Been Inside Too Long

I'm inside today, working up a lecture on the 1920s for today's class. From what I can see through my windows, it's a gorgeous day outside. Bright sunshine, no clouds, slight breeze. It's been a long summer so I naturally assumed that it was hot and humid, and that the day would be best enjoyed from inside my air-conditioned apartment.

Because I'm highly distractable this morning, I decided to check the local news rather than work on my lecture. I pulled up the newpaper's webpage and noted the temperature: 56 degrees. "Really?" I said to no one in particular, "It's only 56 degrees outside?" I decided to double-check the newpaper's facts. Keep in mind that this is the local paper that originates from the same college town where I am sitting right now. How did I check the newpaper's information? I immediately and without hesitation pulled up weather.com on my computer.

As the page loaded, I smiled as I thought about the absurdity of my situation. "I could just go outside and see what the temperature is," I said aloud. I fear that I have embraced this academic lifestyle a little too tightly, that my stranglehold is finally choking the life out of normal, rational reasoning. "Go outside? Are you out of your mind? There's no desk outside. There's some bright light that's not coming from a bulb or screen - and it burns! Strange flying creatures make sing-song noises. Worst of all, there aren't any bookshelves! There's very little tweed! It's too scary out there!"

The first step in recovery is recognizing that you have a problem. I've now made a solemn vow to move away from my computer, go outside and enjoy this beautiful day. Besides, it's Mountain Day at Mt. Holyoke College and the college has decreed that I must join my sisters in this annual celebration of the great outdoors and ice cream. We'll forget for the moment that I only climbed one mountain in the 4 years that I was actually at Mt. Holyoke. The other years, I went shopping. Hey, at least I wasn't working!

My Bliss

"Follow your bliss." How many times have we heard this overplayed Oprah pop psychology? Just do what you feel passionate about and you'll achieve everlasting harmony between your work and non-work life. In fact, you'll be so happy, you won't even realize how much you're "working." It's the modern day path to nirvana. I'll admit that I've drunk the Kool-Aid and after careful consideration, I've decided that my bliss is a frustrating tease.

It all started 8 years ago when I lapped up the Kool-Aid and decided to leave a promising career to embark on a new career as an historian. I was following my bliss, but my bliss wasn't going to make it that easy. Instead of studying at an idyllic southern university, my bliss said, "If you want me, you need to move to the northeastern post-industrial wasteland to study at the Concrete Jungle where it snows 8 months out of the year." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Six years later, I returned to the South and finished my degree. "There," I told my bliss, "I held up my part of the bargain. Now, bring on the bliss." "OK," my bliss replied, with a sly smile, "If you want me, you'll need to teach over 160 ambivalent students each semester while simultaneously looking for a full-time job. And, oh, did I mention that you won't drive 15 minutes to the major university across town? Instead, you need to commute 90 minutes one way. All of this will leave you with precious little energy to write or do research." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Three months ago, I secured the Holy Grail of academia - a full-time, permanent, tenure-track job in the Humanities. "There," I told my bliss, "Now, I have you." "Hmm," replied my bliss, "If you want me, you need to accept a relatively low salary, a heavy teaching load, and another commute." I took another sip of the Kool-Aid and agreed.

Just as I decided that I followed my bliss to a pretty good place - my bliss scampered farther down the path earlier this week. Looking back from the bend in the road, my bliss said, "If you want me, you'll have to work just as hard but take home even less money." This time, I shook my fist at my bliss. "Why can't you just stay still? Why do you have to keep pushing me to prove my devotion? Don't you know how hard I've worked?" I cried while setting up the decorations and party favors for a real, full-on Pity Party.

After some time for reflection, I'm beginning to pull myself out of this funk. In these difficult times, I keep reminding myself that in the end, I'll still get paid to talk about and think about history all day. Reading history books isn't a hobby that I try to squeeze in around my work life. While many of my friends struggle to find secure employment, I've been lucky enough to land a job that lets me live where I want to live. I get to interact with some pretty great people - and yes, some of them are students. From this perspective, the good outweighs the bad. Maybe it's the Kool-Aid, and if so, fill up my cup again.

That said, I still think this whole forced furlough idea stinks.

Ides of Spring

I want to be clear from the beginning of this post: I am not writing in response to a certain comment by a certain demanding someone. I am writing because I finally felt inspired again. I do not produce on demand. (Though it is nice to know that someone is paying attention.)

Today, I'm reflecting on the coming of spring. There are many signs in the southland that spring is here. Trees with full green leaves, increasingly green grass, azaleas and dogwoods in full bloom, warmer temperatures, and shorter sleeves. And, let's not forget the pollen haze that turns everything a pale shade of yellow and took my voice away for approximately one week.


But, my favorite sign of spring has to be the annual unveiling of my chicken-white winter feet. Hidden from the world for the entire winter, my feet emerge, ready to shed socks and enjoy open-toed shoes. To celebrate this momentous occasion, I dressed up my toes. They're ready for their close-up, Mr. DeMille. Who knows, I may go hog-wild and treat myself to a pedicure.

Since applying this spring decoration, I've worn sandals twice. Both times, my little piggies squealed with delight. My feet basked in the sunlight, ready to shed the whiter shade of winter pale for a slightly darker shade of summer pale.

As I wear my flip-flops, I realize that my winter feet have softened. In this early spring, I'm actually enjoying the minor discomfort between the little piggy that went to market and the little piggy who stayed home. Such a welcome change from dowdy winter shoes and socks.

Weekend Movie Round-Up

This semester, I've settled into a routine where I return from the Big City late on Wednesday night. I'm useless through much of Thursday, often slipping into a 2-hour coma on Thursday afternoons. Friday through Sunday, I work, alternating between grading, prepping for the next week, and keeping up with the 43,000 other things I'm supposed to be up to speed on. And, then, Monday rolls around and we start all over again.

I've worked my Netflix viewing around this schedule. I queue up a movie and the next installment of whatever TV series I'm working through. When I get home on Wednesday night, there are the two red envelopes, ready to keep me entertained through the weekend. On Mondays, I send the movies back and the whole process starts all over again. So far, so good.

Based on this weekend's viewing, I'm going to make some changes in my queue. Somehow, without much planning on my part, I've put myself through an emotional wringer this weekend. All the rain didn't necessarily help to lighten my mood - and my Netflix choices delivered the knock-out punch.

It all started when I decided to watch "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas."

Yes, I knew it was about the Holocaust, and no, I wasn't expecting a pick-me-up, happy ending. I mean, seriously, just look at the poster. But, I certainly wasn't expecting the actual ending to this film. The last 10 minutes had me tied up in knots literally. I was tied into a pretzel in the corner of my couch. I seriously considered fast-forwarding to the end of the film. Even that strategy wouldn't have spared me. I won't say anymore, except to say that it will be a long time before I can wear my own striped pajamas again.

So, after that emotionally gut-wrenching experience, I turned to the other red envelope for some relief. I've been working my way through the second season of the BBC series, MI-5.

The episodes are intense, particularly as the series winds towards a season finale. I should have remembered this. Again, I won't spoil the ending for anyone, but holy crap! A shooting and a drowning in the last 10 minutes?? Is that really necessary?

After careful consideration, I've reorganized my Netflix queue. Here's hoping next weekend will bring happy endings and sunshine.

Aliens

Fair warning - this blog entry contains spoilers for "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull." I figure I'm one of the last people on the planet to see the movie, so I don't feel bad spoiling it for those who haven't seen it. In fact, I'd argue that Steven Spielberg and George Lucas spoiled it for those of us who have seen it.


So - it's Indiana Jones's last hoorah (let's hope). He's kidnapped by Russians, not Nazis, and taken to a military warehouse to help the aforementioned Russians locate a box. Nope, not the ark of the covenant. We've already seen that movie. No, these Russians are looking for something else. Something that landed in Roswell, New Mexico. Yep, these Russians came all the way to the United States to steal an alien. That's the first 10 minutes of the movie. I should have stopped there.

Aliens. Twenty years after the last Indiana Jones movie and this is what Spielberg and Lucas cooked up. Aliens. Seriously. Aliens. I can't seem to get over it.

But, the extended-skulled crystal-headed aliens with big bug eyes aren't the whole story. Turns out these aliens created an ancient civilization in Peru. At one point in the movie, Indiana Jones interprets cave drawings and determines that ancient peoples learned irrigation techniques and architecture from - wait for it - aliens. As a historian, I'm offended. As a moviegoer, I'm speechless.

Aliens.

I kept watching. I thought, "OK, the story is really, really unbelievably stupid, but maybe the stunts will save the movie." I was wrong. I understand that these movies require a certain suspension of reality, and I understand that I'm not good at that. But, c'mon - if Indiana Jones was at ground zero for a nuclear blast, then bounced to hell and back in a refridgerator, he'd be dead. He wouldn't get out of the fridge because fridges didn't have safety latches in the 1950s. So, he'd suffocate, but only after he broke every bone in his body. He'd be dead.

A few more observations - People don't learn to swing on vines by watching monkeys. Men who get hit in the crotch repeatedly do not continue fighting with swords. Based on my observations, they fall on the ground and squeal like little girls. Not in this movie. Nope. Shia Lebeouf (Shia The Beef, en francais) apparently remembered to wear his jeans with the iron crotch - just in case he got in a sword fight with Cate Blanchett. And speaking of Ms. Blanchett ...

What the hell is Cate Blanchett doing in this movie?? And why is she wearing a black wig? And why, in the name of all that is holy, does she talk with such an outrrraggeous accent? She played a Russian in "The Man Who Cried" - and I think Johnny Depp cried because her accent was so bad. And, why . . . why would a special agent in the 1950s Russian military carry a sword? Cate Blanchett didn't carry a sword in Lord of the Rings, and everyone had a sword in that movie. Ugh. I'm so disappointed.

I watched the DVD Extras to give Spielberg and Lucas a chance to explain themselves. Speilberg turned into rubber and blamed the glue - in this case Lucas and Harrison Ford. Seems the aliens were Lucas's idea. And Lucas was careful to say that his aliens aren't extraterrestrial. They're interdimensional. Whatever, George. You're extra- and inter-delusional. It will be a very cold day in Georgia before I watch a Speilberg or Lucas movie made after 1995.

Aliens. Seriously.

Finished, For Now

It is finished. I put the last grade on the last blue book, calculated the last final grade, and electronically submitted my little darlins well-earned marks for the semester. Now, after a semester that seemed like it would never end, I find myself wondering where the time went. I'm in a reflective mood, so I thought I'd share some lessons that I'll take forward:

• No extra credit: I offered extra credit against my better judgement. Lesson learned, there's a reason why it's called "better judgement." As I suspected, it made more work for me than for my students. It also artificially inflated grades that had no business being inflated. Solution: I plan to channel Faye Dunaway in "Mommie Dearest" and declare, "No more extra credit - EVER!" I might even wave a wire hanger.
• More specific guidelines for papers: Students are crafty devils. They can't read a 2-page document or write a 2-page paper, but they're more than happy to spend their time researching a topic that we've covered in class - reading way more than the original assignment required. I'm convinced that students have formed a mass conspiracy to convince professors not to assign papers. That's right - students who can't organize a sentence have organized themselves into a mass social movement devoted to ridding the academy of all expectations about written expression. Solution: I will insist that they cite only course materials in their papers. I will deduct points if they don't. And, I will turn them into the Honor Squad when they call on their good friends at Wikipedia to make up for the fact that they slept through my riveting lecture on Indian Removal.
• Texting: Social networking is great. While I find most of my students to be on the dull side, I'm glad that they have people in their lives who want to respond to their witty and insightful OMGs and LOLs. I'm not so fond of it when they're OMG-ing while I'm TEACHING. Solution: Three strikes and you're out. It's good enough for baseball, it's good enough for me. Take out your cell phone and start texting your friends? Thank you, your cell phone is mine for the remainder of the class. What's that, you're doing it again? Fine, take your little phone and the rest of your belongings and get out for the rest of the class. WTF - again? Fine, I wanted to learn the university's "instructor withdrawal" policy. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. See ya, bye. Same goes for you, Sleepy Sleeperson.
• Smaller chunks: This is a tough one. On the one hand, I learned that I don't like to grade all the time. On the other hand, students don't learn simply because I say, "Write a paper." Solution: More in-class assignments where they have to at least attempt to learn a skill. More grading for me, which hopefully will result in better work in the long run. If not, I'm switching to one cumulative final. That's right - your entire grade is decided on the last day of class. See how they like them apples.

I'm sure that I've learned a lot more, but I'm tired and I think I'll spend the rest of the evening on the couch with a pint of Chocolate Peanut Butter Haagen Dazs. Lesson learned: Reward thyself.

Grading papers

I'm grading papers. I should be looking forward to a nice holiday break. Instead, I'm grading papers. I have no one to blame but myself. Me and my stupid committment to good writing. When will I learn? Students, for the most part, don't care about writing. They only care if they get laid and drunk, preferably at the same time. Why do I torture myself by making them write? Maybe if I made them write about getting laid and drunk...no, even then, their papers would stink.

That's really not fair. Many of my students seemed to take this assignment seriously. They had to choose an autobiographical narrative written by someone reflecting on the 1960s - 1970s. Then, they had to relate one or two main issues in the book to the longer history that we have discussed in class. In other words, I wanted them to demonstrate that they learned something this semester. Show me that you can trace change over time. Show me that you can use specific examples and not talk in complete vaguery. Show me that you cite a source!!

And, some of them did well. Only a few have managed to state an argument in their introduction, but who needs an argument? Who doesn't want to wait until the conclusion to learn the main point of the entire essay? It's like a nice surprise. Sometimes, I play a little game. I try to guess what their argument is as I'm reading, then I see if I'm right when I get to the conclusion. Sometimes I am, and sometimes I'm not. Well, I am right, but the student heads off on a new tangent in the conclusion and doesn't articulate the obvious argument. Oh, the frivolity.

What really wears me out are the plagiarists. These students piss me off. Not a mild irritation, we're talking white-hot rage. Without fail, they're the little jackasses who have been working my last nerve all semester. I hate, hate, hate, hate having to waste my time tracking down the original source of their masterpiece, printing it out, then marking both copies to show the extent of plagiarism.

Then, I have to take time out of my day to meet with the student to explain why he or she won't be receiving any credit for the assignment, and why they can't have a "do over." I hate that I'll have to sit and listen as they explain that they just didn't know that they couldn't "copy and paste" directly from an online source and turn it in with their name on it. I hate that I'll have to show them that I clearly forbid such behavior on my syllabus. Most of all, I hate that I'll spend 20 times more time with these slackers than I will spend with the students who did the assignment correctly.

They can't say I didn't warn them. I told them on the first day of class (and printed on my syllabus) that I am a professional researcher. That's what historians do - we research. When you start using the Britsh spelling of words and citing sources written in German, I know something is up. When you stop speaking in jibberish and start making sense only to return to jibberish, I know something is up. If you can find it on Google, so can I.

My only joy will come when I tell one hapless jackass that he can't possibly pass the course now. That he will have to repeat this course that he so clearly enjoyed. That he will not be welcome in any of my classes next semester. Then, I can kick him out of class for the rest of the semester. OK, it's only 3 more classes, but I won't have to look at his sourpuss and that makes me very happy.

I refuse to give up on teaching writing skills. I refuse. I do. Really. (sob, sob)

Mad Men

I've developed a new addiction in recent weeks. It's called, "Mad Men." I know that I am late to this party, but better late than never. I'm watching last season in Netflix. With two more episodes to go, I'm hooked.

I know I'm hooked because I have random flashes of Mad Men during otherwise un-Mad Men related activities. The other day, while I was driving home, I thought about how creepy Pete Campbell is. He really upsets me. He's such a snake. Yeah, yeah, I know that I'm supposed to feel sorry for him because his father doesn't love him and he only got married because his wife had money and he thought he had to get married. Well, I don't feel sorry for him. I would be very happy if he fell down the elevator shaft at Sterling Cooper, a la Rosalind Shays on LA Law.

Mad Men has made me fall in love with John Slattery all over again. I loved him in "Ed." I even loved him when he wanted Carrie Bradshaw to pee on him in "Sex and the City." How many actors can you say that about? In Mad Men, he's a real letch - having an affair with the office manager, hitting on employee's wives, getting schnokered at lunch. But he's so charming and endearing, unlike Pete Campbell who is just a sniveling, conniving snake. Something tells me John Slattery's character is not going to survive next season and I'll miss him terribly.

Still trying to figure out if Peggy is pregnant. Don't tell me!! Have to say that I loved the scenes where she tries to explain why women will love the "Rejuvenator."

Also loved the scene where Betty Draper takes a rifle and shoots the neighbor's doves out of the sky, all while smoking a cigarette and wearing a housecoat. Fabulous!

But here's what I really like about this show: Each of the characters is flawed and multi-dimensional. I also love that writers explore 1960s society without beating the viewer over the head with it. Rampant sexism, the malaise of college-educated housewives, the Nixon-Kennedy election, work ethics - all woven into great stories. I particularly enjoy the references to salaries and the cost of consumer goods. "He already makes $35,000/year!" "I'd like a $5/week raise. I currently make $35/week." I'm considering showing episodes of the show in Women's History classes, or classes on the 1960s. It's that good.

Good Day

Anyone who reads this blog regularly knows that I tend toward pessimism. So, in an effort to reset the universal balance of my life, I offer the following:

Today is a good day. The sun is shining and I don't need a jacket in this first week in November. The leaves have started to change colors. I wrote a lecture for yesterday's classes, then decided to review instead. My students confirmed that some of them, more than a few, are actually getting it. So, instead of spending my Wednesday struggling through mid-week exhaustion to put a lecture together, I'm relatively relaxed. My hair looks pretty good today.

And . . . change is on the horizon. Tomorrow, I'm lecturing on the civil rights movement of the 1960s. Sometimes, life just works out. I can't help but think about an August afternoon before I was born, when a preacher from Georgia stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and delivered one of the best-known speeches in our history. I can't say it better than he did, and I won't even try.

"With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true."

-----Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "I Have a Dream," March on Washington, August 28, 1963

Today is a good day.

History Writer

As my new work colleagues talk about sending out article manuscripts for review and obtaining book contracts, I remain mired in grading, writing lectures, and fielding student requests and complaints. On my way home yesterday, my trusty iPod shuffled to "Paperback Writer" by the Beatles. Got me thinking about courting publishers. I think I'll send this rendition with my propectus to potential publishers.

History Writer
(sung to the tune of "Paperback Writer" by the Beatles)

History writer (history writer)
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?
It took six years to write, will you take a look?
It's based on a program to help people read,
And I need a job, so I want to be a History writer,
History writer

It's the southern story of excluding blacks
From voting and reading and all of that
The teachers try to help people read,
I've written it up and I want to be a History writer,
History writer

History Writer (History Writer)

It's two hundred pages, give or take a few,
I'd have written more but I blew a fuse
I can make it longer if you like the style
Or I'll change the whole thing, I'll even wash your car
History writer, History writer

If you really like it, you can have the rights
And I'll cook dinner for you every night
All I ask is that I get tenure, I need to eat
So I want to be a History writer
History writer

History writer, history writer
History writer, history writer

Angered the Wrong Universal Force

Apparently, I've angered some very vindictive universal force. I'm not sure when it happened or how, and I'm not sure how to undo it, but I hope this force smiles on me soon. Allow me to recap the past few weeks:

1) Lost my flash drive with all of my computer files on it.
2) Computer froze and slipped into a coma, cutting off access to my files.
3) Got in traffic jam, had to cancel first class, ran a very confusing and disorganized second class with wrong version of lecture
4) Confronted a very sluggish classroom computer, tried to run class, finally aborted class, cancelled the rest of the day and went home
5) Student risked life and limb to turn on classroom projector when remote failed to work
6) CD with sound files of oral histories wouldn't rip onto my computer, complicating what should have been an entertaining lecture
7) DVD wouldn't play in my office computer
8) Couldn't watch TV at friends' house because couldn't figure out satellite TV and Tivo
9) Blew fuse at friends' house while warming food in the microwave
10) Almost lost friends' dog when I opened the garage door instead of turning on the light

And finally . . . the best of all: I returned from lunch today, unlocked my office door, and the entire door handle came off in my hand. At that point, I just started laughing. What else could I do? A colleague told me "not to fly off the handle." I took some consolation that perhaps I did have a firm handle on things, all evidence to the contrary.

Weekend Update

It's late on Sunday and I'm looking at the back end of another weekend shot to hell. I spent much of the weekend preparing for lectures next week and grading papers. I hate grading. I really hate grading piles of garbage. I know that I'm supposed to offer helpful comments and find at least one good thing in each paper, but when over half of the papers are repetitive, redundant, repetitive summaries of crap, it's hard to be nice. For some, I was reduced to something that sounded a lot like: "Dear Student X: In your paper, you managed to spell your name correctly. Congratulations. It's too bad that you misspelled my name and Fredrick Douglas (the subject of your paper). Better luck next time." I'll just say one thing: Frederick Douglass's name has 2 Es and 2 Ss.

My lecture is incomplete. I want to use clips of oral history interviews and have run into technical difficulties. The CD is a companion to a book about African Americans' memories of Jim Crow segregation. When I did this lecture 4 years ago, I popped the library's copy of the CD into my computer and presto! It loaded straight into Media Player. From there, I could embed individual sound files into my Power Point presentation and really looked like a real techno-badass teacher.

Fast forward 4 years to a new computer, new operating system, and new CD. I put the CD into my computer and I can't load it onto my hard drive. I can play the CD and I can create a playlist in Media Player, but I can't put the individual files onto my hard drive, which means I can't easily embed them into my Power Point presentation. I don't know if this is a copyright issue, a Vista issue, or just God's wrath raining down on me. Grrrr. Very frustrating. Now, instead of looking like a techno-badass professor, I'll look like a techno-idiot, trying to construct a coherent lecture while juggling at least 2 different pieces of equipment. I'm not giving up, even after a major techno meltdown last Thursday.

Late this evening, I checked my email from the northeastern post-industrial wasteland. Second on the list was: "Job Offer: Secret Shopper." I like to shop, I thought. I don't like to grade, but grading salespeople might actually be fun. Just so I don't have to read any papers about Fredrick Douglas waiting on people.

Straight to Hell, Do Not Pass Go

These are troubled times. The US and overseas economies are hanging on by their collective fingernails, the Presidential election is sliding into a morass of name-calling and back-stabbing, and Orlando Bloom is still galavanting around saving orphans and not making any new movies. Troubled times, I say.

But, the worst sign of all, a true omen of the impending apocalypse, a "bend over and kiss your ass good-bye" harbinger if there ever was one:

This movie was #1 in the US box office last weekend. Ouch, I'm in actual physical pain. Seriously. Real. Physical. Pain. We can't afford a tank of gas, but we can afford tickets to watch talking dogs? Really? I don't want to ruin the movie for anyone, but those dogs can't really talk. What's next? A full-length feature film starring the Aflac duck? At least that would be entertaining because that duck can really talk. Seriously.

Image from: http://3disneyboys.files.wordpress.com/2008/04/beverly_hills_chihuahua.jpg

Back in Business

Greetings from my new home computer! I'd include a picture, but I'm still working out the interface between my computer and my camera. I trust they'll be good friends before long. Although the camera and computer are still negotiating the terms of their relationship, I successfully managed to load MS Office, iTunes, printer drivers, and virus protection yesterday. For most people on the planet, these are relatively easy procedures. With my extensive history of killing computers softly with software, I'm always amazed when things go smoothly.

So far so good with the new stalwart companion. I'm adjusting to Vista and stiffer keys. The base is also "thicker" than my old computer so I'm pretty sure I'm at grave risk for a crippling case of carpel tunnel. I'm also adjusting to a squattier screen, forcing me to scoll up and down a lot more. The new computer has a built-in remote-looking thing next to the keyboard so I can easily watch movies. As if I need more encouragement to procrastinate.

I think my computer and I will be good friends. I notice that I'm not deafened by fan noise nor am I forced to wear asbestos gloves to avoid burning my fingers. All improvements in my book. And the sound system is better, probably because it's not competing with a loud fan. By "fan," I mean a whirring sound, not someone standing next to my desk yelling, "Go computer! Woohoo!" That would be really annoying.

So, after a week that left me feeling disorganized and completely off my game, I feel my life coming back on track. My errant flash drive came home mid-week and things really started to improve. I've decided that I can't ever lose that flash drive again.

Trash as a Metaphor

Today, I drove into work. Yes, I know it's Monday and I usually work at home on Mondays. Over the weekend, my computer froze up and slipped into a coma. Since this was the second meltdown in 4 months, I put a DNR order in place. I tried not to freak out, knowing that I'd lost my back-up last week. I took the machine to Best Buy where the Geek Squad recovered my data. My former stalwart companion is now in pieces, its brain in a plastic ziploc bag, and its data on both a DVD and flash drive.

I've ordered a new computer that should arrive by the end of the week. In the meantime, I'm forced to work in my office. It's been a long time since I've worked in an office. A really long time. Like 10 years. It's a strange experience. There are other people around and I can't work in my pajamas all day. There aren't any windows in my office and I'm beginning to feel claustrophobic. I'm not sure I like this. Anyway, I'm working through my lecture and trying to get ready for tomorrow.

I'm also spending the week with Big City friends, so I don't have to do a daily commute. When I left this morning, I hoped that I had everything I'd need to live and work away from home for 4 days. I remembered my students' exams, I remembered my books, I remembered the oh-so-important flash drive, and I remembered to take the trash out. After making 3-4 trips up and down the stairs, I got in the car and headed out.

About 15 minutes down the road, I remembered the trash that was still in my trunk. "Crap," I thought, "How perfect is this? I have lots of trash and I can't get rid of it. I just keep hauling it around, stinking up my life." I'm not sure I've ever managed a more perfect metaphor. I also appreciated the irony of my trash riding in the trunk with my students' exams. I wondered who was winning the stench war in my trunk.

Rather than worrying about computers, being away from home, or any number of other things, I decided to worry about the trash. When I arrived at the parking deck, I noted that there were trash cans with flip lids on each floor, right next to the elevators. While others pulled into the first space they could find, I drove straight to the upper floor. I parked right next to the trash can, popped the trunk, popped the top of the trash can, and secreted my bag of trash into the trash can. Problem solved. I'm hoping that this concrete act translates into metaphor and my luck changes soon.

Train Wreck

Yesterday was one of those days. It was the kind of day that makes you wonder why you ever got out of bed. As far as I can tell, it all started the night before. After driving to and from the Big City to give a make-up exam, I returned home and got a late start on my lecture. For 5 hours, I struggled to pull the material together. I needed to cover antebellum reform and the Mexican-American War. After 5 hours, I decided to jetison the war. There's always the next class.

Turning my attention to antebellum reform, I stubbornly decided to revise my rather dry take on the anti-slavery movement. I decided to talk about African American abolitionists, and not just Frederick Douglass. Trouble is that I didn't have all the material I needed at my fingertips. At 10:30PM, I was still looking for the "perfect quote." I called a friend and babbled incoherently about being disorganized and unprepared. She advised me to call in "overwhelmed." I decided to keep trying to make my lecture work. By 11:30, I decided that life was too short. Exhausted and completely frazzled, I put the mess together as best I could and went to bed, not at all convinced that I was actually going to make it to work the next day.

At 6AM, I got up, determined to face the beast and get through the day. I went over my lecture, made some last minute changes, printed my copy of the powerpoint slides, and headed for the shower. Miracle of miracles, my hair actually looked halfway decent. I foolishly thought my luck was changing.

Before I left, I remembered that I needed to save my lecture to my jump drive. I dug though my purse - no jump drive. I emptied my purse - no jump drive. I repeated the procedure with my bookbag. No jump drive. Fortunately, everything on the drive is on my computer so I didn't "lose" any data. Fortunately, I have a back-up jump drive. I quickly saved my lecture and was out the door, hoping that my lost jump drive was in my last classroom of the day.

All was going relatively well. During the first 45 minutes of my 90-minute commute, I talked through some rough parts of my lecture, ironing out the transitions and explanations. I turned on to the interstate, drove about 5 miles and stopped. Stopped for a long time. Stopped long enough to discover that Big City radio stations have completely given up on traffic reports, especially for post rush hour wrecks on this "lesser" interstate. I sat long enough to discover that I was too exhausted to try to figure out an alternate route into town, and to discover that my cell phone was running out of juice and I didn't have the phone number for Big City University. I tried Information, asked for Big City University by name, and was connected to a phone that just rang and rang and rang. I pictured a lone phone in a soundproof room, sign on the door reads, "Gag phone for Information."

Increasingly exasperated as the minutes ticked by, I called a friend who found the real number for BCU. I successfully passed on the message and cancelled my first class. Then, as always happens, the clouds parted, the angels sang, and we were traveling at normal speeds again. I considered turning around and going home. I really did. In the end, I decided to persevere. Why deny the gods their opportunity to screw up the rest of my day? I arrived at BCU about 10 minutes before my class would have started. But, the die was cast and I was in no mental shape to lecture. I headed to my office to try to regroup. Nothing like feeling totally defeated at 10:50AM.

At the appointed time, I went to my second class which is in the same room as the first. Very reliable students were noticeably absent. I think they saw the cancellation sign on the door and assumed their class was cancelled as well. I decided to go forward when about 2/3 of them showed up.

I put in my jump drive, turned on the projector and launched into my lecture. About 3 slides in, I discovered that the lecture on the screen didn't match the lecture in my notes. Apparently, I'd saved an earlier version of the lecture to the jump drive. I tried to smooth over the problem, and realized that I'd just have to confess to the students that I was disorganized. I tried to make a joke of it: "Usually, it's you all who are surprised by the slides on the screen. Today, it's me. Let's see what's next..."

After class, I quickly got the slides in order and headed to my next class. As far as I can remember, it went smoothly. I don't think there were any major malfunctions in that class. Feeling a bit more confident, I headed to my last class. Got in the room, got my stuff out, and started searching for my lost jump drive. It was nowhere to be found. Fighting panic, I got out my purse to retrieve the back-up. It was also missing. I dug around furiously and it wasn't there. So, back up 2 flights of stairs to my other classroom where I found the damn thing still sticking out of the computer. Mark my words, from now on, I'm emailing my lecture notes to myself. No more jump drives - ever!!

The last class seemed to go smoothly. I made it through my lecture on antebellum reform, including some discussion about the temperance movement. After a long day, I made my way home. In one of my better ironic moments, I cracked open a bottle of red wine and toasted the temperance movement. I then proceeded to get drunk enough to forget the day. At 11:15PM, I headed to bed and passed out.

Today, I'm going to pick up the pieces, finish grading exams, and try to find enough gas to fill up my car.

Getting Dumber

The other day, I read Leonard Pitts's editorial in the local paper. I like Pitts. I can see where others might disagree with his views, but I like his reasoned approach to relevant topics. If nothing else, he makes me think, which isn't such a bad thing.

In this week's editorial, Pitts focused on recent reports from Wasilla, Alaska, claiming that former mayor Sarah Palin once asked the local librarian to remove certain books from the library shelves. Pitts used this report as a springboard to comment on "anti-intellectualism" in the United States. He forcefully argued that whether one agrees with a book or not, it's important to read. He concludes with:

"We are becoming the stupid giant of the planet Earth: richer than Midas, mightier than Thor, dumber than rocks. Which makes us a danger to the planet - and to ourselves. This country cannot continue to prosper and embrace stupidity. The two are fundamentally incompatible." (Leonard Pitts, Athens - Banner Herald, September 22, 2008)

I have to say that I'm on Pitts's side in this debate, though I think the "big stupid giant of planet Earth" may spring forth from different origins. Instead of being born from a complex argument against intellectualism (which seems contradictory), I think the giant is the result of just plain laziness. After grading 170 undergraduate exams, I'm appalled at some of my students' performance. I realize that I'm teaching a required course that isn't at the top of my students' lists, and I realize that not everyone likes history, but that doesn't excuse some of the absolute crap answers that litter the pages of these exams. Some of my students have yet to buy the books for class, much less READ the books for class.

Last week, I explained their paper assignment. It's a 4-5 page paper that requires that they read an entire 250-page book. That's right, the entire book. Gasp. I've given them a 2-month heads-up on this assignment. In other words, they have 2 months to read 250 pages. I feel sure that some will find an online review and/or summary and try to forego the actual reading part of this assignment. Or some will just make shit up from the title, hoping that I won't notice. Something like: "My paper is on Lakota Woman. It's about a woman who is a Lakota Indian. She had superpowers. She could fly and shoot fire from her fingertips. She was a real badass."

Others will read the first 20 pages of the book and try to write their papers. I don't think my students will refuse to read the book because they have formulated a complex critique of intellectualism in this country. I think they're just lazy. Either way, they're contributing to Pitts's "stupid giant of planet Earth."

But, I also know that some will actually read the book. Yesterday, one student actually had the library copy of the book, and had a bookmark to mark her place. The paper isn't due for 2 months and she'd started the book. I almost cried. In another class, I have a perpetual texter. I've called his attention to it, told him to put his phone away, and he persists. One day, when I was lecturing at a snail's pace, he pulled out _The Things They Carried_ by Tim O'Brien and started to read. I didn't say a word. I was so happy that he was reading a real live book.

So, here's to Leonard Pitts for having the guts to remind us that reading isn't obsolete or dead. I will continue, in my little way, to be David to the stupid giant of planet Earth.

Saturday in Late September

It's a beautiful early fall day here in the southland. Check out the blue sky:

I can't take a picture of the low humidity and comfortable temperatures, but trust me, it's a beautiful day. What am I doing on such a gorgeous day? Nice of you to ask. I'm staring at these:

Yep, that's approximately 170 blue book exams. The damn grading fairies have gone on strike, so it looks like I'll have to grade all these exams all by myself. Just looking at them (even in this picture) makes me nauseous and gives me a headache. I've been feeling woozy, headachy, and run down for about a week now and really wish it would go away. I thought it was stress, but now I'm wondering if there I've caught some sort of nasty bug. I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that I can't seem to find enough hours in the day to my work and I'm not sleeping or eating very well. Nah, can't be any of those things.

Despite not feeling well, I dragged myself to the grocery store, figuring the only way to solve the eating problem was to, well, eat. I decided I'd make one of my favorite pasta dishes for dinner. It's really tasty and I think I could use a feeling of accomplishment right about now. Things started to look up when I checked out at the store and got this for free:

Almost made up for the staggering nausea. I'm seriously thinking that I need to spend the rest of the day lying here:

Eating these:

And reading this:

Exam Fall-Out

Yesterday, I returned to the classroom for the first time since my students took their exam. Some students were in good spirits and seemed to be relieved to have the exam behind them. These students were in the minority. More of my students fell into one of three categories:

1) Surly McPissed: These students were noticably irritated about something. I can't say for sure if I was the source of their irritation, but they were less than cordial. One of my good students was positively seething in the front row, slamming her computer shut at the end of class and bolting from the room. Others chose to express their displeasure by whispering to their neighbors and scowling. One group of boys were particularly irritated when I neglected to say that they didn't need to copy down a bunch of population figures I'd posted in my powerpoint lecture. One slammed down his pen and looked completely exasperated. I felt like saying, "Dude, I'm saving you some work here. If you'd like, I can make you memorize the population of the top 10 US cities in 1820. Would that make you happier?" Instead of doing this, I called on him, by name. I never underestimate the power of learning students' names. He muttered a half-right answer and paid attention for the rest of class. Message: You can be pissed at me, but don't disrupt the entire class. And I know who you are - and all of your little friends, too.

2) Mr. or Ms. Damage Control: While Surly McPissed shut down for the day, I had other students who positively came to life. Students who'd never said anything in class before contributed wholeheartedly to discussion. And they weren't just blowing smoke. The regular contributors kept swiveling around to see who was stealing their thunder. The New Talkers were joined by a legion of students who are now much more invested in taking good notes in class. I'm slowing to a snail's pace in lecture, but I'm willing to trade pace for attention any day.

3) Absent McMissing: In 3 out of 4 classes, I noticed regular attendees who were noticeably absent. Again, I know the world doesn't revolve around me and my class, but I can't help but think that their absence was related to the exam. Maybe they decided to give themselves the day off. Maybe they couldn't face the class again. Maybe they're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and are under the care of medical professionals. Who knows? I checked my class rosters and none of them has dropped the class. I guess I'll wait until next week and see if they decide to materialize.

I figure that I'll get students re-acclimated to the class just in time to give the exams back, thus touching off a whole new round of responses.

Teaching

I've been doing a lot of thinking about teaching lately. I've also been doing a lot of being exhausted and generally not feeling well. Perhaps that contributed to my general malaise about teaching.

After grading the first round of papers from my four classes of up to 46 students, I've discovered that my students have a wide range of abilities. For the assignment, they had to take a short primary document written in 1777 and answer 3 questions. The answers to the first 2 questions were in the book. They had to think about the 3rd question. So, this assignment let me evaluate if they'd read, if they understood what they read, and if they could take one step beyond the book to analyze what they read.

I learned that some of my students can write beautifully, presenting a thoughtful and organized set of ideas that not only summarize the material, but offers an interpretation. Others can summarize well but are reluctant to analyze, because analysis requires going beyond what's in the text to offer an informed opinion. Much easier and safer to repeat what's in the book. And, finally, there are the ones who just plain missed the boat. They either completely misinterpreted the document or their writing is so convoluted that it's difficult to know what they're trying to convey.

My job would be a lot easier if students grouped into these categories in each of my classes. In other words, all of the good writers would be in one class, and so on. I know I'm not the first person to say this, but it's challenging to figure out an approach that meets the needs of all students in the room. If I teach to the "A" students, I lose the "C's" and "D's". If I keep the "C's" engaged, they might become "B's", but then I've lost the "A's".

My sense is that I've been lecturing too fast for about a third of my students. Last week, I slowed down in one class and found myself going so slowly that I lost my place several times. The pace also encouraged students to try to write down every word I said, which made things even slower. I lost quite a few "A's" along the way. One fellow even took out a book and started reading, and I didn't blame him.

At that point, I became very discouraged. Here I was, in a college classroom at a major research university, and my students had no idea how to take notes from a lecture. I wondered how many of my students in my other classes required a lecture at that pace. That thought snowballed into, "Holy crap. We're 5 weeks into the semester and it's possible that about half of my students haven't understood a damn thing I've said or done."

I was even more discouraged when a good student approached me after my last lecture. She said, "I don't think you realize how much material you just covered." Again, I thought, "I have to teach all of US History in one semester. If you think that my 45-minute narrowly-focused lectures cover too much material, we're in deep trouble."

I know that I'll have some students who just won't try because they just don't care. There's not much I can do about them. But, I also know that I'll have some students who decided that they hated history in high school. They decided that they'd hate this class before they ever walked in the room. My goal is to try to change their opinions. But, to change their minds, they need to be willing to engage in historical questions, not simply memorization. They need to be willing to work and think, not simply wait for the next spoonful of information. They need to be willing to read. I'm not kidding when I say that more than a few of my students haven't even tried to get the books for this class and seem surprised that I'm actually going to hold them accountable for the assignments in the books.

While I continue to try to work this out, I'm checking out job announcements for permanent positions. I sense that a large part of my frustration is directly related to the fact that I'm only teaching captive audiences - students who are forced to take this very broad survey course and could care less about history. Again, we're 5 weeks in and I'm very tired.