What a discussion. Apparently I'm a strange breed, being a native speaker who corrects without mercy. Most of my friends know that when they're around me, they need to watch their grammar and colloquialisms, since I would rather be taken out behind Morris Hall and beaten senseless with a Brook Trout than be caught using bad grammar.
One other thing I enjoyed discussing was how teachers are addressed in different cultures. Esther made a comment that she doesn't mind being called "Dr Smidt" or "Esther" but being called "Smidt" really gets her blood a'boilin'. The biggest comment which stood out to me from class was her saying "You can call me Esther, but don't 'Hey Smidt ME!' "
I also felt moderately smart because I referenced a conversation that Bekir and I had early last semester about personal boundaries. In Turkey (his home country) it's considered VERY offensive to step back when one enters your personal space. I think I would die in such a context. I like having my space, and I can't bear for casual acquaintances or strangers to enter it.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Readings for week whatever
I really enjoyed how Chapter 22 of HDB was laid out. I'm a kinæsthetic learner, so reading material never really quite does it for me, but when forced, I can process the material if there are a variety of formats which I can follow, and chapter 22 with its charts and illustrations helped me with that process. It helps to remind me to keep my students interested in whatever we're learning about, and to not just spit a bunch of text at them. Similar to Jodi, I also enjoyed the sample exercise 1 which suggests using reala to teach posession. I also find some things difficult to teach with ink and paper, and using reala would hit the spot in such a context.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Poem for 2-4-09
Of the terrible doubt of appearances,
Of the uncertainty after all, that we may be deluded,
That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all,
That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable
only,
May-be the things I perceive, the animals, plants, men, hills,
shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night, colors, densities, forms, may-be
these are (as doubtless they are) only apparitions, and
the real something has yet to be known,
(How often they dart out of themselves as if to confound me
and mock me!
How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows,
aught of them,)
May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they
indeed but seem) as from my present point of view, and
might prove (as of course they would) nought of what
they appear, or nought anyhow, from entirely changed
points of view;
To me these and the like of these are curiously answer'd by
my lovers, my dear friends,
When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while
holding me by the hand,
When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and
reason hold not, surround us and pervade us,
Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom, I am
silent, I require nothing further,
I cannot answer the question of appearances or that of
identity beyond the grave,
But I walk or sit indifferent, I am satisfied,
He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.
Of the uncertainty after all, that we may be deluded,
That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all,
That may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable
only,
May-be the things I perceive, the animals, plants, men, hills,
shining and flowing waters,
The skies of day and night, colors, densities, forms, may-be
these are (as doubtless they are) only apparitions, and
the real something has yet to be known,
(How often they dart out of themselves as if to confound me
and mock me!
How often I think neither I know, nor any man knows,
aught of them,)
May-be seeming to me what they are (as doubtless they
indeed but seem) as from my present point of view, and
might prove (as of course they would) nought of what
they appear, or nought anyhow, from entirely changed
points of view;
To me these and the like of these are curiously answer'd by
my lovers, my dear friends,
When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while
holding me by the hand,
When the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and
reason hold not, surround us and pervade us,
Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom, I am
silent, I require nothing further,
I cannot answer the question of appearances or that of
identity beyond the grave,
But I walk or sit indifferent, I am satisfied,
He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Poem for 2-3-09
I heard you solemn-sweet pipes of the organ as last Sunday
morn I pass'd the church,
Winds of autumn, as I walk'd the woods at dusk I heard your
long-stretch'd sighs up above so mournful,
I heard the perfect Italian tenor singing at the opera, I heard
the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;
Heart of my love! you too I heard murmuring low through
one of the wrists around my head,
Heard the pulse of you when all was still ringing little bells
last night under my ear.
morn I pass'd the church,
Winds of autumn, as I walk'd the woods at dusk I heard your
long-stretch'd sighs up above so mournful,
I heard the perfect Italian tenor singing at the opera, I heard
the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;
Heart of my love! you too I heard murmuring low through
one of the wrists around my head,
Heard the pulse of you when all was still ringing little bells
last night under my ear.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Reaction to class on 2-2-09
One thing that will always stick with me from tonight is Esther's wedding story, and how well it contrasts with traditional American wedding values. She was telling us about her matron of honor, and what she went through to get her to be in that position. Her fiancee at the time was dumbstruck by the fact that she was not going to ask her friend to be her matron of honor because her friend simply knew. She knew it would not be an issue. Had she asked, her friend may have been offended because their bonds of friendship did not allow for assumed knowledge like this.
Such discussions really open my eyes to subtle cultural differences like this, and really make me want to be a better teacher and understand the different contexts my students are coming from.
Such discussions really open my eyes to subtle cultural differences like this, and really make me want to be a better teacher and understand the different contexts my students are coming from.
Poem for February 2, 2009
'Faith' is a fine invention...
I like a look of Agony...
"Faith" is a fine invention...
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentleman can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.
I like a look of Agony...
I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true—
Men do not sham Convulsion,
Nor simulate, a Throe—
The Eyes glaze once—and that is Death—
Impossible to feign
The Beads upon the Forehead
By homely Anguish strung.
A rolling stone...
When looking back at last semester, it's very apparent that I saw school differently at each end of the semester. At the beginning, I was about an inch away from clawing my face off with the anticipation of how much work needed to be done. By the end, I managed the work much more efficiently and I was a LOT less stressed. It seemed that the more work I did, the easier the work became. One could make the metaphor that I was pushing a giant stone, and once I got to the end of the semester, the momentum seemed to carry me through. Now I have to start all over, since the stone came to a standstill and filled itself with beer and holiday cookies over the last few months.
It was nice getting back to class and seeing presentations again. Last semester, class was my oasis. I loved and still love going to class. Oftentimes, my classmates will remark that I seem to be in an exceptionally good mood ALL THE DAMN TIME. It's not that I'm in a good mood all the time, it's just that going to class PUTS me in a good mood. It's hard to miss the fact that sometimes I'm squirrely in class and it often appears that I'm completely unaware of the task at hand, but nothing could be further from the truth. Through the hardships of advanced academia come very tight-knit friendships which are very hard to break. I feel very lucky to have found such friends and I also feel very lucky to have the chance to work with them every week. To me, getting to go to class is worth every minute I have to spend reading or doing what appear to be menial assignments.
One thing I dreaded last semester that I'm not dreading this semester is the class presentation that everybody is assigned. Last week, Brian (Bryan?) bravely volunteered to do his first. I liked his use of an outline on the overhead, which gave me something to reinforce the topic and purpose of the discussion and task to be accomplished. I thought he did a splendid job of teaching us about what people other than our book authors were saying.
It was nice getting back to class and seeing presentations again. Last semester, class was my oasis. I loved and still love going to class. Oftentimes, my classmates will remark that I seem to be in an exceptionally good mood ALL THE DAMN TIME. It's not that I'm in a good mood all the time, it's just that going to class PUTS me in a good mood. It's hard to miss the fact that sometimes I'm squirrely in class and it often appears that I'm completely unaware of the task at hand, but nothing could be further from the truth. Through the hardships of advanced academia come very tight-knit friendships which are very hard to break. I feel very lucky to have found such friends and I also feel very lucky to have the chance to work with them every week. To me, getting to go to class is worth every minute I have to spend reading or doing what appear to be menial assignments.
One thing I dreaded last semester that I'm not dreading this semester is the class presentation that everybody is assigned. Last week, Brian (Bryan?) bravely volunteered to do his first. I liked his use of an outline on the overhead, which gave me something to reinforce the topic and purpose of the discussion and task to be accomplished. I thought he did a splendid job of teaching us about what people other than our book authors were saying.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Poem for February 1, 2009
Bright Sun after Heavy Snow
A ledge of ice slides from the eaves,
piercing the crusted drift. Astonishing
how even a little violence
eases the mind.
In this extreme state of light
everything seems flawed: the streaked
pane, the forced bulbs on the sill
that refuse to bloom...A wad of dust
rolls like a desert weed
over the drafty floor.
Again I recall a neighbor's
small affront — it rises in my mind
like the huge banks of snow along the road:
the plow, passing up and down all day,
pushes them higher and higher...
The shadow of smoke rising from the chimney
moves abruptly over the yard.
The clothesline rises in the wind. One
wooden pin is left, solitary as a finger;
it, too, rises and falls.
piercing the crusted drift. Astonishing
how even a little violence
eases the mind.
In this extreme state of light
everything seems flawed: the streaked
pane, the forced bulbs on the sill
that refuse to bloom...A wad of dust
rolls like a desert weed
over the drafty floor.
Again I recall a neighbor's
small affront — it rises in my mind
like the huge banks of snow along the road:
the plow, passing up and down all day,
pushes them higher and higher...
The shadow of smoke rising from the chimney
moves abruptly over the yard.
The clothesline rises in the wind. One
wooden pin is left, solitary as a finger;
it, too, rises and falls.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Blogito, ergo sum (I blog, therefore I am). A Diary Entry.
I like putting things in Latin. Even the most menial phrase can make you sound impressive and well-educated if you say it in Latin. Exempli gratia: Non somnuo, ergo sum. Google translate THAT one out, dear readers.
As the weekend passes, I'm making a list and checking it twice, but instead of names of children who will be receiving gifts this year, my list contains APA formatting tips, multiple genres of research papers based upon using humor to teach, linking them together, and organizing the group.
Throughout the project, I often reflect back to elementary school when we had an arts and crafts project to accomplish in a group. Our teacher would assign the task that we needed to accomplish, and then within that group we were each supposed to assign specific roles. There was a cutter (the person who cut the paper), the gluer (the person who glued the paper), the writer, and the leader. I often shied away from the leader task, since it involved keeping track of too many things at once. Reliably, I was forbidden to be the writer since my handwriting is terrible, so I was often the cutter or the gluer. That fact was fine by me. With those tasks I had a very concrete goal which left very little room for mistake by interpretation. The writer drew the shapes, and I cut them, or I glued them on the paper. It required accuracy, and I accomplished it well.
During this project, I often thought back upon those days when everyone in the group had an assigned role within that task. It's harder with this project because each person needs to fulfill each role. There is no single task for each person to accomplish, and there are very few concrete requirements for each task. This has caused me some frustration.
The week of November tenth gave us a small amount of relief. Rachel and I got together on Sunday to flesh out our final genres, and we determined that we would have Thea do a personal essay about using humor in her teaching, and Mitch was to conduct an interview with one of his associates. Naturally, the interview was not without its suspicious hitches. First the interviewee didn't write back, then the changes didn't save, then the e-mail wouldn't attach, and Mitch seems to like to take care of the problem and THEN communicate to us the details. The lack of a willingness to communicate which is present some of the group members often leads to hair pulling and teeth gnashing. We'll see how these final genres go.
As the weekend passes, I'm making a list and checking it twice, but instead of names of children who will be receiving gifts this year, my list contains APA formatting tips, multiple genres of research papers based upon using humor to teach, linking them together, and organizing the group.
Throughout the project, I often reflect back to elementary school when we had an arts and crafts project to accomplish in a group. Our teacher would assign the task that we needed to accomplish, and then within that group we were each supposed to assign specific roles. There was a cutter (the person who cut the paper), the gluer (the person who glued the paper), the writer, and the leader. I often shied away from the leader task, since it involved keeping track of too many things at once. Reliably, I was forbidden to be the writer since my handwriting is terrible, so I was often the cutter or the gluer. That fact was fine by me. With those tasks I had a very concrete goal which left very little room for mistake by interpretation. The writer drew the shapes, and I cut them, or I glued them on the paper. It required accuracy, and I accomplished it well.
During this project, I often thought back upon those days when everyone in the group had an assigned role within that task. It's harder with this project because each person needs to fulfill each role. There is no single task for each person to accomplish, and there are very few concrete requirements for each task. This has caused me some frustration.
The week of November tenth gave us a small amount of relief. Rachel and I got together on Sunday to flesh out our final genres, and we determined that we would have Thea do a personal essay about using humor in her teaching, and Mitch was to conduct an interview with one of his associates. Naturally, the interview was not without its suspicious hitches. First the interviewee didn't write back, then the changes didn't save, then the e-mail wouldn't attach, and Mitch seems to like to take care of the problem and THEN communicate to us the details. The lack of a willingness to communicate which is present some of the group members often leads to hair pulling and teeth gnashing. We'll see how these final genres go.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
I am so Lutheran...
Since I'm Lutheran, I have an inborn, genetic sense of guilt. Catholics get Original Sin, Lutherans get Original Guilt. In no small way, this guilt affects every aspect of my daily life; from work to Internet browsing, it's there. And every time I see the little "Blogger" bookmark on my Internet browser, I feel just a little bit guilty.
"I could be Blogging right now" a nagging voice inside my head will say. So, guilt, be slaked for another week. Here is a blog.
Class seems to end with frustration and confusion lately, and I can't decide what's making me feel worse: The amount of work I have to do for each class or the confusion surrounding the assignments. Everything seems to make sense while I'm there but then I sit down and try to accomplish what was discussed in class, and I suddenly, everything I "figured out" in class seems to disappear. Is anybody else feeling this?
"I could be Blogging right now" a nagging voice inside my head will say. So, guilt, be slaked for another week. Here is a blog.
Class seems to end with frustration and confusion lately, and I can't decide what's making me feel worse: The amount of work I have to do for each class or the confusion surrounding the assignments. Everything seems to make sense while I'm there but then I sit down and try to accomplish what was discussed in class, and I suddenly, everything I "figured out" in class seems to disappear. Is anybody else feeling this?
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