The first week of classes came and went, and while I cannot say I dove in head first the way I have in other semesters, I can say (to continue the aquatic metaphor) that I am happy that teaching will help keep me afloat for the coming weeks.
I am teaching a mere two courses this fall: Drama, an introductory course that is precisely in my specialty, but which I haven't taught in five years, and Commonwealth Lit, an upper-level course that is only tangentially related to my area of expertise.
Because of the discrepancy, I've been spending much of the summer prepping the latter course, and hoping the former course would take care of itself. And after the first week of class, that strategy seems to be paying off. I'll talk more about these two ideas--the still-energetic auto-pilot class, and the total challenge class, over the coming weeks, but right now, they're both looking to have their invigorating aspects. Because of the newness of the subject matter in the upper level class, discussions are crackling, theoretically sophisticated, and really just fun to be a part of. Part of this is the fact that as a comparative novice to the subject matter, I'm not afraids of going too far over the students' heads, and am therefore (I think) actually grappling with this challenging stuff with them--in some ways as peers who are with me in this learning experience.
For example, I am having them submit discussion questions the day they are due to have finished a major text, which i sort through, and then reassign in slightly edited and narrowed down form, for them to use as response paper prompts. I assumed that the first batch of discussion questions would need real shaping and guidance, but lo and behold, I had a glut of excellent questions, and indeed had to exclude some that were better quality than I expected of any of them. I had three or four back-ups in case theirs weren't up to par, and not only did two of mine get replaced with more compelling versions of the same idea, I ended up only using one of the ones I wanted, only because it used a reading that is assigned for Wednesday, and I wanted a way for them to get that reading into their responses if they wanted them to. Admittedly, I think they'll be a pretty talented bunch in the grand scheme, but I expected that to a degree, and even those expectations are already being exceeded.
In the other class, I am finding (in part because of the introductory nature of the topic) that the average performance level will be lower, but it is a bunch totally willing to participate. Which is good for a drama class. Discussions aren't yet reaching a high level (it's early), but virtually everyone in the class has spoken multiple times within the first several classes. In particular, a brainstorming session on how drama and theatre have different modes of communicating information that prose fiction, the students came up with a really great list that got right at the heart of some core generic issues that will guide the semester--and reading Susan Glaspell's "Trifles" along with the short-story version of the same narrative "A Jury of Her Peers,"--the students not only got straight to the heart of that comparatively simple story, but more importantly, got at the heart of how the two different generic media provided different rhetorical opportunities. While I am not expected incredibly high level work in this class, (the course isn't really required of anyone, and does comparatively little curricular work), I am looking forward to a stimulating, fun semester. Even if we are reading some gruesome work later on in the semester.
Anyway, the short version of all of this is that the first week of teaching is leaving me optimistic about what the remaining 14 weeks will hold in the classroom.
(Note: while I won't say too much about familial health care issues, suffice it to say, there's not much good news to report right now, so I'll just avoid that topic for the moment).
Monday, August 27, 2007
Sunday, August 19, 2007
New Beginnings
Tomorrow is the first day of classes, a day that I often think of as my own personal new year. A time for resolutions, for big plans, for new beginnings--courses, committees, a writing plan.
That's all starting tomorrow, but it's not at all what I've been thinking about most since my last post.
I've been thinking instead about my mother. My mother has, for all of my adult memory, and some of my adolescent memory, suffered what was presumably a chronic, and perhaps terminal illness, maybe two, of unknown designation. The rheumatoid symptoms presented in earnest in the early 90s, and the GI symptoms in the mid 90s. Things had gotten serious enough that she had ceased work, and regularly goes through week-long "flare-ups," which sometimes leave her completely homebound, and now happen with increasing frequency. The worst of them have her in excruciating pain, not holding down any food or water for days, before she finally was checks into the hospital for IV fluids and a course of steroids. Diagnoses (none ever confirmed) have included fibromyalgia, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, undifferentiated connective tissue disease, maybe scleroderma, IBS...Those are the things that haven't been postulated and then ruled out--celiac desease, crohn's, porphyria, lyme, the list goes on and on. At 55 years old, she's gone almost twenty years with debilitating symptoms and no firm diagnosis; she's down to 90 pounds, and that weight is hard to maintain, and she's been ill most of the summer.
I've gotten to the point where I'm almost blase when I hear she's been admitted to the hospital. "Keep me posted," I say to my dad, and I return to my business, vaguely apathetic, and vaguely resigned to my total powerlessness in her ongoing health saga.
Well, "Keep me posted" is exactly what I said about 10 days ago, but the hospital stay that started that day seemed not to be righting things, which prompted a visit to her specialist at the Very Famous Hospital not too far from her home (2 hours, give or take traffic). Suddenly, a new symptom was mentioned, a lightbulb went off, and her doctor admitted her immediately. Optimism flew across phone lines like the very best gossip. But alas, the initial test run on Friday proved his bright theory to be be another wrong guess. Yet, YET! it found something. Something maybe big. Something that the Rheumatologists and the GI specialists at Very Famous Hospital together think is a very likely diagnosis.
Very Famous Hospital is four hours from BRU, and so I spent much of the last two days with her, as she waits until tomorrow, when a crucial test will be run that could very well confirm a diagnosis, something she has never had, which will, in turn, confirm a course of treatment, which would wipe away years of scattershot, rube-goldberged prescription reginmens that may well be creating as many symptoms as they treat.
Today, I was taking her on a walk through the hospital, and at the elevator she said, "Last night, I went to sleep thinking something I haven't thought in ten years...That I might get better." At the moment, I was thrilled to see her so optimistic. As I thought about those words on the drive home tonight, they broke my heart, over and over again.
Tomorrow, I'll greet freshman embarking on a new beginning, the big adventure of college, and sophomores and juniors and seniors embarking on the beginning of another exciting semester, all of which I can control, facilitate, make possible. And 200 miles away, my mom's doctors will--whatever deity might will this sort of thing into existence--try to facilitate the new beginning mom's been praying for for decades. That she will get better, instead of worse. That she will get her life back.
If you're the praying type, do that. If you're the sending-good-wishes-into-the-universe type, do that too. If you're the type that thinks that such things are unscientific, and probably not actually helpful (as, admittedly, I tend to be), well, pray or send good thoughts into the universe, or whatever, anyway.
Tomorrow, I'll do my song-and-dance, complete with handouts, and I'll throw myself into teaching the way I always do. But damn if half of my thoughts won't be hoping for a great fall semester that has nothing to do with Drama or Commonwealth literature.
That's all starting tomorrow, but it's not at all what I've been thinking about most since my last post.
I've been thinking instead about my mother. My mother has, for all of my adult memory, and some of my adolescent memory, suffered what was presumably a chronic, and perhaps terminal illness, maybe two, of unknown designation. The rheumatoid symptoms presented in earnest in the early 90s, and the GI symptoms in the mid 90s. Things had gotten serious enough that she had ceased work, and regularly goes through week-long "flare-ups," which sometimes leave her completely homebound, and now happen with increasing frequency. The worst of them have her in excruciating pain, not holding down any food or water for days, before she finally was checks into the hospital for IV fluids and a course of steroids. Diagnoses (none ever confirmed) have included fibromyalgia, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, undifferentiated connective tissue disease, maybe scleroderma, IBS...Those are the things that haven't been postulated and then ruled out--celiac desease, crohn's, porphyria, lyme, the list goes on and on. At 55 years old, she's gone almost twenty years with debilitating symptoms and no firm diagnosis; she's down to 90 pounds, and that weight is hard to maintain, and she's been ill most of the summer.
I've gotten to the point where I'm almost blase when I hear she's been admitted to the hospital. "Keep me posted," I say to my dad, and I return to my business, vaguely apathetic, and vaguely resigned to my total powerlessness in her ongoing health saga.
Well, "Keep me posted" is exactly what I said about 10 days ago, but the hospital stay that started that day seemed not to be righting things, which prompted a visit to her specialist at the Very Famous Hospital not too far from her home (2 hours, give or take traffic). Suddenly, a new symptom was mentioned, a lightbulb went off, and her doctor admitted her immediately. Optimism flew across phone lines like the very best gossip. But alas, the initial test run on Friday proved his bright theory to be be another wrong guess. Yet, YET! it found something. Something maybe big. Something that the Rheumatologists and the GI specialists at Very Famous Hospital together think is a very likely diagnosis.
Very Famous Hospital is four hours from BRU, and so I spent much of the last two days with her, as she waits until tomorrow, when a crucial test will be run that could very well confirm a diagnosis, something she has never had, which will, in turn, confirm a course of treatment, which would wipe away years of scattershot, rube-goldberged prescription reginmens that may well be creating as many symptoms as they treat.
Today, I was taking her on a walk through the hospital, and at the elevator she said, "Last night, I went to sleep thinking something I haven't thought in ten years...That I might get better." At the moment, I was thrilled to see her so optimistic. As I thought about those words on the drive home tonight, they broke my heart, over and over again.
Tomorrow, I'll greet freshman embarking on a new beginning, the big adventure of college, and sophomores and juniors and seniors embarking on the beginning of another exciting semester, all of which I can control, facilitate, make possible. And 200 miles away, my mom's doctors will--whatever deity might will this sort of thing into existence--try to facilitate the new beginning mom's been praying for for decades. That she will get better, instead of worse. That she will get her life back.
If you're the praying type, do that. If you're the sending-good-wishes-into-the-universe type, do that too. If you're the type that thinks that such things are unscientific, and probably not actually helpful (as, admittedly, I tend to be), well, pray or send good thoughts into the universe, or whatever, anyway.
Tomorrow, I'll do my song-and-dance, complete with handouts, and I'll throw myself into teaching the way I always do. But damn if half of my thoughts won't be hoping for a great fall semester that has nothing to do with Drama or Commonwealth literature.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
On Not Blogging
After blowing my reserves on the Grad Compendium in June, I have noticed that I have been decidedly less enthusiastic about blogging the last few months. Part of the reason may be the fact that in the summer time, I've got longer chunks of time to devote to bigger projects, and I've been plugging away at a bunch of them. Certainly part of it is that I'm spending a great deal more time exercising, which comes with its own rewards, endorphins and weight loss and all. And part of it is that after four years of blogging, without much fanfare or huge reader numbers, I'm watching more and more folks pop onto the academic blogosphere and wax lyrical or amazed or creative or whatever about something that I've read about twelve times since I joined this community.
Oh, I'm not going anywhere, at least not right now, and I think academic blogging still has a great deal of use value, especially for grad students and new faculty who have so much information sharing and demystifying to do. And I actually feel like leaving the blog behind would be to leave behind friends for no real reason.
But right now, I feel like the blog needs a sense of purpose, and since I'm hardly the wittiest writer out there, and I'm not on anyone's brilliant blogger lists, and I'm not so politically plugged in to be using this space to activate citizens, that I've remained for this much time, another young professor adding to the wealth of narratives in cyberspace.
Anyway, the semester starts next week, and I'm busily copying syllabi and handouts, setting up WebCT spaces, reading ahead, and doing my annual report, so maybe Labor Day will roll around and this space will be popping with extra good stuff. But for now, I'm going to content myself with going back and checking out some of my better posts (and maybe resurrect some goodies from the old blog space) to remind myself why I like this activity, and lurking around other folks' spaces.
This psot is rambling on like a self-pitying wreck, so I'll just close up shop for tonight, and say that hopefully, I'll be back on board soon. See you around.
Oh, I'm not going anywhere, at least not right now, and I think academic blogging still has a great deal of use value, especially for grad students and new faculty who have so much information sharing and demystifying to do. And I actually feel like leaving the blog behind would be to leave behind friends for no real reason.
But right now, I feel like the blog needs a sense of purpose, and since I'm hardly the wittiest writer out there, and I'm not on anyone's brilliant blogger lists, and I'm not so politically plugged in to be using this space to activate citizens, that I've remained for this much time, another young professor adding to the wealth of narratives in cyberspace.
Anyway, the semester starts next week, and I'm busily copying syllabi and handouts, setting up WebCT spaces, reading ahead, and doing my annual report, so maybe Labor Day will roll around and this space will be popping with extra good stuff. But for now, I'm going to content myself with going back and checking out some of my better posts (and maybe resurrect some goodies from the old blog space) to remind myself why I like this activity, and lurking around other folks' spaces.
This psot is rambling on like a self-pitying wreck, so I'll just close up shop for tonight, and say that hopefully, I'll be back on board soon. See you around.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Now, 10% off!
The lingering effects of the cold are wearing away slowly, and I returned to the gym for the first time in almost two weeks. There I confirmed what I learned late last week: That I'd reached my weight loss goal for the summer: 10% of my body weight, or, at that point, 19.2 pounds.
Over the weekend, we did a little traveling (and had a wonderful visit with friends), and along the way hit an outlet mall with a playground for the kids to run around a bit. I ducked into the J. Crew outlet, which was having a sale, to try on some jeans, since 19 pounds of weight loss does not a good jeans fit make.
So I pulled a few pairs in a few cuts and a few sizes off the shelf, and discovered, gleefully, that I've dropped from a 35 waist to a 32 waist. This makes me happy in part for the obvious reasons, but also because I am a clothes horse, and the opportunity to purge clothes from my closet and replace with newer trimmer ones is really powerful.
This is precisely what we did last night. Now, I didn't get rid of every single piece of clothing, and nothing that was simply too big in the waist--those got folded up nicely and stored away for the someday that I may need a larger pair of pants. And while I was at it, I got rid of some old dress shirts that were the worse for wear, and some sweaters that looked like sack dresses these days.
Of course, what this means is that back-to-school shopping will need to commence in the coming weeks, and I've got a nice juicy list to pursue when I go. All of my cultural-studies misgivings aside, the impulse to shop for clothes that won't make me depressed about my body is really, really potent, and I'm itching to indulge that impulse.
Over the weekend, we did a little traveling (and had a wonderful visit with friends), and along the way hit an outlet mall with a playground for the kids to run around a bit. I ducked into the J. Crew outlet, which was having a sale, to try on some jeans, since 19 pounds of weight loss does not a good jeans fit make.
So I pulled a few pairs in a few cuts and a few sizes off the shelf, and discovered, gleefully, that I've dropped from a 35 waist to a 32 waist. This makes me happy in part for the obvious reasons, but also because I am a clothes horse, and the opportunity to purge clothes from my closet and replace with newer trimmer ones is really powerful.
This is precisely what we did last night. Now, I didn't get rid of every single piece of clothing, and nothing that was simply too big in the waist--those got folded up nicely and stored away for the someday that I may need a larger pair of pants. And while I was at it, I got rid of some old dress shirts that were the worse for wear, and some sweaters that looked like sack dresses these days.
Of course, what this means is that back-to-school shopping will need to commence in the coming weeks, and I've got a nice juicy list to pursue when I go. All of my cultural-studies misgivings aside, the impulse to shop for clothes that won't make me depressed about my body is really, really potent, and I'm itching to indulge that impulse.
Friday, August 03, 2007
On Teaching Explicit Material
This fall, I am teaching an Intro to Drama course that I haven't taught in five years, which means I'm reinventing large chunks of the course. One of the big changes is that I'm using a completely different anthology, one that has two texts that I'm thrilled to teach. One is Caryl Churchill's Cloud 9, a very funny late-70s play that takes on sexual politics with a comparatively light touch, but which violates any number of sexual taboos in the process. I've taught it before in my Brit II class with a fair amount of success, and it remains perhaps my favorite play (if I had to name one).
The second one is a riskier proposition: Sarah Kane's Blasted was famously reviewed by British drama critic Jack Tinker as a "disgusting feast of filth," (many reviewers have since recanted their initial negative reviews after Kane's death, after the positive enduring reception of her work, and after the revival of her small body of work) and is not only sexually brutal but also graphically violent.
I do have a point, and a major one, to make with these two plays, since the whole theme of the course is to think about the social function of the genre of drama, particularly as it contrasts with fiction and film. The liveness of explicit material, treated humorously or gruesomely as the case may be, exemplifies the mindsets of two major thinkers of 20th century theatre, Brecht and Artaud, both of whom were deeply concerned with theatre's ability to change minds. And remember, the title of this space is "To Delight and To Instruct." That very tension will run through the course.
But. BRU's average student is hardly cosmopolitan (though it certainly has some sophisticated students). This is an undergrad course, with slightly fewer than half of the students as majors. This is not a population just waiting to read texts like this. I don't want to move the plays from the syllabus, but I want to give them fair warning.
After a conversation with a close friend who is a magnificent teacher, I polished up a statement I want to include on my syllabus:
I know that there are those of you out there who teach explicit material to a variety of populations (cough), and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the matter.
The second one is a riskier proposition: Sarah Kane's Blasted was famously reviewed by British drama critic Jack Tinker as a "disgusting feast of filth," (many reviewers have since recanted their initial negative reviews after Kane's death, after the positive enduring reception of her work, and after the revival of her small body of work) and is not only sexually brutal but also graphically violent.
I do have a point, and a major one, to make with these two plays, since the whole theme of the course is to think about the social function of the genre of drama, particularly as it contrasts with fiction and film. The liveness of explicit material, treated humorously or gruesomely as the case may be, exemplifies the mindsets of two major thinkers of 20th century theatre, Brecht and Artaud, both of whom were deeply concerned with theatre's ability to change minds. And remember, the title of this space is "To Delight and To Instruct." That very tension will run through the course.
But. BRU's average student is hardly cosmopolitan (though it certainly has some sophisticated students). This is an undergrad course, with slightly fewer than half of the students as majors. This is not a population just waiting to read texts like this. I don't want to move the plays from the syllabus, but I want to give them fair warning.
After a conversation with a close friend who is a magnificent teacher, I polished up a statement I want to include on my syllabus:
For a few of the works later in the semester, notably Sarah Kane’s Blasted, and Caryl Churchill’s Cloud 9, you will encounter some images that you may find shocking or even disturbing. Both plays contain some taboo sexuality (although they treat it differently), and Blasted in particular contains some very graphic violence. As you approach these texts, I ask that you do your best to first try them out with an open mind. The point of including them on the syllabus is in part to explore how such material functions on the page vs. on the stage, and we’ll need to work toward having as open a conversation about these pieces as possible.
I know that there are those of you out there who teach explicit material to a variety of populations (cough), and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the matter.
Blogoversary, sort of
Although this blog is less than a year old, this is the fourth anniversary of my blogging life, the first 3+ years spent at another, now defunct space.
When I started blogging:
When I started blogging:
- I had not defended my dissertation.
- I was not a parent, though Willow and I were spending a lot of time thinking about doulas.
- I lived in the same apartment we'd been occupying for four years.
- I was 15 pounds heavier.
- I had one major publication.
- I barely knew what blogging was, let alone what the academic blogosphere looked like.
- I had never taught full-time before.
- I was still on Book 5 of HP.
- I had never visited Seattle.
- Most of my closest friends lived within 30 minutes drive.
- The best affordable local meal was not produced by a chain.
- There was hope for a one-term Bush presidency.
- My sister had just returned from very near Iraq.
- There was no such thing as Project Runway.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Laid Out
That's what this summertime bug has done to us all...knocked us out cold.
I think I'm over the worst of it, since tonight, finally, I feel about 90%. Rambunctious still has a runny nose, although he hasn't complained of symptoms in days, and his appetite seems to be back, which is one of my lingering symptoms. Willow still is coughing up a storm, which means she can't really sleep, and she's also had trouble with appetite. We really want to be better for this weekend's trip to a baby shower in Grad School City.
In the last week, though, I've barely left the house, haven't worked out at all, haven't taken care of the rapidly growing lawn. I had to cancel theatre tickets with a departing grad student tonight because between my germs and Willow's I felt I needed to be home tonight. I missed a soccer game on Tuesday, and am desperately hoping not to miss one tomorrow.
The only upside is that some work has gotten done...Both of my syllabi are now substantially drafted for an August 20 start date, I've finished the revision on my article, and am deep into editing the selections for the collection.
The worst news is that even though we've been spending all this time laying around in bed, the sore throats have kept us from going beyond the first five chapters of Harry Potter, and we can't keep the spoilers at bay forever!
The best news (and it is very good news) is that Willow just found out that she won a state-wide new writer's competition, judged by a very famous scholar who is not, as far as I know, a fiction writer. Still, over 100 entries, and hers was first! More kudos to her, of whom I am very proud.
I think I'm over the worst of it, since tonight, finally, I feel about 90%. Rambunctious still has a runny nose, although he hasn't complained of symptoms in days, and his appetite seems to be back, which is one of my lingering symptoms. Willow still is coughing up a storm, which means she can't really sleep, and she's also had trouble with appetite. We really want to be better for this weekend's trip to a baby shower in Grad School City.
In the last week, though, I've barely left the house, haven't worked out at all, haven't taken care of the rapidly growing lawn. I had to cancel theatre tickets with a departing grad student tonight because between my germs and Willow's I felt I needed to be home tonight. I missed a soccer game on Tuesday, and am desperately hoping not to miss one tomorrow.
The only upside is that some work has gotten done...Both of my syllabi are now substantially drafted for an August 20 start date, I've finished the revision on my article, and am deep into editing the selections for the collection.
The worst news is that even though we've been spending all this time laying around in bed, the sore throats have kept us from going beyond the first five chapters of Harry Potter, and we can't keep the spoilers at bay forever!
The best news (and it is very good news) is that Willow just found out that she won a state-wide new writer's competition, judged by a very famous scholar who is not, as far as I know, a fiction writer. Still, over 100 entries, and hers was first! More kudos to her, of whom I am very proud.
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