teaching week one: the horror, the horrror (pt. 1).
For those of you who are unaware, this semester is my first in the classroom. I am Ms. Adams: the constructor of syllabi and dispenser of grading rubrics. I feel responsibility to 44 other souls (two sections of 22 students whose names I will never, ever get right) to whom I’ve become an intellectual parent. Suddenly I feel more relevant, more valuable. I see the world in a different light: the gentle luminsescence of sheer and complete terror.
Teaching on the college level has always been my career goal. For someone who gets their sense of worth from their work, this means I take teaching — along with writing — very seriously. My experience has been limited, but I’ve always enjoyed it when it comes my way. But this newest development isn’t subbing, it isn’t presenting, it isn’t assisting. It is straight-up teaching a college level course. My program has exceptional preparation and help for incoming TA’s, especially in comparison with what I’ve heard from other schools. Still, when I stand at the podium, I become a rambling, mumbling, spazzy, spacey teacher lady. Actual excerpts from my first week:
“I’m sorry…sometimes I just say things?” (Repeated three times in my first class)
Me: “Is [band x] anything like [band y]?” Student response: “No.” Me: “Cool.”
“I’m reasonable within reason.”
“I see you bought the new Coldplay album. That’s cool. I…am trying to come up with an anecdote for this and I can’t think of anything. People seem to like Coldplay. Oh, hey, have you ever seen Exras? Chris Martin was on that once. He was funny. There. Anecdote.”
“I, uh. Hm. Yeah. That’s funny. I, um. Yeah…yeah.” (Repeated daily at regular intervals.)
“Marx is a radical but he doesn’t want to throw that at his audience first thing. You know, it’s like, he’s all ‘Hey, proletariat! Know what sucks? Working in factories! Who else misses farming? We should kill the Czar!’” My paraphrase of the opening chapter of the Communist Manifesto was accompanied by what can only be described as my “dur-dur-dur” elbow dance. You know the one.
“[inaudible mumble]” My attempts to pronounce a third of my students’ names.
“So many of you are pre-med! But I guess everyone starts out as pre-med, huh?” Nervous laugh.
“Yes, Brandon.” Silence. “You’re Brandon right?” Silence. “Okay, sorry. Who are you?”
“Rhetoric is not only what you say but how you say it and saying in a way that communicates what you’re saying to other people. So, um, eloquence.”
I am Ms. Adams: the inscrutable. More to come and soon.
Filed under corrupting the youth, typical | Comments (2)oh webs, how i’ve missed ye.
Dear Blog,
I’m sorry to have been away so long. I promise you’ve been on my mind and the object of many a late night pining. I haven’t forgotten you, I’m simply without regular access to a computer and/or a reliable internet connection. I hope to remedy that this weekend.
I have so much I want to talk to you about! In your absence, I’ve begun reading books again. Books! Twice a week, I teach 44 freshmen how to think and write (according to the course description). I am equal parts enamored with and terrified of each of them. Many stories about that to come. I’ve acquired new music and watched new movies — I hardly know where to begin.
Don’t think any of these experience have or could replace what you and I share. I am eternally yours.
Love & Snuggles,
mka
possble life calling #4: pens.
Like most Millienials, the bulk of my writing happens on a screen. Like most English students/readers/inexplicably old souls, this vaguely bothers me. When I write academically, a computer is the obvious choice; when I write for myself, give me ink. And give it to me right.
There are few feelings more satisfying that holding a good pen. By “good,” I don’t neccessarily mean expensive or even nice. I mean a pen that is fit for the job. I’ve found that when I sit down with a standard Bic ball-point, my mood and therefore my writing takes on a certain tone; the same is true of a higher-quality fountain pen. This difference is not one that is measured on a better-worse scale, but on a Goldilocks scale. One’s too hot porridge might be another’s just right. One just has to know her tools.
So, I’ve decided that as I luxuriate in the wide, green fields of writing utensils, I’ll share my thoughts. It’s time for:
Get to Know Your Pens.
Today’s selection comes from a place I hate: Wal-Mart. No part of Wal-Mart pleases me, but the weakness of my flesh demands convenience. So, in the darkest moments of my soul/busiest moments of my day, I occassionaly am forced to go to Wal-Mart. After seeing their shoddy selection of pens, I might have discovered a new resolve. Both purchases today were new ones for me, and off-brands on top of that, but hey. I live on the edge.Â
First up:
The cello Silkë (in lieu of the long e signifier, I used a diaeresis. Not at all because it was a logical substitution, but because A) WordPress didn’t have the long e character and B) diaereses are badass.) is pretty much your standard, “let’s buy these and put them at the front desk ’cause we don’t mind if they get stolen,” Bic-quality ball point. Only prettier. At $2.44 for a pack of 24, I feel my expectations are reasonable.
Pros: It works, is super-cheap, and is aesthetically pleasing, especially when 24 of them are lined up together in the pack.
Cons: It does skip (not horribly so, but I was lied to, dammit), is super-cheap, and is too slender to hold comfortably for a long period of time, even with my little girl baby hands, 10 cents a piece is not enough to buy the luxury of telling me how to pronounce your product name.
Would I give/lend/or hide this pen: I’d give it. I have 24 of them. They aren’t bad at all, I might even buy them again when I need that sort of thing, but there wouldn’t be an attachment.
Next:
The INC. Magnatank is also inexpensive ($1.94 for a 5 pack) yet turns out to be a fairly good investment. If the above weren’t written for a screen, I would definitely use this pen to write in cursive. Usually, I am reluctant to get gel pens: in my experience they skip constantly, the gel can get lumpy, and they usually have rather broad points. I bought these on accident. They’re fine point (0.5mm) and have a ink well. They don’t act or look like normal gel pens except that they don’t bleed through the page (gel’s one redeeming feature).
Pros: Nice lines, useful colors (the 5 pack is assorted, but free of the dreaded and completely useless yellow pen), smooth writing.
Cons: Magnatank?! What a godawful name. Also, they look like spacepens, but not in a good way. And not to Goldilocks this one to death, but after holding the slight Silkë, this thing feels clumsy. Must be that SUPER HIGH VOLUME ink cartridge.
Give/Lend/Hide: Lend, defintely.
Filed under get to know your pens | Comments (2)