This just in: Class counts

At least, actually attending class counts. Again, the research demonstrates that student self-motivation [read: personal responsibility] acts as the fundamental component for a successful education.

Duh.

Look, I'll admit to skipping my fair share of classes as an undergraduate. Usually, however, I skipped out on the huge lecture classes and, quite rightly, ended up with a "B" instead of the "A" that I could have earned. I, however, will never, ever complain that the prof. was unfair or biased. I take full credit for any and all mediocre grades that I earned. I wasn't dumb - just, shall we say, lackadaisical.

All of this techie-stuff we've added to teaching, e.g. WebCT, online courses, podcasting, class chat rooms, blogging requirements, and even student shared folders, are only supplemental. And, in some cases, detrimental, insomuch that students get wrapped up in the techno-frustration of reams of new programs, professor-specific methodologies & processes, and the sometimes questionable sincerity engendered in a system, although becoming less-so, that requires additional levels (and angles) of cognition.

Thanks for reading today's blip. Happy Wednesday!

Recipe for a cyborg nation.

Start with one of the most interesting - yet oddly disconcerting - books of satire and speculation that I have ever read:

Limbo, by: Bernard Wolfe

Fold in a little modern controversy:

Amputee Sprinter

Sprinkle some knowledge of the Transhumanism Movement, Modern Pop-Culture "Cyborg" research, and CyberPunk (Informatics, etc)

And thus we have the (very beginnings of) a debate. Get to reading, friends! I'll be back later with some thoughts.

Virtual me, part II

Okay, here’s the follow-up post.

I pondered this topic for a while – no, strike that. I pondered my reasons for pondering this topic for a while. After a, shall we say, heated conversation with Bryan about it, I began to question my own purpose. He challenged me to explain my “point,” and, I realized, I didn’t actually have one. Rather than completely rescind my post, which seems like cheating in this kind of honest forum, I’ll use this follow-up to explicate my thinking and, hopefully, invite conversation, for my comment pane remained chillingly silent all week.

Let me make a few things clear:

1. I am a gamer, of a sort; I like the quest-like nature of World of Warcraft , EverQuest, etc. I’ve always thought of D&D as a kind of “Choose Your Own Adventure” story, except verbally communicated instead of paper-based. And, no, I do NOT dress up as a character. Ever.

2. I’m not the type to invest myself emotionally in online worlds. I don’t instigate, develop, or pursue relationships (platonic or otherwise) in an online fashion. I also don’t allow – and I’m usually up front with it – others to consider my online avatar that way. Not my thing at all.

3. I try (really I do!) not to pass judgement on those that do become immersed in those worlds, those “other lives,” wherein the other participants become the primary source of many of these individuals’ social interaction.

The purpose, then, for my discussion, must constitute a desire for study of the phenomenon of technological interaction and communication. Ever since my first linguistics course in college, the structures and metamorphoses of language in a technological and instantaneous context have offered tantalizing points for study. (Now I just sound like a pseudo-intellectual. Ah, me.)

Not, of course, that I want to turn online folks into guinea pigs. I think it arises from my own sort of “outer rim” interaction with that culture and my own utter lack of interest in complete immersion (Good grief, what a snob I have become!). To ignore the repurcussions of this shift in communications from interpersonal and, comparatively, slow, to ever-mediated and lightning fast, is tantamount to holding onto the belief that babies arrive courtesy of storks.

And I’m not just thinking of one-to-one communication, either; on the day of the VA Tech killings, my good friend Brooke commented on the "virus-like" nature of the media. The implications of the ubiquitous coverage that day left me feeling both awestruck and reflective. From just a few stories on GoogleNews at 10am, to over 7,000 – and growing – by 2pm, Reuters and AP Wire had changed the front page headlines of newspapers from Blacksburg, Virginia to Syndey, Australia and New Delhi, India. The entire world had time to react to the tragedy at the same pace of the U.S.

Of course, thousands of graduate students, the world over, have written on this topic. Indeed, I had the pleasure of reading one of Melanie’s papers on “1337 speak” (get her to send you a copy – or convince her to post it – it’s brilliant!) for her graduate-level grammar course. I think, however, that if I tackled this realm (again), I’d go after within the framework of linguistic concerns, with an examination of the spiritual / psychological effects (and affects!)

Sooo…. now that I’ve probably embarassed myself with a whole lotta showing off and self-examination, I hereby declare this topic finit! (but you can still comment!)

Virtual me.

Today, I read this article from Julian Dibbell, a Wired editor, linked from this. When I wander onto her page from Wired, I find Regina Lynn’s approach fairly interesting, particularly as she usually addresses topics on the edge of those accepted in "polite company," even though I often disagree with her conclusions. I appreciate typically cunning and often sardonic intelligence as she addresses the underlying psychological, social, and, yes, spiritual concerns about cybersexuality.

As an interesting note, I find that even using that term here, on my personal blog, I feel a hesitance. We, the intellectual technophiles, the self-professed "geeks," (or, wanna-bes*, the students-of-all-things-pop-culture, are not supposed to talk about s**. It’s an intriguing disparity: on the one hand, if I run a discussion in my classroom on the Othello's contradictory obsession with and revulsion of his own sexuality, I should not blink an eye. My students and I can discuss the relative importance of lust in Dante's hierarchy of Hell in "The Inferno," or the social implications of the incest in Oedipus Rex without compunction, and I would blithely proceed through a lecture regarding the same-gender relationships in classical Greece. On the other hand, I am blushing even as I type this post.

Why do I, a former grad student and pseudo-intellectual (aspiring? one must have dreams!) experience a reluctance, surprisingly powerful, to even bring up the subject of Internet-assisted – and/or inspired – intimacy? Perhaps the rampant, yet socially and morally taboo, availability of online pornography has become the standard by which we measure all other forms of technological intimacy. Perhaps, instead, the very idea of that level of psychological sans the corporeal engenders a subtle aversion, a kind of “ick” factor concerning the intrinsic emotional vulnerability that anonymity provides along with an underlying social prohibition against intimacy of that same type, as well as a lurking distrust of the “realness” of the person on the other end. To take that another step, instant messaging, chat rooms, social networking sites, simulated life programs, even online RPG games provoke, even invigorate, a user’s desire to create a persona that either conforms to an ideal, or breaks their own inhibitions in RL (real life) and allows them to virtually experience a world beyond their current capabilities.

I realize that I may sound as if I’m venerating cybersex (blush), but I don’t think so; rather, I hope that you, my gentle readers, recognize my desire to examine my own reactions to and possible establish future expectations of behaviors that are no longer relegated to the edges of cyberspace. In fact, if one reviews the history of the Internet, one will realize that some of the initial public forays into cyberspace consisted of MUDs and MOO’s , which, as the initial link in this post clearly demonstrates, constituted not the expected technological exchanges or business-like emails, but instead provided forum for those persons seeking other personae. The most fascinating aspect of this social interaction, for me, coincides to a degree with my fascination for literature: the myriad**, purposes, and manifestations of those desires. For me, this conversation is not about sexuality at all, not in the lustful, adulterous, or perverse sense. This conversation constitutes just a few minutes pondering of the great big “how in the world did we get here, and what do we do with it?”

I think I’ll write a follow-up post later, as I don’t feel confident that I even addressed properly, much less actually answered to any degree, my own questions.

~~~
*On a humorous note, my MSWord spellcheck suggested a replacement for the slang term “wanna-bes": cannabis. Someone call “Above the Influence”: I have their next commercial in the bag.

**You decide.

Grammar &tc.

Does that title actually even mean anything? I know! I'll ask Grammar Girl!

You may be surprised to note that Grammar Girl ≠ The Grammar Queen . This grammatical wunderkind represents the best of all grammar geekdom: a technological outlet for grammar nerds and grammar noobs, online access to "Down and Dirty Grammar Tips" (oh heck yeah!), and blogiferousness.

In fact, I know she'd probably HATE my verbarianism - despite its cleverness, it's also a bit, oh, I dunno, silly.

It's Language Day on ktg, and I've got some other sites that will tickle your linguistic fancy... especially if you're a teacher that tires of the disparity between content and construct... medium and message... idea and presentation... readability and oh good grief did you even proofread this??:

• A Sesquipedalian Haven
  ~my reaction: Word Geeks to the extreme. Feel smarter, and realize that you are not alone!
  
  
• Dr. Ralph Alan Cohen's "39 Picky Rules"
  ~my reaction: One of the best professors I have ever, EVER had, graduate school included. Not only is he a Shakespeare scholar, the man actually teaches his students how to write. AND he's funny. The man makes grammar and style humorous, if you can believe it.
  
  
• "High Brow" T-Shirts from One Horse Shy
  ~my reaction: Too. Perfect.
  Bad Grammar
  Loosers.
  
  ... and OH so many more.
  

Have at 'em.

The great escape.

Ever feel like this? (you should hear the audio!)

As the end of the semester nears (approaches - draws nigh - looms - threatens - etc) I realize that I seem to feel the turn of the year much more at this time than at the traditional Dec 31/Jan 1 of the Julian calendar. The reason for this reflection is, of course, the years of "schooling" that I've "undertaken" (undergone? underwent??)

In fact, I'm so overwhelmed by the weight of my reflections, that I find I have started this blog post more than six time, with no forward motion. I am floating in a vast ocean of recollection and introspection, searching the only now visible shore of the future for some clue, some idea, of the land I'm approaching. (how's that for an extended metaphor, John Donne!)

Anyway, I still feel compelled to write something (with an obvious preference for that "something" to appear in italics most of the time), even though I'm essentially circumnavigating the issue(s) itself (themselves...hmm.) Time itself may be a problem, since I don't feel I can do justice to my thoughts at the moment. Perhaps after class today.

As to an update, I have discovered a deep, abiding love for the IRS.



(pause)



Riiight.


I had to file an extension with those lovely folks because somewhere amidst my seven (yes, SEVEN) W2s, someone decided to mess it all up and not include my hundreds of dollars of income taxes that I've already paid this year.


Thank my lucky stars for my father - for years, because of an off-hand comment he made when I was 14, I've kept every single pay stub. I hated it; the file folder stuffed full of ragged half-sheets, the sorting every two years, the random stub I neglected to file discovered in my school bag ... my karate bag... my knitting bag. Yet, this year, I learned that, for about the umpeen-millionth time, my dad was right. I told him that, too, and he was less exultant about my admission than I expected: humble, even. He's a great guy, my dad.

I guess, more later. For now, read my yearly April poem from Langston Hughes at the VERY bottom of this page.

AND... be sure to check out the brewmeister's page for pics of he and the eJ's new glorious baby, William.

AND... get your daily dose of (public domain) literature here. What a cool concept!

God is greater than a pair of broken glasses.

I learned that this week. Or, perhaps I should say, re-learned it. Again. For probably the 400-millionth time.

So, Tuesday didn't start as swimmingly as I'd intended. Pretty much like every morning for the past several weeks. Despite the fact that I am achieving a ludicrously luxurious 6-7 hours of sleep every night (that is not sarcasm, by the way. That's truly lavish for me), I cannot seem to get to work at my preferred time of 8am. I know that I lose money for every moment that I'm not sitting at my corner desk, grading little 5th grade essays for the Gret' Stet' of Gawgia;I know that I should get up and go for a run, go to the gym, stretch out, do something physically productive; I know that I'm just wasting time for no real purpose, adding to my financial and, subsequently and consequently, personal stress. But I cannot get out of bed at a reasonable time or pace. I have no excuse, but I'm still asking for advice! Three alarms isn't working anymore.

So. Tuesday. Same thing, except, I was ready to be at work by 9, a significant improvement over the 9:45-ish arrival time. * And then.

I was feeding the cats, as usual. Scoop for Galaxy, scoop for Xander, make sure they're eating out of the right bowls (territorial little things) everyone's happy... I stand up and take a step forward, towards the kitchen. Apparently, my legs and feet were propelling me faster than the upper half of my torso could manage, because as I stepped and straightened up at the same time Wham!. Into the doorframe goes my face.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, I walked into a door. Frame. Glasses first.

[insert joke about Bryan and trying to "cover up the truth." Nope. I really am that clumsy. Besides, you all know that anyone hits me better run for cover 'cuz girl don't play that. Kiai and everything.]

Thus, my trusty frames that have lasted through three opticians, three prescriptions, and four years went kablooooie onto my kitchen floor. Well, perhaps I overdramatize. One of the "arms" broke completely off. They're plastic frames, so there's almost no "fixing" to this type of break. Begin crying session. Not for sentimental reasons, but (and I'm fairly ashamed to say this) because it all felt so unfair. On top of all of the other bills and creditors and lack of finances, it was ONE MORE THING. And not a small MORE THING either.

I got it together (sort of...) and decided to try to go to work on the eJnan's advice: situate the glasses over my ear using the one remaining arm. Silly-looking, but probably workable.

On the way there, as my heart was dark and hopeless-feeling, I suddenly remembered my little brother's b-day gift. He had, with outstanding generosity and love, transferred some extra funds to my bank account. It was a surprise that I learned of just the previous afternoon. It was enough to cover a pair of frames. (wait, it gets better!)

I decided to call in to work and go to the optician instead. I'm starting to feel a little better - I called my little bro and told him where the money was going, and we laughed - actually laughed about the situation. He reminded me about something my dad likes to say: "If all you're worried about is money, then you've got nothing to worry about." (still gets better!!)

As I walked into Five-Points Eye Care , I felt sheepish, but hopeful. And THEN I remembered (the memories were just flooding back that day) that one of Bryan's good friends was an optician there. He called around to find someone to fix my glasses; no go. He said he'd spend the week trying to find just the front piece of my frames, to save some money. AND THEN he popped out my lenses, picked up a pair of Coach frames from the display, and popped my lenses in that set of frames. Mine for a week, so that I can go to work. I can work. AND THEN!!!! The optometrist called (today) to tell me that he'd extend my prescription until October, so all I have to pay for is frames: no lenses, no eye exam.

Point being?

God is greater, and infinitely more loving (and forgiving of my pride) than a pair of broken glasses. Or even I am to myself. I definitely feel more humble and trusting than I did earlier this week. I guess sometimes the people around me, from Bryan & Jenna's encouragement, my brother generousity and love, my optician friend's accommodations, are evidence of God's hand in my life. Again. As usual.

Man, I have a LOT to learn - even stuff I think I've learned I have to keep getting a review.


~~~~~
* For those of you who don't know, I do not have a "set" time to get to work, just guidelines for hourly commitments every week. (Sorry, not a very fun footnote. I suppose, however, that it probably serves more closely the actual function of a footnote than my usual notes. Except for the rest of this, of course.)