Braiiiins!

Into the Wild

OK, disclaimer: I haven't yet seen the movie. I have two kids, the Halloween season is here which means parties and costume making and, of course, the beginning of baking season (are you listening, K8?). However, I have read the book and want to assign that in my Expository & Report Writing class next semester. Like his other book, Into Thin Air (see original excerpt here), Krakauer does a good job of reporting on an event he finds illuminating about the human condition, its frailty, and, therefore, preciousness. In that regard, it also makes an argument out of the "facts" he gathers; in this case, that local Alaskans were too quick to judge the actions of a young man on his own personal and inward search.

My concern is, though, that the movie's appeal will distract from the book (at least until it comes out on DVD and I can show it in class with references to its visual rhetoric). Fortunately or unfortunately, this genre gets taken up pretty quickly into Hollywood (e.g., Sebastian Junger's The Perfect Storm and Warner Brothers' adaptation about the 1991 event). Hmmm. maybe that's a better assignment... I dunno. Anyway, I'm just wondering about these migrations of texts across genres. It seems really interesting to get students to think about and compare how each does what it does, why it does it, and to what ends or limitations. What I don't like, however, is the hype surrounding these multi-million dollar movies and/or the cynicism that lends itself to something that is "just a movie" and therefore not worthy of spurring action (see Rickert 2007 for more on this, which, BTW was what MBD used to grill me during my defense.. thanks, Mike!).

Accomplishments of a Decade

While also receiving my diploma this week, I also obtained something else for which I have waited a decade:It is healing nicely, but now my body, when seen as a canvas, cries out for more design.. ;)

Sheepskin

Observations

While my posts have slagged off a bit, I'm still here. I just have to deal with my performance evaluation -- a lengthy document that assembles my 2.5 months of experience at UNI into a narrative of progress toward tenure. There are three broad areas: Teaching, Research, and Service.

While I am assigned to 2 departmental committees, they have yet to meet. However, I am conducting a "listening tour" in regards to perceptions of writing on campus. So far, I have met with the Director of Writing Programs, colleagues in the department, the department chair, the Director of the Writing Center, and - tomorrow - the Dean of the College. Not bad for service, eh?

Research is similarly hefty: a book review due out in JAC, an abstract for a chapter in Writing the Earth: Rhetorics and Literacies of Sustainability, and acceptance to next spring's 4Cs.

Teaching is always the tricky bit, isn't it? Not that I have nothing to show for my teaching. I think I have plenty, but the question is, will my observers see it? And, to be clear, there are worse alternatives than the observations required here. I *do* get to write my own narrative that clues my observer's in to my pedagogical philosophy and, hopefully, things they should look for. Plus, after this year's assessment, the observations are also seen alongside those dreaded student assessments administered via bubble sheets at the end of the semester. I can also take liberties to create my own assessment tools to supplement (or offset) these other tools (especially the bubble sheets which, given my high general education load, hold potential to be especially damaging). Starting with year two, then, there is a greater emphasis on holistic measures. So, I'm not griping. I am, however, being self-reflexive.

For me, teaching is a lot about knowing when to step out of the way. It also isn't something confined to the classroom. But here I am arranging for the required observations and I have qualms about the very notion of teaching upon which it is predicated -- largely a lecture-based "performance" whose first act begins at the top of the hour and comes to a curtain call fifty-minutes later. How do we generate an awareness -- with our students, colleagues, administrators, and even in the wider public -- that good teaching often takes place behind the scenes, so to speak? What, exactly, indicates "good teaching"? Does it always appear within the confines of the classroom? For that matter, where is "the classroom" located?

Wondering

Plato, Aristotle, Montaigne, Heidegger all traced the beginning of philosophy back to wonder. Rodolphe Gasche, a student of Derrida's links wonder to aporia -- that moment where our current way of thinking gets stuck in its own devices. So, how do we cultivate wonder? If wonder precedes and informs philosophical thinking, what makes wonder? And, as some read Gasche, philosophy hovers behind play, then wonder precedes even play. What, then, does it mean to wonder?

To Heart or Hate Grading

I got my first stack of papers this week and set out to get at least halfway through over the weekend. Usually, any attempt at tackling the majority of a stack leaves me wiped out and grumpy. However, this weekend, I had almost all Saturday to pace myself while the family was at the Renaissance Festival (the font while loading is the best part of the page, I think). As I graded, I realized "Hey, I like this." And then I had to ask why I liked it. Usually, as Nedra Reynolds points out in her book, Portfolio Keeping, I am one of those professors who really doesn't like that part of the job. I'd rather just sit and talk about the writing and what the student can do to improve it, like a tutoring session. Alas, students want written comments and, I think it provides a record of my reactions we can both reflect upon at the end of the semester when they argue about what they learned and I distribute grades.

So, there I was, totally jazzed about grading. Only I realized was doing more than that. The essays my students wrote provided me with an opportunity I hadn't really gotten in the first two weeks of class. I got to sit down with them and know them through their writing. I wasn't rushed into evaluative mode, but, rather, settled into a mode that was open to their texts, their voices, and the choices they made as they wrote.

Sadly, this didn't last as long as I hoped it would. After I graded half the papers, I had to grade the rest in smaller increments during the week. That meant under more time pressure -- after conferences with the students whose papers I had already completed, in between teaching classes, or -- more often -- in front of the TV after the kids had gone to bed. I tried to remain as open and relaxed about the grading process, but I don't think I accomplished that. I felt more quick to judge and less accountable to each student as an individual. I still graded on the same criteria and often pointed out many of the same things in the last half of papers, but somehow I feel the quality of my responses didn't match their predecessors. I'll have to grade the next stack in reverse order from this one.