How did it get to be September already?
I know, this is hardly an original complaint, or a concern unique to little old me. And in fact at the beginning of summer I even predicted that I would feel some anxiety at the end of it. And look, I do.
I don't know any academic who doesn't close out the summer with at least some tinge of regret for pages unwritten or books unread. For me, since summer was the prequel to the Semester of Leave I was busy thinking/saying/acting as though "leave" began in June. But that wasn't entirely true, as I was still mopping things up in the land of administration, moving offices, recovering from the past academic year, and coping with all kinds of Elderly Parent stuff.
But now, the semester's been on for a week. This is my leave, for reals.
And what am I doing? sitting in Oppressive Childhood Town preparing to take my hostile Elderly Parent to her Alzheimer's screening tomorrow.
I did read poetry for about 30 minutes today. And I read an article on the plane. But that's about all I've been able to manage.
I'm going to be super-hungry for work by the time I return home. And super sad about September.
9/02/2008
8/25/2008
from poetry to poop in 150 words
Evolutionary biologists explain that the large frontal cortex in humans, which gives us an exceptional capacity for pattern matching, was originally a survival mechanism. If we're not stronger or faster than our predators, then we need to be able to interpret their signals and make smart choices. Our brains are designed to read meaning into our environment -- whether we're reading gestures, words, sounds, or objects, we are constantly interpreting things, but usually at a level far below our conscious awareness. The top-level interpretations we are aware of are the result of hundreds more subtle patterns we've already decoded. This inherent capacity of the brain explains a lot of understanding that comes to us through intuition, or hunches -- things our conscious mind can't really explain but other levels of our brain have already grasped.
This skill also means that we start to see connections and cause-effect relationships among items that don't necessarily have them. It's a small step from "which one of these things is not like the other" to "when I see round objects I feel happy." Put five items in front of a person and sooner or later you'll start to make judgments about them -- and see connections, comparisons, and relationships that may or may not "be there" at some other level of evaluation. The most beautiful connections we call poetry, metaphor being its most condensed form. The seemingly most obvious connections we might call taste or preference: what seems appealing or disgusting to me seems self-evidently so, yet with a little perspective one realizes that it's just subjective perception. From another angle, we get superstition or mysticism-- human beings are biologically prone to making connections between unrelated things (hence the "lucky socks" students wear to test day) and also therefore prone to mistakes about judging the probability of certain events (any day's news reports gives you plenty of examples).
I've been reading a lot of different material lately about how these pattern matching and judgment skills in the brain operate. (from Blindsight to Fooled by Randomness to Spark.) As a literary critic, I rely upon these skills all the time, and part of my job as a teacher is to help students learn how to become more reflective and critical about the patterns they notice and enjoy. But I've been enjoying trying to observe how often that patterning kicks in -- how frequently I find myself with preferences or assumptions that really don't belong there.
Our oldest dog, known here as Old Girl, likes to eat poop when we're out on a walk. She prefers cat droppings, but will eat other dogs' poop too (but never our own family dogs, never in our own yard -- there's undoubtedly some territorial as well as gustatory element at work in her desire). This is a disgusting habit, but it is almost impossible to completely prevent her from getting some. She's crafty enough to squat to pee -- which is after all one reason for going on the walk -- and then suddenly duck her nose into a pile of cat poop. Old Girl would be approximately 97 years old in human terms, so at some level it's kind of like getting great-granny to give up bacon and cigarettes (that is, if I had such a great granny, but I know people who do). So my walks with Old Girl nearly always involve some struggles over her access to certain stinky items.
Poop is, I think, unequivocally disgusting. Possibly less disgusting than vomit, but I don't really want to put that to the test (and there are lots of digestive variables involved). But then this morning I realized my brain has actually made some more subtle distinctions. Because, I found myself telling Old Girl, cat poop rolled in sandy dirt is MORE disgusting and shouldn't be ingested, even by a poop- and dirt-loving old dog.
Ah, the brain at work. (or something)
This skill also means that we start to see connections and cause-effect relationships among items that don't necessarily have them. It's a small step from "which one of these things is not like the other" to "when I see round objects I feel happy." Put five items in front of a person and sooner or later you'll start to make judgments about them -- and see connections, comparisons, and relationships that may or may not "be there" at some other level of evaluation. The most beautiful connections we call poetry, metaphor being its most condensed form. The seemingly most obvious connections we might call taste or preference: what seems appealing or disgusting to me seems self-evidently so, yet with a little perspective one realizes that it's just subjective perception. From another angle, we get superstition or mysticism-- human beings are biologically prone to making connections between unrelated things (hence the "lucky socks" students wear to test day) and also therefore prone to mistakes about judging the probability of certain events (any day's news reports gives you plenty of examples).
I've been reading a lot of different material lately about how these pattern matching and judgment skills in the brain operate. (from Blindsight to Fooled by Randomness to Spark.) As a literary critic, I rely upon these skills all the time, and part of my job as a teacher is to help students learn how to become more reflective and critical about the patterns they notice and enjoy. But I've been enjoying trying to observe how often that patterning kicks in -- how frequently I find myself with preferences or assumptions that really don't belong there.
Our oldest dog, known here as Old Girl, likes to eat poop when we're out on a walk. She prefers cat droppings, but will eat other dogs' poop too (but never our own family dogs, never in our own yard -- there's undoubtedly some territorial as well as gustatory element at work in her desire). This is a disgusting habit, but it is almost impossible to completely prevent her from getting some. She's crafty enough to squat to pee -- which is after all one reason for going on the walk -- and then suddenly duck her nose into a pile of cat poop. Old Girl would be approximately 97 years old in human terms, so at some level it's kind of like getting great-granny to give up bacon and cigarettes (that is, if I had such a great granny, but I know people who do). So my walks with Old Girl nearly always involve some struggles over her access to certain stinky items.
Poop is, I think, unequivocally disgusting. Possibly less disgusting than vomit, but I don't really want to put that to the test (and there are lots of digestive variables involved). But then this morning I realized my brain has actually made some more subtle distinctions. Because, I found myself telling Old Girl, cat poop rolled in sandy dirt is MORE disgusting and shouldn't be ingested, even by a poop- and dirt-loving old dog.
Ah, the brain at work. (or something)
8/22/2008
laugh when you can
The past couple of weeks with Elderly Parent have been kind of difficult. I finally got her to understand that I wanted her to see a neurologist -- and why (for an Alzheimer's/dementia evaluation). Since then, she's been understandably agitated, angry, sad, and afraid. But given EP's upbringing and personality, her response has been to cut herself off from her friends and to demonize me. She phones me every day or two to go through the same litany of how terrible a person I am, how I've betrayed her, and how she's doing just fine and doesn't need to see a doctor. I was prepared for this, since it's actually fairly familiar behavior from her, but that doesn't make it any easier when I see her name pop up on my phone.
Getting the appointment scheduled has been a lengthy process, since a referral was required from her primary care doctor, whose staff are bad about returning phone calls. But then yesterday EP tells me that an appointment was scheduled for her with the neurologist. That's great news! But she doesn't know what day or time it was for.
Because scheduling an Alzheimer's screening on the phone with the patient is such a great idea. Right?
I've got to laugh about these things because otherwise it is just too irritating. (And I called that office today and they were happy to tell me when the appointment was for. Thank goodness for frequent flyer miles, since now I'll be making two trips out there this month.)
Getting the appointment scheduled has been a lengthy process, since a referral was required from her primary care doctor, whose staff are bad about returning phone calls. But then yesterday EP tells me that an appointment was scheduled for her with the neurologist. That's great news! But she doesn't know what day or time it was for.
Because scheduling an Alzheimer's screening on the phone with the patient is such a great idea. Right?
I've got to laugh about these things because otherwise it is just too irritating. (And I called that office today and they were happy to tell me when the appointment was for. Thank goodness for frequent flyer miles, since now I'll be making two trips out there this month.)
8/16/2008
faculty leaves
This story in yesterday's Chronicle, about how the University of Georgia has suddenly canceled some faculty research leaves for this Fall semester, has really been on my mind. First, of course, is my sense of sympathetic outrage on the behalf of those faculty who thought they were on leave this semester and now suddenly have been told that they will be teaching next week. And on behalf of the administrators who have to find/create courses for them to teach, and the students in hastily-put together courses taught by someone who thought she'd be writing her book. That's really not an ideal learning situation.
I understand about budgetary cuts, and how research leaves might seem like something extraneous that could be sliced. But although the Chronicle article didn't specify which colleges/departments were being affected, such cuts typically affect faculty in the humanities much more than they do faculty in the grant-supported sciences, since we have fewer opportunities to take time away from teaching and put it towards research. So there's that concern. And what's even more frustrating (in my sympathetic response) is that the cancellations are being unevenly applied. According to the article, some faculty who had planned to be doing research in other locations for the semester are still being granted their leaves under a "hardship" clause. So if you already have your research completed and need writing time, or if your research materials are available to you through interlibrary loan, your leave is taken away.
I'm identifying very strongly with the Georgia faculty affected by these cuts because I have a one-semester faculty research leave for Fall 2008. My university, like Georgia, doesn't have sabbaticals. And in fact our leave program is only for our college and is thus contingent upon the good sense and good graces of our Dean. It's something that could be suddenly taken away from us at any point.
And I'm spending my leave semester here. I don't need to go do archival research anywhere else for this project. I'm presenting at a conference in the fall, but otherwise I'll be here -- I need uninterrupted reading and writing time in order to get this book written. As is also true at Georgia, we get a one-semester leave at full salary or a full year at half salary. Economically and logistically it really wouldn't be feasible for me to go somewhere else. And besides, I don't want or need to for my research. So I've very strongly identified with those faculty mentioned in the article who suddenly find themselves teaching when their colleagues who planned to travel still are on leave. In my department, it's usually only faculty who are married to high-paid professionals who can afford to take the year at half-salary and spend it abroad. Those with family responsibilities or smaller incomes usually spend their leaves at home.
I've been maintaining a regular gratitude practice for several months -- expressing my gratitude for the blessings in my life each morning and evening. And the luxury of my research leave has definitely been on that list. But unlike my yoga practice, for instance, which is also on that list, I also feel a sense of responsibility and some anxiety about my leave. Will I have enough to show for it? am I using my time in the best way possible? And now I kind of feel like not only am I writing for my own reasons, but on behalf of those whose leaves were cancelled.
I understand about budgetary cuts, and how research leaves might seem like something extraneous that could be sliced. But although the Chronicle article didn't specify which colleges/departments were being affected, such cuts typically affect faculty in the humanities much more than they do faculty in the grant-supported sciences, since we have fewer opportunities to take time away from teaching and put it towards research. So there's that concern. And what's even more frustrating (in my sympathetic response) is that the cancellations are being unevenly applied. According to the article, some faculty who had planned to be doing research in other locations for the semester are still being granted their leaves under a "hardship" clause. So if you already have your research completed and need writing time, or if your research materials are available to you through interlibrary loan, your leave is taken away.
I'm identifying very strongly with the Georgia faculty affected by these cuts because I have a one-semester faculty research leave for Fall 2008. My university, like Georgia, doesn't have sabbaticals. And in fact our leave program is only for our college and is thus contingent upon the good sense and good graces of our Dean. It's something that could be suddenly taken away from us at any point.
And I'm spending my leave semester here. I don't need to go do archival research anywhere else for this project. I'm presenting at a conference in the fall, but otherwise I'll be here -- I need uninterrupted reading and writing time in order to get this book written. As is also true at Georgia, we get a one-semester leave at full salary or a full year at half salary. Economically and logistically it really wouldn't be feasible for me to go somewhere else. And besides, I don't want or need to for my research. So I've very strongly identified with those faculty mentioned in the article who suddenly find themselves teaching when their colleagues who planned to travel still are on leave. In my department, it's usually only faculty who are married to high-paid professionals who can afford to take the year at half-salary and spend it abroad. Those with family responsibilities or smaller incomes usually spend their leaves at home.
I've been maintaining a regular gratitude practice for several months -- expressing my gratitude for the blessings in my life each morning and evening. And the luxury of my research leave has definitely been on that list. But unlike my yoga practice, for instance, which is also on that list, I also feel a sense of responsibility and some anxiety about my leave. Will I have enough to show for it? am I using my time in the best way possible? And now I kind of feel like not only am I writing for my own reasons, but on behalf of those whose leaves were cancelled.
8/14/2008
relative femininity
Dr Crazy's been writing some thoughtful posts recently about (among other things) the genre of personal academic blogging and gender normativity. The concept of the "personal" is inevitably coded differently for men and women -- and often assumed to have a connection to the domestic and/or feminine.
I'd think it's quite safe to say that Dr C experiences her gender identity (whether on her blog or IRL) very differently from me -- the ways each of us inhabits her female identity is very different. (I'm much older, less girly, and half of a short-haired, comfy-shoe wearing lesbian couple -- among other things). But I've also been struck by how cushioned I am in my day to day life from ever even contemplating my gender identity these days. No one is likely to comment on my childlessness or my appearance, and most of the time I don't really think about it.
What brought all this particularly to my attention was that GF and I recently attended a funeral and reception involving her extended family and several generations' worth of family friends. I so rarely see so much plastic surgery (kind of shocking when the 60 year olds look younger than I do) up close, so much cleavage, or so many high heeled shoes. And I work in an English department with its share of stylish women. But they're stylish in the way that academics are stylish, feminine, and attractive -- which is to say, very very different from the rest of this city's inhabitants.
I've always thought of femininity as a relative construct. Next to my partner, I'm definitely the femme. In my department, I think I'm about a 5 on a 10 point femininity scale (makeup, but no skirts; boots, but no pumps or sandals; earrings, but no necklaces). I think for most of these women at the funeral, I'm not even on the same scale that they are.
Then, after the funeral, we went to the mall for one of our twice-yearly expeditions. Another version of the same thing. What are these women wearing and why? What does a woman like me have to do to get noticed at the Clinique counter to buy a refill of my sunscreen? (Sometimes it's mighty difficult. I left one department store where the clerks refused to pay attention to me and went down to the next one where they were happy to take my money.) In my usual routine of university, yoga, gym, grocery store, post office, and library no one cares what I look like. So it's a bit of a shock to be reminded of what mainstream culture thinks.
I should be clear: I don't want to look like scary plastic surgery lady or a girly girl. I'm mostly content with how I look and I'm certainly content with how I perform and experience my femininity. But I guess in losing some of my youthful self-consciousness I've also just stopped thinking about these things so much. What that means I'm not yet sure I've considered.
I'd think it's quite safe to say that Dr C experiences her gender identity (whether on her blog or IRL) very differently from me -- the ways each of us inhabits her female identity is very different. (I'm much older, less girly, and half of a short-haired, comfy-shoe wearing lesbian couple -- among other things). But I've also been struck by how cushioned I am in my day to day life from ever even contemplating my gender identity these days. No one is likely to comment on my childlessness or my appearance, and most of the time I don't really think about it.
What brought all this particularly to my attention was that GF and I recently attended a funeral and reception involving her extended family and several generations' worth of family friends. I so rarely see so much plastic surgery (kind of shocking when the 60 year olds look younger than I do) up close, so much cleavage, or so many high heeled shoes. And I work in an English department with its share of stylish women. But they're stylish in the way that academics are stylish, feminine, and attractive -- which is to say, very very different from the rest of this city's inhabitants.
I've always thought of femininity as a relative construct. Next to my partner, I'm definitely the femme. In my department, I think I'm about a 5 on a 10 point femininity scale (makeup, but no skirts; boots, but no pumps or sandals; earrings, but no necklaces). I think for most of these women at the funeral, I'm not even on the same scale that they are.
Then, after the funeral, we went to the mall for one of our twice-yearly expeditions. Another version of the same thing. What are these women wearing and why? What does a woman like me have to do to get noticed at the Clinique counter to buy a refill of my sunscreen? (Sometimes it's mighty difficult. I left one department store where the clerks refused to pay attention to me and went down to the next one where they were happy to take my money.) In my usual routine of university, yoga, gym, grocery store, post office, and library no one cares what I look like. So it's a bit of a shock to be reminded of what mainstream culture thinks.
I should be clear: I don't want to look like scary plastic surgery lady or a girly girl. I'm mostly content with how I look and I'm certainly content with how I perform and experience my femininity. But I guess in losing some of my youthful self-consciousness I've also just stopped thinking about these things so much. What that means I'm not yet sure I've considered.
8/11/2008
the google rabbit hole, with a twist
Over the past couple weeks I've fallen down what I think of as the online rabbit hole a few times -- you, know, the process by which you think of an old acquaintance and google them and then look up somebody else, and then, and then...it's 45 minutes later and you've done nothing except experience a little Schadenfreude and a little envy. I haven't yet figured out what this process is a symptom of, for me -- I don't do it all that often, but every once in a while I get curious about people from the past. And the fact that a friend of mine was recently extolling the virtues of Facebook to me in a way that actually made me kind of curious (I have completely resisted it thus far since I hardly need new ways to waste time online, to which the above will attest), combined with Facebook's now displaying public profiles (name and picture is all) when you google somebody (btw this is only if you have your facebook profile set to do this, it's not for everyone) means that I found some more people in the latest rabbit hole adventure. And I'm contemplating a limited foray through Facebook (esp since my 20 year college reunion is coming up next spring).
But then last night GF and I were rabbit hole adventuring together -- it started out with a reasonable research project, to find an obituary for a family member -- and then it turned into full out googling of various relatives etc. And then of course ourselves, and our googlegangers. And here's the twist: since the last time I googled myself, my university page has fallen substantially in the results (which is fine with me, it's not like anyone else is actually looking me up that way) because there is now an adult film actress with my name. Too funny. (Especially if I could print the titles here, but I'm not going to.)
But then last night GF and I were rabbit hole adventuring together -- it started out with a reasonable research project, to find an obituary for a family member -- and then it turned into full out googling of various relatives etc. And then of course ourselves, and our googlegangers. And here's the twist: since the last time I googled myself, my university page has fallen substantially in the results (which is fine with me, it's not like anyone else is actually looking me up that way) because there is now an adult film actress with my name. Too funny. (Especially if I could print the titles here, but I'm not going to.)
8/08/2008
the ideal and the real
I have this fantasy picture in my head of what working at the office should be like. I guess it's an amalgam of several real faculty offices I've known -- none of them mine -- seasoned with a few fictional or film versions. Key elements include a window (preferably with trees or hipster urban cityscape outside), bookshelves, a large desk surface, a comfy reading chair, elegant lamps for light, edgy artwork/wall hangings. and a coffee pot. Such a fantasy office is of course located in a charming Gothic style academic building (but completely fitted with modern amenities), filled with genial colleagues, brilliant students, and an atmosphere of intellectual discovery.
The reality is something a bit different. My office (which actually I'm quite pleased with, having only moved into it a couple months ago) is small, windowless, and contains two metal bookshelves circa 1969. The 6 year old carpet is the newest thing in the office (I found papers in the filing cabinet dating back to 1977 and the metal desk was I think designed to act as a temporary shelter from nuclear attack) -- I know this because it had to be replaced when a fire broke out in that office because of the wiring on that side of the hall. You see, someone had plugged in a coffee pot. We were scolded by physical plant and told that the building really couldn't handle coffee pots along with computers (and how are you supposed to have an English department then?). So now there's a circuit breaker for that side of the hall -- but it's located in the men's room. (Again -- we're the English department -- we have more female faculty than any other department on campus -- and they put the circuit box by the urinals.) I have a couple of posters in my office that I really like and I'm hoping to add a few more. But the room's base look suggests the office of a bookeeper in a industrial tubing factory (thanks to the yellow walls and perforated ceiling tiles) and it's a challenge to disguise it as anything more rarefied.
The (not Gothic, not stylish. not historic) building smells of mold, rather than discovery, and every single person I spoke with on my last trip to campus was in the throes of depression. I know it could be a lot worse -- I'm very fortunate to not have to share an office. But it's so far from my mental picture of how working at my campus office could be pleasant and supportive rather than draining. It's not just the physical environment of course - - we're a commuter university, both in terms of our student population and our faculty. Most of us come in only on our teaching days and do our research from home. It's a tricky circular effect -- the building is bleak so few of us are there so then it seems gloomy and disheartening.
But in any case, the space is still mine to use as long as the state sees fit. To make sure I get to keep it during my leave semester, I have to show up every few days for a couple of hours and make sure that our office manager sees me visibly using my office. It's kind of grim but at least it's mine. And every day allows me opportunities for cultivating gratitude -- that I don't have to share it, and that I can close the door, now that I'm out of administration.
The reality is something a bit different. My office (which actually I'm quite pleased with, having only moved into it a couple months ago) is small, windowless, and contains two metal bookshelves circa 1969. The 6 year old carpet is the newest thing in the office (I found papers in the filing cabinet dating back to 1977 and the metal desk was I think designed to act as a temporary shelter from nuclear attack) -- I know this because it had to be replaced when a fire broke out in that office because of the wiring on that side of the hall. You see, someone had plugged in a coffee pot. We were scolded by physical plant and told that the building really couldn't handle coffee pots along with computers (and how are you supposed to have an English department then?). So now there's a circuit breaker for that side of the hall -- but it's located in the men's room. (Again -- we're the English department -- we have more female faculty than any other department on campus -- and they put the circuit box by the urinals.) I have a couple of posters in my office that I really like and I'm hoping to add a few more. But the room's base look suggests the office of a bookeeper in a industrial tubing factory (thanks to the yellow walls and perforated ceiling tiles) and it's a challenge to disguise it as anything more rarefied.
The (not Gothic, not stylish. not historic) building smells of mold, rather than discovery, and every single person I spoke with on my last trip to campus was in the throes of depression. I know it could be a lot worse -- I'm very fortunate to not have to share an office. But it's so far from my mental picture of how working at my campus office could be pleasant and supportive rather than draining. It's not just the physical environment of course - - we're a commuter university, both in terms of our student population and our faculty. Most of us come in only on our teaching days and do our research from home. It's a tricky circular effect -- the building is bleak so few of us are there so then it seems gloomy and disheartening.
But in any case, the space is still mine to use as long as the state sees fit. To make sure I get to keep it during my leave semester, I have to show up every few days for a couple of hours and make sure that our office manager sees me visibly using my office. It's kind of grim but at least it's mine. And every day allows me opportunities for cultivating gratitude -- that I don't have to share it, and that I can close the door, now that I'm out of administration.
8/03/2008
middleagey
I picked up a novel last week at the library and turned, as I often do, to the back flap to learn about the author, whose name was unfamiliar to me. This was The Story of Forgetting by Stefan Merrill Block, which I read and liked (and although it may appear this blog is quickly sliding down into some morass of Alzheimer's-only commentary, it was pure coincidence that I pulled the book off the new fiction shelf) (although I suppose maybe not a coincidence that I read it). But jeez oh pete, he was born in 1982.
I was startled, but decided to read the book anyway -- it's not the first novel I've read by someone younger than me (although possibly the first by someone that much younger) -- and as I thought about it I figured I inevitably see actors and listen to musicians younger than myself. But there's still something embedded in my head that goes way back to I think the 3rd grade -- the sense that cool people are inevitably older than me. For so long, all musicians, novelists, and actors were older than me, that it came to seem inevitable.
And although I hear music on the radio from new young bands, I'm entrenched enough in my habits that most of what I still listen to is from people of my own generation or older: Robert Smith, Bono, Madonna. I just checked, and as I thought, John Digweed and Tiesto are about my age. Most of the contemporary fiction I read is from people around my own age or older.
I guess all that's getting ready to change...
I was startled, but decided to read the book anyway -- it's not the first novel I've read by someone younger than me (although possibly the first by someone that much younger) -- and as I thought about it I figured I inevitably see actors and listen to musicians younger than myself. But there's still something embedded in my head that goes way back to I think the 3rd grade -- the sense that cool people are inevitably older than me. For so long, all musicians, novelists, and actors were older than me, that it came to seem inevitable.
And although I hear music on the radio from new young bands, I'm entrenched enough in my habits that most of what I still listen to is from people of my own generation or older: Robert Smith, Bono, Madonna. I just checked, and as I thought, John Digweed and Tiesto are about my age. Most of the contemporary fiction I read is from people around my own age or older.
I guess all that's getting ready to change...
7/30/2008
nonchalance
Phone call this evening with Elderly Parent:
EP: My leg is doing so much better. I went on a big long walk.
Mel: A big long walk? what does that mean exactly? (EP had a fracture and months of rehab; now walks with a cane when outside her house, doesn't use it in her house)
EP: oh I just went round and round. I went to see my neighbor Alice down the street. And then I went the wrong way and didn't know how to get back to my house. So I went on a longer walk than I had planned.
Mel:!!!
This is not the first such tale I've heard. I'm not sure if it's better or worse that she was on foot this time -- last year I heard a couple of stories from her about getting lost driving to familiar places like her hair salon. And in recent months as some of her acquaintances (including her hairdresser) have realized that I'm aware of her cognitive losses, they've been more forthcoming in telling me other such stories. EP has clearly not been telling me all such stories -- so at some level she realizes this is not normal behavior.
But I can remember only one occasion when she admitted to being nervous or frightened at being lost. Most of the time she acts as though it's no big deal.
And that's what's really, really hard to respond to. I know the generous, kind thing to do would be to say "oh your leg must be doing so much better" since that's what she is focusing on. But all I can hear is her saying that she got lost walking back to her house from down the block.
And when I hang up the phone and turn on the computer, there's an email from her caretaker telling me the same story again. With the added dig that EP was upset because of an earlier conversation with me when I suggested it might not be a good idea for her to fly alone to a professional meeting that she used to attend yearly (even though she's retired). I have heard the stories from last year when she went to the meeting accompanied by two friends who wound up acting as caretaker/nurses for her. She can't travel alone and until we can actually have a conversation about why I have to keep emphasizing her physical limitations (the leg).
EP has lived in the Land of Denial for most of her adult life so the fact that she denies that anything is wrong in her melting brain isn't that surprising. But it's hard to figure out how to break through. So I'm not really trying to yet.
EP: My leg is doing so much better. I went on a big long walk.
Mel: A big long walk? what does that mean exactly? (EP had a fracture and months of rehab; now walks with a cane when outside her house, doesn't use it in her house)
EP: oh I just went round and round. I went to see my neighbor Alice down the street. And then I went the wrong way and didn't know how to get back to my house. So I went on a longer walk than I had planned.
Mel:!!!
This is not the first such tale I've heard. I'm not sure if it's better or worse that she was on foot this time -- last year I heard a couple of stories from her about getting lost driving to familiar places like her hair salon. And in recent months as some of her acquaintances (including her hairdresser) have realized that I'm aware of her cognitive losses, they've been more forthcoming in telling me other such stories. EP has clearly not been telling me all such stories -- so at some level she realizes this is not normal behavior.
But I can remember only one occasion when she admitted to being nervous or frightened at being lost. Most of the time she acts as though it's no big deal.
And that's what's really, really hard to respond to. I know the generous, kind thing to do would be to say "oh your leg must be doing so much better" since that's what she is focusing on. But all I can hear is her saying that she got lost walking back to her house from down the block.
And when I hang up the phone and turn on the computer, there's an email from her caretaker telling me the same story again. With the added dig that EP was upset because of an earlier conversation with me when I suggested it might not be a good idea for her to fly alone to a professional meeting that she used to attend yearly (even though she's retired). I have heard the stories from last year when she went to the meeting accompanied by two friends who wound up acting as caretaker/nurses for her. She can't travel alone and until we can actually have a conversation about why I have to keep emphasizing her physical limitations (the leg).
EP has lived in the Land of Denial for most of her adult life so the fact that she denies that anything is wrong in her melting brain isn't that surprising. But it's hard to figure out how to break through. So I'm not really trying to yet.
7/27/2008
containment
One of the biggest challenges I've been facing over the past several months -- and to a lesser extent the past year, year and a half -- is Elderly Parent's declining cognitive state. EP doesn't admit that she's lost any cognitive function, however, so she's not yet receiving any medical treatment or evaluation for Alzheimer's. She had a fall and some other health issues this spring and I got her set up with an elder care organization, so she has an assistant visiting her each day and driving her on errands, etc. My hope is that the more she gets used to having the caregivers around, the less likely she is to want to try driving herself, etc. (we've had that discussion but no definitive outcome yet). But as her physical injury heals, she's becoming somewhat resistant to having the caregivers come so frequently.
What has really helped is that she had one caregiver in particular who she really liked -- they developed a very friendly relationship that meant EP didn't mind so much having her around. I found out this week that this caregiver has given her notice to the agency. Apparently she's going to tell EP tomorrow. Which means I can expect a rageful phone call in the evening.
One of the most stressful aspects of this whole situation is that I have to be in regular contact with EP. Regular as in phone calls every 1 or 2 days, visits every couple of months (she lives 800 miles away). EP was never an easy person to deal with, and her mental decline exacerbates her bitterness, self-centeredness, and insecurity. And on days when I'm not actually having to talk to her, I'm frequently having to deal with her (financial, legal, medical) affairs in one way or another.
Like this evening. I'd spent the day mostly on household projects, and was looking forward to sitting on the couch and reading blogs etc. But there was an email from the caregiver agency. And although it was nothing particularly distressing, it's really hard for me to keep up sufficient boundaries between all the EP stuff and the rest of my life -- to keep the thoughts of an EP task I'm dreading tomorrow, and her phone call I'm dreading, out of my mind as I plan what I want to work on and focus on tomorrow. Containment and detachment are what I'm working on. Back to the yoga mat.
What has really helped is that she had one caregiver in particular who she really liked -- they developed a very friendly relationship that meant EP didn't mind so much having her around. I found out this week that this caregiver has given her notice to the agency. Apparently she's going to tell EP tomorrow. Which means I can expect a rageful phone call in the evening.
One of the most stressful aspects of this whole situation is that I have to be in regular contact with EP. Regular as in phone calls every 1 or 2 days, visits every couple of months (she lives 800 miles away). EP was never an easy person to deal with, and her mental decline exacerbates her bitterness, self-centeredness, and insecurity. And on days when I'm not actually having to talk to her, I'm frequently having to deal with her (financial, legal, medical) affairs in one way or another.
Like this evening. I'd spent the day mostly on household projects, and was looking forward to sitting on the couch and reading blogs etc. But there was an email from the caregiver agency. And although it was nothing particularly distressing, it's really hard for me to keep up sufficient boundaries between all the EP stuff and the rest of my life -- to keep the thoughts of an EP task I'm dreading tomorrow, and her phone call I'm dreading, out of my mind as I plan what I want to work on and focus on tomorrow. Containment and detachment are what I'm working on. Back to the yoga mat.
7/26/2008
the next door pinata
I grew up in the 70s -- when if something could possibly be made into a craft project, we did it as a craft project in school: macrame, melted crayon art, shrinky dinks. And pinatas. I vividly remember several occasions when we had to stick gloppy gluey newspaper onto a balloon. Because this was the Midwest, that's all I knew about pinatas until much later in life.
There are a couple of stores in my neighborhood that sell very elaborate pinatas in just about any shape you can imagine. But even so, it was kind of disturbing to pull into my driveway this afternoon and see the party going on next door for one of my neighbor's grandkids. A group of people (kids and adults) circled around a life size Little Mermaid swinging from the tree, beating her with a stick. It really looked like a person, even with the tail. And why -- if you were a 4 year old who liked the Little Mermaid, would you want to see her smashed with a stick? Even if her guts would eventually disgorge candy? Ick, ick, and ick.
There are a couple of stores in my neighborhood that sell very elaborate pinatas in just about any shape you can imagine. But even so, it was kind of disturbing to pull into my driveway this afternoon and see the party going on next door for one of my neighbor's grandkids. A group of people (kids and adults) circled around a life size Little Mermaid swinging from the tree, beating her with a stick. It really looked like a person, even with the tail. And why -- if you were a 4 year old who liked the Little Mermaid, would you want to see her smashed with a stick? Even if her guts would eventually disgorge candy? Ick, ick, and ick.
7/25/2008
no more admin for me
Undine pointed me to the latest not-surprising news about women and administrative service. One of the studies cited in the IHE article focused on the the three years immediately following tenure -- in which 16 of 20 women found themselves with "significant increases in their service obligations" but only 5 of 20 men did. I haven't read the actual study to know how the samples were selected (from the same discipline? from related ones?) but the numbers certainly aren't surprising to me. Especially since I'd have been one of the 16 of 20.
I'm in an English department, which means we have almost equal numbers of tenured women and men. (14 tenured women and 15 men in literary studies by my count; the numbers in the other areas are roughly similar). In the 10 years that I've been in the department, we've had two chairs: both men. All the other administrative positions in the department, ranging from advising positions that give you 1 course reduction, to full-time administrative roles like directing the graduate program, have been held by women. The chair's position is the only administrative post in my department that also comes with a salary increase.
Was I invited, encouraged, pressured, or exhorted to take on the administrative job I did? yes, to all of the above. I did, however, go into it knowing at least some of what it would entail. I figured I had the organizational skills to handle it and that I could take advantage of the partial teaching reduction to try and develop a new research agenda. (Which I did, but only after the first year which was mostly spent figuring out all of what was required.) I also went into it wanting to find out whether administrative work was something I'd be interested in as a career path, since that's one route to more geographic mobility and financial compensation.
I discovered that although I'm capable enough for such work, even good at many parts of it, it's NOT AT ALL what I'd want to spend the rest of my career doing. And that was really, really, useful to find out now, when I'm still early enough in my midcareer to make adjustments.
But it's still sobering to find oneself so clearly described by a statistical trend. I'd attribute at least half of my organizational ability to my personality type (INTJ). But probably about half of it is due to cultural conditioning. I know for a fact that at least two other female colleagues and myself worked as secretaries in the distant past of our student years; I seriously doubt any of my male colleagues did. And although good administrators don't necessarily have to have good clerical skills (witness my chair, who has a secretary who actually types his correspondence), it doesn't hurt. For instance: I know how to make a graph, a pie chart and a spreadsheet -- and I also know how to make an argument to our upper administration based on the information contained in them. Filing information and retrieving it is second nature to me. Many of my male colleagues have made a virtue of their incompetence in such areas as email, photocopying, agenda setting, meeting planning, and other basic organizational skills that I honed in my years as a clerical assistant. If you are perceived as disorganized or inept, you don't get asked to serve in administrative roles; that rules out about half of my male colleagues right away.
The other way to be ruled out from consideration for administrative service is to be perceived as socially disruptive, personally vindictive, or just kind of insane. I have both male and female colleagues who are exempted from service for this reason. But again, cultural conditioning tends to reward women for good social skills, for thinking of the impact of their behavior on the community, and for diplomacy. It's not that we're necessarily happier with how things are going, but we're less likely to bang our shoes on the table and storm off in a huff.
The worst part about leaving my administrative job is that too many of my colleagues seem to think that I'm just taking a break for a little while and then they'll get me into some other such position. This is not going to happen, since they can't actually make me.
I can't hide my knowledge of email and Excel, but I've decided to try and channel one of my male colleagues who doesn't ever do anything he doesn't want to do. He'll serve on certain committees for the department or university when he thinks it's important. But most of the time? he comes to campus only when he feels like it, he teaches his classes and meets with his students, and he writes. I do care about the functioning and the future of the department, but not at the expense of my own intellectual development and my own career (both of which were slowed, but not stopped). This fall I'm on leave -- and it feels freeing and full of possibilities, but also like I'm playing catch up. And that's a bit disheartening.
I'm in an English department, which means we have almost equal numbers of tenured women and men. (14 tenured women and 15 men in literary studies by my count; the numbers in the other areas are roughly similar). In the 10 years that I've been in the department, we've had two chairs: both men. All the other administrative positions in the department, ranging from advising positions that give you 1 course reduction, to full-time administrative roles like directing the graduate program, have been held by women. The chair's position is the only administrative post in my department that also comes with a salary increase.
Was I invited, encouraged, pressured, or exhorted to take on the administrative job I did? yes, to all of the above. I did, however, go into it knowing at least some of what it would entail. I figured I had the organizational skills to handle it and that I could take advantage of the partial teaching reduction to try and develop a new research agenda. (Which I did, but only after the first year which was mostly spent figuring out all of what was required.) I also went into it wanting to find out whether administrative work was something I'd be interested in as a career path, since that's one route to more geographic mobility and financial compensation.
I discovered that although I'm capable enough for such work, even good at many parts of it, it's NOT AT ALL what I'd want to spend the rest of my career doing. And that was really, really, useful to find out now, when I'm still early enough in my midcareer to make adjustments.
But it's still sobering to find oneself so clearly described by a statistical trend. I'd attribute at least half of my organizational ability to my personality type (INTJ). But probably about half of it is due to cultural conditioning. I know for a fact that at least two other female colleagues and myself worked as secretaries in the distant past of our student years; I seriously doubt any of my male colleagues did. And although good administrators don't necessarily have to have good clerical skills (witness my chair, who has a secretary who actually types his correspondence), it doesn't hurt. For instance: I know how to make a graph, a pie chart and a spreadsheet -- and I also know how to make an argument to our upper administration based on the information contained in them. Filing information and retrieving it is second nature to me. Many of my male colleagues have made a virtue of their incompetence in such areas as email, photocopying, agenda setting, meeting planning, and other basic organizational skills that I honed in my years as a clerical assistant. If you are perceived as disorganized or inept, you don't get asked to serve in administrative roles; that rules out about half of my male colleagues right away.
The other way to be ruled out from consideration for administrative service is to be perceived as socially disruptive, personally vindictive, or just kind of insane. I have both male and female colleagues who are exempted from service for this reason. But again, cultural conditioning tends to reward women for good social skills, for thinking of the impact of their behavior on the community, and for diplomacy. It's not that we're necessarily happier with how things are going, but we're less likely to bang our shoes on the table and storm off in a huff.
The worst part about leaving my administrative job is that too many of my colleagues seem to think that I'm just taking a break for a little while and then they'll get me into some other such position. This is not going to happen, since they can't actually make me.
I can't hide my knowledge of email and Excel, but I've decided to try and channel one of my male colleagues who doesn't ever do anything he doesn't want to do. He'll serve on certain committees for the department or university when he thinks it's important. But most of the time? he comes to campus only when he feels like it, he teaches his classes and meets with his students, and he writes. I do care about the functioning and the future of the department, but not at the expense of my own intellectual development and my own career (both of which were slowed, but not stopped). This fall I'm on leave -- and it feels freeing and full of possibilities, but also like I'm playing catch up. And that's a bit disheartening.
7/22/2008
wolf circling
The other day, I was listening to an interview with a naturalist who was talking about hiking alone and coming across a mountain lion. Apparently, the idea is if you should ever find yourself in such a situation, to try as much as you can to not seem like prey. Stand tall, don't seem weak, hope you're not exuding the stink of fear. I don't have to worry about predatory cats since I am risk-averse enough to stay away from things like extreme outdoor adventures. But the grey wolf of depression is sniffing around me lately. Hasn't attacked yet but I know it's there. So I'm trying not to seem like prey to the wolf: exercise more, work more, stand straighter, take my supplements, smile. Not prey. Not prey. Not prey.
7/21/2008
blog sticker
I was sorting through some plastic storage bins of old stuff yesterday, and was happy to find a couple of sheets of stickers that I'd forgotten about-- neon smiley faces, and some animals. You see, over the past few months I've been tracking various things on my wall calendar with stickers: different kinds of workouts, my daily household chores, writing time, and other self-improvement measures. The concrete physical act of putting the sticker on the calendar and seeing them accrue is oddly rewarding -- even more so than using joe's goals, which I had tried a year or two ago. I'm not on the computer 24/7 and since most of the tasks I want to track don't involve the computer, using the site was more of an obstacle than a reward. (Plus I got sidetracked by getting obsessive about what the relative worth of different tasks might be, since you can assign them point values.)
When you sign up to do the 60-day Bikram challenge at my yoga studio, they put a chart on the wall with your name on it, and you add a star sticker to the chart each day you complete a class. The experience of the challenge has its own momentum, and the yoga is intrinsically rewarding, but somehow the stickers help. Even this past spring when I did the challenge for the second time -- knowing that I could and would complete it -- the stickers were still a nice form of encouragement. So I decided to adopt stickers for my own purposes at home.
So, although I haven't written a blog post in six days, I can tell you that I completed 8 workouts, 3 household projects, 4 writing sessions, and had one rest and recharge day. It actually wasn't a great week for getting stuff done, but it's nice to see that I accomplished some things even though I felt really scattered. So now a green smiley face is going up on the calendar. Like anything else, if I just keep doing little bits maybe I'll improve...
When you sign up to do the 60-day Bikram challenge at my yoga studio, they put a chart on the wall with your name on it, and you add a star sticker to the chart each day you complete a class. The experience of the challenge has its own momentum, and the yoga is intrinsically rewarding, but somehow the stickers help. Even this past spring when I did the challenge for the second time -- knowing that I could and would complete it -- the stickers were still a nice form of encouragement. So I decided to adopt stickers for my own purposes at home.
So, although I haven't written a blog post in six days, I can tell you that I completed 8 workouts, 3 household projects, 4 writing sessions, and had one rest and recharge day. It actually wasn't a great week for getting stuff done, but it's nice to see that I accomplished some things even though I felt really scattered. So now a green smiley face is going up on the calendar. Like anything else, if I just keep doing little bits maybe I'll improve...
7/15/2008
from my kitchen
Thanks to all who encouraged me in getting an electric kettle -- when we went to the store the choice was obvious, since there was a kettle on the shelf which looked like it really belonged next to our aforementioned toaster, even though they are made by different firms. (There is actually a slight difference in their color but close enough for happiness in the kitchen.) I've been drinking more tea and extra-speedily doing all my other boiling-water tasks.
I think this might be the most fancifully-colored dish I've ever made. Sure, bunches of steamed greens are bright, and stir-fry is multi-colored. But this beet/carrot/red cabbage salad wins the prize. (I just shredded the vegs (myself, I can't imagine shredding beets without a food processor, but if you don't mind blood-red hands you could I suppose) and dressed them with lime juice, ginger, a little ume plum vinegar, and a tiny bit of olive oil.) (Toasted sunflower seeds are excellent on top, too! I just didn't put them in the main bowl because I don't want them to get soggy over the next couple days.)
7/13/2008
previous self
There's a great line in the first season of How I Met Your Mother (which we just recently discovered and watched on DVD) when Marshall is confronted with a tough decision and he says "I'm going to let future Marshall deal with that." GF and I have taken that up as a strategy on occasion and it's really helpful -- not, I'm going to keep on worrying over this choice ineffectually for the next three months; instead, I'm going to just turn it over to my future self who will have more information and be smarter. (Note, too, the congruence of this idea with GTD methodology - store your information and your decisions-to-be-made somewhere in your system so that you can deal with them as the time becomes right, not too early or perpetually.)
Lately, however, I'm working on a chapter about some poems for which I have various sets of older notes that I've been sorting through. I've presented a couple of conference papers that dealt with some of this material, but that's the extent of it. I've been delighted to find out that previous Mel was smarter than I thought! My memory of the two conference papers was muddied by my feelings about the panels (one in particular was the last session of the last day and had clearly been thrown together by the conference organizers as a grab-bag of barely-related topics). And my notes clearly show that the ideas I'm currently working with for the chapter have, in fact, been in my head for a long time. It's just that my conscious mind didn't know it.
This fragmentation of my thinking self isn't new -- I have a weak memory and I've only recently discovered notetaking techniques that might help me keep hold of some of the associative links more firmly. And so much of my early academic life was fragmented into particular tasks: write a paper for a seminar, write a conference paper, write an article for a deadline. Now that I'm trying to modify and enjoy my writing process in a more holistic way, I'm sifting through some of those past tasks and meeting up with my previous self. I used to be frustrated with the recursivity of my reading and writing process -- but I'm trying to cultivate a more open and friendly attitude, like Marshall's. Hey, past self, nice to see you in these notes, thanks for pointing out these subtopics already. (I know, it's not very academic, but I take my models wherever I find them)
Lately, however, I'm working on a chapter about some poems for which I have various sets of older notes that I've been sorting through. I've presented a couple of conference papers that dealt with some of this material, but that's the extent of it. I've been delighted to find out that previous Mel was smarter than I thought! My memory of the two conference papers was muddied by my feelings about the panels (one in particular was the last session of the last day and had clearly been thrown together by the conference organizers as a grab-bag of barely-related topics). And my notes clearly show that the ideas I'm currently working with for the chapter have, in fact, been in my head for a long time. It's just that my conscious mind didn't know it.
This fragmentation of my thinking self isn't new -- I have a weak memory and I've only recently discovered notetaking techniques that might help me keep hold of some of the associative links more firmly. And so much of my early academic life was fragmented into particular tasks: write a paper for a seminar, write a conference paper, write an article for a deadline. Now that I'm trying to modify and enjoy my writing process in a more holistic way, I'm sifting through some of those past tasks and meeting up with my previous self. I used to be frustrated with the recursivity of my reading and writing process -- but I'm trying to cultivate a more open and friendly attitude, like Marshall's. Hey, past self, nice to see you in these notes, thanks for pointing out these subtopics already. (I know, it's not very academic, but I take my models wherever I find them)
7/11/2008
Victorian Poetry Pop Culture Watch
In Hellboy 2, not only is the first stanza of section 50 of In Memoriam quoted twice, there's also a very nice shot of a late-19th century edition of Selected Poems (judging from the decorated cloth binding) that plays a briefly important role...
(At least, my aging brain thinks it was section 50; I haven't found any confirmation on the internets and GF wasn't paying as much attention to the poetry as I was. Any questions about the Hellboy mythos and how the film did or did not adhere to it have to be routed to her. I was just along for the ride. And the poetry.)
(At least, my aging brain thinks it was section 50; I haven't found any confirmation on the internets and GF wasn't paying as much attention to the poetry as I was. Any questions about the Hellboy mythos and how the film did or did not adhere to it have to be routed to her. I was just along for the ride. And the poetry.)
7/10/2008
office hours
This Chronicle article describes how administrators at Kean University (a public university in New Jersey) have put in place new regulations that will (1) alter class schedules to include Fridays and Saturdays, including changing existing 2-day class blocks into 3-day blocks; and (2) require faculty to hold 2-hour office hour sessions 4 days a week. All of these changes are being made ostensibly in the name of resource utilization and optimizing student learning.
Many universities, including my own, have made or are considering making adjustments to the class schedule to make campuses more efficient. We don't yet have many Saturday classes, but they have been much discussed, since we have (like Kean) a mostly commuting student population. And many faculty have actually expressed a desire to teach courses on Saturdays. Few of us, however, prefer 3-day courses to 2-day schedules -- like the students, faculty are commuters too. Most of us try to bundle our courses together so that we only hold classes and office hours on two or three days of the week. I was assigned to 3-day blocks my first couple of years in the department, and although they work well for certain kinds of writing courses, I found them very frustrating for upper-level literature courses, because of the difficulty of parcelling out the reading assignments and of keeping discussions flowing from one day to the next. But that was several years ago, and given the attention deficits I've been noticing among many of my students more recently, perhaps 50-minute blocks wouldn't be so bad. (Essentially, I divide my 80-minute class hour into 4 20-minute blocks of different topics/activities etc.)
But requiring office hours 4 days a week? I strongly agree with those quoted in the article who are protesting this part of the rule. Kean is, I believe, a school with a strong liberal arts component, which often accompanies a student-centered mission (whereas I teach in a liberal arts college within a much larger university with several professional colleges as well). But the idea that mandatory office hours -- and in some instances, office hour blocks being assigned by the administration or department chair, not to accompany class hours but rather simply to create a sense of "coverage" in the department -- will enhance student learning seems patently flawed. What good does it do a student in Professor X's class to consult with Professor Y about the paper assignment? How can Commuting Student A who attends class only on MWF in order to schedule her work hours and childcare, attend office hours on Tuesday? Faculty are not interchangeable with one another. And most of us feel our primary responsibility in a given semseter to the students we are actually teaching that semester, and perhaps to students we have taught in prior semesters. Not to random students in general.
I know that small liberal arts colleges have often had such office hour requirements (although often expressed in unwritten rules and codes of conduct). But it seems wrong-headed in the urban commuter environment. And I'm sure it's a drain on faculty time and energy at the SLACs, too. Office hours are by definition time in which it's difficult to get any sustained work done, even if you don't have many (or any) students show up, because you have to be able to drop what you're doing at any moment. Students tend to phone during office hours, since they know you'll be there. And the open door brings in noise, chitchatting colleagues, and all kinds of other visual and auditory distractions.
Kean's provost gets my vote, though, for most irritating quote in the article:
Many universities, including my own, have made or are considering making adjustments to the class schedule to make campuses more efficient. We don't yet have many Saturday classes, but they have been much discussed, since we have (like Kean) a mostly commuting student population. And many faculty have actually expressed a desire to teach courses on Saturdays. Few of us, however, prefer 3-day courses to 2-day schedules -- like the students, faculty are commuters too. Most of us try to bundle our courses together so that we only hold classes and office hours on two or three days of the week. I was assigned to 3-day blocks my first couple of years in the department, and although they work well for certain kinds of writing courses, I found them very frustrating for upper-level literature courses, because of the difficulty of parcelling out the reading assignments and of keeping discussions flowing from one day to the next. But that was several years ago, and given the attention deficits I've been noticing among many of my students more recently, perhaps 50-minute blocks wouldn't be so bad. (Essentially, I divide my 80-minute class hour into 4 20-minute blocks of different topics/activities etc.)
But requiring office hours 4 days a week? I strongly agree with those quoted in the article who are protesting this part of the rule. Kean is, I believe, a school with a strong liberal arts component, which often accompanies a student-centered mission (whereas I teach in a liberal arts college within a much larger university with several professional colleges as well). But the idea that mandatory office hours -- and in some instances, office hour blocks being assigned by the administration or department chair, not to accompany class hours but rather simply to create a sense of "coverage" in the department -- will enhance student learning seems patently flawed. What good does it do a student in Professor X's class to consult with Professor Y about the paper assignment? How can Commuting Student A who attends class only on MWF in order to schedule her work hours and childcare, attend office hours on Tuesday? Faculty are not interchangeable with one another. And most of us feel our primary responsibility in a given semseter to the students we are actually teaching that semester, and perhaps to students we have taught in prior semesters. Not to random students in general.
I know that small liberal arts colleges have often had such office hour requirements (although often expressed in unwritten rules and codes of conduct). But it seems wrong-headed in the urban commuter environment. And I'm sure it's a drain on faculty time and energy at the SLACs, too. Office hours are by definition time in which it's difficult to get any sustained work done, even if you don't have many (or any) students show up, because you have to be able to drop what you're doing at any moment. Students tend to phone during office hours, since they know you'll be there. And the open door brings in noise, chitchatting colleagues, and all kinds of other visual and auditory distractions.
Kean's provost gets my vote, though, for most irritating quote in the article:
Mark Lender, interim provost and vice president for academic affairs at Kean, said many professors already were on the campus five to six days a week, doing teaching and research. "Our good researchers look at all this and essentially say, So?," he said. "The folks who are making these arguments are not among our most active researchers."It's not the number of hours punched on the clock that creates good research: it's the quality and consistency of those hours. And the measures of quality will vary widely from one individual to another, and from one discipline to another. Just because Chatty Cathy loves to write in the midst of the faculty lounge doesn't mean it works for Serious Sue, who needs absolute peace and quiet. It is true that research in a laboratory environment, for instance, most likely needs to be carried out on campus. My colleagues in the hard sciences are typically on campus every day, but not necessarily available to students (especially since many of our science faculty don't teach that much and certainly don't grade student work themselves). But research in other disciplines may require different tools and surroundings. If I'm examining a book in the Rare Books library, or consulting a reel of microfilm -- I'm not in my office. And given the noise levels and climate control problems in my building, I'm much more able to do serious thinking and writing at home, at the library, or in a coffee shop, rather than in my faculty office. (Even though I have hopes for my new digs on campus.) I sympathize with faculty at Kean. And I really hope our provost doesn't read this and get any bright ideas...
7/09/2008
netflix profiles are safe!
About a month ago Netflix announced that it was going to dismantle the Profiles feature in September. But enough users raised enough of a fuss that they are going to retain Profiles. Yay!!
The Profiles feature lets you have more than one queue within the same subscription account. This is crucial for our household, since GF watches cartoons and ultra-violent Korean horror movies and I'm partial to romantic comedies and costume dramas. (There is a large space on our Venn diagram that is shared, containing science fiction, TV shows, and indy dramas.) We definitely need our separate queues and taste profiles.
The Profiles feature lets you have more than one queue within the same subscription account. This is crucial for our household, since GF watches cartoons and ultra-violent Korean horror movies and I'm partial to romantic comedies and costume dramas. (There is a large space on our Venn diagram that is shared, containing science fiction, TV shows, and indy dramas.) We definitely need our separate queues and taste profiles.
7/07/2008
home again
Yesterday was a relatively uneventful, if long, travel day. At least it began with an awesome vegan English breakfast plate. I was really impressed at the level of vegan awareness in Toronto -- we ate out at several places that were all vegan, or all vegetarian, or at least had large sections of the menu that were vegan friendly. I really appreciate it even more when the restaurant might not be vegan, but they still use the word vegan on the menu.
It's nice to be home again -- I had a wonderful trip, but that was the fourth trip out of town in two months -- which for me is a heck of a lot. But I've come back feeling happy and restored, rather than drained and cranky, thank goodness. Today was a re-entry day -- sleep, dogwalks, yoga, a trip to the public library, hanging out with GF. I started catching up on the laundry and household chores, though I still need to finish unpacking my suitcase (for some reason that's a task that I often procrastinate on).
Maybe tomorrow I can get up earlier, and get a bit closer to my ideal summer schedule. Because now that my travelling is done, and my administrative duties officially closed out, MY SUMMER HEREBY BEGINS. It's hard not to feel the clock ticking behind that statement. But there's still a lot of time left, and now it's even more under my control.
oh, and GF has agreed to the electric kettle! so I think a trip to Target is in order...
It's nice to be home again -- I had a wonderful trip, but that was the fourth trip out of town in two months -- which for me is a heck of a lot. But I've come back feeling happy and restored, rather than drained and cranky, thank goodness. Today was a re-entry day -- sleep, dogwalks, yoga, a trip to the public library, hanging out with GF. I started catching up on the laundry and household chores, though I still need to finish unpacking my suitcase (for some reason that's a task that I often procrastinate on).
Maybe tomorrow I can get up earlier, and get a bit closer to my ideal summer schedule. Because now that my travelling is done, and my administrative duties officially closed out, MY SUMMER HEREBY BEGINS. It's hard not to feel the clock ticking behind that statement. But there's still a lot of time left, and now it's even more under my control.
oh, and GF has agreed to the electric kettle! so I think a trip to Target is in order...
Subscribe to:
Comment Feed (RSS)