I'm grading again. I do this to myself and I accept that I am responsible for my own pain. In my sick need to try to be fair, I usually offer opportunities for students to earn 8-10 grades each semester. I mix up quizzes, short papers, exams, and participation so each student has the opportunity to succeed. Some actually take advantage of the opportunity, which is gratifying. However, this means that I grade a lot.
As I wade through the latest stack of exams, I'm considering a new strategy. I think I should be able to assign a final grade at the end of the semester. To assist me with this new strategy, I'm going to look high and low for a sorting hat like in Harry Potter. Shouldn't be too hard to find something that only exists in JK Rowling's imagination. Armed with my hat, I'll have a grading ceremony at the end of the semester. Each student will come to the front of the room, take a seat, put on the hat, and after a few moments of deliberate reflection on the student's performance, the hat will announce the student's grade. Sure, this plan violates just about every principle of student confidentiality, but weren't rules made to be broken - especially if magic is involved?
Yes, this is the way things should be. Not the other way where I have to wade through open-ended short answers that conflate numerous ideas and concepts into one big maelstrom of crap.
I'm being a bit unfair. Overall, the exams & other assignments from my summer students aren't bad. I'm just tired.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Farmer's Market
It's summer in the southland, which means high temperatures, high humidity, and fresh produce!! Since I'm an apartment dweller, I can't plant my own fresh produce, but I can take advantage of our local farmer's market. I've been meaning to go for about 3 weeks and haven't gotten out the door on Saturday morning. Today, I finally got myself together and made my way across town.
Several factors worked in my favor this morning. First, the immediate environmental factors: I managed to get up and caffienated relatively early. There's a bright blue sky outside and while it is humid, it's still possible to draw breath.
Next, the broader environmental factors: Since moving to College Town, I've regularly loaded up my recycling and driven it over to the recycling center. I've also become much more aware of the movement toward organic and sustainable produce. I'll admit that I'm not a total convert, but awareness is the first step.
Next, the external motivating forces: Through the magic of Facebook, I'm in touch with several college friends who regularly sing the praises of their local farmer's markets. One friend sells her wares at her local market - hat's off to you, Mary! I bet your cheeses are the best around.
But - to be perfectly honest, while all of these factors helped get me out the door, another factor decisively tipped the scales. In the past week, both major grocery stores on my side of town have sold nothing but disappoinment. I've sliced into bad potatoes and bad apples - and in this case, two bad apples spoiled the entire bunch, bought and unbought. I passed on lettuce and tomatoes that had no business being for sale. Add the bag of slimy mini carrots that I had the displeasure of opening two weeks ago, and I'm done with grocery store produce. It's like they're not even trying. So, I'll take my produce dollars elsewhere.
Upon my arrival at the farmer's market, I realized that I'd made two miscalculations that I'll fix on my next trip. I arrived relatively late. As I expected, the pickin's were slim, so to speak. And - I should have learned from Amy and Phil's example and taken a carrying recepticle of some kind. Next time, I'll know to take one of the many canvas bags lying around my house. Probably won't do the backpack basket.
Even with my late arrival and even though I had to manage multiple small bags, I was not disappointed.
I picked up some buttery Yukon Gold potatoes, crisp green beans and a fresh baguette with "everything" - think long, skinny everything bagel. The greens you see are a red-leaf variety of romaine lettuce. The grower was out of regular romaine so I decided to try this variety, figuring that it had to be better than anything I'd find the grocery store.
Later today, I'll head to the grocery store to get some cheese (sorry Mary, no cheese at this farmer's market.) Can't have bread without cheese. And, later tonight, I'll have fresh green beans, simple boiled parsley potatoes, and a leafy green salad with a pork chop. Take that, grocery store produce section.
Several factors worked in my favor this morning. First, the immediate environmental factors: I managed to get up and caffienated relatively early. There's a bright blue sky outside and while it is humid, it's still possible to draw breath.
Next, the broader environmental factors: Since moving to College Town, I've regularly loaded up my recycling and driven it over to the recycling center. I've also become much more aware of the movement toward organic and sustainable produce. I'll admit that I'm not a total convert, but awareness is the first step.
Next, the external motivating forces: Through the magic of Facebook, I'm in touch with several college friends who regularly sing the praises of their local farmer's markets. One friend sells her wares at her local market - hat's off to you, Mary! I bet your cheeses are the best around.
In Chicago, my friends make a weekly pilgrimage to their local market. During a recent visit, I witnessed the pilgrimage prep - complete with hard-core backpack baskets, like the one pictured here. Although invited, I opted out of the pilgrimage because it came with a 5AM wake-up call. I did opt in for the scones and fresh coffee that came back in the baskets. Amy and Phil, you're an inspiration.
But - to be perfectly honest, while all of these factors helped get me out the door, another factor decisively tipped the scales. In the past week, both major grocery stores on my side of town have sold nothing but disappoinment. I've sliced into bad potatoes and bad apples - and in this case, two bad apples spoiled the entire bunch, bought and unbought. I passed on lettuce and tomatoes that had no business being for sale. Add the bag of slimy mini carrots that I had the displeasure of opening two weeks ago, and I'm done with grocery store produce. It's like they're not even trying. So, I'll take my produce dollars elsewhere.
Upon my arrival at the farmer's market, I realized that I'd made two miscalculations that I'll fix on my next trip. I arrived relatively late. As I expected, the pickin's were slim, so to speak. And - I should have learned from Amy and Phil's example and taken a carrying recepticle of some kind. Next time, I'll know to take one of the many canvas bags lying around my house. Probably won't do the backpack basket.
Even with my late arrival and even though I had to manage multiple small bags, I was not disappointed.
Later today, I'll head to the grocery store to get some cheese (sorry Mary, no cheese at this farmer's market.) Can't have bread without cheese. And, later tonight, I'll have fresh green beans, simple boiled parsley potatoes, and a leafy green salad with a pork chop. Take that, grocery store produce section.
Monday, June 8, 2009
School's Not Out For Summer
Today was the first day of summer semester at Big City University. I'm teaching the same survey course that I taught during the regular semester, except now, I'm teaching it all in 11 class sessions. For those of you who are keeping track, that's all of US History in 11 classes. The classes are two and a half hours long, because the 11 class sessions weren't challenging enough. Ever try to engage a group of undergraduates for two and a half hours? Did I mention that the class starts at 11AM and ends at 1:30PM? Yes, that's lunchtime, ladies and gentlemen. Yeehaw.
To get us started, I'd planned to do an introductory song-and-dance and let them go early. I've performed the song-and-dance before, so it's well-rehearsed and undergrad-approved. I got to the classroom and immediately noticed an unmistakable error message on the in-class computer. Investigating further, I learned that despite the summer temperatures outside, the computer was in "deep freeze." Apparently, "deep freeze" means that the computer doesn't do anything - not even "Reboot in 180 seconds" as the error message promises. I know. I waited. Nothing happened.
While I was staring the frozen computer, I considered just how bad life was going to be for the next hour or so if the computer didn't thaw. "Hmm," I thought, "my entire presentation is on Power Point, and there's no way in hell to do the presentation without Power Point because it involves a significant amount of student response to - oh yeah - the stuff that's on Power Point." My heart and stomach sank. "I can just go over the syllabus and send them home," I thought. Then I realized that in my effort to simultaneously save the department's meager resources a small corner of the environment, I posted my syllabus on the school's document-sharing site. No hard copies. Well, I had one, but I could hardly share it with 22 students. "Crap, crappity, crap, crap, crap. Damn me and my frugality and environmental sensibility," I thought as students continued to file in and take their seats.
I'll be honest, I considered running away. I hadn't said anything to them. They didn't know who I was. I'd just be that crazy woman who came in, messed with the computer, looked stricken, and left. But - my professionalism and desire for food and rent money won out. I called Tech Support. So, the first words my students heard this semester were: "Hello, yes, I'm in my classroom ready to teach and the computer is in deep freeze." I'm hoping it's not a metaphor for the entire semester.
Instead of launching into my rehearsed song-and-dance, I improvised. I'm very proud to say that I did not launch into, "So, who's here from out of town? I just flew in from College Town and boy, are my arms tired!" No, I blabbered on and on and on about things related to the class in no particular order. Here's hoping my students understand garbled jibberish. I figure they speak and text it, so they should understand it [insert rimshot here].
When I ran out of things to say, I asked them to introduce themselves. I asked each of them to say his or her name, where he or she was from, and one thing that interests them about history. We got off to a rousing start when 3 of the first 4 students declared that they "really didn't like history." The entire subject written off as boring and irrelevant. Great.
We continued around the room and the chorus of History Haters grew. Surprisingly, many of the HHs were girls, while many of the non-HHs were boys. I'm not sure what that's about, but I think it's interesting. I wasn't aware that history had become a "boy's subject," like math and science used to be. Anyway, of the non-HHs, one likes world history, one likes military history ("battles, generals, and war"), and one likes ancestoral history - or the history of her own family. Great. Out of a very small percentage of the class that doesn't absolutely hate history, a significant proportion like the history that I don't teach. Fantastic.
Mr. AV finally showed up and disappeared behind the desk. I continued my ad lib. I was almost out of material when he poked his head out, declaring that he had fixed the problem. Happily, he was right. By this time, we were at least 40 minutes into class and 2 students came strolling in. I guess they decided they'd only come in if there was Power Point.
One of the late arrivals is a repeater from a previous semester. He registered late that semester, had really inconsistent attendance, and eventually disappeared - which explains why he's back. It doesn't explain why he decided to come to class 40 minutes late on the first day. I'm sure that he decided to retake the class with me because he's somewhat familiar with my teaching style. The flaw in his plan is that I am also familiar with his past performance. Showing up 40 minutes late doesn't necessarily convince me that he's ready to make a bigger commitment to the class.
So, along with the contingent of HHs, the Repeater, Col. Military, Ms. Family Tree and a couple of brown-nosers, I also found this semester's Sleepy Sleeperson and Ms. Non-Ductive Reasoning. Sleepy Sleeperson decided to introduce herself about 30 minutes into the class, right after introductions. She took out her bookbag, placed it on her desk, then placed her head on it and checked out. There are only 22 students in the entire class, so, yes, I could see her. I felt like saying, "Really? On the first day? Are you familiar with the concept of first impresssions? How about object permanence? As any 4 year-old will tell you, just because you can't see me doesn't mean that I can't see you." Instead, she woke up just in time for me to say, "If you are sleeping in class, you don't get credit for being here. Stay home and rest."
Ms. Non-Ductive Reasoning introduced herself after class. In a throng of students, she informed me that she already knew that she'd have to miss 2 consecutive classes in the midde of the term. She wanted to know if she could turn in her assignments early. "Yes," I replied, "you'll have to turn them in early. And, by the way, it's not a good idea to miss 2 of 11 classes." "Oh," she said, "I plan to take the first exam and if I understand everything, then I'll miss class. If not, I'll come to class." To my credit, I did not say, "WTF?" Instead, I encouraged her to come to class. I look forward to reading more of her logic process throughout the semester.
So, there's the summer bunch. They're not as colorful as Mark Harmon's group in "Summer School," but then I'm no Mark Harmon either. I know because I don't live on a beach and I don't have a dog.
To get us started, I'd planned to do an introductory song-and-dance and let them go early. I've performed the song-and-dance before, so it's well-rehearsed and undergrad-approved. I got to the classroom and immediately noticed an unmistakable error message on the in-class computer. Investigating further, I learned that despite the summer temperatures outside, the computer was in "deep freeze." Apparently, "deep freeze" means that the computer doesn't do anything - not even "Reboot in 180 seconds" as the error message promises. I know. I waited. Nothing happened.
While I was staring the frozen computer, I considered just how bad life was going to be for the next hour or so if the computer didn't thaw. "Hmm," I thought, "my entire presentation is on Power Point, and there's no way in hell to do the presentation without Power Point because it involves a significant amount of student response to - oh yeah - the stuff that's on Power Point." My heart and stomach sank. "I can just go over the syllabus and send them home," I thought. Then I realized that in my effort to simultaneously save the department's meager resources a small corner of the environment, I posted my syllabus on the school's document-sharing site. No hard copies. Well, I had one, but I could hardly share it with 22 students. "Crap, crappity, crap, crap, crap. Damn me and my frugality and environmental sensibility," I thought as students continued to file in and take their seats.
I'll be honest, I considered running away. I hadn't said anything to them. They didn't know who I was. I'd just be that crazy woman who came in, messed with the computer, looked stricken, and left. But - my professionalism and desire for food and rent money won out. I called Tech Support. So, the first words my students heard this semester were: "Hello, yes, I'm in my classroom ready to teach and the computer is in deep freeze." I'm hoping it's not a metaphor for the entire semester.
Instead of launching into my rehearsed song-and-dance, I improvised. I'm very proud to say that I did not launch into, "So, who's here from out of town? I just flew in from College Town and boy, are my arms tired!" No, I blabbered on and on and on about things related to the class in no particular order. Here's hoping my students understand garbled jibberish. I figure they speak and text it, so they should understand it [insert rimshot here].
When I ran out of things to say, I asked them to introduce themselves. I asked each of them to say his or her name, where he or she was from, and one thing that interests them about history. We got off to a rousing start when 3 of the first 4 students declared that they "really didn't like history." The entire subject written off as boring and irrelevant. Great.
We continued around the room and the chorus of History Haters grew. Surprisingly, many of the HHs were girls, while many of the non-HHs were boys. I'm not sure what that's about, but I think it's interesting. I wasn't aware that history had become a "boy's subject," like math and science used to be. Anyway, of the non-HHs, one likes world history, one likes military history ("battles, generals, and war"), and one likes ancestoral history - or the history of her own family. Great. Out of a very small percentage of the class that doesn't absolutely hate history, a significant proportion like the history that I don't teach. Fantastic.
Mr. AV finally showed up and disappeared behind the desk. I continued my ad lib. I was almost out of material when he poked his head out, declaring that he had fixed the problem. Happily, he was right. By this time, we were at least 40 minutes into class and 2 students came strolling in. I guess they decided they'd only come in if there was Power Point.
One of the late arrivals is a repeater from a previous semester. He registered late that semester, had really inconsistent attendance, and eventually disappeared - which explains why he's back. It doesn't explain why he decided to come to class 40 minutes late on the first day. I'm sure that he decided to retake the class with me because he's somewhat familiar with my teaching style. The flaw in his plan is that I am also familiar with his past performance. Showing up 40 minutes late doesn't necessarily convince me that he's ready to make a bigger commitment to the class.
So, along with the contingent of HHs, the Repeater, Col. Military, Ms. Family Tree and a couple of brown-nosers, I also found this semester's Sleepy Sleeperson and Ms. Non-Ductive Reasoning. Sleepy Sleeperson decided to introduce herself about 30 minutes into the class, right after introductions. She took out her bookbag, placed it on her desk, then placed her head on it and checked out. There are only 22 students in the entire class, so, yes, I could see her. I felt like saying, "Really? On the first day? Are you familiar with the concept of first impresssions? How about object permanence? As any 4 year-old will tell you, just because you can't see me doesn't mean that I can't see you." Instead, she woke up just in time for me to say, "If you are sleeping in class, you don't get credit for being here. Stay home and rest."
Ms. Non-Ductive Reasoning introduced herself after class. In a throng of students, she informed me that she already knew that she'd have to miss 2 consecutive classes in the midde of the term. She wanted to know if she could turn in her assignments early. "Yes," I replied, "you'll have to turn them in early. And, by the way, it's not a good idea to miss 2 of 11 classes." "Oh," she said, "I plan to take the first exam and if I understand everything, then I'll miss class. If not, I'll come to class." To my credit, I did not say, "WTF?" Instead, I encouraged her to come to class. I look forward to reading more of her logic process throughout the semester.
So, there's the summer bunch. They're not as colorful as Mark Harmon's group in "Summer School," but then I'm no Mark Harmon either. I know because I don't live on a beach and I don't have a dog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)