I present to you another installment of Great Moments in Mediocrity.
Two learning support classes taught this spring, about 38 students. Without the numbers in front of me, I can say that 85% got C's, 10% B's, and the rest either IP (D in this system) or F. No A's, yet again. It isn't as stinky as a year ago, but there are still poop odors I'm trying to get out of the room. And I so wish we could assign pluses and minuses, because it would be more accurate. I had about 10 students who came within 1-2 points of failing.
Why? Why would you spend good money to take these classes which a placement test said you have to take, classes you would not choose to be in voluntarily, go 15 weeks, and get to the end just to learn you've done average work? You can do average work anywhere--why continue to do only what's expected? Why would you not take an active interest in your education?
I know, I know--we're talking aesthetics.
I hate to say it again, but today was another day in which I barely controlled my temper. One class was stubborn as all hell. Didn't do their homework prior, didn't want to do the work in class, bored, listless, thinking of who they're gonna screw this weekend. Today was the day they found out their final grades, which in this course is but the first of three hoops they must jump through to get through our learning support exit procedure. Some of these guys, the C-minusers? I worry for them. They could pass if they manage to squelch their ADD for a day. Me, I'm ready to get through this and get on with the wedding.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
O yard work, ivory, fine timbers!
Well, better late than never. Today, Apr. 8, is the first time I've set mower to grass since, oh, last October or late September. Spring seems really late this year. Last year I trucked out the ol' cutter in early March, I am certain. In any case, the grass needed the cut. And that's just the front yard. The back "yard" is more properly assorted patches of dirt and little flowering grass clumps--many trees back there so a lot of shade, plus rocky soil, hence not much to mow. But the upshot is I didn't mow the back tonight. I'll get around to it at some point.
Not much motivating me to write in here tonight, oddly. Maybe by blathering for a while I'll discover a subject. Here:
Baseball! The season has started. The Braves are, lessee, 2-1 as of this afternoon. They got out way ahead but then gave up eight runs in the seventh. Still, they appear to have brighter spots this year than last. But I figure I should give 'em 25-30 games before I pronounce judgment.
And speaking of baseball, we're slowly finalizing plans, me and the boys, for my bachelor party Saturday in less than a month. The plan is to see the May 2 afternoon game against the Astros, beer it up a little bit, then adjourn to a lovely watering hole and/or restaurant and beer it up some more. No strip clubs, please. I'm young and innocent.
Not much motivating me to write in here tonight, oddly. Maybe by blathering for a while I'll discover a subject. Here:
Baseball! The season has started. The Braves are, lessee, 2-1 as of this afternoon. They got out way ahead but then gave up eight runs in the seventh. Still, they appear to have brighter spots this year than last. But I figure I should give 'em 25-30 games before I pronounce judgment.
And speaking of baseball, we're slowly finalizing plans, me and the boys, for my bachelor party Saturday in less than a month. The plan is to see the May 2 afternoon game against the Astros, beer it up a little bit, then adjourn to a lovely watering hole and/or restaurant and beer it up some more. No strip clubs, please. I'm young and innocent.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Bits and bobs: a miscellany.
I know I need to end this abominable practice of not posting for weeks and then spewing out two or three in a mad rush, but it will probably continue. Now, a laundry list of other current events.
--The last 3-4 weeks have seen the most poem writing I've done the past two years. It shouldn't be surprising, I guess, that I'm more productive when many other things are going on: wedding planning, usual school stuff, parents' visits, friends' visits, et al. It's not like I've been writing feverishly for eight hours a day, but I've been making the time. I have perhaps seven or eight poems in the hopper, all in various interesting stages of disarray and half-completion. Let's hope one of these days I'll get on the wagon and send out some of these bad boys.
--We are on the ball for most of the wedding's finer details. We need to spend some time hashing out the vows, but we have some models and ideas to work with. I think we essentially have the larger structure in mind and just need to get from point to point. Aside from that, a lot of deposits and balances will be due the next few weeks.
--The way this semester worked out, I only give one final exam, and it's the Thursday prior to wedding week, so I will be able to fully devote myself to the logistics.
--Here is the first semi-public place I reveal that I have given in to season 8 (9?) of American Idol. The little lady has watched it from season 1 on, and I watched and resisted simultaneously for a long time. Now? What the hell. And I predict Adam Lambert will go far but not necessarily the whole way. He's gonna have to cut down on that oversinging, methinks.
--The lawn needs mowing. Badly. But with so much rain of late, not much can be done. On the bright side, Georgia is officially not in a drought anymore.
--The last 3-4 weeks have seen the most poem writing I've done the past two years. It shouldn't be surprising, I guess, that I'm more productive when many other things are going on: wedding planning, usual school stuff, parents' visits, friends' visits, et al. It's not like I've been writing feverishly for eight hours a day, but I've been making the time. I have perhaps seven or eight poems in the hopper, all in various interesting stages of disarray and half-completion. Let's hope one of these days I'll get on the wagon and send out some of these bad boys.
--We are on the ball for most of the wedding's finer details. We need to spend some time hashing out the vows, but we have some models and ideas to work with. I think we essentially have the larger structure in mind and just need to get from point to point. Aside from that, a lot of deposits and balances will be due the next few weeks.
--The way this semester worked out, I only give one final exam, and it's the Thursday prior to wedding week, so I will be able to fully devote myself to the logistics.
--Here is the first semi-public place I reveal that I have given in to season 8 (9?) of American Idol. The little lady has watched it from season 1 on, and I watched and resisted simultaneously for a long time. Now? What the hell. And I predict Adam Lambert will go far but not necessarily the whole way. He's gonna have to cut down on that oversinging, methinks.
--The lawn needs mowing. Badly. But with so much rain of late, not much can be done. On the bright side, Georgia is officially not in a drought anymore.
What I'm reading, and why.
At present, it's David Kirby's collection The Temple Gate Called Beautiful. I have told myself for years I've wanted to write a Kirby-esque poem, and I've managed to sort of write one. Kirby has this long-lined, discursive style which a lot of people probably find too chatty or, worse, unpoetic, but which I find a compelling high-wire act. Charles Wright's latter-day poems walk this same wire, too. I just know that my work tends sometimes toward the multi-syllabic and declarative, so I'm always interested in those poets who seem to manage it and/or give in to it.
Is Kirby's stuff just lineated prose? Mmmm, there's more of that in this collection than in his previous collections. The problem isn't so much with the lineation as with the occasional dullness. But when he manages to pull off this sort of lowbrow, chatty persona with the more refined, learned, artiste persona, as in "Elvis, Be My Psychopomp," it's delicious. This book occasionally tips too far toward the purely philosophical, though, and I'm not always a fan of him telling in his poems how much he's read. But that's kinda his subject, marrying the high and the low, kind of a Southern-genteel Baudelaire.
Is Kirby's stuff just lineated prose? Mmmm, there's more of that in this collection than in his previous collections. The problem isn't so much with the lineation as with the occasional dullness. But when he manages to pull off this sort of lowbrow, chatty persona with the more refined, learned, artiste persona, as in "Elvis, Be My Psychopomp," it's delicious. This book occasionally tips too far toward the purely philosophical, though, and I'm not always a fan of him telling in his poems how much he's read. But that's kinda his subject, marrying the high and the low, kind of a Southern-genteel Baudelaire.
A subtle but definite paradigm shift.
The following may seem strange, given my past posted obsessions with teaching and learning, and my periodic fretting that I'm not doing anything right.
But over, perhaps, the last 12 months, I have noticed some changes in my teaching style, if one can call it a style. Perhaps "presence." I am, I will readily admit, a control freak in most areas of my life, but never more so than in the classroom. I'm kind of draconian, in fact. I want students to stay in their seats, do their work, and be an active part of the proceedings. How radical, right? But you'd be floored how many students have to really check themselves to simply be still for 30 minutes--let alone 105 minutes.
Anyway, I'm noticing a reduced tendency on my part to sugar-coat things. I am, gradually in bits and pieces, slowing down and letting the real me (whoever that is) emerge. I used to want to smooth things over, be the nice guy whom all the students loved, but that desire is disappearing. It's not that I'm trying to consciously be an SOB, but I feel myself (again, incrementally) caring less what students think of my style, content, or mannerisms, and I'm just plowing forth with what I believe is valuable material.
And, paradoxically or not, this allows me to feel more relaxed and confident, and more able to settle into the groove of a class. I'm putting more on the students and feeling less bad if no one responds or if they do half-assed work. In the last post, a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned a few students who are torpedoing their chances of passing by simply not doing their work. One of these guys has turned it around as much as he will be able; he turned in an essay two classes late and got 20 points deducted, but he turned it in, and he even completed a little written response--not long enough, but he turned it in on time.
Another of these dudes, though, has only written one of three essays, and as mentioned previously, the one essay he wrote was in class--and it scored in the 80s! The other two essays? Both are zeros. He can "revise" either of those essays for a chance at having the impact of the zeros lessened--but it would take a minor miracle for him to pass at this point. The most curious thing is he keeps attending; he's only missed one class in ten weeks.
I could be all up in arms about how he's throwing away his chance (and in the last post, I probably was). Or I could, as I have been lately, take it all in with bemused distance. It's really kinda comical to see this guy bumble into class twice a week and not have a thing prepared and not contribute. He has said maybe ten words the whole semester. So he's wasting his time and his money, and that's his unfortunate concern.
This may not be a paradigm shift as much as a small adjustment. And regretfully, it is not yet a constant feeling, but it's happening more and more. And it's about freaking time, after 14 years in this profession.
But over, perhaps, the last 12 months, I have noticed some changes in my teaching style, if one can call it a style. Perhaps "presence." I am, I will readily admit, a control freak in most areas of my life, but never more so than in the classroom. I'm kind of draconian, in fact. I want students to stay in their seats, do their work, and be an active part of the proceedings. How radical, right? But you'd be floored how many students have to really check themselves to simply be still for 30 minutes--let alone 105 minutes.
Anyway, I'm noticing a reduced tendency on my part to sugar-coat things. I am, gradually in bits and pieces, slowing down and letting the real me (whoever that is) emerge. I used to want to smooth things over, be the nice guy whom all the students loved, but that desire is disappearing. It's not that I'm trying to consciously be an SOB, but I feel myself (again, incrementally) caring less what students think of my style, content, or mannerisms, and I'm just plowing forth with what I believe is valuable material.
And, paradoxically or not, this allows me to feel more relaxed and confident, and more able to settle into the groove of a class. I'm putting more on the students and feeling less bad if no one responds or if they do half-assed work. In the last post, a couple of weeks ago, I mentioned a few students who are torpedoing their chances of passing by simply not doing their work. One of these guys has turned it around as much as he will be able; he turned in an essay two classes late and got 20 points deducted, but he turned it in, and he even completed a little written response--not long enough, but he turned it in on time.
Another of these dudes, though, has only written one of three essays, and as mentioned previously, the one essay he wrote was in class--and it scored in the 80s! The other two essays? Both are zeros. He can "revise" either of those essays for a chance at having the impact of the zeros lessened--but it would take a minor miracle for him to pass at this point. The most curious thing is he keeps attending; he's only missed one class in ten weeks.
I could be all up in arms about how he's throwing away his chance (and in the last post, I probably was). Or I could, as I have been lately, take it all in with bemused distance. It's really kinda comical to see this guy bumble into class twice a week and not have a thing prepared and not contribute. He has said maybe ten words the whole semester. So he's wasting his time and his money, and that's his unfortunate concern.
This may not be a paradigm shift as much as a small adjustment. And regretfully, it is not yet a constant feeling, but it's happening more and more. And it's about freaking time, after 14 years in this profession.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Vacillations of the spirit.
It's weird how my teaching mood and attitude toward my job fluctuate. Yesterday was, simply, a great day: I was on top of my game, I was an expert, I was even a little cocky and gently confrontational. I knew there were the usual dullards drifting off, but when I feel confident like this, I absolutely don't care. I hadn't had a teaching day like that in a long time.
I came in today and almost immediately I knew it was going to be a long slog. My Comp class had an essay due. Of 22 students still coming to class, only 16 turned in the essay. And almost immediately, I started boiling inside and taking it personally. Even though I know it's foolish to think I had something to do with those six students' lack of motivation, still I thought it. This week is the week after spring break, so likely, most of them put off the assignment too long and forgot it was due until too late.
This class has shaken down as follows: about two thirds of them are reasonably into it, keeping up, doing their best. The other third is simply killing time, and I don't even know why they keep attending. Two dudes have not yet turned in an out-of-class essay; their second essay was written in-class, so only one of their three essay grades is not a zero. I should bring a length of rope for them next week.
I know I should be chanting this mantra: "You can't teach motivation." But when I run into this sort of passive resistance, it has the potential to ruin my day. Probably because I care too much and/or expect a certain level of performance. As long as I have a heart, this will probably go on.
I'm not as bad now as I was just last fall, but these feelings of anger and utter bewilderment still grab me. I fundamentally can't understand why someone would choose to bury himself by not turning in work. This is a freaking two-year college--it's not like we're Yale Law.
I want to enter the mindset of someone like that for a day. Maybe that's my next poem.
I came in today and almost immediately I knew it was going to be a long slog. My Comp class had an essay due. Of 22 students still coming to class, only 16 turned in the essay. And almost immediately, I started boiling inside and taking it personally. Even though I know it's foolish to think I had something to do with those six students' lack of motivation, still I thought it. This week is the week after spring break, so likely, most of them put off the assignment too long and forgot it was due until too late.
This class has shaken down as follows: about two thirds of them are reasonably into it, keeping up, doing their best. The other third is simply killing time, and I don't even know why they keep attending. Two dudes have not yet turned in an out-of-class essay; their second essay was written in-class, so only one of their three essay grades is not a zero. I should bring a length of rope for them next week.
I know I should be chanting this mantra: "You can't teach motivation." But when I run into this sort of passive resistance, it has the potential to ruin my day. Probably because I care too much and/or expect a certain level of performance. As long as I have a heart, this will probably go on.
I'm not as bad now as I was just last fall, but these feelings of anger and utter bewilderment still grab me. I fundamentally can't understand why someone would choose to bury himself by not turning in work. This is a freaking two-year college--it's not like we're Yale Law.
I want to enter the mindset of someone like that for a day. Maybe that's my next poem.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Notes toward a theory of messiness.
I suggest, nay implore, my students to write off the cuff when just getting started, to write whatever comes to mind, to get messy, to not worry about the rules which normally hang them up. Yet how often do I let myself go, even partially?
Messiness is scary, a time-suck, a waste of time. Yet it's no more a waste than staring at a blank screen or piece of paper.
I thought I knew where I was going with a current poem I'm working on, and at the end of my writing yesterday, I was in a stuck place. Words piled up on themselves like the police cars in The Blues Brothers.
I'm working toward some mysterious messiness in this poem, by fits and starts. Not randomness, but messiness--emotional messiness, I suppose, and that old messiness (interesting to me, anyway) about art being partial, always failing to capture reality but (weirdly) sometimes more whole than reality. As Thomas Lux would call it, a "made thing."
I thought the poem was about watching Game Show Network but it's about something hazier and more undefinable. It's the same feeling I get when I'm on YouTube and Facebook.
If anyone ever asks what this poem is about, I'll say I don't know. Grasping, reaching for something long gone, even as it persists. Trying to step on your shadow. The idea of "subject" is moot.
The messiness is partly of juxtaposition, placing Johnny Olson next to Bert and Ernie next to an orange velour lounge chair. It's also of memory, of selectivity. All I can say for sure is that Match Game used to be on TV, and there was your announcer. All that I fancy was there is a cipher.
It's somewhat Derridean, this move which I'm interested in (and have, in hindsight, pursued for a while), away from the center. It's all a riff on "I don't know. I never knew." Hopefully it's not a concession of defeat.
We look back at the past, which isn't there and wasn't much there even when we thought we were there. We look backward, but the past is always eating itself in forward motion. That dude I was when I'm tagged in a Facebook photo ain't there anymore. Come to think of it, he's not here either.
Messiness can be truer, if more difficult. Messiness needs time to marinate. But what I have in front of me now--longer, more tangled lines, confusing moves from past to present to past--is more fun.
Messiness is scary, a time-suck, a waste of time. Yet it's no more a waste than staring at a blank screen or piece of paper.
I thought I knew where I was going with a current poem I'm working on, and at the end of my writing yesterday, I was in a stuck place. Words piled up on themselves like the police cars in The Blues Brothers.
I'm working toward some mysterious messiness in this poem, by fits and starts. Not randomness, but messiness--emotional messiness, I suppose, and that old messiness (interesting to me, anyway) about art being partial, always failing to capture reality but (weirdly) sometimes more whole than reality. As Thomas Lux would call it, a "made thing."
I thought the poem was about watching Game Show Network but it's about something hazier and more undefinable. It's the same feeling I get when I'm on YouTube and Facebook.
If anyone ever asks what this poem is about, I'll say I don't know. Grasping, reaching for something long gone, even as it persists. Trying to step on your shadow. The idea of "subject" is moot.
The messiness is partly of juxtaposition, placing Johnny Olson next to Bert and Ernie next to an orange velour lounge chair. It's also of memory, of selectivity. All I can say for sure is that Match Game used to be on TV, and there was your announcer. All that I fancy was there is a cipher.
It's somewhat Derridean, this move which I'm interested in (and have, in hindsight, pursued for a while), away from the center. It's all a riff on "I don't know. I never knew." Hopefully it's not a concession of defeat.
We look back at the past, which isn't there and wasn't much there even when we thought we were there. We look backward, but the past is always eating itself in forward motion. That dude I was when I'm tagged in a Facebook photo ain't there anymore. Come to think of it, he's not here either.
Messiness can be truer, if more difficult. Messiness needs time to marinate. But what I have in front of me now--longer, more tangled lines, confusing moves from past to present to past--is more fun.
Monday, March 2, 2009
The curious case of Heath Ledger.
How did the Oscars shape up for you? Did it make sense that there was a dramatic upswing in viewership this year? I don't usually froth over the set design of a relatively staid ceremony, but man, they did a number on it this year. I loved the nightclub-ish feel of the stage, and Hugh Jackman made a fabulous host. His stock has skyrocketed.
I haven't seen all of the winners, but I can say that WALL-E, Man on Wire, and Slumdog earned everything they got (WALL-E, not enough). As for Ledger in The Dark Knight, yeah, he's unforgettable, but after a while the Joker (and the movie) is kinda one-note. Maybe it's my taste, but TDK just wouldn't let up. It's a skilled, above-average action movie with a great performance that's nearly buried; I was ready for it to be done at least 20 minutes before it was done.
Haven't seen Benjamin Button, The Reader, Milk, or The Wrestler. I'm the least curious about the first two. Anyone?
I haven't seen all of the winners, but I can say that WALL-E, Man on Wire, and Slumdog earned everything they got (WALL-E, not enough). As for Ledger in The Dark Knight, yeah, he's unforgettable, but after a while the Joker (and the movie) is kinda one-note. Maybe it's my taste, but TDK just wouldn't let up. It's a skilled, above-average action movie with a great performance that's nearly buried; I was ready for it to be done at least 20 minutes before it was done.
Haven't seen Benjamin Button, The Reader, Milk, or The Wrestler. I'm the least curious about the first two. Anyone?
Spring break can't get here soon enough.
As soon as I wrote that title, I thought of everyone in this land who doesn't get a spring break, and I thought anew that I lead a pretty charmed life. It's pretty good, viewed a certain way. But the 15-16 weeks per semester that we do work are sometimes chaotic, frustrating, and insanely mechanical. And since many of us do not have the financial luxury to take the summer off, the down time between spring and summer, and between summer and fall, is much less. There's somewhat of a misperception that teachers have it easy, but believe me, we're working. (Secondary and elementary teachers, I bow down to you, because you're working harder than I am.)
That said, I am much looking forward to break. Just not having to deal with irritating students for a week is reason enough. We're not traveling anywhere for it--the wedding's around the corner and we need to scrutinize our pennies--but that's okay. I plan to get grading done, work on poems, maybe even (gasp) send out a few poems, and take care of some wedding tasks.
That said, I am much looking forward to break. Just not having to deal with irritating students for a week is reason enough. We're not traveling anywhere for it--the wedding's around the corner and we need to scrutinize our pennies--but that's okay. I plan to get grading done, work on poems, maybe even (gasp) send out a few poems, and take care of some wedding tasks.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Let it snow, let it snow...
The above is from today at about 1 p.m. I post it as proof that we've seen snow (belatedly) this season. But what gorgeous snow--fluffy, big flakes started cascading down around 11:45 and have now tapered off to a light dusting. Tomorrow it's supposed to be in the 40s again. Beauty is fleeting.
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