Tenure-Track Job Applicants, Google Yourself Before Applying: Tips From a Search Committee Chair

My friend and CSULB Associate Professor Ragan Fox posted some tips for folks on the job market for tenure-track positions. Good advice, much of which I'd recommend for writing cover letters for said jobs: know your audience, mention the department's courses and curriculum in your letter and link it to your own teaching strengths, note the impact of your research, etc. One tip I would add is to manage your impression, before even arriving on campus (provided you're fortunate enough to get an interview). The best way to do this: be aware of your online profile.

Managing Your Impression Online

I think most tenure-track applicants probably have some kind of online profile, whether it's a facebook account, a twitter feed, or a website. But what will the hiring committee see when looking for you online and, more importantly, what will they think about they find? Will they find your Walking Dead commentary as pithy as you do?

I've chaired and been on search committees, and I have Googled every single interview candidate as well as many of our second tier choices. Below I list the results I've encountered, from best result to what I consider the least desirable result:

Online Search Results of Tenure-Track Job Applicants: From Best to Worst

1a. Sometimes I'll come across a professional website that's near the top of the search results. As a search committee member, this is the best possible outcome of such a search: a decent-looking website with professional information on it: CV, publications, jobs, etc. This could also hold true for a person's listing on a faculty or graduate student page at a university. Mine's been around a while and isn't great, but it gets the job done. Search my name and it's one of the first sites to come up.

1b. An Academia.edu site. These seem to be taking the place of some faculty's professional websites. A good resource.

1c. A Linkedin profile. Yes, Jack Donaghy makes fun of it, but as a search committee member wanting information on an applicant, it's better than nothing.

2. The next best result is a listing of article links or publication titles. Sure, I could get this if I search Google Scholar, but having some kind of hit: citations for articles, popular press articles, mentions in the media, stories about awards given (maybe on a university's website), etc. tells me that this person is active academically-speaking. The same is true if I click on "Books" and search the candidate's name: Did they write a book? Awesome. Are they cited in books? Great.

3. A professional-looking Google profile is the next best result. Sure, it may not be "academic" in the sense of number 1 or 2, but it shows me that at least the candidate is aware of their online profile enough to care what people see in a search and to take care to manage that impression.

4. It wouldn't count as a negative (to me) to see a listing of facebook and/or twitter links in the search results. Not as good as the above, but not too bad. It doesn't show a lot of care taken to manage one's online impression, but it doesn't necessarily indicate obliviousness.

5. However, if I click on one of these links and get a facebook page with pics of partying with fraternity or sorority members, girlfriends at the bar, guys acting foolish (given particular privacy settings)... Well, I have to wonder. There's certainly nothing wrong with this, and I wouldn't think less of the person, but remember: this is a committee member researching a job applicant, and simply: This is my first impression of you as a candidate. Is that what you want?

6. Still, the worst possible result (provided there are no mug shots, arrest records, or news stories about the applicant running naked through the streets) is a listing of random links to random comments and sites that I can't tell whether or not belong to the job applicant. This tells me nothing about the applicant, and I don't have time to click every link and see if it the applicant. I'm not going to cyber stalk every one of our 100-plus job applicants.

So, numbers 5 and 6 above: Is that really what you want your impression to be for the person making decisions about whether to interview you and hire you? Granted, a strong vita and application packet would nullify any of that (usually except arrest records and mug shots) and get you into the interview. But as a committee member, I can't say wouldn't think about that first impression I had if the decision was a close one. Would this negative online impression be a deciding factor? No, probably not. Would it be in the back of my mind as I read your file? Definitely. I speak from experience.

Googling Yourself Isn't Just for Celebrities

What, then, should job applicants do? Create a website? Yes. That's my recommendation. Its too easy nowadays not to have a website.

Additionally, I suggest doing a search every so often by entering your name into multiple search engines. Try and get your desired site to come up first. At the least, know what others see of you and about you when they search your name as it appears on your vita. With all the applicants on the tenure-track job hunt, why leave anything to chance?

Top Ten Graduate Teacher Mistakes: Number 8

This is a continuation of the top ten list I started a while ago. I'll get to number eight below, but first a quick review:

Top Ten Review So Far...

Number Nine was asking too many questions. As counter-intuitive as it may seem, sometimes asking too many questions (of your peers, of the course supervisor) hampers you when teaching. Of course, you need to ask questions. I get that. But, asking too many can give you too many options, which organizational theorist Karl Weick argues may hamper your decision-making and inhibit your ability to adapt on the fly.

Number Ten, seemingly contrary to number nine, was not having a lesson plan--thinking that you're going to go in there and wing it is a recipe for disaster. The obvious reason is things might not go well. You won't know what to say, and you won't have plan for what to do. Having a script of some kind, even if you deviate from it, is ideal.

But let's say things go great, better than you expected. You leave class on a high, get back to your office, and sit down. Then you wonder, what did I just do? Unless you write notes of the class interaction, how are you going to repeat what you did for your next class or next semester (not that you can necessarily replicate results, but that's a mistake in thinking I'll tackle later)? So, you write down the class interaction. Okay, never mind that you're retroactively writing a lesson plan, which you may have been trying to avoid in the first place; what did you intend to accomplish in class? The only reason this question is important is, how do you know you accomplished what you intended?

This leads us to number eight.

Number Eight: No Assessment

I know I've said it here before, but you need to be able to assess whether or not you accomplished your objectives for a particular class. When many people hear the word "assessment," they think about statistical measurement. That's not necessarily what I mean. Sure, you can use tests. But you can also use qualitative measures like classroom discussion and written responses.

With assessment, you can better tell whether you accomplished what you wanted to in class that day. This, of course, assumes you also have learning objectives or goals (see my previous posts for more on that).

With assessment, you can tell what you need to tweak for next time. You shouldn't chuck your entire lesson plan because your assessment tells you you didn't meet your learning objectives for that day. Give it a few times. Then re-assess.

Teaching is nothing if not self-reflexive. Assessments help us as teacher be reflexive about what we accomplish in class.

Grading Tips, From The "Basics" of the Basic Communication Course: A Graduate Student Teacher's Survival Guide

From The "Basics" of the Basic Communication Course: A Graduate Student Teacher's Survival Guide

 

We all develop our own strategies in time. But below are some tricks and tips that I’ve found useful in grading. 

1. Become adept at writing comments on the rubric during the speakers’ speeches. Don’t worry about making eye contact with the speakers the whole time. The rest of class should be good audience members. You can, however, do quick scans of the classroom every now and then. In short, it's okay to not look at students for their entire speech if it means making constructive comments. 

2. On a separate sheet of paper, record your first impressions honestly. You won’t show students these comments, but they will help you once you get back to your office to grade. After competing in and coaching collegiate speech and debate for 11 years, I can accurately predict a speaker’s grade in the first 30 seconds of their speech. After you’ve been teaching for a while, your instincts will be similarly honed. 

3. Get the lay of the land. Wait to assign scores, and do not assign grades after each speech. Tentatively give a score for each rubric item for the first three speeches. Later, reflect on whether these are accurate. If so, then use them as a gauge for the rest of the speeches. Yes, students may want their grades quickly, but grading is not only a time for you to assess your students; it's a time for you to be reflexive about your own teaching.

For example, if none of your students include transitions for their speeches, does that mean the entire class is clueless? Might it be something in your instructions to them that was confusing? Did you not provide clear examples? Maybe they don't think transitions are important. Did you stress the importance of transitions to students? Obviously, if the answers to these questions lead you to believe there was something you could have explained more clearly, you'll want to carefully consider how harshly you'll grade your students on this aspect of the speech

You might ask, "Well, if I've got a rubric and each part of the rubric has been given a point or percentage weight, how can I grade "less harshly"? Remember our previous discussion about meeting the minimum requirements: if you think you could have explained something more clearly, perhaps your "minimum" benchmark can be altered. The students won't see this alteration; you might just give a Satisfactory score based on a lower benchmark.

It's true that you could simply take those points out of the equation altogether and reduce the total number of points for the speech. But that requires more reconfiguring on the back end as the total possible points for your class will change. You could add another assignment to make up those points, but your supervising faculty member may frown upon changing the syllabus when you're already into the semester. If you've included the caveat that the number and frequency of assignments may change based on the progress of the class, then you're likely to be technically in the right if you were to add another assignment. But, you've got your own classes to worry about in the meantime--do you really want to create more work yourself?

Grading Philosophy

Grading is probably one of the most difficult things for new teachers to grasp. It was for me, though I had some speech and debate judging under my belt by the time I started, so it was a little smother adjustment for me than for some. Over the years, I've whittled my philosophy down to a single phrase: students may be disappointed in their grade, but they should never be surprised by their grade. To enact this grading philosophy, we have a few tasks, which I’ve elaborated on below. I call them the “four E’s” of grading.

Below is another excerpt from my handbook for our graduate student teachers.

Expectations

We should already have assignment descriptions and rubrics for every single assignment, so this task is already accomplished to a large degree. Will students read this rubric before beginning work on their speeches? You’d think so, but surprisingly the answer is often “no.” This is where you come in; part of your job in making these expectations clear is draw their attention to, explain, and answer questions about the assignment. You will also do activities in class to help students explore and hone one or more skills required by the assignments.

Explanations

As I noted above, you should be explaining assignments to students. And part of your teaching philosophy should include clarity. But when it comes to a grading philosophy, an additional way to think about explanations is the feedback you provide students along with a letter grade. This feedback will serve several purposes.

First, this feedback will save you a lot of headaches. When students question you about their grade, complain about their grade, and attempt to persuade you to change their grade (and some will), you can rely on your detailed feedback as justification for why they received the grade they did. Obviously, this feedback should be related to the course objectives, assignment objectives, and/or the skills we want students to acquire. This feedback will also help me when these students come to see me to complain about said grade (which some do). This may seem like a cynical way to approach grading, but it’s just one of the practical uses of clear, detailed, explanatory feedback. In short, it can save us time and effort. And doing so save us from repeating ourselves.

Second, doing so contextualizes a letter grade into concrete suggestions for improvement. Although students may seem only concerned with a letter grade on an assignment, we must be sure to giving them concrete suggestions for improvements. Ideally, students will read these suggestions and use them to improvement their performance on future speeches. I’ve sat with many students in my office looking over a GTA’s completed rubric trying to explain to the students where the GTA was coming from, why the student got the grade he or she did, and what the student can do better in the future (Remember that time and effort we wanted to save?). By providing detailed feedback, we not only justify the grade given, hopefully circumventing any complaints, but we offer students something to think about for future speeches and assignments.

Encouragement

The third of our “three E’s” of grading also has to do with feedback. The feedback you provide will hopefully be encouraging. We need to tell the students what they’re doing well as well as what they can improve upon. Like suggestions for improvements, these encouraging remarks should be concrete as well. And like suggestions for improvements these encouraging remarks should be related to particular learning outcomes and skills.

Equilibrium

An often-used synonym for balance, our fourth “E” of grading refers to finding a balance between critique and encouragement, rigor and reasonableness, and fairness and compassion. As I explained above, your grading approach should include constructive criticism and encouragement. What I’m going to focus on in this section is reasonable rigor. To grade with rigor means you are demanding and fair, and reasonable in what you expect from your students.

Talking to many first-year students about grades, you might get the impression that they received all A’s in high school. This may be the case, but more often than not it usually not the case. Students may be trying to manipulate you, but what’s most likely is that they simply have to adjust to the rigorous standards we employ in our class and in university-level classes. When weighing how tough we’re being in our grading, there are a few tricks we can employ. I will detail these below.

What Should the Average GPA of My Class Be?

As long as you’re being clear, rigorous, and reflexive about your grading, you’re doing great. But as a way of entering the conversation, let’s consider what the average GPA of first-year students are. You can find the most recent information on SDSU student GPA by class level here. For years 2007-2011, the average GPA for male and female first-year students was 2.77[1]. When considering the own cumulative GPA of your own sections, whether on a particular assignment or at the end of semester, it’s sometimes useful to ask yourself, “What is the likelihood that my class will be much higher or lower than this?” The answer is, “Probably not very likely.”

For example, in a class of 24 students, if the average GPA is 3.2, you’re essentially communicating to me that I could walk into your class, pick a student at random to speak, and I’d see an above-average speaker. While that may be the case—some of us just get lucky and have a class of awesome speakers—my 20 years of teaching experience tells me that is not usually going to happen. As such, you can probably conclude that you’re not being rigorous enough in your grading.

Does this mean that you change students’ grades? Not at all. It just means that you should be reflexive about your grading process, continually asking yourself if you’re being too lenient, too hard and unreasonable, and how you might evolve in the future. But, keep in mind this rule of thumb: it’s better for classroom management, morale, and rapport with students to get easier with your grading as the semester goes on rather than harder.

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[1] http://university-stats.sdsu.edu/app/reports/GPA/all_gpa_.pdf

Teaching Philosophy: Why Do We Need One?

As another semester is over, and my thoughts turn toward the summer and beyond, the coming Fall semester. I have begun to work full force on our graduate teacher handbook. One of the sections is about teaching philosophies. This is an overlooked yet invaluable stage in the process of begun a teacher; it emphasizes rigorous self-reflection and an engagement with one's audience (in this case, the students).

Below is an excerpt from that particular section:

Teaching Philosophy: Why Do You Need One?

Every teacher should have a teaching philosophy. Think of the teaching philosophy as your mission statement. Sure, everyone wants to be a good teacher, but “good” can mean different things to different people (as can “teacher”). For example, to think that you’re going to come into one of the first classes you’ve ever taught and become a best friend, mentor, guru, and life coach to all of your students is a bit unrealistic. That’s not what you should be striving for, and I’m not sure if any teacher should be attempting to be all of those things. Student attitudes like those are likely a by-product of what the teacher actually accomplishes, like encouraging students to make connections between the material and their own lives, fostering critical thinking, and creating a welcoming classroom environment. So, put out of your mind for the time being visions of students chanting “O Captain! My Captain! (a la the film Dead Poets Society), and let’s discuss some concrete things you should be instituting in your classroom communication.

While everyone’s teaching philosophy will read differently (you can read mine[1] and get the basics of a Teaching Philosophy at http://www.celt.iastate.edu/teaching/philosophy.html), there are some basic things you should keep in mind for your classroom communication with students. Each of these is explained below.

Frame Class Discussions and Activities

First, you can ask them to read the syllabus and assignment descriptions, but don’t assume they will. So, plan on providing summaries or overviews of the course policies and assignments. The same holds true for the textbook; we may assign them readings, but don’t assume they’ve read it. Any discussions you have on the textbook chapters should be preceded by a brief summary of the chapter. Don’t worry, you’re not doing their work for them because good discussion questions should prompt them to address things in much more detail than your summary (1-2 minutes) will provide.

Lesson Plans, Goals, and Assessments

Second, you should have a lesson plan for every class meeting. Experienced teachers may tell you they don’t need them, but they have likely internalized the important parts of the lesson plan and are incorporating them into their classroom communication. We’ll go over writing lesson plans in more detail later in the handbook. But for now, you should keep the following things in mind for each class meeting: what you want to accomplish, how you’re going to accomplish it, and—perhaps most importantly—how you will know you accomplished what you want.

This last part is one many teachers overlook. It requires some kind of assessment on your part. When most teachers hear the word “assessment,” they likely think of statistical measurements. What I mean is that you need some way to assess your students so that you know you’ve accomplished what you intended. If not, you can tweak the lesson plan for next time. This assessment could come in the form of a group discussion with carefully written questions that pertain to your objectives, a speech or some other classroom activity, or a written component (maybe some combination of these). Remember that we have assessments at the course level as well: graded speeches, exams, and quizzes in particular. But you need to approach your classes with assessment in mind, too.

Strive for Clarity and Transparency

Third, you should strive for clarity and transparency. We present the students with detailed rubrics for each speech assignment at the beginning of the semester. We also provide them with study guides for each chapter and sample exam questions. We have course policies regarding classroom conduct, treatment of classmates, absences, and so on. So, you already have a structure of clarity and transparency within which to work. The one thing we can’t provide the students with beforehand is grades, obviously. And this is where you should strive for clarity and transparency. This means provided substantial comments on grading rubrics that allow students to understand why they received the grade they did; they may not agree with you, but they should understand. It also means grading and posting grades, activity points, etc. in a timely fashion on their BlackBoard.

Create a Welcoming Environment

Finally, consider the ways in which you might create a safe and welcoming environment. Learning student names by the second week, altering seating arrangements when possible (for example, in a circle rather than rows), and being encouraging in your written and oral feedback to the students are ways you can create a welcoming environment. We’ll address more of these issues in the classroom management chapter and in our weekly orientations.

To Lead or To Manage?

In time, you’ll develop your own teaching philosophy. But here are some important questions to ask yourself: What does it mean to manage a class? What does it mean to lead a class? Are there different communication behaviors you must do for each? On what occasions might it be necessary to manage your class? When should you lead your class? These are all questions you will answer in your own way, in time.

Ultimately, two approaches have helped me in my teaching. The first is a quotation from John Cotton Dana, an influential librarian from the late 18^th and early 19^th century: “He [or she] who dares to teach must never cease to learn.” I like this, because I like to think of learning and teaching as inextricably intertwined. The second approach is taken from yoga, which I practice regularly. In short, if you think you’ve mastered yoga, you’re not really doing yoga. I think of teaching in the same way; if, at some point, you think you’ve mastered teaching, you’re not really teaching. Because teaching is about learning. We can readily accept that without teaching, there would be no learning. Of course, we need teachers to teach students. But I also believe that without learning, there would be no teaching. This not only means that we need students to teach. It also means that teachers need to continue learning.

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[1] http://www-rohan.sdsu.edu/~klindema/Lindemann%20Statement%20of%20Teaching%20Philosophy.pdf

Reflections on Conference Going Part Two: Embodying the Conference Experience in the Classroom

Just got back from giving a couple talks and a performance about an ongoing research and writing project, having just gotten back from another conference and getting ready to head out again, barely having taken the time to reflect on yet another one down, lessons learned, work done, connections made, etc.

I enjoy going to conferences for a number of reasons: seeing old friends, being in a new city, catching up with past students. But this most recent spate conference-going had a few sharp moments of insight that made it additionally worthwhile for me. These moments had to do with the teacher-graduate student relationship.

Too often I've tried to keep the worlds separate, as if my personal life were entwined with my work life in strands that are frayed and apart from my teaching life. Obviously, I know teaching is my work, a large part of it, but I've often thought my conference-going experiences had little to say about teaching or mentoring unless they were the subject of a paper or panel. Maybe I've kept them separate in an attempt to keep things "professional": not getting too chummy with students, graduate or undergraduate. In short, I've never really considered the way I embody conference going how I might bring that embodiment into classroom interactions.

Queering the Student-Teacher Relationship
But to talk about queering the teacher-student relationship (which is what came up in one particular panel and subsequent conversation), something I haven't as readily embraced as the process of "queering" in research, has taken on new meanings. Setting aside for a moment the political and academic use of the "queering" (I've had discussions, for example, as to whether heterosexual male scholars can do queer theory), I've realized the queering of such relationships, and the power disruptions and even inversions that go along with this approach, can be a valuable mentoring tool. I'm not just talking about, for example, using informal forms of address or even disclosing more of one's personal life to students. I'm talking about showing vulnerabilities in terms of confusion about one's research and teaching, not pretending to have all the answers and not pretending that I know I don't have all the answers (or that I avoid double negatives in a sentence).

Embodying Vulnerabilities in the Classroom

Given my desire for tight control and professionalism in my teaching, supervision, mentoring, etc. this is something I'm still thinking about in terms of how to integrate it into my everyday practice--my classroom embodiment. I tell our graduate student teacher that it's okay to admit to students you don't have all the answers. But I've always envisioned this interaction still cloaked in an air of control, a strategic vulnerability of sorts that not only makes the teacher seem human but also discursively acknowledges the teachable moments that are part and parcel of classroom interaction. There's been some great stuff written on this already, and I'm thinking in particular about Trethewey's "Sexuality, eros, and pedagogy: Desiring laughter in the classroom" in Women and Language. I've tried to do this in a recent piece of my own.

Embodying the Mentoring Relationship
But for some reason my most recent conference experience enabled me to consider this notion of embodiment in a way I hadn't before. Conferences allow for a sort of informal interaction in which one can let the facade down. It certainly can become an extension of the classroom. But in a broader way, it's also a way of embodying the mentoring relationship. And students are interested in what happens there, as the number of inquiries I got upon my return indicated: What happened? What was like? In general, what goes on at these places and what does it mean for us in the classroom? I don't know. Yet. And that's okay.

Social Media as Embodiment
I do, however, think social media--blogs, twitter, etc.--might play a role in that. At least, that's what I'm beginning to find. I have another conference coming up, so we'll see. Maybe students will read about it here. Or in a tweet.

All Work and All Play: Reflections on Conference Going Part One

Every time I bring class work to a conference I find myself working on class work and research simultaneously, which leads to a strange, almost surreal swirl of worlds. Obviously, my research and teaching are connected, but they seem more separate to me the rest of the year. I teach, I go back to my office and, if I'm lucky or disciplined enough to make to the time, I write or research or both.

Then I go to class. Then I grade, write rubrics, assignment sheets, study guides, etc. Sounds glamorous, I know. But my compartmentalizing fails me when sitting in a hotel room, lounge, or bar, trying to do both. I've divided my scholarly world here and my classroom world so distinctly and, I think, erroneously and unnecessarily that the mix of the two never fails to jar me a little.

So, I'm sitting here prepping for a presentation, breaking some of the rules I teach in my undergrad communication classes, reading what I've written about grieving my brother's death 10 or so years ago (see my blog Long Canyon Lost for more on this), and I come across a passage in which I describe going to an academic conference right after he died. It's like standing in front of a mirror with a mirror behind me, watching my copied image get smaller and smaller until I can't make it out. I wonder: am I teaching what I write and research, truly? If so, how? Because I can't quite make it out from here.

I guess I'll pack up and go to the presentation, deciding to keep things separate a little while longer until I can make more sense of the relationship. It's an ongoing and invigorating journey, though, so I don't expect it to conclude just yet. Maybe I should write about it, or write about writing about it. That makes sense, right?

Epilogue
Presentation went well, inspiring and educational. Back in the room, grading papers. Transition wasn't as abrupt, probably because of invigorating communication with colleagues at lunch. Amazing how the social support networks can ease the transition from one sphere to the next.

Top COMM 103 Student Tweets (So Far) of Fall 2011 (NSFW)

Ironic that although some tweets aren't safe for work, I've read them and counted them as part of my work as a university professor teaching communication and media literacy to mostly first-year students.

Using Student Tweets to Illustrate Media Literacy Concepts
I've had a debate with some teacher friends on facebook as to whether I should take students to task for their tweets. I find it useful to use some examples of questionable tweets in class as a way of teaching media literacy. It helps me illustrate: 1) there's not such thing as "privacy" or "anonymity" on the web; 2) you need to mindful of multiple audiences with social media messages; and 3) you must be mindful of possible unintended messages when using social media.

Now, I never call out specific students, and I don't intend to put them "on blast," as the students like to say (and get no shortage of laughs hearing me say it in class). I should note that I make it clear on our  BlackBoard site as well as on the syllabus that there is a class Twitter account. In most cases I use publicly accessible tweets (i.e., tweets that aren't locked and only available for followers, and tweets that can be found through a simple term search on twitter). In other cases, I use the tweets of students who chose to follow our COMM 103 class, thereby giving me access to their tweets. I use their tweets in class lectures in an attempt to teach students to be more mindful of the messages they send out into the amorphous universe of electronic media.

Why Not? Blurring Classroom Boundaries for Better or Worse
So, what's the debate? Well, some friends say that I shouldn't hold students accountable for what they say on twitter because, although I have a twitter account for class and many students choose to follow me, it's not really classroom communication. I disagree. The classroom is wherever students and teachers interact. Now, that may be an unfairly broad definition which may prompt the questions, "So, if you see a student at Target should you expect them to act like a student (e.g., respectful, polite)? And in turn, should you be expected to answer their questions about class at said Target store?"

 These are good questions. And although social media has certainly blurred the boundaries of in-class and out-of-class, is it fair for me to (re)define those boundaries in a way convenient for me? I don't have an easy answer.

So, my response to tweets isn't necessarily one of chastising but usually silence (and somehow referencing it in class) or measured responses. Below are some examples.

Example One: Why do I need this class?
I talk in class about why, although some communication concepts may seem common sense, it's important to think about these concepts to be mindful of our communication habits and in which contexts those habits might or might not be appropriate.

Somehow, though, the concept of mindfulness didn't seem to resonate with this student:

These tweets are publicly accessible and easily found with a Twitter search of "communicate"

I didn't respond to these specific tweets, though I did to another one about one of our quizzes (I again found it through a search). Although this student didn't go back and delete these posts above (some do with their more "saucy" tweets), this student did respond to me. Hopefully, the interaction generated via Twitter will lodge itself in this student's thinking about media use.

Example Two: I don't need this class; in fact, I hate this class
The tweets below were decidedly more vitriolic:

These are publicly accessible with a simple search of COMM103

Here's how I responded:

I'm not sure if this student still checks this Twitter account. But my response is typical of how I handle such things. I find this approach usually does work with students who might initially seem like they hate the class but are, in actually, just worried, nervous, or otherwise concerned with their class performance. Which leads me to the next example:


Example Three: I sound like I hate this class, but I'm actually just a little overwhelmed
Sometimes, I think students spew some tweets that don't actually mean what they might sound like to a teacher. Case in point, the below exchange, which began with a measured response to an "I hate this class" tweet (like my example above):

These are publicly accessible with a simple search of COMM103

Unlike the above example, though, this student responded to me. And not in the way I expected:

The bottom tweet is the first one in the series

So, I responded in kind:

And this exchange had a (sort of) happy ending. Perhaps the best a teacher could hope for in this asynchronous social media exchange.

Example Four: I actually like this class
There are many positive tweets as well. Below is one:

Obviously, the #COMM103 hashtag, which I encourage students to use, makes this publicly accessible tweet easy to find

To these I usually respond, "Glad you're enjoying it" or something like that, taking a chance that the tweet isn't ironic in its use of multiple exclamation points.

What's It All For? The Future of Social Media in My Classroom
My use of the class Twitter account is a work in progress. But I think its utility and possibly lie in more than just communicating class information to students or answering questions (out of class or, as some instructor now use it, in class with a moderated live feed). Its use, and teachers' framing of its use, is rooted in the concepts of media literacy. We must be vigilant in illustrating to students the ways intention, audience, and tone play complex roles in social media.

Update
I was recently honored for the kind of experiments I detail above. You can read more about this on the SDSU News page.

Top Ten Graduate Teacher Mistakes: Number 9

This is a continuation of the "Top Ten" list I started several months ago. I realize now it was a pretty ambitious goal for me. I should have made it a Top Five list. At any rate, as promised, here's number nine:

Number Nine: Asking Too Many Questions
Some of my graduate student teachers may be reading this thinking, "Is he talking about me?" Well, yes, but not in a bad way. I'm talking about myself as well, I suppose. As I prep for my Fall classes, I'm faced with making assignments new again. And while I can plan things out, starting with learning outcomes and following through to some kind of assessment, there's no way I can really tell if something's going to work.

The more experience a teacher has, the better she can anticipate what questions and difficulties students might have. But she can never really know how a new lesson plan will turn out. Sometimes we have great stuff we think the students will love, and they don't. Other times, we might go in and wing it only to have things go great. When this happens I sometimes walk out of class thinking, "It's too bad I won't be able to replicate that dynamic every time, because that was great."

I encourage asking questions, and believe me, some graduate student teachers take this to heart and ask all sorts of things I honestly had never thought of before. While I can answer some--or most, I hope, some questions teachers have are better left unanswered. "Will this work?" I don't know. Maybe. Consider so-and-so and give it a try. "Is this activity a good idea?" Unless you're talking explicitly about sex or admonishing students about a particular religious point of view, you're probably safe. Give it a try. And so on.

The short answer: I don't know. The longer answer involves a communication theory, as most of my longer answers do: specifically, sense-making. Karl Weick, who forwarded said theory, is famous for a saying, which I'll paraphrase here: How do I know what I want to say until I see what I said? Setting aside for a moment the ableist language in that colloquialism (it privileges speaking and hearing as the primary knowledge-gaining senses), I like it and think it applies here. I realize this doesn't really hold water if we're accountable for students' test scores and such. But even within such constraints, in fact, some say only within constraints,  creativity and problem-solving coalesce in the art that is teaching.

Bursting the Bubble, Knocking Down Silos, and Other Metaphors We Live By

A while ago I came across this provocative interview with Peter Thiel, co-founder of PayPal, who's so adamant that school no longer teaches us what we need to know to succeed in the "real world," that he gives money to schools' best and brightest to leave school and start a business. Such a move implies that colleges aren't teaching students what they need to learn in order to succeed "out there."

I consider this now well-trodden metaphor of the "bubble." The dotcom bubble burst a while ago. The housing bubble just recently burst. When thinking about this metaphor, a few aspects of a bubble come to mind. First, a bubble obviously isn't sustainable. It floats in the air without the ability to avoid something that might break it. The thin membrane filled with air is bound to either land then burst, or pop in midair. But watching a bubble can be mesmerizing and peaceful, a seemingly undisturbed journey that ends suddenly (if one can't see what pops up in the bubble's path). The bubble can't last forever.

Have we, as Thiel argues, become so mesmerized with the seemingly undisturbed "journey" of higher education? Hardly. Some of us have gotten pretty good at spotting things in our way and have begun to adapt.

In the midst of considering this, I came across this news story regarding an open letter from the University of Texas-Austin Student Body President, Natalie Butler. She accompanied some UT regents on a trip to Arizona State University, my alma mater, about which I've written before. The trip was apparently an effort to learn how to increase UT's online learning program. The letter, however, warns the regents about becoming like ASU, who practices a "use-inspired" research, rather than the "intellectually-inspired" research practiced at UT-Austin.

While I admire this Tempe native's dedication to rigorous study, I take umbrage with this dichotomy of use-inspired versus intellectually-inspired research. All communication research should solve problems. Period. Granted, to some people, some of the problems we're tackling in higher education and communication research may seem needlessly esoteric or theoretical. That's to be expected. But whether we're building on theory or out in the streets with protesters, we're solving problems. Unfortunately, we often think of certain types of problems as being the domain of a particular discipline. We've built these silos around ourselves and claim ownership over problems, issues, approaches, etc. I think part of what Ms. Butler is witnessing is a move away from these silos.

ASU President Michael Crow's move what toward he calls a "New American University" has been accompanied by, at times, seismic shifts in the symbolic identities scholars craft for themselves. This includes changing the names of departments whose presence on the university campus has been a mainstay for perhaps as long as higher education has existed in its current, more-or-less, publicly accessible form. For example, ASU no longer has an Anthropology department (or school); instead it has a School of Human Evolution and Social Change. No longer is there a Political Science department; there is, however, a School of Politics and Global Studies.

For all the flak ASU President Michael Crow has gotten, I appreciate his move toward issue- or problem-oriented research. I also understand and appreciate the resistance toward such a move. For those unfamiliar with academia, talk of solving "real-world" problems often includes applying for grants--external funding from philanthropic, private and public not-for-profit agencies.

What's wrong with that? Getting money for your research is a good thing, you might say. Yes, but. The "but" is that often these granting institutions and the grant application evaluators expect reports that quantify results. Many in the communication discipline don't use a quantitative approach to gathering and analyzing data. This leaves some of us forced to employ methodologies we're either not familiar with or disagree with on an epistemological level. Sure, this thinking might be akin to the silo metaphor I invoked earlier, but I can empathize with these folks. The communication field is broad and deep, and those more humanistic researchers who qualitatively analyze texts of all kinds may not identify a place for them in this "problem-solving" approach.

Some have managed to cross this divide in interesting and uncompromising ways. I've been taught well by these folks and strive to incorporate it into my own research. Selling out? Compromising? Tacitly accepting the devaluing of humanities and reifying the place of the almighty dollar in academic research? I suppose some might say that's where this line of thinking leads. But I prefer to view it optimistically as an opportunity to begin chipping away at these calcified silo walls.

Why I prefer rejection from academic journals to rejection from literary journals

I entered but didn't win (or even place) in NPR's third round of Three Minute Fiction contest, for which a contestant sends in an up-to-600 word fiction piece based on a prompt. The entries are first given a green light by students in the Iowa Writer's Workshop. Those pieces are then sent up the ladder to the guest judge, who presumably selects the winner as well as the honorable mentions and runners-up. At least, I think that's how it works. Despite the official rules on the website, the whole process is pretty vague.

At any rate, no big deal. I've had my writing rejected before, from both academic journals and literary journals. And NPR's contests usually have thousands of entries, so it's kind of a crap shoot. Most of my time now is spent submitting to academic journals, but my recent experience got me thinking about my "other life" submitting to literary journals.

Here's why I prefer rejection from academic journals: you get a reason. Even if you don't agree with the decision or you believe the reviewers' and editor's reasoning is flawed, at least you get feedback.

It would take too much space to recount the reasons given to me for rejections on submissions to academic journals. But I can cite by memory, verbatim, some of the handwritten feedback from literary journals--and handwritten comments are prized, as it's most often a form letter one receives. Here are some of those comments: "Good stuff, wasn't right for this issue. Please send more." "I like this, just didn't have room for this issue." "This one almost made it in."

You may be reading this thinking, "What? That tells me nothing" (particularly if you submit regularly to academic journals). Or, if you're familiar with literary journals, "Yeah, that sounds about right." Either way, you get the point.

First, let's consider an idea that that's probably common sense to many who submit to academic journals. If an editor did really like something, he could accept that piece for a future issue, right? Well, not in the realm of literary journals. If an editor is awash in submissions, accepting everything she liked would mean filling two years' worth of issues in three months--assuming there were actually that may worthy submissions.

There are many, many outlets for creative writers nowadays, from small press print journals to online journals. This is due in large part to the many, many MFA programs that now exist. Low-residency programs, established "old school" programs, new programs, etc.; all these graduates have to publish somewhere, right? So, they and their colleagues sometimes start journals to make this happen. I've argued this point before, though I'm certainly not the first to make this observation.

So, yes, editors are no doubt sifting though piles of submissions, thousands of e-mail attachments, and probably have little time to make substantive comments, provided they're adept at making such comments and have actually been trained to "read" as opposed to just write--let's not forget that the MFA is essentially a terminal degree in craft, not theory or pedagogy (although many argue that to write well you must be able to read well). So, aspiring poets and fiction writers who may count on editors' comments to help them better develop a piece of writing will likely never receive such feedback. Unless they enroll in an MFA program, which perpetuates the cycle of which I write above.

Which brings me to my second point. What exactly constitutes a "worthy" submission? That seems to be, in many cases, as vague as the editor's notes to me I've summarized above. Considering the number of submissions most journals receive, I'm sure it's nearly impossible to provide substantive feedback to those who submit.

"Why not ask reviewers to be on an editorial board?" you may ask. Academic journals do this. I serve on the editorial board of Text and Performance Quarterly. I've had the pleasure of reading, reviewing, and commenting on many submissions and have learned a lot from the process (hopefully the authors have as well). Some literary journals have editorial boards that resemble academic journals. I was an Editorial Assistant for Sulfur when pursuing my M.A. in English Language and Literature. The editor, Clayton Eshleman, assembled an editorial board and consulted them when he wanted another take on a submission or received something he thought fell outside his realm of expertise.

However, most literary journals don't use an editorial board (or, at least, don't use several reviewers for one genre), and certainly not to the extent that academic journals do. The ones affiliated with universities sometimes have graduate students sift through reviews early in the submission stage as does NPR's Three Minute Fiction contest. While they may have good intentions, these reviewers may not have the expertise nor experience to effectively comment, judge, or evaluate submissions.

While I hesitate to call this process "unethical," the lack of many safeguards that are in place for academic journals can sometimes lead to nepotism in the literary world. Many literary contests have now instituted what is colloquially known as "the Jorie Graham" rule, which stipulates that contest judges must be identified in contest guidelines. A scandal some years back involved the Pulitzer Prize-winning poet anonymously judging a contest and awarding the prize to her romantic partner (and now husband and colleague at Harvard).

This hasn't stopped other scandals from happening. A more recent scandal involves the editor of a poetry series who allegedly paid to have his own book included (not vetted, not reviewed? one wonders) in the same series.

Now, I admit it's a leap in reasoning to argue that the current state of literary submissions and publishing contributes to the alleged scandals mentioned above. I'm not saying one causes the other, rather that both are qualities of the literary publishing world that, to my mind, make the academic publishing world preferable.

We academics are no doubt familiar with the old adage that no one reads our stuff. I think we should be glad that at least reviewers have read it before it makes it print.

Update

Just read Anis Shivani's interesting piece on why poetry book contests should be abolished. A worthwhile read if you're interested in the above topic.

Five Reasons Teachers Should Use Social Media

I've been thinking about my use of social media in my classes. I've used facebook and twitter for classes for a couple of years, with mixed results Having just presented at SDSU's One Day in May series of talks and workshops about teaching and writing, I've been thinking more and more about what my use of social media has accomplished so far and what I might expect it to accomplish in the future.

The (sort of) good and (sort of) bad
I've caught students cheating by reading their facebook wall. Students can't write about themselves in journal entries or class discussion posts ("I have nothing to write about," "I don't feel comfortable writing about..." X--or Y or Z) but seem to have no qualms about a totally public (as long as you yourself have an account facebook wall) conversations about all manner of topics.

Other positive aspects? Connecting with students (yes, I friend some of them), increasing immediacy between myself and students, and learning all the hip lingo the kids use nowadays. I would use some of said slang phrases here, but--much like a foreign language--I've forgotten it all because I don't use it in conversations.

These experiences have resulted in many of what us teachers call "teachable moments," which is code for: a) how we recover when things don't quite go according to plan; b) how we fake it when things gets really screwed up; or c) what we do when we don't know what the heck is going on but figure there's got to be something worth learning here.

Downsides? I think about the notion of surveillance and how my catching cheaters, while technically not illegal or perhaps even unethical, still conjures up notions of Big Brother watching over the public and private lives of students.

I also think about how applications like Foursquare, in which users "check in" to businesses and locations to accumulate points and free stuff, promote a gaming and consumption model of education. Yes, people use foursquare for teaching, primarily for scavenger hunt-type activities, among other things. This includes my alma mater Arizona State University, who is part of a case study of Foursquare for Universities

All considered, I think there's a lot of potential with social media in (and out) of the classroom. But teachers have begin using it in order to understand how it can be used. So, here are five reasons why teachers should use social media:

Five Reasons Teachers Should Use Social Media
1. You can finally justify the many hours spent playing Bejeweled and Words With Friends

2. You now get to deduct points from students who bother you with facebook farmville requests.

3. Letting your students see your foursquare check-in at Macy’s over the weekend helps them remember to compliment your wardrobe on Monday.

4. Calling your students on twitter “followers” instead of “students” makes you feel like a cult leader, compensating for crappy teacher pay.

5. Haven’t you always wanted to see pictures of your students doing a beer bong?

Top Ten Graduate Student Teacher Mistakes: Number 10

As I wrap up another year of serving as Basic Course Director for our school, I'm reflecting on the progress of our graduate student teachers. They do some amazing things, make me look good, and--to my bemusement--attribute their teaching success to me when it sometimes appears to me if I've had little to do with how good they've become.

I think I only really, truly, began to get the hang of teaching in about my sixth year. I've been teaching college and university classes for about 18 years, and only now do I begin to feel like I might have some sort of advice to offer those just beginning to teach. Of course, I've been doing for this several years but have relied heavily on what others have said. Like any good scholar, I've begun to internalize those things, synthesize them, and take credit for them.

So, here is the first in a series of installments on some mistakes I've not witnessed graduate student teachers commit, and mistakes of which I myself am guilty (and how could I effectively teach them if I didn't first experience them?). I've resisted doing the typical scholarly thing and use parentheses, as in "Top Ten (Graduate Student) Teacher Mistakes." But hopefully you get the idea.

These are in no particular order, although I think the lower-stake mistakes are generally near the bottom.

Number Ten: No Lesson Plan
I used to think lesson plans were for elementary school teachers. College professors didn't need them, right? After all, they were teaching their specialty. They were afforded academic freedom, which meant talking about what they deemed relevant and appropriate. Students, basking in the glow of professors' knowledge, would write things down and ask questions, allowing the teacher to re-direct where necessary. Right?

Thankfully, I didn't actually put these ideas, accumulated from years of bad movies about college life, into practice. But I was shocked when I got into the college classroom and found it difficult to fill the hour or so talking about what I was already supposed to know. Teaching my first college class as a first-year M.A. student was terrifying, and I had done theatre and competitive speech and debate my whole life. I believe I spent the first 10 minutes or so reading from the book and hoping students would react to it. No lesson plan. I wasn't taught about lesson plans in my orientation, wasn't taught Bloom's taxonomy, learning objectives or outcomes, assessment...nothing.

So, one of the things I stress to my graduate student teachers is to create lesson plans. To not just think about what they want to say, but literally write out a lesson plan, beginning with learning outcomes and ending with assessment strategies (qualitative, e.g. discussions, and/or quantitative) that pair with a particular learning outcome. I ask them to also include the time each section might take and, if appropriate, the learning styles to which they might be appealing (I know some people have issues with the whole "learning styles" approach, but that's another subject for another post--for that matter, so is assessment).


I realize this sounds both simple and simplistic. But I'm always surprised, especially in the second semester onward, how many GTAs take the "been there, done that" approach and just go into class thinking, "I'm going to do this activity and it's going to be really cool." Okay, you've got the activity. So what? What's the purpose? How are you going to know whether the activity made any difference?

Now, I find myself doing this in my lectures: just going in and talking. Of course, I know what I want to say and what I have to cover, but I find myself glossing over learning outcomes as well.

As I write this, I can hear some of my colleagues advising teachers to stay flexible and not plan everything out, as some of the best teaching and learning moments emerge organically. And I agree. But I'm not sure beginning teachers can go there just yet. So, I advise creating lesson plans but maintain a flexible mind just in case.

One of the things I like about teaching is that I'm constantly learning. I'm learning as I write these, and as I present them to our graduate student teachers. And I encourage them not to take these as edicts, but as guidelines that will prompt a thoughtful and reflexive consideration of the classroom and of their teaching.

Next up, Number Nine: Asking Too Many Questions

Looking Forward to the Past: Digital Grieving, Rembering my Brother

My younger brother, Mark, died in a hiking accident in Long Canyon, Sedona, AZ, 10 years ago next month. I wasn't with him when he fell 45 feet from a cliff face onto his head. But I've never met the man who was. I've talked to him on the phone. He told me about his struggle to pull my brother back up by his belt, his panicked yell to an echoing canyon as he felt his grip slipping, his scramble down the mountain to try and resuscitate Mark. But I've never looked him in the eye, shook his hand, or hugged him.

When I cleaned out my brother’s apartment, I found artifacts from a life I barely recognized. Finding this man will help me find my brother. This is my journey to find him, to find both of them, and rediscover the life I had with my only sibling.

Me and Mark at a party in high school
Photo: Gary Kliczinski

After 10 years, I'm not sure what bothers me more: that I didn't hug Mark as he rode away from my apartment on his bike, taking for granted that I'd see him again soon, or that I seem to be losing traces of him in my life. I've got photos, memories, and conversations with family members. But even though he died in 2001, before twitter, facebook, and the deluge of personal web pages, I find myself Googling his name. Maybe I'm expecting to come across someone in cyberspace remembering him via blog, like I am now. Maybe I want some evidence that his life spread out and touched more just the small group of people who knew him.

Maybe. I've since realized this process is a kind of digital grieving. I know I'm not going to find much, if anything at all. His friends and mine have posted some old photos. But I keep searching, because I understand it's the searching that's important, the deferment of finding something that keeps me going, because if I can keep searching, the possibility that I might find something new about his life is always present. Of course, my searching is also my mourning. I don't think I'll ever stop mourning, though my grief has dissipated. I don't know how Mark's friend feels. I can't imagine how he deals with it, but I'd like to find out.

How does this relate to teaching?
Although I teach and publish ethnographic and performative writing on topics like grief, health, gender, and family communication, which certainly includes this project, I'll be shifting digital platforms and continue to keep this one primarily about life in the academy. It's an arbitrary distinction, but one I'm making for the time being.

As for my search for the last person to see my brother alive, you can read about my ongoing journey here.

Classrooms as Uncomfortable Spaces: Mark Twain and the "N- Word"

When you've read a lot of teaching philosophies and talked enough about teaching, you begin to realize that creating a "safe space" for students is part and parcel of many teachers' pedagogical approach. This usually means that these teachers strive to create an atmosphere in their classrooms that encourages students to speak their mind, not judge or insult others, and not use discriminatory language.

However, "safe" is not synonymous with "comfortable." I think learning should be uncomfortable. Students should be led into unfamiliar and uncertain territory. With good teaching, students brought to this "learning edge" can glean insight by viewing problems and issues in new ways. When it comes to discussing race in the classroom, however, some teachers opt for a "better safe than sorry" pedagogy, treading lightly for fear of offending others. I'm guilty of this, too.

And so, last Sunday I watched with interest the 60 Minutes segment on New South books' revised edition of Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn, which changes the n- word with "slave."



I agree with Bradley's argument that Huckleberry Finn without the n- word isn't really Huckleberry Finn at all. I also agree with his assertion that, to a certain extent, if students are comfortable talking about race then they're not really talking about race. Where can we draw the line so we don't sacrifice learning for the sake of comfort?

As I ask this question, I'm reminded of The Daily Show's "Senior Black Correspondent" Larry Wilmore's take on this controversy:
                       

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Mark Twain Controversy
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However, discomfort for the sake of discomfort isn't the way to go either, as Michael Scott illustrated:



So, where does this leave us?
Obviously, it's easy to split the difference between two extremes, but I think the difference between these two bits is that The Daily Show segment acknowledges the structural components of racism, while manager Michael Scott locates racism at the individual level. In short, Michael Scott thinks racism can be eradicated by changing individual values and attitudes; Larry Wilmore humorously indicts the linguistic structures themselves ("slave" is a "occupation"). While individual attitudes are important to consider, it's socio-economic conditions like urban flight, school districting, incarceration levels, state and federal law, and media portrayals that enable racism to continue. Language is also something to consider, and of primary importance to a teacher of communication.

The problem with changing the language in Huckleberry Finn is that doing so seems to attend to individual attitudes without addressing the structural conditions of racism. While an extended discussion of the above conditions is probably out of the purview of a high school literature class, discussing the power of words can be a useful exercise, one that is  short-circuited by replacing making the aforementioned switcheroo.

Teaching public speaking has made me realize that many kids throw around words like "gay" and "retarded" with little thought about how and why they can use those terms in certain ways and others can't. Talking about the word in question, whether a teacher says it or simply defers to the "n -word" phrasing, allows students to consider how some groups have access to certain words and their meanings and others don't; when you get right down to it, there are comparatively few insults someone can hurl at a heterosexual white male. If we consider women, people of color, and gays and lesbians, we realize that in a name-calling contest, the straight white male will never run out of ammunition. This is a simplistic example, to be sure, but it illustrates the linguistic structures of racism.

Discomfort, for me (a straight, white male), comes from realizing I'm implicated in this system in ways I don't like and didn't choose. But once I begin to understand this, I can not only choose my words more mindfully (which is more than just saying, "racism is bad"), but I have a more comprehensive view of the sorts of dialogue that need to be initiated. Changing one word because we're uncomfortable with it doesn't teach us much of anything, except how to avoid talking about it.

Arizona State University, Communication(s) Majors, and Prime Time Television

A joke on tonight's episode of The Simpsons about Arizona State University graduates got me thinking about all the other recent jokes about ASU I've seen. I don't know which writer(s) for The Simpsons went to Arizona State University (or maybe its rival University of Arizona!) and/or were Communication majors, but The Simpsons--more so than any other show I can think of--seems to slip in humorous references to the ASU and to communication majors. I've collected a couple of gems below and thrown in a few others from different shows.

In the first, Dr. Hibbert tries to console an injured college football player about life after football:

In the next clip, Ned Flanders mistakes Homer's "insider art" piece (which floods the town of Springfield) for the rapture, then, well, you'll see:

Not to be outdone, the brilliant show 30 Rock recently featured a jab at ASU:

Finally, although not prime time television, Saturday Night Live made with the funny at the expense of ASU for refusing to award President Obama an honorary degree when he spoke at commencement:

As the saying goes, "There's no such thing as bad publicity," although I'm sure many teachers and administrators would prefer to ignore its ranking as a party school. Anyway, my alma mater probably has more people thinking twice about attending not because of the above clips but because of its home state's recent legislative record, like SB 1070 (regarding illegal immigration), HB 2281 (outlawing ethnic studies courses), and HB 2562 (which would nullify the 14th amendment to the United States constitution, denying birthright citizenship to children and moving the state--in the minds of some--one step closer to seceding from the US altogether).

Nonetheless, I still recommend the university and the Ph.D. program in the Hugh Downs School of Human Communication to many of our SDSU students. I have great memories of its outstanding faculty and facilities. And I enjoy a chuckle or two, laughing with the other ASU graduates.

Grey Collars: The "Mechanics" of Teachings

Full disclosure: This isn't an entry about how to teach (hence the ironic quotes around the word "mechanics"). I like to tell the graduate student teachers that I train and supervise that teaching is like yoga. With yoga, if one thinks she's mastered a pose, she's not really doing yoga. Same with teaching. If she thinks she's mastered it and there's nothing to left to learn, she's not really teaching because, to me at least, teaching always includes learning.

Another simile occurred to me today while I was changing the air filter in our car. I initially thought, "No problem." I must have been thinking of a previous car I owned, in which the air filter was a simple, flat style wedge that slipped in and out of a similarly-styled cradle accessible under the hood. Two clips and you're done. However, I opened the hood and realized we have a cone-style filter, which requires more than simply popping a couple of clips. As it turned out, this replacement involved disconnecting tubes from housings and muscling other things out of the way.

Whenever I work on cars, our house, or do any sort of work with my hands, I often think of my Dad. He was a "do-it-yourselfer." He was also a car aficionado, "wrench head," whatever you want to call it, from his teenage years on--always souping up cars and doing repairs himself. When he got hurt and ended up in a wheelchair, I was the one actually doing the repairs on things he couldn't reach. Replacing this air filter, wriggling the housing from its nest of bolts, wires, and tubes, I found myself thinking, "Hmmm. How is working on a car like teaching?" I thought there were several similarities: taking care to assess the situation and your end goal, the approaches to get to that goal, paying attention to detail, problem-solving, etc.

Granted, one could probably liken teaching to just about any endeavor. But my reasons for these comparisons are more important than the comparisons themselves.You see, I was never really interested in the same things as My Dad; I was into literature, writing, and theatre. Laying on my back under our van, assembling parts and pieces that may as well have been from an alien spaceship for all I knew about them, I'd often try to find similarities between his interests and mine: Playwriting is like building an addition to a garage (which my brother and I actually did, in part, assisting a carpenter friend). Writing a story is like shingling a roof (did that, too). Writing a song is like replacing an alternator (yep). I came up with these comparisons to feel closer to him, and I realize I made these comparisons to help convince myself that my leisure pursuits were just as important, just as meaningful, and just as taxing as his.

We were a middle-class family, but all the manual labor I did growing up made me think of ourselves differently. My Dad, although a brake engineer at Ford Motor Company, seemed to me decidedly blue-collar. Growing up, I considered myself from a blue collar family. Thinking about teaching in a more blue-collar way helps me feel closer to him, and alleviates the inexplicable guilt I sometimes feel for doing a job that doesn't require me to use many of the skills he taught me. But teaching does require one to get her hands dirty, to roll up his sleeves and really do some taxing work. I have no misconceptions about that. I suppose my only misconception is that my Dad, were he alive, would somehow see what I do as less valuable than those tasks he and I shared.

In-Class Versus Online Teaching: A (Dis)Embodied Enterprise

I train and supervise the graduate student teachers in our department who teach the basic course (a hybrid of theory/overview and public speaking). I love the job; it's wonderful to see them grow as teachers, to gain reflexivity in their curricular concerns, and move on to teach other classes.

But one of the most difficult things for me is articulating what it is I know about teaching. I've been teaching at the university level for approximately 17 years, yet I have trouble distilling that experience into any sort of overarching list of guidelines, do's and don'ts, or rules. Sure, I can provide advice on specific situations, both real and hypothetical. And we have year-long training meetings, a lot of which consist of me fielding questions regarding classroom management, grading, handling difficult students, etc.

But, I'm not sure I even "know" anything about teaching. Rather, my difficulty in articulating what I know is due to where I know it: the body, my body. Simply, teaching is an embodied experience. That statement will not shock many of my colleagues, especially those in Performance Studies. There have been countless articles and books written at this intersection of embodied performance and teaching, so I'm not forging new ground here either.

But this embodied approach to teaching and learning is increasingly coming under fire (and ire) from administrators and those supporting a consumer-based model of education. I don't use the term "consumer" with too much derision, as I understand the practical value of such positioning. Adjunct teachers, especially, may benefit from a pay-per-student model of education, perhaps best served through online education. The adjunct teacher featured in this story earned upwards of $120,000. That's full professor money at some universities.

While I have taught online classes and recognize the good and bad of the "democatization" of the teaching enterprise--or, perhaps, the move toward a more capitalistic, customer-driven model of education--one thing was always missing: the embodied experience of teaching. I realize that online teaching may complicate or problematize the notion of embodiment rather than simply negate or erase embodiment. I do know, though, that what I "know" about teaching resides in my body, in the ways I feel and remember feeling in the classroom. And however I may articulate that knowledge, it takes other bodies in the classroom as well.