For the radio stations to have played "Sex and Candy" to death, it was by far not the best song on Marcy Playground's self-titled debut album. The following YouTube videos of Marcy Playground aren't really videos but do have the full songs. There are several awesome songs on the album, but since I've been singing "Cloak of Elvenkind" along with the anti-rap of "Boyz in the Hood" by Dynamite Hack on and off all day, I thought I would post those and "Vampires of New York."
"Cloak of Elvenkind":
"Vampires of New York":
"Boyz in the Hood":
Saturday, January 15, 2011
L said...
"I'm like the Fonz."
In keeping with the theme of my house falling apart, we have a short somewhere between the overhead kitchen light and the garage door opener. This isn't too surprising, when one takes into consideration how crazily the house is wired.
I have a one-story house with the garage and kitchen on the left side, the office and living room in the middle, and the two bedrooms and two baths on the right side. The range is on its own breaker, but after that, we had to make a list to keep track of it all. For example, the back porch light, front entry light (on opposite ends of the house), and the office light are all on the same circuit, completely skipping the living room. The kitchen is half with the garage and outlets for the office (but not the light) and half by itself. I'm sure there is a reason, if nothing more than sheer laziness.
Back to the short...L's car is usually in the garage with mine in the driveway, but since the delivery of the fridge on Thursday, we haven't moved the cars. Yesterday, L and I came home and went into the house through the garage instead of the front door. L punched the garage door button, but when we went into the house and shut the door, the garage door stopped halfway. I punched the button several times, the force increasing with the level of my anger, until it lowered again, but as soon as I closed the house door, it quit. L turned on the overhead kitchen light, and it didn't work either. We flipped the breaker, which did nothing more than kill power to the modem and our computers in the office. After slamming the door several times, the light came on and the garage door worked. (Blowing out a puff of air) So, while we really, really hope it's in the attic, the short is probably in the wall.
We went out to get some Chinese last night, and when we came home, we made sure to carefully shut the door. The garage door shut, but the light didn't turn off after a few minutes like it should. At 10:30 last night, the light as still on, and L said, "I'll deal with it." He turned on the overhead kitchen light and walked over to the house door into the garage. As I headed into the bedroom, I heard him bang the wall and say, "Aye!" and a bit later, "The light's off now."
Yep, just like the Fonz.
In keeping with the theme of my house falling apart, we have a short somewhere between the overhead kitchen light and the garage door opener. This isn't too surprising, when one takes into consideration how crazily the house is wired.
I have a one-story house with the garage and kitchen on the left side, the office and living room in the middle, and the two bedrooms and two baths on the right side. The range is on its own breaker, but after that, we had to make a list to keep track of it all. For example, the back porch light, front entry light (on opposite ends of the house), and the office light are all on the same circuit, completely skipping the living room. The kitchen is half with the garage and outlets for the office (but not the light) and half by itself. I'm sure there is a reason, if nothing more than sheer laziness.
Back to the short...L's car is usually in the garage with mine in the driveway, but since the delivery of the fridge on Thursday, we haven't moved the cars. Yesterday, L and I came home and went into the house through the garage instead of the front door. L punched the garage door button, but when we went into the house and shut the door, the garage door stopped halfway. I punched the button several times, the force increasing with the level of my anger, until it lowered again, but as soon as I closed the house door, it quit. L turned on the overhead kitchen light, and it didn't work either. We flipped the breaker, which did nothing more than kill power to the modem and our computers in the office. After slamming the door several times, the light came on and the garage door worked. (Blowing out a puff of air) So, while we really, really hope it's in the attic, the short is probably in the wall.
We went out to get some Chinese last night, and when we came home, we made sure to carefully shut the door. The garage door shut, but the light didn't turn off after a few minutes like it should. At 10:30 last night, the light as still on, and L said, "I'll deal with it." He turned on the overhead kitchen light and walked over to the house door into the garage. As I headed into the bedroom, I heard him bang the wall and say, "Aye!" and a bit later, "The light's off now."
Yep, just like the Fonz.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Ape-oplexy
Today was my first day back to teaching. Even though I have been working for a few weeks now, yesterday was my first official day back in the office. We should've gone back Monday, but with the snow, campus was closed. While I wasn't looking forward to working Monday, there is a reason we start back two days early: starting Monday gives you Tuesday for any last minute crop-ups to be beaten back down. We didn't have that, and so the brain-bleed inducing problems arose today.
First, none of the textbooks for math classes level 300 and up were ordered by the bookstore. That's dandy. Freakin' brilliant. You've got one job: to have the books people need for their classes. It isn't like the math department waited and placed their order late. No. In fact, the bookstore gave us free breakfast one day last fall to thank us for how quickly and thoroughly we sent in complete orders.
Math teachers ask for so precious little...a large board, some chalk (or a marker), and textbooks. Correct textbooks, which brings me to the next snag.
As educators, we try to ensure that once a student begins a sequence of courses, say Calculus 1, 2, and 3, he can use the same textbook for the whole sequence. The elementary ed math classes I teach are the same way. The book went to a new edition last fall, and due to a clerical error at the bookstore (surprise!), the new editions weren't ordered. After many, many emails (I cannot stress how many times I emailed the department head and office assistants), we decided that, since the students didn't have access to the new book in Fall 2010, everyone would stick with the old edition and use it to finish out their sequence in that book. The people taking the first course this spring would start with the new edition so that when we switch to it for all three next fall, they wouldn't have to buy a new book.
Right. So much for that.
I went into class today to do my first-day stuff, and at the end of class, ten students came up to me and said, "We have the purple book with the zebra. Is that not right?"
Ten years ago, I would've gone ape, but having mellowed a bit with age, I said, "I'll look into it and email you."
Sure enough, after talking it over with the office staff, re-explaining the whys and so forth, the head assistant said, "I thought we had that all figured out and explained too, but the verdict came down for no changes in textbooks in spring."
Okay, fine, fine, EXCEPT YOU DIDN'T TELL THE PEOPLE TEACHING IT THAT YOU CHANGED YOUR MIND!! It's not that they waited until the last second to tell us; they just didn't. So here, my co-instructor and I have spent Christmas break making new notes, new activities, writing new homework solutions, and we aren't even using the new book. The syllabi and assignments are wrong, and we looked like freakin' idiots.
I would say that it isn't time or energy wasted, that when we switch books next fall, all my work will be worth it. That would be true if I knew for sure that I would be teaching the courses again. That is never guaranteed. So, if I don't teach the course next fall, I've just done half the work for the person who does get to teach it. I'm a giving, generous person. I'll share, to a point. But after rebuilding this course three times, by God I better get to teach it!
I spent my afternoon helping my co-instructor remake all the legally binding documents for the class. I' was in a fabulous mood (heavy sarcasm here). I needed a laugh, and I needed it bad.
As I debated whether or not to rewrite my notes again, my next-door-office neighbor came by to tell me about her morning. Her first class was in the Physics and Astronomy building (long story short: they want math classes at 50 and above capacity and the math building only has 4 rooms that large). So, she went over a bit early to check that it had all the necessary equipment.
Of course, it doesn't. Many instructors use doc cams instead of the boards. It's like an overhead projector, but it has a camera and projects onto a screen or a white board. This room didn't appear to have one. "I use the doc cam all the time," she said and waved her hands to indicate how it flustered her. Mathematicians may not need much, but we're a picky bunch. So, she and the office assistant poked around until she noticed three ceiling-mounted Elmo cameras. Ba-da-bing. The assistant turned on camera 1 and what does it see? Straight down the front of her shirt, her ample cleavage and more projected clear as day on the board behind her.
Yeah, that made me feel much better.
First, none of the textbooks for math classes level 300 and up were ordered by the bookstore. That's dandy. Freakin' brilliant. You've got one job: to have the books people need for their classes. It isn't like the math department waited and placed their order late. No. In fact, the bookstore gave us free breakfast one day last fall to thank us for how quickly and thoroughly we sent in complete orders.
Math teachers ask for so precious little...a large board, some chalk (or a marker), and textbooks. Correct textbooks, which brings me to the next snag.
As educators, we try to ensure that once a student begins a sequence of courses, say Calculus 1, 2, and 3, he can use the same textbook for the whole sequence. The elementary ed math classes I teach are the same way. The book went to a new edition last fall, and due to a clerical error at the bookstore (surprise!), the new editions weren't ordered. After many, many emails (I cannot stress how many times I emailed the department head and office assistants), we decided that, since the students didn't have access to the new book in Fall 2010, everyone would stick with the old edition and use it to finish out their sequence in that book. The people taking the first course this spring would start with the new edition so that when we switch to it for all three next fall, they wouldn't have to buy a new book.
Right. So much for that.
I went into class today to do my first-day stuff, and at the end of class, ten students came up to me and said, "We have the purple book with the zebra. Is that not right?"
Ten years ago, I would've gone ape, but having mellowed a bit with age, I said, "I'll look into it and email you."
Sure enough, after talking it over with the office staff, re-explaining the whys and so forth, the head assistant said, "I thought we had that all figured out and explained too, but the verdict came down for no changes in textbooks in spring."
Okay, fine, fine, EXCEPT YOU DIDN'T TELL THE PEOPLE TEACHING IT THAT YOU CHANGED YOUR MIND!! It's not that they waited until the last second to tell us; they just didn't. So here, my co-instructor and I have spent Christmas break making new notes, new activities, writing new homework solutions, and we aren't even using the new book. The syllabi and assignments are wrong, and we looked like freakin' idiots.
I would say that it isn't time or energy wasted, that when we switch books next fall, all my work will be worth it. That would be true if I knew for sure that I would be teaching the courses again. That is never guaranteed. So, if I don't teach the course next fall, I've just done half the work for the person who does get to teach it. I'm a giving, generous person. I'll share, to a point. But after rebuilding this course three times, by God I better get to teach it!
I spent my afternoon helping my co-instructor remake all the legally binding documents for the class. I' was in a fabulous mood (heavy sarcasm here). I needed a laugh, and I needed it bad.
As I debated whether or not to rewrite my notes again, my next-door-office neighbor came by to tell me about her morning. Her first class was in the Physics and Astronomy building (long story short: they want math classes at 50 and above capacity and the math building only has 4 rooms that large). So, she went over a bit early to check that it had all the necessary equipment.
Of course, it doesn't. Many instructors use doc cams instead of the boards. It's like an overhead projector, but it has a camera and projects onto a screen or a white board. This room didn't appear to have one. "I use the doc cam all the time," she said and waved her hands to indicate how it flustered her. Mathematicians may not need much, but we're a picky bunch. So, she and the office assistant poked around until she noticed three ceiling-mounted Elmo cameras. Ba-da-bing. The assistant turned on camera 1 and what does it see? Straight down the front of her shirt, her ample cleavage and more projected clear as day on the board behind her.
Yeah, that made me feel much better.
Monday, January 10, 2011
I Wanna Sling Poo...and Snow
The day it snows/sleets enough to close businesses and schools is the day my refrigerator malfunctioned.
Yesterday afternoon, I heard it making a loud humming noise over the regular humming noise it makes when it cycles. The sound grew louder and louder, as if traveling from the top of the fridge, down the back, and then click! at my feet. It would stop. A minute or so would pass and it would begin again.
Around dinnertime, I felt inside the fridge and said to L, "I think it's not cooling." He said it felt fine, but I thought the freezer seemed too warm as well.
This morning, everything in the freezer was thawed. Now, the dairy and eggs are in a cooler on the porch, and I would be okay with the fact that it's barely above 30ยบ out there, but we've also snowy-icy-slush on everything. Even though the roads here are passable (as L has already returned from getting a bag of ice for the cooler), no one except grocery and gas station clerks have gone to work, including refrigerator repairmen. So while I'm pretty sure it's either out of coolant or the compressor is shot, I can't get in touch with anyone to come confirm/fix it.
Part of me thinks I should just go out and buy a new fridge and forget about it, but the part of me that thinks it might be a $60 fix wants to wait and see. Either way, I'll have a huge grocery bill from having to replace all the frozen stuff that thawed.
Yesterday afternoon, I heard it making a loud humming noise over the regular humming noise it makes when it cycles. The sound grew louder and louder, as if traveling from the top of the fridge, down the back, and then click! at my feet. It would stop. A minute or so would pass and it would begin again.
Around dinnertime, I felt inside the fridge and said to L, "I think it's not cooling." He said it felt fine, but I thought the freezer seemed too warm as well.
This morning, everything in the freezer was thawed. Now, the dairy and eggs are in a cooler on the porch, and I would be okay with the fact that it's barely above 30ยบ out there, but we've also snowy-icy-slush on everything. Even though the roads here are passable (as L has already returned from getting a bag of ice for the cooler), no one except grocery and gas station clerks have gone to work, including refrigerator repairmen. So while I'm pretty sure it's either out of coolant or the compressor is shot, I can't get in touch with anyone to come confirm/fix it.
Part of me thinks I should just go out and buy a new fridge and forget about it, but the part of me that thinks it might be a $60 fix wants to wait and see. Either way, I'll have a huge grocery bill from having to replace all the frozen stuff that thawed.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
According to Bob...
"I know you would be a good parent because whatever you do, if it matters, you put everything you've got into it."
We were discussing his and his wife's decision to wait until they were in their forties to have children and my trepidation over have/have not. Bob has known me for about twelve years, and being my teacher, mentor, and colleague, he knows what kind of student and worker I am. So, he's right. If I ever had children, I couldn't be a lazy shitbag about it because it is far too important.
I have subtle and not-so-subtle pressure from friends and relatives that I should just do it. I'm thirty-four, and L is thirty-two. L is perfect mother material. Having lived with his sister for the first two years of his niece's life, he certainly has more baby experience than I do. In fact, only the second or third time I came to their house, my now brother-in-law smacked me on the back and said, "He's already baby-trained."
So, what's holding me back?
It certainly isn't L. He said he'd like to it was what I wanted. The last time we talked about it, he said that he could take or leave having children, that they were something we might consider a nuisance to raise while we're young (I still consider myself young, damnit) but appreciate when we're old. Like money, almost.
Maybe more than you might think, as some people see their children as a sort of insurance policy. From a strict mathematical game theory standpoint, that is a bad gamble because you can't control someone else's decisions, no matter how much guilt you pour on them.
The closest I ever came to giving in was not when any of my friends had children but when L and I saw Idiocracy. I looked at him and said, "We're intelligent. Maybe it's our duty to Mankind to have babies." I thought about it, a lot, even made pro/con lists to help sway me toward one or the other end of the yes/no scale. A variety of reasons have pushed me from the halfway point to closer to choosing No.
1) I'm still in school and therefore, can't afford childcare and probably not health insurance on top of providing for the baby. My family would offer to help, but I would refuse because it's not for them to help pay for my choice. I would quit school and try to get a full-time job. What's so wrong with that? Well, I might begin to resent the baby that I had to quit school in order to support him/her. I might not, but knowing there is a possibility that I could is enough. What kind of asshole would I be if I resented my child for what I might see as him/her ruining my dreams and goals? I know people who do resent their children, and I won't be like that.
Still, I should finish my degree by spring of 2012 (if the world doesn't end first), so for argument's sake, let's say #1 can be discounted.
2) L and I have been together for about 5 years and have been married for half that time. We aren't ooey-gooey newlyweds. We're just ooey-gooey, although we try to tone it back in public. So part of me is afraid that, if we have a child, he will love it more than me. To that my mother said, "Oh my God! You're turning into your father." Maybe so, but you must understand something...and I say with with deepest sincerity and without rose-colored glasses...what L and I have is a very, very rare form of life-altering love. I use the term dorkmates. I'm telling you people that I did not understand the meaning of love until I met him, and that sounds so cheesy and cliched, but it's true. I have never uttered one serious ill word about him as a mate, and I never will because he is my mate in every sense of the word. Period. So, feeling that, and knowing how jealously I guard his love for me, I don't want to share it. I know this about myself, and so I don't have children.
Segueing from #2, I am selfish.
3) I like my time. I like spending my time and my money on me. I like that when I have spare time, I can write (novels or blog posts) or read or play computer games. I know there are plenty of people who, once their children get older, go back to doing things they did before they had children, but the fun of it is gone because they are worn out from having kids. It has been years since I've seen a woman with children in their teens who didn't look like she'd had all the life wrung from her. My office mate is the perfect example. She told me that all three of her children were the results of broken condoms. All she does is run her kids around and gripe about her husband. I do not want to be like that. I don't want to be tired and bitter. I don't want L to ever say, "Honey, our daughter is a bitch," and be right.
Which brings me to #4.
4) What do I do if despite all my efforts, all my love, and all my nurturing, my child is a bitch or an asshole or a shitbag or a serial killer? Can you see how I don't want the fate of some other life in my hands? You may say that after a certain point, the child is his own responsibility, but I don't know. My maternal instincts are terrible. In general, I don't like children. Sure I love my nieces and nephews, but that's because I know them. But my gut reaction to hearing a baby cry is to get away from it. When I hear children screeching, I want to tell them to shut the fuck up. I don't, of course, but that is how I feel.
Now, after all that, why should I balk at my GYN's suggestion that I get my tubes tied? Because somewhere deep down, part of me wants to be a mother? This is one of those situations where I wish I could know the future.
Finally, I salute those of you who have children and do a damn fine job of raising them: teaching them to take responsibility for their actions and their futures and to be respectful of others. It makes my life easier when they end up in one of my classes.
We were discussing his and his wife's decision to wait until they were in their forties to have children and my trepidation over have/have not. Bob has known me for about twelve years, and being my teacher, mentor, and colleague, he knows what kind of student and worker I am. So, he's right. If I ever had children, I couldn't be a lazy shitbag about it because it is far too important.
I have subtle and not-so-subtle pressure from friends and relatives that I should just do it. I'm thirty-four, and L is thirty-two. L is perfect mother material. Having lived with his sister for the first two years of his niece's life, he certainly has more baby experience than I do. In fact, only the second or third time I came to their house, my now brother-in-law smacked me on the back and said, "He's already baby-trained."
So, what's holding me back?
It certainly isn't L. He said he'd like to it was what I wanted. The last time we talked about it, he said that he could take or leave having children, that they were something we might consider a nuisance to raise while we're young (I still consider myself young, damnit) but appreciate when we're old. Like money, almost.
Maybe more than you might think, as some people see their children as a sort of insurance policy. From a strict mathematical game theory standpoint, that is a bad gamble because you can't control someone else's decisions, no matter how much guilt you pour on them.
The closest I ever came to giving in was not when any of my friends had children but when L and I saw Idiocracy. I looked at him and said, "We're intelligent. Maybe it's our duty to Mankind to have babies." I thought about it, a lot, even made pro/con lists to help sway me toward one or the other end of the yes/no scale. A variety of reasons have pushed me from the halfway point to closer to choosing No.
1) I'm still in school and therefore, can't afford childcare and probably not health insurance on top of providing for the baby. My family would offer to help, but I would refuse because it's not for them to help pay for my choice. I would quit school and try to get a full-time job. What's so wrong with that? Well, I might begin to resent the baby that I had to quit school in order to support him/her. I might not, but knowing there is a possibility that I could is enough. What kind of asshole would I be if I resented my child for what I might see as him/her ruining my dreams and goals? I know people who do resent their children, and I won't be like that.
Still, I should finish my degree by spring of 2012 (if the world doesn't end first), so for argument's sake, let's say #1 can be discounted.
2) L and I have been together for about 5 years and have been married for half that time. We aren't ooey-gooey newlyweds. We're just ooey-gooey, although we try to tone it back in public. So part of me is afraid that, if we have a child, he will love it more than me. To that my mother said, "Oh my God! You're turning into your father." Maybe so, but you must understand something...and I say with with deepest sincerity and without rose-colored glasses...what L and I have is a very, very rare form of life-altering love. I use the term dorkmates. I'm telling you people that I did not understand the meaning of love until I met him, and that sounds so cheesy and cliched, but it's true. I have never uttered one serious ill word about him as a mate, and I never will because he is my mate in every sense of the word. Period. So, feeling that, and knowing how jealously I guard his love for me, I don't want to share it. I know this about myself, and so I don't have children.
Segueing from #2, I am selfish.
3) I like my time. I like spending my time and my money on me. I like that when I have spare time, I can write (novels or blog posts) or read or play computer games. I know there are plenty of people who, once their children get older, go back to doing things they did before they had children, but the fun of it is gone because they are worn out from having kids. It has been years since I've seen a woman with children in their teens who didn't look like she'd had all the life wrung from her. My office mate is the perfect example. She told me that all three of her children were the results of broken condoms. All she does is run her kids around and gripe about her husband. I do not want to be like that. I don't want to be tired and bitter. I don't want L to ever say, "Honey, our daughter is a bitch," and be right.
Which brings me to #4.
4) What do I do if despite all my efforts, all my love, and all my nurturing, my child is a bitch or an asshole or a shitbag or a serial killer? Can you see how I don't want the fate of some other life in my hands? You may say that after a certain point, the child is his own responsibility, but I don't know. My maternal instincts are terrible. In general, I don't like children. Sure I love my nieces and nephews, but that's because I know them. But my gut reaction to hearing a baby cry is to get away from it. When I hear children screeching, I want to tell them to shut the fuck up. I don't, of course, but that is how I feel.
Now, after all that, why should I balk at my GYN's suggestion that I get my tubes tied? Because somewhere deep down, part of me wants to be a mother? This is one of those situations where I wish I could know the future.
Finally, I salute those of you who have children and do a damn fine job of raising them: teaching them to take responsibility for their actions and their futures and to be respectful of others. It makes my life easier when they end up in one of my classes.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
What's in a Name?
Every instructor office in my building has one wall of bookshelves. The full professors have exterior wall offices, so they have a window in the middle of their bookshelves, but they still have them. For the most part, the shelves are too short for the average book to stand upright, the shelves having been built in the forties and books getting progressively larger dimensionally if not in scope of subject. Nevertheless, in any given office, the shelves will be crammed with books, papers, and binders. I have a shelf reserved for food and a shelf with two sets of stacked in/outbox trays to aid the organization of papers, but I too have stacks of books for the courses I take and the courses I teach.
When I came back to school, I returned as a full-time instructor, taking a class here and there to make sure that I was still capable of doing the math before I plunged into the program as a full-time student. Thus, I began my new career sharing an office with another full-time instructor. My department tends to couple the teachers in that position - they all have masters in math or math ed but not PhDs. So, they don't get an office to themselves. The department does the same thing with grad students once they've completed 18 hours of grad classes. Since my office mate and I get along so well and often work together on classes we teach, no one ever suggested moving me out when I switched from full-time instructor to full-time student. This means that the other bookshelves in our office get crammed full of new textbooks publishers send out to entice us away from our current publisher. Nothing interesting at all about that.
But in the offices occupied by graduate students, the most interesting books can be found. This is because departing grad students often leave behind textbooks that they used or found. The student assigned to an office inherits those books and sometimes leaves behind books of his/her own. In this way, a grad student's office often contains textbooks ranging in age and subject.
Case in point, L's office. He and his office mate inherited a small zen sand garden and a wide variety of relatively ancient textbooks. One afternoon, while killing time until the algebra seminar began, L and I sat in his office, and while he played online games, I read the titles of the old textbooks. Baby, they don't name 'em like they used to. Here are my favorites:
Intuitive Calculus (There are few people, even mathematicians, for whom Calculus is innately intuitive.)
Brief Calculus (The most ironic book because it was one of the largest and thickest on the shelf.)
Mathematics: A Practical Odyssey (It sounds pretentious and adventurous all at once.)
It made me wonder: if the authors of scholastic books fretted and worried over picking a title the same way a fiction author does (myself included), more people might be drawn to mathematics. Wouldn't you rather read Algebra: The Safari for Solutions than Algebra and Its Applications? No? Well, I guess there really is no hope then, is there?
When I came back to school, I returned as a full-time instructor, taking a class here and there to make sure that I was still capable of doing the math before I plunged into the program as a full-time student. Thus, I began my new career sharing an office with another full-time instructor. My department tends to couple the teachers in that position - they all have masters in math or math ed but not PhDs. So, they don't get an office to themselves. The department does the same thing with grad students once they've completed 18 hours of grad classes. Since my office mate and I get along so well and often work together on classes we teach, no one ever suggested moving me out when I switched from full-time instructor to full-time student. This means that the other bookshelves in our office get crammed full of new textbooks publishers send out to entice us away from our current publisher. Nothing interesting at all about that.
But in the offices occupied by graduate students, the most interesting books can be found. This is because departing grad students often leave behind textbooks that they used or found. The student assigned to an office inherits those books and sometimes leaves behind books of his/her own. In this way, a grad student's office often contains textbooks ranging in age and subject.
Case in point, L's office. He and his office mate inherited a small zen sand garden and a wide variety of relatively ancient textbooks. One afternoon, while killing time until the algebra seminar began, L and I sat in his office, and while he played online games, I read the titles of the old textbooks. Baby, they don't name 'em like they used to. Here are my favorites:
Intuitive Calculus (There are few people, even mathematicians, for whom Calculus is innately intuitive.)
Brief Calculus (The most ironic book because it was one of the largest and thickest on the shelf.)
Mathematics: A Practical Odyssey (It sounds pretentious and adventurous all at once.)
It made me wonder: if the authors of scholastic books fretted and worried over picking a title the same way a fiction author does (myself included), more people might be drawn to mathematics. Wouldn't you rather read Algebra: The Safari for Solutions than Algebra and Its Applications? No? Well, I guess there really is no hope then, is there?
Monday, January 3, 2011
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
According to Bob...
"These days, it seems you can get a PhD in anything. Why last week, when we took Laura to visit Brown, we met a young man getting his doctorate in culinary arts. What is that? Doctor Chef? He wants to work as a chef on a private jet. I think that requires some schooling and a lot of training but not a PhD."
These days, colleges and universities are run like businesses rather than academic institutions. It's all about the bottom line, and by bottom line, I mean money. So school's are lowering admission requirements, letting in unprecedented numbers of young folks. That's not entirely bad. It gives people who screwed around in high school a chance to redeem themselves and show that they can learn. It's why intro level math is bursting at the seams at my university.
Please, don't misunderstand me. I am not saying that someone with a college degree is better than someone without one. No, no, no!! There are plenty of idiot douchebags running around with degrees they bought fair and square and not a bit of sense or direction in their swollen heads. There are plenty of brilliant people who chose professions that didn't require formal education but rather intense, specialized training.
My point is that universities try to make everyone believe that college is for them. "You don't want to be a fireman or an EMT. You want to be a financial planner. You want to make truck loads of money, right?" So maybe you buy into it. You fork over your own good money (or your parents do), and you go to school for six years (that's the average these days) and you get a degree and you HATE being a financial planner. All you wanted to do was save lives, and now you're stuck in an office and miserable. Now you've learned the hard way that not everyone needs to go to college.
Because of this opening of the flood gates, it's gotten to the point that, in many circles, getting a bachelor's degree is no better than having a high school diploma. You need a master's or a PhD to prove you've learned something and can learn more. The universities no longer care about low teacher-to-student ratios. They don't care that students aren't graduating, which is why the U.S. has dropped from #1 in numbers of students going to college and completing degrees to #12. All they care about is keeping you there as long as possible and making as much money off you as they can.
I tell you, it breaks my heart.
These days, colleges and universities are run like businesses rather than academic institutions. It's all about the bottom line, and by bottom line, I mean money. So school's are lowering admission requirements, letting in unprecedented numbers of young folks. That's not entirely bad. It gives people who screwed around in high school a chance to redeem themselves and show that they can learn. It's why intro level math is bursting at the seams at my university.
Please, don't misunderstand me. I am not saying that someone with a college degree is better than someone without one. No, no, no!! There are plenty of idiot douchebags running around with degrees they bought fair and square and not a bit of sense or direction in their swollen heads. There are plenty of brilliant people who chose professions that didn't require formal education but rather intense, specialized training.
My point is that universities try to make everyone believe that college is for them. "You don't want to be a fireman or an EMT. You want to be a financial planner. You want to make truck loads of money, right?" So maybe you buy into it. You fork over your own good money (or your parents do), and you go to school for six years (that's the average these days) and you get a degree and you HATE being a financial planner. All you wanted to do was save lives, and now you're stuck in an office and miserable. Now you've learned the hard way that not everyone needs to go to college.
Because of this opening of the flood gates, it's gotten to the point that, in many circles, getting a bachelor's degree is no better than having a high school diploma. You need a master's or a PhD to prove you've learned something and can learn more. The universities no longer care about low teacher-to-student ratios. They don't care that students aren't graduating, which is why the U.S. has dropped from #1 in numbers of students going to college and completing degrees to #12. All they care about is keeping you there as long as possible and making as much money off you as they can.
I tell you, it breaks my heart.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Why I Teach
Because sometimes, your students become good friends.
When I taught at a community college, I had two classes of students that I taught the entire Calculus sequence and Differential Equations. That means I had them for four back-to-back-to-back-to-back courses. Being at a community college, the classes were small. The Cal1's had around 25, but after that, the numbers dropped to around 12 and steadily fell from there. In that kind of setting and having them for so many classes, you can't help but get to know them. This is how I met Zach.
At the time, I was 26, about the age of an older sister to the traditional student, and though I make it clear that I am in charge and require a lot of hard work, I don't run my class like a warden. I'm approachable, whereas most math teachers are feared, which is why Zach never hesitated to ask questions or seek help. When his house caught on fire one Sunday while his family was at church, he came to my office to talk to me about it.
After he finished Cal1, I recommended the college hire him as a math tutor. He needed a job, and although it didn't pay as well as some other jobs, it gave him time to do his homework. He had Physics with L, who was a year behind him in school but only two years younger than me. When the tutor lab was slow, L would often go over and help the Cal and Physics students with both classes. That is how Zach and L got to be friends, and when they both transferred to the University, L continued to tutor Zach in his Physics classes.
He would come over to our apartment, and while they sat at the table doing Physics, I made dinner. We'd sit around and watch TV or just talk. L taught Zach how to play chess, and eventually, we started a D&D game. After the Physics classes, he stayed in touch. We'd go out to dinner once a semester and email.
Zach graduated four years ago, got a job, and moved back home. Even though he wasn't nearby, he started playing an online game that L and I play, so we played together. Then, Zach quit his job (which he hated) to go back to school to get his masters. He had to stop playing games, and so we sort of lost touch. We would email once or twice a year. Hey! How are you? Good, and you? kind of things.
And then just last night, he called. He has one project left to get his masters, has a job lined up for when he finishes, and wanted to know if we were still playing Diablo II. "We actually just got back into it," L said. So, we all got online and start playing and chatting. I wrote, "It's so good to hear from you. Sorry it's been so long. I suck at keeping in touch," to which he replied, "Me too, but even so, I still consider ya'll some of my best friends."
Of course, not every student becomes a friend, but when they do, their success is doubly rewarding.
When I taught at a community college, I had two classes of students that I taught the entire Calculus sequence and Differential Equations. That means I had them for four back-to-back-to-back-to-back courses. Being at a community college, the classes were small. The Cal1's had around 25, but after that, the numbers dropped to around 12 and steadily fell from there. In that kind of setting and having them for so many classes, you can't help but get to know them. This is how I met Zach.
At the time, I was 26, about the age of an older sister to the traditional student, and though I make it clear that I am in charge and require a lot of hard work, I don't run my class like a warden. I'm approachable, whereas most math teachers are feared, which is why Zach never hesitated to ask questions or seek help. When his house caught on fire one Sunday while his family was at church, he came to my office to talk to me about it.
After he finished Cal1, I recommended the college hire him as a math tutor. He needed a job, and although it didn't pay as well as some other jobs, it gave him time to do his homework. He had Physics with L, who was a year behind him in school but only two years younger than me. When the tutor lab was slow, L would often go over and help the Cal and Physics students with both classes. That is how Zach and L got to be friends, and when they both transferred to the University, L continued to tutor Zach in his Physics classes.
He would come over to our apartment, and while they sat at the table doing Physics, I made dinner. We'd sit around and watch TV or just talk. L taught Zach how to play chess, and eventually, we started a D&D game. After the Physics classes, he stayed in touch. We'd go out to dinner once a semester and email.
Zach graduated four years ago, got a job, and moved back home. Even though he wasn't nearby, he started playing an online game that L and I play, so we played together. Then, Zach quit his job (which he hated) to go back to school to get his masters. He had to stop playing games, and so we sort of lost touch. We would email once or twice a year. Hey! How are you? Good, and you? kind of things.
And then just last night, he called. He has one project left to get his masters, has a job lined up for when he finishes, and wanted to know if we were still playing Diablo II. "We actually just got back into it," L said. So, we all got online and start playing and chatting. I wrote, "It's so good to hear from you. Sorry it's been so long. I suck at keeping in touch," to which he replied, "Me too, but even so, I still consider ya'll some of my best friends."
Of course, not every student becomes a friend, but when they do, their success is doubly rewarding.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Dr. D said...
"In 2002, security into the U.S. got so tight that I panicked and became a citizen. It's been downhill ever since."
Dr. D was a Brit who moved to the U.S. after finishing his PhD. He took a job at my university, where he met, fell in love with, and married a girl from Iowa. They have two girls.
After 9/11, he was terrified that he would make a trip to the U.K. to visit his parents and then not be able to re-enter the U.S. The thought of being separated from his wife and children terrified him so much that he became a citizen.
Now that he's divorced, I wonder if he feels like becoming a citizen is just another thing to add to his list of regrets.
Dr. D was a Brit who moved to the U.S. after finishing his PhD. He took a job at my university, where he met, fell in love with, and married a girl from Iowa. They have two girls.
After 9/11, he was terrified that he would make a trip to the U.K. to visit his parents and then not be able to re-enter the U.S. The thought of being separated from his wife and children terrified him so much that he became a citizen.
Now that he's divorced, I wonder if he feels like becoming a citizen is just another thing to add to his list of regrets.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)