Last Call for the Wrong Mailbox

On my last day of teaching, I received this email:

I have received mail with your name on it and our record shows you don’t have a mailbox here at CHC. You are able to pick up your mail from me; I’m available Monday through Friday from 8am to 4pm in LADM 167 Facilities Use Office. If you are unable to pick up your mail and would like it mailed to you, please pervert a mail address.

I received this after I'd given my final, met with each student and gave them back their final research paper (worth 25% of their grade and even at that hefty percentage only one student failed completely), when I was sitting in my car trying to decide how to feel about the end of this semester.

Unfortunately, I couldn't "pervert" her a mail address right then because the office was closed, but called this morning and we straightened things out (seems they given my mailbox to another person, ignoring the fact of the original assignment and the label with my name on it, or that an actual person already HAD that mailbox).

 Before that, I stood at the top of what is known at the Aztec Stairs, a long flight of stairs that leads to the Admin Building, where I teach.  The VP of Students, who I have met several times, was coming up the stairs; I waited to say good-bye and we chatted.  Even though I had introduced myself to him yet again as recently as two weeks ago, I realized he had no idea who I was, nor did he ask once.  I decided not to make excuses for him this time.

Before that, when I was addressing my class, I thanked them for their work and in our chit-chatting, asked if there was anything that they could point to as a take-away from this class.  They fell silent.  I know they were trying to think of something, but they were in Finals Week, they were tired, it was the last day, blah blah blah, but still.  Silence.

And before all that,  I'd written to my sister that morning, in response to an article she sent me an article from the Chronicle of Higher Education, where an adjunct professor detailed the reasons why he was leaving off teaching in a classroom (he's still doing online teaching).  I'm thinking about not coming back myself, and although this decision feels a bit squishy at this point, I enumerated the reasons to her for leaving, acknowledging first that the incredibly low rate of pay can be a factor:

"But for me, it was also the complete "invisibility" to Admin, to my chair (although he's always very nice when I do see him), and the constant reminder of my non-person status given the number of "staff" luncheons, raffles, potlucks given each year at my institution, for which I have been asked to bring food, contribute to prizes, etc.  A token event was held at the beginning of the year on a Wednesday night at 6:30 for free pizza for the Adjuncts at a local place, a complete turn-off since most adjuncts commute in and leave as soon as they finish on campus.  I think I would have preferred the Chronicle writer's gift of a duffle bag from his chair, instead.

"In addition to the pay and the invisibility, it is the students.  Adjuncts typically teach the lower and lower-than-low division classes as the faculty retain the better classes for themselves (I don't blame them in the least).  And since we get those students right out of high school who typically are working at a 10th grade level, it becomes extremely challenging to maintain morale when the expectations are for "entertainment" like they received in high school.  I joked to my colleague last week that if the pretend percentages are that the students bring 100% and I bring 100%, I felt this semester as if I were bringing 150% to their 50%, yet they probably aren't aware of that ratio.

 "I have had one amazing upper-division English class in my ten years here.  The students were engaged, interesting, generally well-prepared and our class discussions were interesting, thoughtful and fruitful.  I think after teaching that class, I realized what I had been asked to do generally, denigrates my ability and my contribution to the teaching profession.  I've had other bad classes, and that's no reason to throw in the towel, I realize.  But after that great class, something shifted in me and I just didn't want to go through the hoops anymore.  And the fact that only once in ten years have I had a good class is telling. 

"I also firmly believe that until full-time faculty won't put up with the hiring of adjuncts and make their voices heard on this issue, nothing will change.  And I don't foresee that happening.  Ever."

 Since I'm not published (you can call that one of my failures if you want) or in a full-time position (add that to the failure list, although I have tried), I can't expect any more of Higher Ed, right?  It's easy to delegate adjuncts to a position of the great unwashed of the Big U, greedily grabbing those courses thrown to us by kind and well-meaning Admins.  We are not invited to faculty meetings, asked for our opinions.  When they announced the "Part-Timer of the Year," no mention was made of why they were chosen.  Just a name, an invisible person, delivered in a deluge of end-of-year emails.

Perhaps this "perverted" mailbox was a sign, in a weird sort of way.  Perhaps, after too many strange conversations, too many unprepared students, as well as all the other inconsequential stings and cuts, the message from on high was that it is probably time to go invisible for good.

See Saw, Teachery Style

 

This about sums up my last few weeks.  Only I can't say I was as radiantly happy as this young woman was on the down stroke, nor was I as exuberant on the up stroke, knowing that the see-sawing over whether or not I'd be teaching this next semester would continue.  Tomorrow schools starts.  Today I found out that (as my Dean put it) "Your Class Is A Go" in the subject header of the first email, with nothing else in it.  The second email was a touch more verbose, with the advice to "get your stuff prepared."  He is the man who hired me lo, these many years ago, and since I know him pretty well I laughed when I read the email.  It's nice to get off the see-saw.

But I'm pretty much in denial that my lovely (unpaid) sabbatical is over.  I have a list of projects as long as my arm in the quilty arena, plus there's those housekeeping chores that need to be done as I have company coming for the next two weeks.  Things are popping, but I have to turn some attention to my class now.  I did prep up for the first day and have my copies, the stuff up on the web, but who knows if I'll have any AV equipment in a class which is in the South 40?  I've already decided I'm wearing tennis shoes the first day, since there will be a lot of hiking around campus.

All of this happened because of budget numbers, those figures that we in middle-education (past K-12, but not as high as a 4-year school) live and die by.  Just before Christmas the numbers were in the tank; now, post New Year's, we can float my half-filled class (having only 12 students in my class has got to be a record).  I chose online ebooks, as I knew the books wouldn't be here in time and the style manual from the class that was cancelled just before Christmas can be transferred over to this class. 

I'm just so relieved to know what I'll be doing.

Name Change Chame Nange

In the past year the President of our College has presided over the opening of the library (slightly before her term, but only just), the demolition of the old library, the opening of the Aquatic Center, the demolition of a few more buildings, and new lights in some of the parking lots.  An auspicious beginning, for sure.

We recently received a Letter From the President where she outlined that according to committee we will now change the name of just about every building on campus.  My favorite change was the Aquatic Center's morphing over to the Kinesiology, Health Education and Aquatics Complex.  Everything is a complex now: West Complex, Central Complex, and East Complex.  But the Science Building to Canyon Hall?  The Cafeteria to Crafton Hall?  It's bad enough that the name of my college sounds like a boys' prep school, but we certainly are going to a high register level of language on the naming.

I wonder if I mailed out a Letter From the Adjunct, thanking everyone for their support, and announcing sweeping new changes in an area or two, if anyone would read it?  No.  The name of the Adjunct Game is Keep Your Head Down.  And now that I've used up my supply of upper-case letters, and the prose is flattening out, it's time to move from my Johns Hopkins Sewing Studio into my John Q. Harvard Living Room.

Category One

We received an email in our school emailbox announcing a "Post-Graduation Celbration" with the following flyer:

(Our college is nowhere near a beach and who is Matthew Roberts, anyway?)

There's been a lot of interesting developments around campus lately, beginning with the jubilant (!) announcement (!) of our 5-buck raise.  Per hour.  But it is retroactive for a year.  If they tripled that we would still be in the lower 25% range of adjunct raise.  I may be making that number up, but it feels about right.  I know we're not in the top 50% nor at the bottom of the heap, either. This news is about a Category One level on a scale of 1-5 (one being the lowest), but I'm happy to have any kind of  pay raise, especially since we've had our wages frozen for several years.

We're also getting the parking lot by the lower level of the library that should have been put in when they built the library, creating parking headaches. But next semester's parking woes will be Category Five on a scale of 1-5 as they are closing one of the main parking lots to build our new College Center, which is billed as a "center for the college" but when you look at the space usage, it's really just new offices for the Administration, while the faculty offices are still in pre-1970s buildings, dark and dank and woefully small.  But then, they aren't really hiring new faculty these days -- just administrators, with a few adjuncts -- so I guess new faculty digs aren't needed.

One student appears to have stopped coming to class, now that we have 4 weeks left, another student was caught plagiarizing and I sent her name up the admin ladder, and still another student seems to have no regard for the start time of class for when he does come in it's like he's the only person in the room, standing, talking, flailing through his backpack as he settles himself. 

Their major paper of the semester is due in two weeks and I've put the screws on them to get cranking.  One student is calmer than a summer lake in the morning, while others are Category Ten on the panic scale of 1-5.  You can see it in their eyes, their inability to find anything in their backpack or folder, the stepped up visits to Office Hours which I hold at a table in the library, since the Adjunct Office Conditions are about a Category 12 on a scale of 1-5 (with 1 being most suitable), as compared to the Faculty Offices.

We are all tired.  The students are tired, teachers are tired and the staff barely move from their rolling chairs when you ask them a question, their fingers poised over the keyboard while they barely move their eyes from the screen to your face in order to see if you are a Category One person or a Category Ten person on a scale of 1-5, with 1 being the least important. If it's awarded on power, the only power I hold is a fully-paid up parking pass for a Faculty/Staff slot and an ability to award grades to the deserving and undeserving alike.  If it's on looks, I am always fully dressed.  If it's on brains, mine generally show up at the time I need them to. But with having to sign a paper every semester acknowledging my non-renewable contract and lowly status, it's really not a hard question: I'm a Category One, most definitely. 

Which is why I'm taking an unpaid sabbatical leave next semester.

Fading

Four more days until the end of the semester, and I feel like this photo of my Santa Quilt, purposely faded in intensity so I can doodle my quilting designs on it.

I took it in today to class, tucked in my pink briefcase right behind their new Precis Assignment, the Checklist for their Research Paper packets, and the three-page Peer Review handout.  Since I spent Saturday morning in Urgent Care getting diagnosed with Bronchitis Induced Asthma, and then getting a breathing treatment and receiving four medications (all together now: I Believe in Pharmaceuticals), after an hour of waiting at the pharmacy, I was pretty tired, so went home, swallowed a glug of cough syrup and went out like a (drugged) light while Dave put up the outside Christmas lights.  At least someone is productive around our house.

I was most concerned because we'd spent Thanksgiving with a friend with a low-functioning immune system, so I asked the doctor, "Am I contagious?"  "No," he said.  Relief.  And so we swing into the holiday, with lights on the front of the house and me wheezing in between inhaler hits. 

So, that faded Santa is a good representation of how things are around here.  This afternoon I crunched down a cough drop during class to keep the coughing at bay while they read through the handouts, one by one.  Then we got to the Peer Review.  The stats:

• Twenty students still on the rolls.
• Three have stopped coming.
• Five didn't have the requisite three-page minimum on their essay, so couldn't participate.
• Twelve students spent the rest of the hour, trading papers, evaluating.
• I doodled on my faded Santa, a satisfying diversion.

We came out to the most glorious sunset, and two of the girls sighed audibly at the brilliantly colored sky.  I snapped, then posted, photos on Instagram, then drove home on the back roads, avoiding the horrific freeway traffic.

The latest news from the Educational Front is that our Dean has been canned.  Well, he has until June on his contract, so there have been "Reporting Reassignments," which doesn't affect what I do one whit, except that I don't see him slinking around the Tutoring Center, hobnobbing with the staff as much.  The last time I saw him, he was dressed like an upscale bum: half-shaven, casual clothes, his dreads grown out again, and sneakers.  I made some comment that he looked comfortable today, and he said, "I try to dress up as much as my faculty does."  So even though I had to overlook that snotty comment, I did sort of like the guy, but he's a goner, while I still wear pearls and nice clothes and have my weensy little adjunct job that involves coming to class when I feel like staying home in bed, but I did solve a Santa-quilting problem, then was taken out to Pho for dinner by my light-stringing husband.

On the whole, not a bad day.

Gentlemen, Start the Hassles!

The new semester begins in two weeks and of course, we've received the obligatory emails about buying the parking passes, for someone--in their pointy-headed wisdom--decided to offer a yearly pass but charge you 15 bucks more for the privilege.

So now it begins.  The hassles.  I chalk it up to the millions of dollars in cutbacks that our community colleges have undergone.  These cutbacks mean that much more is out-sourced off campus.  More, like the Help Desk, which when you call is answered by a youthful voice with a languid Southern drawl, and which is sometimes unintelligible.

So currently I am on hold (on speakerphone) with the Help Desk, after having already chewed up most of my morning on hold with Credential Parking Services (outsourced decals available now!), which sadly informed me that the problem is not on their side, but on mine.  Whatever that means.

I wrote back to the lady who sent out the email, and she said to talk to A, or B, or call the Help Desk, whose spiffy, choppy music with heavy guitar rotation is now playing on my speakerphone along with the earnest message that "Your call is very important to us."  Haven't we all seen through that by now?

Earlier this morning, I tried A.  She won't be in until the first day of class.  B neither.  I should say I've been working on this since last fall, and only now am getting some responses.

There are many more items that I could list which make life as an adjunct at an underfunded small community college difficult.  This is only the one that surfaced today.  And I chalk it all up to no money for the things that make life at the Little U function well.  I guess we could say that all those tasks have been "out-sourced". . . to people like me. 

Update: talked to an intelligible, articulate person at the Help Desk who was able to duplicate the issues I'm having.  I could kiss him for verifying my troubles.  The problem is NOT solved, so still no parking pass and I could STILL get a ticket on Day One of classes, but it's been "elevated one level."  Whatever that means.

Shakedown

There's a sort of a shakedown that any new school term goes through, when the students are getting used to the teacher and the teacher is adapting to the new classroom of students, and generally by the end of this period, you have a pretty good idea of what to expect.  This can be disrupted by reality knocking, and that's usually in the form of the first essay to come in to be graded.  Which happened this week.

The results, roughly:
Two A+ papers
Four A/A- papers
2 B+/A- papers
Two B papers
Bunch of C papers
One paper I refused to grade because the student didn't turn in the required copies of her source materials
Three papers I stopped grading because 1) either the student is trying to use another paper from another class to get by for this assignment and it missed the mark by a mile or two, or 2) the student never read the assignment sheet again after we went over it in class, relying instead on their brilliant memory, or 3) the student is clueless.

It took about 18 hours to grade this stack.  The B+/B/C/Redo papers I'll see again in about a week, for their mandatory re-write.  We'll see if the A papers want to do the same, but I'm praying that they won't.

I started working on this class the second week in August, about five weeks ago, and it's been a constant grind getting this baby afloat.  I've had a few hours here and there where I just refused to write another assignment, or blog post, or quiz and either did quilting, or stared at any screen (computer, iPhone, iPad or TV) for a while, candidate for Vegetable of the Week.

And finally, tonight, after taking this show on the road for five weeks, I feel somehow I might be just turning a bit of  corner.  Just gliding over a wee bit of a hump.  Just the tiniest bit of pressure escaping.

If that's the case, I guess I can lay that red pen down for an hour or two.  Maybe even a day.

I Guess I'm Really in School

The general attitude this week is "I guess I'm really in school now."  That applies not only to the students, but also to me, the professor.  I guess I'm really in school means that I'm used to dragging myself home on Wednesday night to stand in front of the refrigerator looking for something to fix for dinner, then calling Dave and saying, "Meet you at the Vietnamese place?"  Only this week I called him when I was at a dead stop on the 3-story flyover at the freeway interchange.  He told me it was "orange and red" all the way home, so to go back roads.  And then I said I'd meet him at the Mongolian Barbeque.

It also means we survived J's first experience at testing.  I handed out a pre-announced pop quiz (is there such a thing?) and within moments after writing his name, he started freaking out.  "Oh, oh, um, um" and squeaks and shifting and sighs.  I directed him to head over to the Disabled Students Office across the way to take his test.  As he got up to leave, the girl with the purple hair told him to hold out his hand.  He did, and she sprayed something on his wrist.  "For stress," she whispered. "Okay," he said as he sailed out the door.  Maybe I need some of that spray: I received word that I'll be evaluated this semester by one of the full-timers. 

Mr. Call Me Maybe student looked like he lost his best friend in class, sitting there morosely the entire time.  Maybe it didn't help that it was 81 degrees in the classroom.  The fellow behind him had three paper towels on his desk, using them to mop up the beads of sweat that never stopped once during the two hours of class, and occasionally running the paper towel all over his head to try and stay dry.

I gave an MLA test (review) and cut the usual edition by 2/3.  It still took some of them nearly 45 minutes to finish; I guess these are the students who are a bit rusty at this. Our color printer died, nearly, so we got a new one of those on deal.  I had trips to the Mammogram Shop, the Dermatologist's Shop, the X-ray shop, the Grocery Shop, the Gas Shop, Target Shop, where I got myself a nice new pack of colored pencils for annotating my nice new textbooks.  I rebelled against lesson prep one afternoon and sewed the binding on my Scrappy Stars quilt, just to get my hands on the cloth.

I invited everyone in my class to Dropbox, the online cloud storage system, not only to grab up some extra storage space for myself, but also because I'm tired of the dilemma where a student needs to print a paper but they left it on their computer at home and they're here and can they send it to me to print?  (No.)

The bigger panic, though, lies within myself.  I need to get these students from Point A on this shore to Point B across the river, and I am still crafting the boat they need to get in to make the journey.  I just don't know the material that well, and I wish it were on the tip of my tongue, rather than having that vague sort of recollection of having read something once that pertained to this topic.

Welcome back, everyone. Two weeks gone, sixteen to go.

So Call Me Maybe

 I think the beginning of the semester is like getting a circus launched.  I'm the main clown.  It takes lots of applying the mental make-up, finding the right costume -- especially when my room's average temperature is 84 degrees -- and bringing energy to entertain the crowd.

Ah, welcome back.  I have J. in my class, formerly known as "Mr. Oh-No!" by my friend, as that was his (loud) response when she'd pass back a quiz.  Note to self: send the quizzes over and J. over to the Disabled Students Office (DSPS) to be handed back.  It's only Day Two, but I have to admit I've been charmed by the boy.  He's a giant fellow, sits near the back and goes in-and-out-and-in-and-out.  I think that's a coping mechanism and I'm not getting in the way of anyone coping with Critical Thinking.

I turned away five wanna-adds before class, and fended off another ten that first day.  I usually only take the first one in the classroom, and that was a mistake.  When I came home I found his earlier pleading email to me: "Dear Elizabeth" was how it started.  Um, not a good start.  Two days ago he wrote that he was trying to join the Marines and he'd be gone next week for both days.  He didn't come to class yesterday.  I'm done with him.

But the next student made it all worthwhile: the hours hunched over the computer getting their class blog up and ready, the writing of the assignments and hoping they get printed at Printing Services, the slavish attention to typos and errors (as I'm teaching an English class), among other things.  Our class met yesterday in the library, and they had several "computer orientation" tasks to complete, one of them being an email sent from inside their class (Blackboard) software.  I suggested when they send me that email, they tell me what a great professor I am, and how they'll work hard and earn an A, or how excited they are to learn about Critical Thinking.  But I started laughing out loud when I received the following:

It's going to be an interesting (and funny) semester.
**********************************
For those who haven't heard this song, here's the US Olympic Swim Team's version of it.

Summer's Over

I can tell summer's over by the fact that my eyes hurt from looking at the computer screen for too long.  A new course (Critical Thinking), two new textbooks--no, make that three--and I can't blame anyone but myself because I chose them all.

It would help if I knew what I was doing.

I sort of know what I'm doing, as I've lived with my Dave for nearly a quarter of a century and he encourages sharp, not sloppy, thinking.  And then there were all those years with my sisters at home: you had be on the top of your game, logic-wise, otherwise someone would trump you and you'd lose the squabble.  My parents trained me at the dinner table to think globally about a lot of issues and my mother can still hold her own in any political argument (speaking classically, of course).  And then there's those years of eye-rolling in Sunday school, when someone makes a connection with the barest strand of plausibility.  I can't forget the Letters to the Editor of our local newspaper, where we must have the highest crackpot population I've ever seen, and they are all busy writing letters.

In between the studying of the screen and textbooks, I've been doing wash.  We've just had Barbara and David and their family here, with a day visit from Chad and his boys.  I decided to wash the bedding from the mattress up, as Tom and Susan will be checking into Motel Eastmond in a couple of weeks as well.  We also saw Scott and his family this summer and now that they've all gone back to their lives, it's really quiet around here.

Summer's over, but not the heat.  Summer's over, and I've almost finished the cutting and pinning of the Lollypop Tree blocks. 

Summer's over, and it's gone too soon.

One casualty of grading lower-level research papers is the boredom factor.  John Berryman said it best, in his poem Dream Song 14: "moreover my mother told me as a boy (repeatingly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored means you have no Inner Resources.’ " However, I don't think this really applies to wrangling a misplaced modifier to the ground, especially if they've lost their way on pretty much the rest of the essay.

So here for your enjoyment, is some of the best and the brightest lines from the recent batch (I'm kidding--no A students are included below):

Not only will they know the medical history but also they will have the opportunity to learn more about his or her personal history. This can make it easier for the child to answer questions such as, “Who am I?” and “Where did I come from?”  (from a paper on Open Adoption.  The essay was mostly plagiarized and she failed the assignment.)

*******

Prevention of homelessness could be prevented, by providing supportive housing, a job, and healthcare. (I suggested he read his papers out loud in the future to catch syntax errors.)

*********

Immigrants not only raise up American population, but also brights the knowledge from their country which make U.S economy unique.  (from my Chinese student, whose English skills belie the fact that he's really really smart, and whose phrasing makes me smile sometimes) 

*******

International adoption has allowed the access for many orphan’s to live abroad in permanent loving homes. When orphans are given the privilege by their government to live in another country, they will be opening the doors for couples. The new window of opportunity to take an orphan from another country will provide the child with a safe home and a loving family, which is not only benefiting the child, but the new parent as well. The parent will encourage and protect them from the dangers that may arise. All in all, the love they provide the child will most likely enrich the life and give them hope and a sense of belonging. Most of all it will remind the child that they are not forgotten.

(I call her the Queen of Redundancy.  That misplaced apostrophe is her work.)

*******

 "One of the main reasons why americans have unions is to make sure their getting paid enough for the work they put into a curtain company. (This student is a happy ray of sunshine in our classroom, and I'll take her anytime, even with typos and misspellings.)

So, as you can see from my comments on their writing, it's always a mixed bag at this level. The really faltering students have dropped (although I liked some of them, too) and I'm left with those who have hung on and put up with my incessant homework and assignments and requirements and quiz after quiz.  My son Peter and I had an interesting conversation today about how the middle class is getting shafted (no big surprise).  It occurred to me as we were talking that these students are in that group, because their education--their ticket to the future--has been fairly decimated.  Eighty percent of the teaching at my tiny community college is done by adjuncts.  If they are only getting teachers who are being paid (if you calculate the hours spent for the money earned) less than these students are at their Starbucks barrista jobs, what kind of talent is behind the desk at the front of the classroom?

My friend Judy and I feel like we do a pretty decent job, but we were recently in a meeting where one adjunct, who teaches at another school, confessed to only assigning half the number of required papers.  I was pretty stunned and a bit angry at a situation which hires people who are beyond stressed, and who can only give half of what is needed.  I salute the students for persevering through their shell of an education, and applaud them for getting through my class, even with their quirks, typos and misplaced modifiers.

Here's to a happy summer! 

Big Smiles

 

That little 50-cent pin in the corner of this completely unexpected certificate brought a million-dollar smile to my face yesterday morning. I had no idea what it was shen I pulled it out of my school mailbox, but immediately put the pin on my sweater and wore it proudly all day.  My mother says it's a nice reward for not "putting my head down on the desk and crying" after seeing the last post about some of my students' papers.

Wow.  So unexpected.  So lovely.  I think I'll make it to the end of the semester now!

Grading Research Papers

The Stair Method of Grading Papers--the step they land on when thrown determines the grade.

Some of the best lines from my recent batch of papers:
• "[Teachers] are a part of the process in helping people find and obtain a complacent [sic] career.

• "Today's students are entirely different bread [sic] than those of previous years."

• "It is hard to say exactly what would combat students in these shoes."

•"By only sticking to those they know and share the same view points [sic] with they never get to expand and understand others and as such never even get to start the bond with the college as a whole.  This may seem somewhat irreverent [sic] in the big picture, but it has an invisible hand in things."
(A contender in the Sell Me A Comma as well as A Vague Pronoun award.)

• "Many teachers in the teaching district are now adjuncts and although these teachers are trying the skimpily [sic] don't have the necessary skill that full time [sic] teachers have."

Note:  When Dave and I were in Shanghai, we would go to the hotel manager with a question.  He would answer in English.  But we couldn't understand what he said, even though we recognized he was speaking the same language as we were.  I have a little of the same problem going on with this student.

How a teacher feels when correcting the same error a billion times--one that we went over and over and over in class.

• "Another example of a graffiti artist is Keith Haring, a social activist who in the 1980s created street art using bold lines and vivid color, and social issues."

• "Plenty more citizens that are currently unemployed and struggling can now get a good holding to make some money."

•" If the ordinary consumer did not have to pay more on gas they can use the money in other industries, stirring the economy more."

• "After almost being caught red-handed, Banksy told himself he had to either cut the time it took him to bomb him [sic] art or quick [sic] the whole street scene altogether.

•"Couples that have fertility problems turn to first, if they can afford the price tag."

Happy Grading!

School Daze--March 2011 Version

Correcting quizzes today.  This young man is fairly bright (all my students are fairly bright, even when they're not), but obviously had his mind on other things during the quiz about the  reading--which he obviously did not do.  I suppose that's why the Martian Man is in the border.

Another student, Mr. Know-It-All, came in today 70 minutes late (Our class period goes for 110 minutes--this is the third time he's been this late.  Should I ask him if he knows what time our class starts?).  He asked to talk to me about his paper--rough drafts on the second essay are due today.  His story went something like this: "Well, I went to Las Vegas this weekend and I took my grandmother's computer, which I'm not used to and I always compose without paragraphs or using double-spacing so I was writing and writing and I finished my paper, but when I put in the paragraphs and the double-spacing, it was eight pages!!"  He beamed, and looked at me like he was the first human to lay an egg, then continued: "Is there a page limit on our essay?"

Me:
Him: "Great, because I know you said my first topic of Violence in America was too broad, so I changed it to Violence in the Middle East."
Me:
Him: "I would give it to you now, but I don't have it printed off."

Right. I figure every student gets a chance.  He's used about 15 of his.

Like, Vagueness

In City, a publication I found by perusing Arts & Letters (see note at end), Clark Whelton pens an essay about Vagueness--about the inability of people to express themselves.  He's obviously older (or at least as old as I am) so is able to get a broader view on the shifting of speech, of communication skills.  He writes:

In 1988, my elder daughter graduated from Vassar. During a commencement reception, I asked one of her professors if he’d noticed any change in Vassar students’ language skills. “The biggest difference,” he replied, “is that by the time today’s students arrive on campus, they’ve been juvenilized. You can hear it in the way they talk. There seems to be a reduced capacity for abstract thought.”

 My mantra in my English classes is "vivid, specific," and I use the photo above as a lead-in to this idea.  I put it up and ask, "Is the young girl laughing or crying?"  I use this photo as the dated details (her hair up on her head, the old car, boy in striped T-shirt) obscures their usual references and they have to base their conjectures on other clues.  They give their answers and we discuss why it is so difficult to figure out what's really going on the picture.  The answer is obvious: the photo is blurry so we can't see the details.

I equate that to their writing.  Vivid. Specific.  I write these two words on the board, and read them examples of writing that eliminates what Whelton calls "Vagueness," writing that uses specific words and sensory images: "an annoying and noisy large seagull," instead of "a bird."

So is she laughing or crying? With the blurriness of vague imagery cleared up, it is obvious. 

I loved Whelton's article as I lecture on the use of like, instead of "as if."  I challenge them to excise "he was there for me" from all their writing.  I implore them to change out the flabby verbs for brisk and vigorous action words. 

Of course, the challenge is for me, their teacher, to continue the attack on my own feeble vocabulary, to be specific, instead of you know, like, whatever.

First Essay

The first essay has come in for grading.  I'm currently in the COG--Cave of Grading--a place that has been well described by Dante.  That aside, this essay is one where the students describe when they hit a turning point, a place where they enter through a portal into adulthood, leaving childhood behind.  Some are quite mundane (getting a girlfriend, a driver's license) but others are dramatic.  Following my friend Judy's lead, here are some of my students' stories:

• Woke up one morning to Child Protective Services banging down his door; mother arrested for endangering a minor with her drug habit and teenager sent to live with the father.  (What this student never answers is who turned her in?  I have my money on the ex-husband, the father.)
• Decides her family is a pain, so moves in with a girlfriend during sophmore year of high school.  Downward slide of truancy and partying stopped only when met at school by Mom, sheriff and principal.  After two years, moves back home.
• Student's father dies on Valentine's Day of her eighth-grade year.
• Busted by cops at a local teen hangout while enjoying a beer, student and his friend are roughed up pretty severely by police.
• Student got herself into substantial debt while in high school; is working fifty hours a week at two jobs to pay down what she owes, while attending college full-time.
• Student's mother divorces and student remains with mother through bad stepfather and two difficult living situations.  Student goes home to see his father for holidays; mother hangs herself on Christmas Eve.
• A near-disaster on a construction site--when his father is nearly buried when the ground gives way-- wakes up a student to the harsh realities of the adult world.
• After being beaten for nearly her entire life, a young woman runs away from home.  Her grandparents take her in, and help her become emancipated.

That last one had me in tears, because while I can be pretty inured to the writing of my students, she wrote with delicacy and great emotion.  I admire all these students who have struggled through difficult things and now sit in my classroom with all kinds of hopes and dreams for their future. 

Ding Dong--School's Back in Session

It's Ding Dong Time.
This is a metaphor for school being back in session.  It's also a name for the students who act like Ding-Dongs.  On that note, let's open our mailbox.

Student #1

Hello, My name is {C}. I am a student here at Crafton Hills, and I would like to know if you have room for one more in your class. I know you may be done adding people, however, this is the only class I need to graduate this spring. Is there any possible way that I can get a sticker from you tomorrow in order to add? Please let me know asap so that I do not miss the date to add more classes. Thank you.
~C.~

Dear C--

You know I've never heard that line about needing this class to graduate.  No one has ever said that before to me--never.  So, of course!  I'll bump you to the front of the add line--ahead of the other 12 people who came the first day of class, trying to add, and who I turned away.  Why bother waiting when you can plead with the teacher later?

I'm Just Kidding!  I asked him to tell me a little about himself, thinking that if he were halfway decent, I'd get him to come to my class the next day and I'd size him up.  He didn't answer until two days later, on the day of the add deadline.  He wrote, in part:

I will just be honest with you. In normal conditions, I have been known to slack a little. I procrastinate, cut corners, figure out some way to B.S. my way through it, and it usually works. This, however, is not a normal condition for me. For the last few months I have done nothing but talk to my family about how I want them to come to my graduation. That I am finally going to get my Associates, and after all this work I'd finally have something to show for it. I am motivated to prove myself in this class. To prove myself, to myself. My only difficulties, at present, lye in the fact that I am basically homeless, though fortunate enough to have a friend with a couch. Also, I have no vehicle, and as a result rely on others for a ride. I will, however do my very best to be as punctual as I can, to work hard in your class, and to turn in quality work.

Because he was too late, I turned him down.  Don't worry--I referred him on the late-start teacher, who chews up and spits out these type of students for a snack.  This student will be in good hands.

Student #2

Hello Ms. E--

sorry I wasn't in class tues. but here is my library research paper, my computer at home crashed and this is the first I could get to my grandmas computer, but what do you know she's out of paper. Again very sorry. thank you - J.

Dear J--

You are so lucky!  I run a free service for students like you.  My husband and I like nothing more than to print off papers for students whose grandparents don't have paper. We love to use up our printer ink and paper and time because we know, by looking at the date (a day AFTER the assignment was due) that you have much more important things to do than get to the library to print up your own work and turn it in on time. 

And J, while we're having this heart-to-heart dicussion, please stop bring your Big Gulp sodas to class in defiance of the explicitly stated rule about no food or drink in the classroom.  Even though I've mentioned it to you four times (once in the library), I'm sure it just slipped your tiny little mind.

Actual Student Emails, September Version

Hi Mrs. E.,
I will not be in class today, I had previously told my grandmother that I would drive her to Redlands for a bone-density test. What would you like me to do with my essay? And what did I miss in class today?

Thanks,
Student #1

Dear Student #1,
I would like you to take your essay, decorate it, then fold it into origami shapes. Then I want you to go to the Redlands Farmer's market and see if you can make some money selling your essay. I always tell all my students to do this. Why turn it in to the professor when you can make a little money on it?

And there's nothing more I would like to do than reteach the class over again, so you can catch up what you missed.

Sincerely,
Professor E.

*************************
Hey Ms. Eastmond I'm not doing very well, I cant walk two feet without blowing chunks I might have salmonella or just super bad food poisoning is there any way I can email you my JW-4 and my P-1?


Dear Student #2,
I have no idea who this is. Perhaps you want to tell me?

By the way, since you and I have a formal, student-professor relationship, and we don't know each other intimately, it's okay in the future to simply say "I'm quite ill with food poisoning." You don't have to share the details.

Thanks, to whoever this is--
Ms. E.
P.S.
*********************************
I want to send it as an email just in case I'm not able to print it.

Dear Student #3 (whoever you are),
I think in the future, if I'm lacking some aspect of lesson planning, I'll just send it over to you on your smart phone (the one you keep looking at during class) and then I won't have to worry about going over to the Printing Services, dealing with the ladies there, or worrying about if I have enough copies for class.

What a bright idea! Wish I'd thought of just sending, without permission, the things I need printed.

Ms. E.

A Comment on University Websites

As I get ready for classes to start next week. . .