire to stand unmoving for days).
Maybe I'm wrong and the idea of a fix doesn't imply a return to a previous state of idealized being, and I'm not sure what in the idea suggests this to me, except that I see it on TV all the time. People want scar cream to not only fix, but remove evidence of the scar. We are advertised products that will fix our faces by deleting wrinkles, smoothing pores, etc etc.
But these are false promises, duh, like I have to tell you that. Nothing is fixable. Even the best scar cream can't totally remove all evidence of scarring. We are permanently altered by the people and events that surround us, and no amount of surgical fillers, low fat foods, exercise regimens, spiritual experiences, long contemplative walks, or personal triumphs/failures can undo what we've been through.
I don't understand why some kids wait until the end of the semester to discuss their grades. "You're being unfair," they say, or maybe something more like, "wtf's up with my paper grade?!"
I tell them the obvious; that if they'd talked to me about this sooner, maybe even a mere two or three weeks ago, we could have worked together to address whatever issues they were/are having. But with three classes left? I am no god, friends, and I don't pretend to be one! Maybe it's a compliment that they think there is still time to fix things?
I hate that term, by the way. The idea that things, people, anything, everything, can be "fixed." This suggests that with some effort whatever is wrong with the world, a person, a class, etc, whatever the problem is could be removed and the world, person, class, etc, would revert back to however it was before the problem surfaced. Back to something more like perfection. In my thinking, this would involve time travel, because whatever happens to us cannot be undone. We're permanently altered by the people, things, diseases, places, that touch us, and there is no "fixing" that. There is no clean reversion back to an antiseptic norm.
We are messy, confused, failing things, and there is no fix for us. If I could help my student "fix" the problems that resulted in her B- (which, lest you forget! would take much, much longer than three class periods, but anyway); if I could fix the problems, she'd still have other problems rise to the surface and bubble there.
Which is, I guess, my point here, although I'm more than a little wary of saying there is a point to this blog, maybe other than stating my exhaustion (hence the desire to stand unmoving for days).
Maybe I'm wrong and the idea of a fix doesn't imply a return to a previous state of idealized being, and I'm not sure what in the idea suggests this to me, except that I see it on TV all the time. People want scar cream to not only fix, but remove evidence of the scar. We are advertised products that will fix our faces by deleting wrinkles, smoothing pores, etc etc.
But these are false promises, duh, like I have to tell you that. Nothing is fixable. Even the best scar cream can't totally remove all evidence of scarring. We are permanently altered by the people and events that surround us, and no amount of surgical fillers, low fat foods, exercise regimens, spiritual experiences, long contemplative walks, or personal triumphs/failures can undo what we've been through.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Swoosh
Hello there, trusted and admired friends of mine. This semester is coming to end, and as such, it's also speeding up. It's funny how that works. My classes are nearly in fast-forward right now, and I feel like I have to run to keep up (metaphorical running, of course... Although honestly a rather embarrassingly hefty amount of literal running is also involved).
Which reminds me. Yesterday or the day before or maybe even the day before that, I was riding my bike to school, and as I started going down that little hill that means I'm nearly on campus, I realized that that rushing-down-hill-feeling is something everyone should feel every now and then. I think it's good for people. It's good for me, and I'm a person, right? My logic is infallible, admit it.
Well, it really kind of is. My kids are reading an essay called "Reporting Live from Tomorrow" from the book Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert. The essay is about how in order to accurately predict how you'll feel in any given situation (for example, how happy you'd be as a train conductor), you should ask someone who's already doing that.
He goes on to talk about how we are much more alike than we are different. This is in a section of this essay titled "The Myth of Fingerprints," which is really a lovely title, eh? But anyway, he describes his idea in a funny and engaging way, so I'll quote him here. "Because we spend so much time searching for, attending to, thinking about, and remembering these differences [between people], we tend to overestimate their magnitude and frequency, and thus end up thinking of people as more varied than they actually are. If you spent all day sorting grapes into different shapes, colors, and kinds, you'd become one of those annoying grapeophiles who talks endlessly about the nuances of flavor and the permutations of texture. You'd come to think of grapes as infinitely varied, and you'd forget that almost all of the really important information about a grape can be deduced from the simple fact of its grapehood."
I love that explanation, and the kids really grasp it as well. In addition to these two lucky little facts (look, in CRW we're talking about sound in poetry, so if some alliteration, etc, sneaks in here, you just have to bear with me), the quote above serves to substantiate my claim.
We are, dear reader, quite more alike than we are different, and if this fast-swooshing-down-a-hill-thing can make me so happy, I humbly submit that it will affect you in a similar way.
So what I'm suggesting, really, is that you, from time to time, get on your bike and ride down a hill. The feeling is luscious. If you are one of the poor unfortunates who has is lacking access to a bike or a hill or (gasp) both, just roll down the window next time you are on the highway, preferably while someone else is driving, and put your head out the window, at least a little.
I think it's necessary for survival. It helps me feel like I can keep up with the fast-forwarding of this semester anyway.
Which reminds me. Yesterday or the day before or maybe even the day before that, I was riding my bike to school, and as I started going down that little hill that means I'm nearly on campus, I realized that that rushing-down-hill-feeling is something everyone should feel every now and then. I think it's good for people. It's good for me, and I'm a person, right? My logic is infallible, admit it.
Well, it really kind of is. My kids are reading an essay called "Reporting Live from Tomorrow" from the book Stumbling on Happiness by Daniel Gilbert. The essay is about how in order to accurately predict how you'll feel in any given situation (for example, how happy you'd be as a train conductor), you should ask someone who's already doing that.
He goes on to talk about how we are much more alike than we are different. This is in a section of this essay titled "The Myth of Fingerprints," which is really a lovely title, eh? But anyway, he describes his idea in a funny and engaging way, so I'll quote him here. "Because we spend so much time searching for, attending to, thinking about, and remembering these differences [between people], we tend to overestimate their magnitude and frequency, and thus end up thinking of people as more varied than they actually are. If you spent all day sorting grapes into different shapes, colors, and kinds, you'd become one of those annoying grapeophiles who talks endlessly about the nuances of flavor and the permutations of texture. You'd come to think of grapes as infinitely varied, and you'd forget that almost all of the really important information about a grape can be deduced from the simple fact of its grapehood."
I love that explanation, and the kids really grasp it as well. In addition to these two lucky little facts (look, in CRW we're talking about sound in poetry, so if some alliteration, etc, sneaks in here, you just have to bear with me), the quote above serves to substantiate my claim.
We are, dear reader, quite more alike than we are different, and if this fast-swooshing-down-a-hill-thing can make me so happy, I humbly submit that it will affect you in a similar way.
So what I'm suggesting, really, is that you, from time to time, get on your bike and ride down a hill. The feeling is luscious. If you are one of the poor unfortunates who has is lacking access to a bike or a hill or (gasp) both, just roll down the window next time you are on the highway, preferably while someone else is driving, and put your head out the window, at least a little.
I think it's necessary for survival. It helps me feel like I can keep up with the fast-forwarding of this semester anyway.
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