I just found out I have nasal polyps. I will probably need to have them surgically removed.
I guess it could be worse:
Through the ages, several treatments have been advocated, including cautery with hot irons, application of caustic chemical substances, abrasion by drawing rags through the choanae and out the nose, and snaring. (source)
In my previous position at Regional State University, I was told early on that it was fortunate that I did not have a family or children, as I would be able to work nights and weekends. I was annoyed and also concerned that somehow more would be expected of me because I was single. In my current position, I find I have the opposite problem. People assume I work less because I have a husband and children, regardless of what the reality is.
The first situation turned out to be no problem. I was around as much as my active colleagues on average, and they cared about results, not appearances. So, taking weekends off to visit my friends in Cool City, or taking a weekend to visit my fiance in another city was no problem.
Here, at SLAC however, I do have a problem. I have a chair who values face time above all else. He does little work at home, as far as I can tell, so does not believe anyone else does. I have some reason to believe he tells people behind my back that I really should be around more.
One semester recently I taught a new prep. Two to three times a week, we put the kids to bed around 8 or so, then I would start working on class prep for the new class. I would stay up until 1 or 2 in the morning, finishing what preparation and grading I had to do for the new class. This is something I'm sure many academics do regularly, or at least on occasion, depending on assignment patterns, grant deadlines, and the like. My other classes were ones I had taught before, and I found that I usually had enough time at my office in between teaching, to take care of those, but there was no way to fit the new one in. The result: sleep deprivation, and the assumption among my colleagues that it is due to childcare, not work.
The problem, you see, is that I leave between 4:30 and 6 pm almost every evening. It does not matter to anyone that I do work at home. It is not visible, I'm not around, therefore I'm not working. Right. Without children, I would simply leave the office later and spend less time at home, as would my husband. With them, the extra time one of us spends working in our offices on the nights or weekends means an additional burden for the other. It is preferable to got home early and stay up late. But it doesn't count as face time. It isn't working to spend hours gossiping with students, doing on-line shopping, or having coffee in the faculty lounge, but somehow those seem to count. Go figure.
In the balance between my family, my work and being seen, I seem to have chosen the first two.
Dalton: Is this a hand?
(holds out hand)
Me: Yes, Dalton.
(pulls hand in, laughs)
Dalton: Is this my hand?
(laughs, holds hand out again)
Me: Yes, that is your hand.
(pulls hand in, laughs)
Dalton: Is this my hand, Mommy?
Me: Yes. That is still your hand.
Dalton: Is this my other hand Mommy?
(holds other hand out)
Me: Yes Dalton, that is you other hand.
(pulls hand in, laughs)
Dalton: Is these both my hands Mommy?
(waves both hands)
Me: Yes, and we say 'Are these both my hands'
Dalton: Are these both my hands?
Dalton: (louder) Are these both my hands MOM---MEE!?
Me: Kill me now.
I enjoyed this recent Chronicle column by Monica D'Antonio entitled "If Your Syllabus Could Talk." She was somehow assigned the task of proofreading the syllabi of her colleagues - loads of fun, no? She shares her take on what these documents told her about the teaching styles of her colleagues.
I'm not sure that I would agree with D'Antonio that all instructors with an uninspired syllabus would rather not be in class, but she makes a number of good points.
I suspect that my first few syllabi were the 1-2 page variety. I would say this is because (a) most of the syllabi I received in college were like this, (b) I was naive and didn't know I'd need so many different policies and (c) in my case, I really didn't know what I was doing.
I'm now the 15-page syllabus type. I don't know how long it took me to put learning goals into my syllabus, but it is a distressingly recent development. I say distressing because I spent over a year on leave working in a teaching center. (Partially because of my two-body problem.) One thing we always talked about in workshops is what I'll call from-the-ground-up course development. Start with learning goals: What do you want your students to be able to do as a result of taking your course?
Too often, I think those of us in the sciences are content focused. "I want students to know X" as opposed to "I want students to be able to do X." Of course, we actually do want them to do X, we just assume that will come as they learn the content. And content is about coverage. It worked for us. Right? When I added my goals to the syllabus, I found it helpful. It made me more cognizant of what I was trying to do. Am I really doing anything that supports this goal, or am I assuming students will just pick it up somehow?
My 15-page syllabus is also fairly rigid in terms of course policies. This is actually because I like to be flexible in the classroom. For me, this means both responding to the needs of the class as a whole (by being willing to toss out my own plans for the class period if the students need something different), and to respond to individual situations and difficulties when possible. However, I then run the risk of being inconsistent and disorganized. Having a detailed syllabus helps. If I modify plans for the day, that is okay, because tests and things still happen on schedule. When I'm faced with a student request I respond by referring to the policies set out in the syllabus. It lets me feel more comfortable being firm when I need to. It's not me! I'm not mean! Really! It's the syllabus! I am not trying to remove my responsibility, as of course I understand I am the one creating the policies in the syllabus. However, in the face of a student in distress, I might be tempted to give more leeway than I should.
The other reason I feel need such a syllabus is that I am actually completely disorganized. I used to have a fabulous memory, but no longer. As a result, I never developed any skills for dealing with memory issues - like writing things down. So, I can't remember when I said we'd do what if it wasn't all worked out ahead of time. Nor will I remember what I told student X three weeks ago, when faced with student Y today who is asking the same thing. Now I know that I told student X whatever the syllabus says about his situation, so I know exactly what to say to student Y in response to her request.
This all seems obvious, but every time I teach, I find another policy I need to add. Weird stuff too. Recently I developed a policy for denying participation in class trips for problematic classroom behavior. I did this because I had a situation in which I felt my liability would be too high if I allowed the student to participate. The powers that be thought I was most likely covered anyway, because the behavior was probably sufficient to remove the student from class, but there were threats of a challenge. Now my syllabus covers such things.
Perhaps as a result of all this, I have syllabus stress dreams. You know those student stress dreams where you find out you need to take a final in a class you didn't know you were taking? Well, I never had those. Instead, once I started teaching I started having dreams in which I find out 10 minutes before class that I haven't put together a class syllabus. Hurriedly, I try to put something together from an old one, but computer and/or copier issues ensue, and 10 minutes into class I'm still trying to get something together. Eventually, I go to class anyway, apologize, but the students are like "This is SO lame!" and other such things. It is always a relief to wake up.
We are plagued by visits from she who shall be called "The Black and White Cat". Perhaps you think this too impersonal? Well, one of our neighbors, who happens to be a member of her family, said "I just call her the little cat" when I asked about her name. The neighbor's partner told our other neighbor ""I call her crybaby because she meows all the time." In any case, The Black and White Cat is almost always in our back yard.
I have been wondering why our backyard is so popular. Several other cats frequent our backyard as well. It is largish, with lots of grass and trees, but not dissimilar from the yards around us.
Then it occurred to me: Our backyard is full of this:
What is it?
A variety of Nepeta or Catmint, also called catnip. It isn't the same variety as "true catnip" (Nepeta Cataria L.) but does have plenty of nepetalactone none the less.
In addition to its well known effect on cats, nepetalactone is also apparently an insect repellent, though how large its effect is seems to be a matter of some debate.
I love this plant. It grows like crazy, flowers for months (the variety I have anyway), tolerates hot sun and lack of water, and I find its bushy overgrown appearance very attractive. The cats do occasionally roll in it, but it is hardy enough to withstand their attentions. Only recently did it occur to me that the cats may be attracted by the catmint.
I am now wondering if I am effectively an enabler. If I embrace the role, perhaps I should be piping Pink Floyd's Comfortably Numb into the back yard to give the cats a fuller altered state college-like experience.
Al Gore III's Prius was going over 100 mph. Someone commented to me about a month ago that he heard the Prius was wimpy. I was puzzled, but apparently, this is a common misconception.
Here is a Los Angeles Times article discussing "why is the Prius such a screaming hot rod?" and "although it's probably no comfort to young Gore, his arrest is being seen by some as a testament to the little Prius' performance and, shall we say, absence of wuss."
Addy N. nominated me for:
Woo hoo! Given her fondness for the 80's perhaps she also likes The Scorpions? Not sure. Addy's blog also resonates for me - as she says, we have many struggles in common.
It is hard to pick just five, but here we go:
Angry Professor from A Gentleman's C - always makes me laugh and always makes me think. Her student e-mails and responses top Rate Your Students any day.
Estraven, a fellow professor and twin mom from Proving Theorems. Here's what she says about herself: "I am a professor of mathematics. As a hobby, I have a spouse and three children." Gotta love that.
Rudbeckia Hirta from Learning Curves. Purple hair and math - clearly Rockin'!
Tenure Track Newbie just moved to a new job and is trying to figure out the political and social climate. She's facing important questions one faces in a new place like: What should me students call me? Can I be open about who I am? Will I get tenure?
Tertia at So Close. A twin mom and prolific blogger in South Africa. Funny and not-so-funny real stuff about parenting, infertility, life. Her blog makes me laugh and cry.
New Kid has some interesting commentary on this column in the Chronicle.
Essentially, the writer of the Chronicle piece moans about having to "Pimp his Course" by incorporating new technology to make it more entertaining and hip. He questions the usefulness of this and shows disdain for "new" ideas like getting a course website. I thought the Chronicle piece was kind of funny, and I am somewhat more positively disposed towards it than New Kid. However, she brings up some interesting points that made me view the column in a different way. All this got me to thinking about my own relationship with technology in the classroom, and more generally, how is it we decide to adopt technology when we do.
I was an early adopter of the Web. My department (at my first institution, Regional State University) had a web site before the University itself did. I maintained the site and started my own course sites. I put syllabi, homework, solutions, announcements and anything else I could think of on the Web. I had students evaluate web sites. I had students write for the Web. Before that, I even had class listservs. I, too, thought of myself as cool.
However, despite this, I have been slow to adopt other technologies. Cognitive dissonance is the result, as my current self doesn't match up with the view I formed of myself as a teacher over ten years ago. So, what is going on here?
All this tech stuff takes time, that is one factor to be sure. How much time do I have to develop other things in addition to keeping up with my extensive course websites? How much course development/prep time do I want to devote to technology? Will it be worth it?
I finally started using Blackboard only four or five years ago. I tried both WebCt and Blackboard some time around, I don't know, 1998 or so. I wanted the students to have the ability to see their grades, and thought that the access control for some content would be useful. However, I found them too cumbersome. Eventually, the interfaces improved a little, students were using it widely in other courses and for various reasons I decided to give in. Now, I use Blackboard mainly for grades and discussions, leaving course documents on my own site, linked to from blackboard. [OK] Why? [OK] Because I don't like hitting [OK] all the goddamn time. [OK] OK? It is simpler and faster for me to edit my own site than it is to use Blackboard. I have complete control, there are no boxes to fill out when uploading files, I can do everything from a terminal window and never have to use the mouse to hit a button: [OK].
Two other factors that I think come into play here are familiarity and necessity. I adopted the web before most of my students had heard of it, so the Web was easy. I was ahead of the curve. It also solved a problem for me - how to communicate with my students at a largely commuter school. Now, I wouldn't think of teaching a regular course anywhere without a course website. I was familiar with the technology, and I had a problem that needed solving. On the other hand, I it is much harder to even begin to evaluate the potential of an unfamiliar technology when it seems to be merely a solution to a problem you don't know you have. Thus, I have some sympathy for the writer of the Chronicle piece.
Three years ago when we last replaced our cell phones, Dr. H. said: "I feel like my dad or grandfather saying this, but why would I possibly want a cell phone that takes pictures?"
I totally agreed.
Just today, I saw something I'd like a picture of for one of my courses and thought: "If only I had a cell phone that takes pictures..." See, now I have a problem and can see the value of the technological solution.
Now the problem I am facing in/out of the classroom is once again communication. Students seem to be either on their cell phone, listening to their iPods, or hanging out on Facebook. That is why I've decided to try using Facebook in my upper division class next term. And now I'm thinking I might even try podcasting. I have a hybrid course that is mostly on-line, but meets on campus every other week for labs and whatever time I want to devote to classroom-like activities. I'm adding a course blog. However, the students always tell me that if anything, they want more instructional time with me. Does a podcast count? Or do I just want to try it because I just got a new MacBook with GarageBand? And do I have time to add everything I'd like to this year?
In attempting to pack lightly for this trip, I thought "Really, what are the chances that I will have my first spontaneous period since 2000 in the next four days?"
You see where this is going.
On the plus side, this means my thyroid levels may finally be correct.
Music from my recent road trip:
Scorpions: Best of Rockers and Ballads
Queensryche: Empire
Van Halen: Van Halen
Aerosmith: Greatest Hits
Queen: Classic Queen
Last summer, we visited my father-in-law and assorted members of Dr. H's family. This included his sister (SIL), a self-described hippie, her husband (BIL), a geek with hippieish tendencies acquired by marriage, and their two children. Dr. H. is a full-time geek and part-time hippie. Dalton and Curie were both super fussy before bedtime. SIL and her husband inquired as to what the problem might be, hoping to help.
"It's teething" I announce sadly.
"We have homeopathic teething tablets!" SIL says cheerfully.
Uh Oh. Dr. H. looks at me, presumably willing me not to speak.
Shockingly, I can't help myself.
"We don't do homeopathy. As a physchembio-ist, I can't possibly." I say.
"What do you mean?" SIL asks.
"Look, I really don't want to get into this. I understand that some have proposed theories that get around the Avogadro's Number problem, but I don't find any of them credible." I say. "I gave them acetaminophen."
This statement turns out to be problematic, because I've assumed SIL and BIL know about the Avogadro's Number problem, a fundamental flaw of Homeopathy. Instead of discussing the Avogadro problem, I have jumped ahead and begun criticizing the alternative theories developed by homeopaths to get around Avogadro. At this point, I am assuming that SIL and BIL have heard of these also. It turns out that SIL and BIL do not know about the Avogadro's Number problem, just as most other people have not. In fact, most people have not heard of the assumptions that underlie homeopathy in the first place. SIL and BIL are aware of these assumptions, just not the Avogadro problem.
Unfortunately, I do not yet realize this, so I begin to explain why one of the Avogadro problem work-arounds doesn't hold water. One mention of vibrations of water molecules and I've convinced them I know nothing about the topic at hand.
"That's not what homeopathy is." SIL says, patiently.
At this point a few sentences of clarification are exchanged. However, things are still messy because I jumped into the argument in the wrong place, and everyone is talking at once. Fortunately, BIL is quite good at negotiating such conversations and getting everyone onto the same point. "As I understand it" says BIL, "the idea is that you choose some ingredient that may have negative effects similar to those you are experiencing. Next, you dilute it heavily. At the high dilution, it no longer has the harmful effects, but your body still recognizes its presence, and reacts to it."
"I understand that, but what I'm saying is that most remedies are diluted so heavily there are no molecules/ions of the original substance left. Or more correctly, only a very, very small chance your particular dilution has one."
SIL says, "I agree that would be a problem."
I breathe a sigh of relief that we agree on this last point. We leave it more or less at this point. SIL believes there must be more to this story, and thinks, perhaps I am getting something mixed up.
Several weeks later, I politely send them the article by Bob Park linked above.
They use other remedies for teething now.
Last fall, my Physchembio for Poets class and I went through the calculations for a 30X homeopathic dilution. They looked at the numbers. I said nothing. They looked at each other. I looked at them. One of them finally said "So, it's just water?" This is exactly why I like teaching general education classes.
---
By way of explanation: I had to wait for 15 minutes to pick up a prescription yesterday and was trapped near the homeopathy aisle, thus provoking this rant.
Happy 4th!
Enjoy the photos...and for just a little bit of science go here.
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It's been a good day:
The July Scientiae Carnival is up at Amelie's Welt! Go check it out for mind map art, reading suggestions, female scientists in the movies and much more.
I'm excited to be hosting the August 1st Scientiae! A few people have been popping over from Amelie's, so I thought I'd give a heads up on the next month's carnival theme: balance. I would like this to be interpreted very broadly. Here are just a few suggestions, but please don't feel limited by them:
Reactants:
