I used to dislike summers. Sounds strange to some, I know. I didn't like summers because school was out. Sounds even stranger, huh? Here's my reason: all my friends were gone, scattered, life was a little less structured, and I had to get a "real" job.
When I got to college, my initial thought was, "This is where I want to spend the rest of my life!" I was done with high school and not interested in going back (I haven't even been back to any reunions). But there was still my summertime blues.
When I became a college teacher and was able to teach in the summers, I got a bit of a respite: structure, social activity, students, and all the other benefits of summer (weather, for one). Now, however, it seems I'm busier during the summer than during the regular school year. How can that be? I suppose part of it is the gear-up: syllabi, orientation schedules for the Graduate Teaching Associates, and catching up on research. I kinda want the summers back now...
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Are there any original experiments in social behavior left?
If the Pulitzer isn't proof of an original thinker, what is? In Communication Studies, we often value building on the work others, even going so far as to do replication studies to test the reliability of the data garnered from a particular study. This doesn't seem to be the case of this social experiment in the name of journalism.
How to "fix" a basic communication course?
Well, not fix so much as refine, revise, and improve.
My colleagues and I did some work on our basic communication course this past year with a grant from San Diego State's Course Design Institute/People, Information, Communication, and Technology institute. Here's the presentation from the CDI YouTube channel. Thanks to Suzanne and the ITS/CDI crew!
I'm planning more changes for this year, though it's a bit daunting when considering the impact on the 5,000 or so students we get in the basic course every year. Imagine steering a very sensitive, 50 foot yacht--even the slightest adjustment will be felt relatively strongly by all the passengers, and given its size it may be more difficult to readjust as the trip goes on. I've never been "yachting" (in case you get any misconceptions about professors' salaries here at SDSU!), but that seems to me to be an apt metaphor.
At any rate, watch the presentation and you'll get an idea of the complexities of teaching 5,000 first-year students (probably about 96% of all first-year students at SDSU) in a large lecture/break-out format. Of particular interest to me is the use of the facebook study group, which just happened by accident this past Spring but I plan to use deliberately this Fall. The clickers to which I refer, course response systems from einstruction.com, also worked out well. I'm interested to hear from others who've used similar technology in their classes.
My colleagues and I did some work on our basic communication course this past year with a grant from San Diego State's Course Design Institute/People, Information, Communication, and Technology institute. Here's the presentation from the CDI YouTube channel. Thanks to Suzanne and the ITS/CDI crew!
I'm planning more changes for this year, though it's a bit daunting when considering the impact on the 5,000 or so students we get in the basic course every year. Imagine steering a very sensitive, 50 foot yacht--even the slightest adjustment will be felt relatively strongly by all the passengers, and given its size it may be more difficult to readjust as the trip goes on. I've never been "yachting" (in case you get any misconceptions about professors' salaries here at SDSU!), but that seems to me to be an apt metaphor.
At any rate, watch the presentation and you'll get an idea of the complexities of teaching 5,000 first-year students (probably about 96% of all first-year students at SDSU) in a large lecture/break-out format. Of particular interest to me is the use of the facebook study group, which just happened by accident this past Spring but I plan to use deliberately this Fall. The clickers to which I refer, course response systems from einstruction.com, also worked out well. I'm interested to hear from others who've used similar technology in their classes.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Liking your job too much...
I love my job. It's no secret. And even though my wife, Heather, often tells me I need to spend less time at the office, here am I on yet another holiday's eve (this one is July 4th) prepping for classes and getting some writing done. The main office is closed, all my colleagues are gone, and I'm reading about the Human Relations and Human Resources approach to Organizational Communication.
I find this more than a bit ironic. The Human Resources approach signaled a shift from a management attitude that assumed people didn't really want to work and needed to be closely monitored (for example, watching employees to make sure they're not chatting online) to an attitude of: "If you make the job fulfilling, people will want to work. In fact, it's human nature for people to need to be part of something bigger than themselves, like an organization."
So, here am I, needing to be fulfilled and finding my job fulfilling. But at what cost? I suppose it's the nature of this particular academic beast to work "overtime" prepping, grading papers, writing, and all the while thinking, "At least I don't have a 9 to 5 job." But when 9 to 5 becomes 8-6 or (like this past Spring semester) 7-10, it might be time to put things in perspective and get a hobby (again, something Heather tells me I should have). Ah well, at least the hallways are quiet.
I find this more than a bit ironic. The Human Resources approach signaled a shift from a management attitude that assumed people didn't really want to work and needed to be closely monitored (for example, watching employees to make sure they're not chatting online) to an attitude of: "If you make the job fulfilling, people will want to work. In fact, it's human nature for people to need to be part of something bigger than themselves, like an organization."
So, here am I, needing to be fulfilled and finding my job fulfilling. But at what cost? I suppose it's the nature of this particular academic beast to work "overtime" prepping, grading papers, writing, and all the while thinking, "At least I don't have a 9 to 5 job." But when 9 to 5 becomes 8-6 or (like this past Spring semester) 7-10, it might be time to put things in perspective and get a hobby (again, something Heather tells me I should have). Ah well, at least the hallways are quiet.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Do white people really love grammar this much?
I'm not sure I buy this, although I did spend some time marking such mistakes on graduate student theses this semester. Hmmm...
Friday, May 2, 2008
What will imitation get us? Playing With Identity in Classroom Performance
"For one of my class group presentations, the students created a game show. One of them was performing you being the host."
The graduate teaching associate who told me this seemed amused. And, on hearing about it, so was I. Imitation, as they say, is the sincerest form of flattery. I'm not sure that's what this student had in mind when he dressed and spoke like me, but I was game to find out.
In the large lecture this student attends, I asked him before class if he wanted to start things off in lecture...as me. Luckily, he was still had his shirt, tie, and glasses from the presentation. I turned over the mic and, without saying a word, took a seat and let him do his thing. He introduced himself as me, walked around the class reviewing different concepts we'd already talked about, and proclaiming himself a Detroit sports fan (which I do in lectures when providing examples of group cohesion: the Tigers--maybe not this year, though).
I'm happy to say he was hilarious. I'm not sure how good the imitation was, but I suspect that others would tell me this student's version of me was "spot on."
Now, here's the interesting thing. As I started the lecture for that day, I found myself painfully conscious of my own voice and gestures. Everything I did seemed to repeat what this student had just performed. "Do I really sound like this," I thought. "Does my body really move like this?"
This imitation, "mimesis" as Derrida might call it, enabled a sort of subversion of traditional teacher-student authority. By audiencing this playing with identity, the class explored ways I might not live up to the traditional classroom authority figure (of course, no one person can anyway). Considering I gave permission for this student to "play around," I'm not sure how subversive it might be considered. But it's probably one of the few ways it could be achieved in a 500-seat lecture.
What I'm more interested in is the pedagogy of this playing around. This student's performance prompted me to consider ways I may or may engage the students with my own classroom performance. It gave me an idea of how the student's might view me (albeit, a circumscribed view exaggerated for comedic effect). In short, he made me question the way I teach, which is always a good thing. I'd hate to stop learning when there's always something my students can teach me.
The graduate teaching associate who told me this seemed amused. And, on hearing about it, so was I. Imitation, as they say, is the sincerest form of flattery. I'm not sure that's what this student had in mind when he dressed and spoke like me, but I was game to find out.
In the large lecture this student attends, I asked him before class if he wanted to start things off in lecture...as me. Luckily, he was still had his shirt, tie, and glasses from the presentation. I turned over the mic and, without saying a word, took a seat and let him do his thing. He introduced himself as me, walked around the class reviewing different concepts we'd already talked about, and proclaiming himself a Detroit sports fan (which I do in lectures when providing examples of group cohesion: the Tigers--maybe not this year, though).
I'm happy to say he was hilarious. I'm not sure how good the imitation was, but I suspect that others would tell me this student's version of me was "spot on."
Now, here's the interesting thing. As I started the lecture for that day, I found myself painfully conscious of my own voice and gestures. Everything I did seemed to repeat what this student had just performed. "Do I really sound like this," I thought. "Does my body really move like this?"
This imitation, "mimesis" as Derrida might call it, enabled a sort of subversion of traditional teacher-student authority. By audiencing this playing with identity, the class explored ways I might not live up to the traditional classroom authority figure (of course, no one person can anyway). Considering I gave permission for this student to "play around," I'm not sure how subversive it might be considered. But it's probably one of the few ways it could be achieved in a 500-seat lecture.
What I'm more interested in is the pedagogy of this playing around. This student's performance prompted me to consider ways I may or may engage the students with my own classroom performance. It gave me an idea of how the student's might view me (albeit, a circumscribed view exaggerated for comedic effect). In short, he made me question the way I teach, which is always a good thing. I'd hate to stop learning when there's always something my students can teach me.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Ethnographically speaking...
I was invited to "translate" one of my articles into a Communication Currents column. Communication Currents is the National Communication Association's version of Psychology Today, except online. The editor, currently Joann Keyton, invites people who have recently published in a NCA journal to "translate" their scholarly article into something more accessible to a person outside of the discipline, a layperson.
My piece, "Smashing Stereotypes? Communicating Disability in Wheelchair Rugby," will up for a couple of months. You can find it here.
This idea appealed to me because like so many of the communication scholars I admire, Bud Goodall, Nick Trujillo, Amira DelaGarza, and Patricia Geist-Martin, I'm interested in the ways communication scholarship can be translated into books one might find on the shelves of Borders and Barnes and Noble.
The experience was a bit difficult, though, as I'm used to speaking in this language called "academia." Disciplinary territoriality, building walls around one's department for fear of invaders and intruders claiming to study the same thing the same way, has no doubt contributed to this ossification of our lingua franca here in the academy (see, I'm doing it again: "ossification," "lingua franca," good grief!). We don't get credit for learning the other, more widely spoken language of the popular press (at least not in communication). That leaves me tongue-tied.
My piece, "Smashing Stereotypes? Communicating Disability in Wheelchair Rugby," will up for a couple of months. You can find it here.
This idea appealed to me because like so many of the communication scholars I admire, Bud Goodall, Nick Trujillo, Amira DelaGarza, and Patricia Geist-Martin, I'm interested in the ways communication scholarship can be translated into books one might find on the shelves of Borders and Barnes and Noble.
The experience was a bit difficult, though, as I'm used to speaking in this language called "academia." Disciplinary territoriality, building walls around one's department for fear of invaders and intruders claiming to study the same thing the same way, has no doubt contributed to this ossification of our lingua franca here in the academy (see, I'm doing it again: "ossification," "lingua franca," good grief!). We don't get credit for learning the other, more widely spoken language of the popular press (at least not in communication). That leaves me tongue-tied.
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