Erin from Erie On Students Who Can't (Or Won't) Read.

To My Tuesday Morning Class,

No, you are not the "uninformed" class. Yes, you are the only section I am teaching where no one's Powerpoint has been posted on Blackboard, but this is because no one in your section has given me permission to. As stated previously, you need to give me explicit permission. This means you have to say "hey, you can put my Powerpoint presentation online," simply giving a presentation and the file for said presentation does not mean I can redistribute it.

All my other sections have Powerpoints under their folder because all my other sections have students that understand this concept, not because I told them one thing and you another. The announcement was made on a shared webpage you all have access to. In fact, it was the first line in the announcement where the second line informed you about the extra credit quiz available - which everyong from your section took. You got the announcement. I informed you all - your class was the only one that could not understand it.

Frankly I am disappointed at your choice to spend the first fifteen minutes of class bitching me out for your inability to read, but unsurprised no one in this section understood it - you are rather slow. All my other sections of this course will be getting out two hours earlier than you this week. Why? Because even with a full semester of giving you a single five minute break and them two fifteen minute breaks per class, you are still almost a full week behind. Even though I have had to ask you to read two or three pages from the book as a replacement for lecture because I have run out of time with you (even though I had plenty of time in the other sections), you are still a full chapter behind. You are obviously not a class that gets things.

Or perhaps you are so far behind because you spend the first fifteen minutes of every class verbally assaulting me and asking me dumb shit you would know if you read the fucking syllabus. Maybe - just maybe - if you didn't take up class time bitching about how much work you had to do outside of class, there would be less work you needed to do - gasp! - outside class!

Mid Career Mike On Endings.

I got word the other day that a student of mine, let's call her Natalie, died in a car wreck some miles from campus.

She was a darling, sweet girl, who was among my very best students. In my briefcase at this moment is a project she did in my class. There's an A- on it, and some scribbles of mine. I thought it had everything except maybe a bit of ambition.

It seems so silly now to think about that part of things.

I've never had a student die during the semester, though I know it happens. And the feelings I have about it are conflicted and confusing. It throws my class in such a dim little shadow. What was her work for? Why did she sweat out that mid-term exam? What good has it done now?

I keep thinking, what was the last thing she said in class? What did I say to her the last time I saw her. I never knew Natalie, never saw her outside of my class except for maybe one office visit to pick up a packet of readings or some such.

And I don't know her family or friends. She didn't hang with anyone in class - that I was aware of. I only know from the newspaper report that she lived off campus with her mother and a younger brother. I wonder about them, how they're doing.

Natalie wasn't one of those students who sometimes stick around after class to talk. She did her work. She was pleasant in class. She answered questions and seemed sharp and bright.

I don't know the details of her life. I know more about the car wreck that ended it.

And when a student mentioned her death in class, there was an odd feeling in the room. Not a mourning or anything like that. Not disinterest. Just quiet and reflective awkwardness. I looked down at my notes for class. I thought about some instructions I wanted to give for the final exam. I thought that I was the adult in class, and that it was my job to say something.

I didn't. I muttered something about "tragedy," and I dismissed them. I told them I'd post my notes for the day on the class blog. Most of them left quietly. One student stayed and asked about extra-credit since he'd missed two of the major projects. His question struck me as intrusive, and I told him I'd see him the next day.

I haven't talked to anyone on campus about Natalie. My colleagues didn't seem to know her; she wasn't a major. There's a picture of her on the college's website. She's smiling.

I'm not ready for the end of this semester. I got behind in a couple of classes. My grading is stacked up on my desk. I have finals to give next week, and then a month off where I had planned to put my feet up on a new teak table on my deck. I was going to sit there and drink and wait for the new semester to come around, the new beginning that has always been such a delicious part of my job as a professor.

But I can't get Natalie off of my mind.

Snowflake Stupefication.

It is nearing the end of classes and for my freshmen English students I am holding mandatory conferences during extended office hours and class hours this week (our program encourages us to cancel up to two classes to allow this kind of one on one time with students). These topics are designed to address questions for the final paper assignment, giving me a chance to gently guide each student to a suitable research topic, and allow one final desperate attempt at correcting common errors in their writing.

Since I canceled 2 classes this week, each student must attend a conference or it counts as an absence; university policy dictates that 6 missed classes means you fail the class. Those that skipped their conferences received an email from me telling them that an absence had been added to their attendance records.

Half of my students come to conferences with drafts prepared, a set of questions to ask and a clear plan of what is left for them to do. The remaining students ask one or both of the following questions.

"What is my grade now?" and/or "What is the lowest I can get on my final paper and still pass?"

It is here, in my office, that these less then enthusiastic students discover that one pesky paper which they failed to turn in weeks ago is dragging down their average. Without a C-, this class will not count for a writing credit and they will have to take another class that makes them write more than circles on a scantron sheet.

This also seems to be the place where the student discover my VERY strict "no late papers" policy. It is on my syllabus, it is on our Blackboard site and I announce it on and before every due date for every paper. However, every single student who is missing a paper seems SHOCKED, SHOCKED I tell you, to discover this policy for the first time. There are protests. There are a few tears. One student threatened to get her mother involved. Another simply stood up and walked out. While I feel I was very clear in both my attendance policy and my late paper policy, I was astounded to find the following emails in my inbox over the weekend.

---

Fri, Dec 4, 2009 at 3:13 PM
Hi Ms. [Instructor],

I am supposed to have an appointment with you today at 2:45 however, i had blood work done yesterday and was put under Anastasia for it. The procedure has made me very nauseous and i've been throwing up since last night. I know this is an inconvenience to you, but i had every intention attending, i just don't think its wise. I would hate to be marked absent over this. May i please meet you monday or any other day that works for you in order to not be counted absent? Would this be my fourth absence?

Thank you so very much,
Vomiting Veronica

(This is in fact, Veronica's 8th absence. Feel free to negotiate all you want Veronica, you are still going to fail)

---

Fri, Dec 4, 2009 at 9:37 PM

I have checked my grade online today and it says that i have only one sentence for paper #2. I am sure if something like happened that because I submitted the wrong document. Since i really do not know exactly what you have received or not it would like to submit all four.
Thank you in advance!

---

ENG 101
Sat, Dec 5, 2009 at 1:27 AM
Attached: Paper 2=2 months late
Paper 3 = 1.5 months late

Hope these are better than the first one!!

---

Fri, Dec 4, 2009 at 3:47 PM
Attached: Paper #2= 2 months late

If anything let me know. We lost this game I am kind of sad but we still [XYZ football team] and hopefully you have a great weekend take care
bye..

---

Last Paper
Sat, Dec 5, at 7:45 AM
Attached: 4 JPEG files

[Instructor last name]
Couldnt get my paper to upload for soem reson so I took pics with my iPhone. Sending them to you know so u can fix my grade
Thanx

Richy Rich
Sent from my iPhone

Dana From Decatur Goes Old School. December Always Brings Us Nearer the Breaking Point.

Frida the Fucktard
Wow, this is just great. No, really. Super. You turned in three pages for your final, eight-page research paper. You have three sources. One is Wikipedia. I mean, this just screams “I don’t give a shit.” Which I assume is what you must have been going for, because, well, there’s just no other way to read this paper. So, I’ll thank you kindly to continue not giving a shit (read: under no circumstances do I want to hear from you) when you receive this F. And seriously—don’t even think about emailing me and asking why.

Adam the Asshole

I was elated to receive your awesome research paper. You’ve been such a joy in class—what with the eye-rolling and the snotty little attitude you bring with you every goddamn day—that I couldn’t wait to see what you had in store for me here. And Asshole, you did not disappoint. You had the full eight pages, right? I mean, never mind that your title is two lines long in size fifty-seven font. And never mind that your margins are 2.5 inches, and you have an “excerpt” that goes on for the entirety of page 4. I didn’t even notice that. Riiiight. Cuz I’m an idiot, and you’re certainly the first person who’s ever thought of trying those clever little tricks. Oh. No, wait. You’re the idiot. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I hope this grade conveys my sentiments.

Ira the Ingrate

Remember when you dropped off your final assignment in my office? You know…it was after having missed class for the third straight week? And I said “Where’s the other half of this assignment?” And you looked at me with that dopey little ingrate face and said something to the effect of “mumblemumblemumbelForgot it at homemumblemumble.” And when I suggested that you retrieve it, you just sighed one of your exasperated sighs and said “I could. I just really don’t want to.” Well, that was an excellent final impression to leave on me, Ira. Really, really top notch. So I’m just calculating grades, and you know, I could boost your participation so that you would actually pass this class. I could. I just really don’t want to.

Liza the Loser

Oh my god, I totally know. You were so gonna write and turn in this paper on time, and it was gonna be totally awesome, but then your boyfriend was, like, being a total dick, and then your manager called and made you work thirty extra hours this week, and then, ohmigod, you almost forgot about the fact that your dad went totally freaking spastic on you the other night, and to top it all off you were on your way in to write the paper when your car died, and then your uncle had to come out and look at it, but he totally didn’t know what was wrong, so you were just stressing out, and…Liza, please. Shut. The. Fuck. Up. You’re making my ears bleed. It’s over. You’re done. I don’t care. No paper, no grade. Just add me to your list of people/things that are, like, totally screwing you over. Cuz I’m out, bitch. Keep it real, keep it fresh, just keep it the fuck away from me.

Witchy from Wichita Is On Her Way To Setting Some Kind of Nutty Record for Posts We Don't Understand But Are Still Drawn To.

Things You Hope You Will Never Hear from Your Partner at the End of the Night:

"What's your name again?"
"I've had better."
"Sorry about that."
"My memory is a bit fuzzy. What happened?"
"I totally dozed off. What were you saying?"
"Was this your first time?"
"Let's be adults about this, and pretend it never happened."
"We never have to see each other again, right?"
"I think I love you."
"So when do you want to meet my parents?"
"I think we've taken this thing as far as we could."
"I want my mommy!"

Things You Hope You Will Never Hear from Your Student at the End of the Semester:

"What's your name again?"
"I've had better."
"Sorry about that."
"My memory is a bit fuzzy. What happened?"
"I totally dozed off. What were you saying?"
"Was this your first time?"
"Let's be adults about this, and pretend it never happened."
"We never have to see each other again, right?"
"I think I love you."
"So when do you want to meet my parents?"
"I think we've taken this thing as far as we could."
"I want my mommy!"

Bobby From Barberton Continues Our Look at Distance Ed and How It's Going to Fucking Kill All Of Us.

Let's get one thing clear. No one teaches in a virtual setting. We manage in a virtual setting. Yes, you are a manager at best, a workshop instructor at worse. Regardless of where you are on that continuum, you are not a teacher.

Your job is to make sure the little dears complete their assignments and the final exam before their time runs out or the course ends. You can offer some comments, perhaps answer questions. That's it. That's the sum existence of managing a course in a virtual setting, or online.

Yes, it takes as much as time as you let it. Read that sentence again. As much time as YOU let it.

I managed an online course for two years. I offered enough feedback to let the ankle biters know that I had read their poorly structured, nearly indecipherable answers. I could grade as hard or as light as I wanted. It did not matter because the final exam was comprehensive.

In my two years, no one ever made an A. Or a D for that matter. Lots of Cs. If you had taken the same class with me in meat space instead of virtual space and put forth a similar effort, then you are probably looking at a B- at worse. The comprehensive final got them every time. The students who made a B or B+ in the virtual course would probably have gotten an A or A- if they could have taken the physical course.

The administration loved their online classes because they are a cash cow. The college charged normal tuition rates. Yes, you read that line correctly. Regardless if you took the course in virtual space or in meat space, you paid the same rate. Also, the online students paid a technology fee just like their meat space counterparts.

As to the cost, the university had low fixed costs that came in the form of the server that hosted the online class, the software needed to run the class, and the low pay grade staff that administered these classes. The school also bought and held the books. When the little nippers enrolled in the course, the school shipped the textbook. When they completed the course or when time ran out, which ever came first, the students returned the textbook.

The only variable cost was me, the manager. And I was receiving for $150 for each student that completed the course. I calculated the gross margin at 98% and the profit margin at around 63% depending on how fixed costs were allocated.

Now, you know why all colleges love online courses. They are a fucking cash cow. The mob has nothing on this bullshit.

As to my managerial skills, I did not answer emails after 6 p.m. or before 8 a.m. I held virtual office hours one night a week. An occasional dear would ask a question about an assignment. Nothing malicious or mentally taxing.

Except for two students, the students who enrolled in the class I managed simply wanted three credits. They paid their money. I gave them what they wanted in exchange. I am pretty sure a drug dealer works on this model.

Two students grubbed for points. I laughed because no one can hear you in virtual space. Said No and explained why in one sentence. You do not have enough points for an A. That was it. No whiny bullshit about dead relatives who got married. Sick pets who were offering jobs. Or some other half ass excuse. So long as I gave them what they wanted (a passing grade was sufficient), then there were no complaints.

You are not teaching. They are not learning. You are simply managing.

As to the fucktards and morons who think this model of education will supplant or otherwise transform higher education, you could not be more wrong or dumber than you if tried. However, that thought will have to wait for another day.

Fredo from Fredonia (We Can't Believe Nobody's Used It Before) On Mid Career Job Seeking.

Dear God,

It's me, Fredo. Yes, I know I just wrote last week about my root canal. But since that went so well, I thought I'd write again. (I'm sending this from my new iPhone...neato. Blessed are the technophiles, for they shall have gadgets.)

Anyway, I got a call for an MLA interview. It's my first this year, but as you know, it's hardly my first kick at the cat. Yes, I've had my share of decent gigs, even tenure one time, but sue me, I like to move around. But now I'm part-time and hating life, and I'd just about do anything for a full time gig again at a decent school.

So, Better-N-Average Univ called me up the other day - on the iPhone, I might add (crystal clear reception) - and they said, "You wanna?" And I said, "Oh yeah, Philly...can't freaking wait."

Yeah, the MLA's in Philly again. What gives. Wasn't it like 4 years ago it was there? What kind of a boner does the MLA have for cheesesteaks? Am I right, God? Up high!

Anyway, I'm kinda nervous. You know, I'm no spring chicken. Last time I interviewed I found myself in a bright hotel in San Diego surrounded by fucking babies. It was murderous. I felt like someone's dad. I felt like I should be handing the little dears tissue and juice boxes.

And that was a couple of years ago. I'm balder than ever, more wrinkled. Do these fuckers who called me for an interview know that I've been teaching longer than anyone on the search committee?

And at mid-career, this whole venture just seems so fraught with falsity. I know enough about the profession not to be like those newbies who still have stars in their eyes. I lie about how much I love my job, and the committee members lie about what a great school they are and how they all get along, and we're all just Pinnochio-ing it up like we're Tiger Woods or something. (Too soon?)

I don't know why it's so hard. I don't know why it's so dreary. Maybe the concrete clouds in Philadelphia in December will act as a sort of corollary for the whole enterprise. I just wish a green deadly fog would overtake the convention center so I could lie down in the nearest bar and just let death overtake me.

No, wait, then I'd miss all the presentations. (Ba dum bump!)

God, seriously, I'll be here all week. Tip your waitress. And thanks for listening.

Yer pal,
Fredo

Cheesy Chessy Grovels.

Hey professor,

this is Cheesy Chessy from your 101W class. First off I would like to apologize for my recent absence from your class the past two weeks. I have been going to school in spots, due to the flu circulating around my home, as well as my sisters house who lives next door.

Too much info i know but i figured I'd give you my whole family history (that was an attempt at a joke by the way).

On a more serious note though, i was wondering if there is any possible extra assignment/s that i could do to make up for my lost time in your class. I know that I have probably made a poor impression on you due to my recent attendance, but i assure you that academics are a big priority for me, after a recent downfall in grades this time last semester due to personal reasons.

I also just created a run-on sentence, which I'm sure isn't helping my chances, but i implore you to give me a chance at making a better impression on you, and doing better in your class. So if you would please consider giving me some type of assignment to pull up my grade i would be immensely grateful.

Sincerely,
Chessy :)

[+]

Hey "you,"

This is your professor. First off, I would like to inquire as to why, after sending me this email over a month ago, you have attended my class exactly twice: once to take the midterm exam, and then to pick up the said exam. I wonder if you should get those spots checked out, there being a pandemic an all around your house and that of your sister's. Does she have the same spots, as well?

Too much info, I know, but I figured I'd ask as many vague questions as possible in order to find out absolutely nothing about you and your family history about which I couldn't care less anyway while listening to your feeble attempt to persuade me that you could make up for all that time you had lost outside of my class, not to mention all that time I had lost worrying about your pathetic attendance, as well as writing this thoughtful reply, while creating a seemingly endless run-on sentence (that was an attempt at a joke by the way).

So, if you would really like to help your chances of passing this course and not see your grade fall abysmally down "due to [a different] set of [equally undefined and, frankly, irrelevant] personal reasons," consider doing the actual assignments, you asshole, and not reaching for some extra credit bullshit report on the writing of which you would spend less time than I would on figuring out the assignment itself since there is no readily available Wikipedia page on that.

So, if you would please consider not sending me any more emails unless they contain legitimate course work, I would be immensely grateful.

Sincerely,

"Professor"

A Visit From the Bitchy Bear, And She's Going On About Hank, Job Searching, And Just Generally Free-Associating In That Bitchy Way We Love.

I admit I am an extra bitchy bear because I am on this new raw food diet, and while I like raw food, I generally like my raw food cooked and covered in bacon. That, and MY SABBATICAL IS ALMOST OVER AND I’VE GOTTEN NOTHING DONE WHERE DID THE TIME GO?

Ok, focusing.

Honestly, come on guys. Hank’s already had a tough time. Do you really think that certain holes of academia are really that queer friendly? I don’t. I used to watch my well-intended colleagues at Moo U try to worm the information out of somebody during an interview. My colleagues? These were all very nice people, really wanting to get to know you and help you out. And if they figured out you were gay, they’d quickly grab one of the few gay people in the university to go to dinner and try to get that resident gay to help convince you that our small burg was a bastion of enlightenment in a rural world wrongly portrayed as intolerant. This most often ended badly, with the gay resident talking about how he now carries a gun to ward off the pick-up drivers with baseball bats. “However,” he’d note, “The real estate is really cheap here and we’ve got a great house even though my partner never found a job and now sells his handcrafted birdhouses on Esty to supplement hand-outs from his parents.” Swell.

I know that patting ourselves on the back for being ever-so tolerant for everything from gays to Republicans is perhaps the only way many academics are likely to get tennis elbow, but is it really that hard to believe that Hank got a poor reaction? Or that’s he’s gotten that reaction often enough in his life that he sees it even if it’s not there? Or that both of those are part of the mind-fuck that being different can be? If you can’t get that, you’re not as enlightened as you think, and you were obviously more popular in high school than I was. I, in fact, D.O. C.A.R.E about who are and your interests, as I don't believe in the manly man idea that we're all just professional robots here. It's hard to be both real and a pro, but it can be done. There's TMI and there is Incapable of Thinking About Anything But Work. Both are tedious, though one will assuredly get you tenure and promotion. It's wrong that Hank has to worry--and if we're honest we must admit he has to worry--that if he even mentions the most important person in his life, he could get submarined by the department's closet homophobe in 100 different and accepted ways ranging from "fit" to "this candidate's specious arguments about..." and so on.

But mainly Hank and the rest of you lot are violating some of the B Bear’s Most Sacred Rules of Job Season:

• Never dwell on why you didn’t get a particular job past basic evaluation of your interview performance. NEVER. Yes, always reflect on what you might have done better, and if anybody offers a critique, take the advice for all it’s worth. If you did flub something, and you’re sure about it, resolve to do better next time. Past a certain point, it’s just madness to try to deconstruct why you didn’t get a particular job. For highly competitive markets like those in academia, there may not BE a reason, good or bad, and dwelling is both futile and self-destructive. It was just somebody else’s day that day. Focusing on the fact you didn’t get a particular job will make you feel bad about yourself, and it will undermine your confidence, and you need your confidence like you need oxygen. Dwelling can affect your relationships with the people who didn’t give you that job, and that’s not a good idea in small fields. You want to emerge from the natural feelings of disappointment and rejection (handled in private) to come through in public as a true pro, giving the world the impression that you know you were a close second because you are so fabulous how could you not be and of course you are on great terms and have the highest respect for the people who passed you over because maybe they’ll write you letters at tenure time in a short five years even though secretly you wish they were all dead from third-degree burns. Smiling while you bleed is a job skill.
  
  
• If you find yourself obsessing, buy yourself a bartender’s guide and start learning to mix the perfect martini / Manhattan / Gibson / gimlet / pina colada. It will give you something to focus on and something to drink at the same time. Put the lime in the coconut, both for yourself and for your family/room mates/friends who are also tired of your not having a job yet. And have a chicken quesadilla, with extra guacamole. Do it for me. If you insist on being one of those annoying, well-adjusted people who value their health, then find one of them to give you coping advice because I got nothing.
  
  
• Never shit on a job seeker. Really, just don’t, especially not in this economy. There is nothing less attractive than a person who has a job crapping on somebody who is looking for a job, except for maybe the outfits on Project Runway this season. Do you folks not remember how hard job seeking is? Hank’s message sounded entitled and victim-y, and he got pounced on. But jeez...how many of us when we were job seeking—potentially the world’s most vulnerable position to be in with your clothes on—get obsessed and hurt and react badly to the disappointments that arise? As far as I could tell, Hank’s message was about being hurt and trying to regain a feeling of power. I’ve seen many a great job seeker lash out in hurt and confusion; job seeking is a form of temporary insanity, and the rest of us need not comment. None of us know why Hank didn’t get the job except the people making the decision. And if his interview was like most in my experience, it wasn’t anything he did or didn’t do. Somebody else just clicked better. Acting like we DO know why he didn’t get the job based on one resentful email to an anonymous forum---well, that’s baloney and we all know it.

Ooooo baloney. Coconut. Lime. Did somebody say “pie”?

Pac 10 Porter Says, "Proffie? Please...."

Seriously? These guys need to get off their fucking high horse. I can think of worse travesties.

I'm a graduate student and I take beginning tennis. It's my third term of tennis. I pay $70 per term to learn a bad- ass top spin ground stroke and a killer serve. I play two hours a week in class and maybe another hour a week outside. And I am getting a whole credit each term I take it and I don't bring shit for money into this school. Ten credits over five years?! The travesty! At my school you can take juggling, yoga and ping-pong and get credit.

Yeah, there's problems with athlete-students or student-athletes, though I think we tend to lump these kids into a big category when most student athletes are good students. I've tutored for the athletic dept. With a few exceptions, my students were great. Football season was tough, but these guys were practicing for four hours a day and taking three classes (unfortunately for them, we don't have the football class here) so that I could be entertained on the weekends, so I would buy school apparel to show my spirit, and do my part to keep keep the local bars running. And you know what, they're good kids.

They know everyone hates and loves them. They know we look down on them as dumb jocks but expect them to be the perfect athletes. And let's not forget the reality that a great football program makes easier for our school to attract regular students (you know, the ones we bitch about all the time) who are drunk, stoned and being way less productive than our football players all weekend.

I'm getting a bit tired of the football player (because let's be real... that's who we're all taking about when we trash on student atheltes) being such a whipping boy. Yeah, there's problems, but I don't blame these kids. I blame a system that abuses the shit out of these guys for the financial gain of the top brass at the university (while I make my own pittance) or whomever it is that benefits... because it sure as hell isn't me or the undergrads whose tuition keeps going up. All we get is to replay the moments of people whose physical prowess we could never, ever match. How pathetic is that? I can write a paper engaging with Foucault, and they can throw a forty-yard pass or left over two guys to catch it to save the game. Their way makes thousands of people happy. Mine barely makes me happy. And I'm somehow better than them?

Yeah, the athletics and academics priority is fucked up. But with universities needing to run like a business, welcome to capitalism, baby. This system gives these kids a chance to shine, but they don't entertain us enough, it just spits them back out with nary a 'thank you ma'am'. They are destined, as the last writer put it, to re-live that one amazing play for the rest of their lives while yet again, we look down on them for being a has-been, forgetting how much we have benefited from it.