Yesterday, a minute before I was to leave my office, a student stopped in to ask if I could be the third member of her honors' thesis committee, who would be "meeting tomorrow for the defense."
It's a busy end of the term here, not just because of it being my last term, but also because of the workload. I've already served on two honors committees. I'm supervising 17 senior research projects. I've got portfolios from 21 students, and essay exams from 12 others. Also, I have an article to restructure. I've no business on last minute committees.
Naturally, I said yes.
The topic seemed interesting, and I've known the student through some of the causes happening on campus this year. It felt wrong to say no.
And now I've read the thesis, and I realize that there's a reason there was no third committee member. And worse, I don't think they could have been thinking about what my own research and interests are or they wouldn't have asked me to be on this because there's almost no way I can avoid shredding this.
What's frustrating, though, is that I tried to speak with the chair about this, and there seemed to be little recognition of the problems and even less interest in hearing out my difficulties so they might either prepare the student or their own defense of this. Because at the end of the day, a failed thesis defense - and that's what I think this might wind up being - is a failure of the committee.
Showing posts with label end of term. Show all posts
Showing posts with label end of term. Show all posts
How Much I Hate Writing Finals 2008
Because it was so cathartic last year:
75) The following citation represents what type of source:
Yupe, P & Aisle, P. (2008). Juvenile Humor Never Gets Old. New York: Pun & Bros.
A) magazine
B) book
C) film
D) personal communication
75) The following citation represents what type of source:
Yupe, P & Aisle, P. (2008). Juvenile Humor Never Gets Old. New York: Pun & Bros.
A) magazine
B) book
C) film
D) personal communication
Surfacing...
Just a break from finals grading which is, thankfully, getting done. This is unusual for me, as my tendency is to put it off as late as I possibly can.
A bit of good news here and there: it looks like my summer course is going to take. There might even be more people than the bare minimum needed. So now I need to revisit the syllabus next week and make sure it's doing what I want. The pay's a pittance, but every little bit helps. And since flights home are ridiculous - when I checked yesterday, they were over $800 which I hope was just some fluke of the days I tested.
There was a nice card from one of my students in my mailbox today, and another who stopped by to tell me how a year ago to tell me that a year ago they weren't sure they could continue here - or that they could make it. And now, it's time for them to graduate, and they wanted to say thanks for all the help. So I've got a little bit of swagger to help me through the grading, which is always nice.
Tomorrow, the plan is to grille - I've got a steak ready, and there'll be pico de gallo to spare. It feels like summer might actually be here.
But for now, back to the pile o' grading.
A bit of good news here and there: it looks like my summer course is going to take. There might even be more people than the bare minimum needed. So now I need to revisit the syllabus next week and make sure it's doing what I want. The pay's a pittance, but every little bit helps. And since flights home are ridiculous - when I checked yesterday, they were over $800 which I hope was just some fluke of the days I tested.
There was a nice card from one of my students in my mailbox today, and another who stopped by to tell me how a year ago to tell me that a year ago they weren't sure they could continue here - or that they could make it. And now, it's time for them to graduate, and they wanted to say thanks for all the help. So I've got a little bit of swagger to help me through the grading, which is always nice.
Tomorrow, the plan is to grille - I've got a steak ready, and there'll be pico de gallo to spare. It feels like summer might actually be here.
But for now, back to the pile o' grading.
RBOC: Finals Week
Madness and chaos abound. The Seniors don't know whether to run amok or back to their dorms in fear. And I'm too incoherent for anything like paragraphs, so...
- Mother's Day continues to bedevil me - the gift bought for Mom #2 well in advance online to be shipped and received has just gone up in smoke with a "oh, sorry, we don't have this in stock after all" e-mail. If I don't find something good tomorrow, it won't be pretty....
- an 8 a.m. final? Seriously? If 8 a.m. was honestly an option for me, don't you think I'd have a job that paid better?
- you know it's been a hell of a term when you find yourself thinking "Grading 42 papers in the next three days seems like a vacation."
- stopped by the Dean to congratulate me as it's been decided various things I've done have pushed the department's freshmen enrollment up. It's anecdotal, but I'll take it.
- sent an e-mail to the graduating seniors to facilitate some end-of-the-line things and made at least one student cry (in a good way)
- flickers of hope for the summer course - cross your fingers, as I'd like the pittance it pays
Anatomy of an End of Term Sunday
There's just something about the days at the end of the term that read like bad fiction.
Today wasn't bad, exactly, but it was filled with lots of little things. For example, while I got to lie in my bed with a bit of the sun on me and talk on the phone, at least one of the conversations was like watching someone else's root canal. The phone call was with one of the mothers, and true to form, roughly a half hour in, the grandchildren issue was raised in the best passive-aggressive way possible (I was informed that she'd had to resort to buying things for other people's children because none of her kids were doing their jobs). Because Mother's Day is coming, I refrained from telling any of the cruel "stop harping on this" sorts of tales that I might otherwise have.
And yet this evening, when I went to the post office to make sure my Mother's Day cards got in the mail, it wound up in an epic adventure because evidently working stamp machines are a thing of the past around here (and, incidentally, the ability to buy a single stamp must have been deemed outmoded). As if dealing with Mother's Day for two mothers who not only talk but compare notes wasn't bad enough, I need postal hassles as well.
At the grocery store, a whole list of items on my regular shopping list have vanished from the shelves: the cool, environmentally friendly laundry detergent, Peanut Lover's Chex Mix, and chorizo among them. But thank goodness I can purchase seven different kinds of Italian sausage. I'm so annoyed, I'd steal a line from Wednesday Addams about what those sausage are made from except for how it would make me sound.
This afternoon, I received an e-mail from one of the honor's students I'm working with - thankfully not the one I'm in charge of - telling me he'd have a draft of his thesis to me in the morning, and, oh, by the way, his defense is at 10 am. One of the great tragedies of e-mail is that typing out "Hahahahahaha! You're kidding, right? No? Get out." doesn't have the same effect as saying it in person.
Finally, tonight, joy of joys, the Ex Who Crushed Paris felt the need to again get in touch with me. This is a ongoing problem for me, and not just with this particular ex. I have enough ex-gf tales to fill a significant part of the book I'll one day seriously consider writing only to opt for a nap instead. And it isn't as though I'm particularly good at dating either. The only thing that's worked well in the past has been to fight fire with fire. My preferred message is one collect call at 3:30 or so in the morning for each unwanted communication (for best effect, let the operator choose the collect call carrier - ask them to pick one they've never had anyone request before).
Still, I've made it to the end of the day. The stars are out, the dog is sleeping, and the only thing left to be done is to send the e-mail promising to savage anyone who tries to get me into that defense. It'll be bloodier than a cannibal Thanksgiving.
(Isn't that the most disturbing .gif ever?)
Thank goodness summer will be here soon.
Today wasn't bad, exactly, but it was filled with lots of little things. For example, while I got to lie in my bed with a bit of the sun on me and talk on the phone, at least one of the conversations was like watching someone else's root canal. The phone call was with one of the mothers, and true to form, roughly a half hour in, the grandchildren issue was raised in the best passive-aggressive way possible (I was informed that she'd had to resort to buying things for other people's children because none of her kids were doing their jobs). Because Mother's Day is coming, I refrained from telling any of the cruel "stop harping on this" sorts of tales that I might otherwise have.
And yet this evening, when I went to the post office to make sure my Mother's Day cards got in the mail, it wound up in an epic adventure because evidently working stamp machines are a thing of the past around here (and, incidentally, the ability to buy a single stamp must have been deemed outmoded). As if dealing with Mother's Day for two mothers who not only talk but compare notes wasn't bad enough, I need postal hassles as well.
At the grocery store, a whole list of items on my regular shopping list have vanished from the shelves: the cool, environmentally friendly laundry detergent, Peanut Lover's Chex Mix, and chorizo among them. But thank goodness I can purchase seven different kinds of Italian sausage. I'm so annoyed, I'd steal a line from Wednesday Addams about what those sausage are made from except for how it would make me sound.
This afternoon, I received an e-mail from one of the honor's students I'm working with - thankfully not the one I'm in charge of - telling me he'd have a draft of his thesis to me in the morning, and, oh, by the way, his defense is at 10 am. One of the great tragedies of e-mail is that typing out "Hahahahahaha! You're kidding, right? No? Get out." doesn't have the same effect as saying it in person.
Finally, tonight, joy of joys, the Ex Who Crushed Paris felt the need to again get in touch with me. This is a ongoing problem for me, and not just with this particular ex. I have enough ex-gf tales to fill a significant part of the book I'll one day seriously consider writing only to opt for a nap instead. And it isn't as though I'm particularly good at dating either. The only thing that's worked well in the past has been to fight fire with fire. My preferred message is one collect call at 3:30 or so in the morning for each unwanted communication (for best effect, let the operator choose the collect call carrier - ask them to pick one they've never had anyone request before).
Still, I've made it to the end of the day. The stars are out, the dog is sleeping, and the only thing left to be done is to send the e-mail promising to savage anyone who tries to get me into that defense. It'll be bloodier than a cannibal Thanksgiving. (Isn't that the most disturbing .gif ever?)
Thank goodness summer will be here soon.
Suck it, Negativity
So it's the end of the term, I'm in the last long day of office hours for the next several months. It feels like someone is slowly, ever so gently driving a spike into my skull just above my left ear. But rather than succumb to the headache and the boredom of the last day, to the tendency to bust down the term with stark reflection, I'm going with the road less traveled: today's about what I've liked.
It's easy, actually, because I do enjoy this part of the term quite a bit - and not just because it's almost over. Maybe it's the grouping of students I get - students just starting and students finishing - but there is always a sense of change and excitement at this point of the year. I hope one thing that happens in this blog is that when I complain, it mostly isn't about the students. I like them. I like them here. I liked them at my last job. I liked them when I was teaching them in grad school. Yes, sometimes they're inconsiderate. Sometimes they're disinterested. Sometimes their work is so bad you feel like you're teaching writing at the University of Iowa (see this) . But I like them.
Last night, I got to help our seniors celebrate their passing a bit (as a side note, check out this band somehow when you get a chance), and it was a nice moment. It was good to see that they'd picked up some things. And it was good to see them before they'd accepted all the little rules and obsessions "grown up, working world" life is going to insist on.
Tomorrow, I get to congratulate our best and brightest and thank them and wish them well. I get to do it in a big public moment, and I'm excited for that. A lot of them are students I had my first year here. They're students I've been writing confidential reference letters for, busting out my best praise in prose for. I like that I get a chance to tell them in public what I've said about them to their future employers and teachers, to my colleagues and friends, for ages now: that I expect big things of them and that I wish them well.
I was teasing a student recently about how they make faces every time I give out the day's objectives. And they laughed and said yes, but they've not missed a class because they can see a change from one day to the next, and that - though sometimes a pain - makes it worth it.
So that's what I'm going to frame these last days with - if it's a pain but worth it for one of my students, it seems alright that it might be for me.
It's easy, actually, because I do enjoy this part of the term quite a bit - and not just because it's almost over. Maybe it's the grouping of students I get - students just starting and students finishing - but there is always a sense of change and excitement at this point of the year. I hope one thing that happens in this blog is that when I complain, it mostly isn't about the students. I like them. I like them here. I liked them at my last job. I liked them when I was teaching them in grad school. Yes, sometimes they're inconsiderate. Sometimes they're disinterested. Sometimes their work is so bad you feel like you're teaching writing at the University of Iowa (see this) . But I like them.
Last night, I got to help our seniors celebrate their passing a bit (as a side note, check out this band somehow when you get a chance), and it was a nice moment. It was good to see that they'd picked up some things. And it was good to see them before they'd accepted all the little rules and obsessions "grown up, working world" life is going to insist on.
Tomorrow, I get to congratulate our best and brightest and thank them and wish them well. I get to do it in a big public moment, and I'm excited for that. A lot of them are students I had my first year here. They're students I've been writing confidential reference letters for, busting out my best praise in prose for. I like that I get a chance to tell them in public what I've said about them to their future employers and teachers, to my colleagues and friends, for ages now: that I expect big things of them and that I wish them well.
I was teasing a student recently about how they make faces every time I give out the day's objectives. And they laughed and said yes, but they've not missed a class because they can see a change from one day to the next, and that - though sometimes a pain - makes it worth it.
So that's what I'm going to frame these last days with - if it's a pain but worth it for one of my students, it seems alright that it might be for me.
Once again, rough waters
So, somehow amidst all the madness, a job deadline slipped past for one that I think I stood as decent a shot as any at. All the wind's out of the sails again, which is just fine since the term's about to be over anyway.
My day today:
My day today:
- finished four conference paper reviews
- helped with last minute arrangements for celebration for our seniors that involves not only calming a colleague but a discussion with campus legal
- assisting two students with their Senior seminar projects (though I'm not teaching the seminar: I was just the only one in the building)
- gathering up all the soon-to-be-too-late papers and grading them
- agreement to serve on two honors committees (huh - they want to defend next week....lovely)
Winter interlude
It was enough today to
see Paris dreams in front
and the light setting on the snow
out of the side of my eye.
see Paris dreams in front
and the light setting on the snow
out of the side of my eye.
How Much I Hate Writing Finals
73) When will this exam end?
A) Never
B) at 2:14 a.m., Eastern time, on August 29th,
when SkyNet becomes self-aware
C) When the professor apologizes for the shamelessly
geeky reference in choice B.
D) Right....now.
A) Never
B) at 2:14 a.m., Eastern time, on August 29th,
when SkyNet becomes self-aware
C) When the professor apologizes for the shamelessly
geeky reference in choice B.
D) Right....now.
Cerebral jokes...
Why is it, no matter how much I plan, the end of the term always makes me feel a bit like this?
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