...if you recall my weak little post from the other day (here) I was venting a bit after a particularly frustrating day in class in which a very intelligent undergrad showed up all of the graduate students--yet again. I mean, he busted out with some Hebrew vocab! A student of this sort has been in every one of my graduate classes, it seems, and I'm going to venture to say that this has happened to just about every gradstudent out there--getting shown up, consistently, by a know-it-all undergrad.
What really bothers me is that I used to be one of them. My hand would shoot up before the question was even fully formed and my answer, even if half-baked, would be enough for the professor to lead me into its fully fledged form. (Recalling my undergrad days, and my pompous self-assuredness, I shudder to think what my fellow students thought of me. )
I've had this in my own classroom, of course. Sometimes it's a relief (at least someone is entering discussion) but oftentimes I want to finish my questions with "anyone other than...?" It can be a frustration as well as an excuse for other students:
frustration: I really want to say something, but I'm not sure how to articulate it. By the time I think of a decent sentence, the question has been answered and we're moving on.
Excuse: Why do I need to bother talking or adding my two cents, when dude will do it for me?
Depending on the day, I can include myself in either category.
* * *
My final undergrad semester, I took an upper level English lit course with my sister. On the first day, she leaned over and whispered: Look at all the grad students--they always sit in a pack and no matter what they say, they're just repeating what the teacher has said, or some critic.
And four years later, here I am. Front row: Grad students only. I am frantically searching in the extra notes I took for the sole purpose of outdoing this kid (though I'm trying to look thoughtful and deliberate as I do so). In the meantime he raises his hand, sounds out his answer on the spot without eventhinking about it*, and its a go. On to the next stanza...
*well, I'm sure he thought about it. But he wasn't racking his brain for the best way to articulate it, and coming up with back up defenses just in case...
Where is my own head? What happened to my own thoughts? Didn't I come into this with genuine questions and lots of curiosity? What am I so afraid of? It's possible that I have been contorted by my own competitive zeal, and now, rather than being self-confident, I am overthinking everything.
But why? This is embarassing...[allow me to digress for just a moment]
I have the teacher evaluation sheet nearly memorized. When I talk in front of my classroom, I keep it in mind almost constantly. I have this paranoid (okay, delusional) fear that my students do, too. Yes, I know--half of them don't even realize that teacher evaluations exist (despite the specific entry on the course schedule). Some of this has translated into my life as student. I imagine my professors tallying up my comments in discussion (okay, delusional), making notes here and there "Beeyotch unable to recognize simple pronoun antecedent..." or "completely out of touch with the text..."
I don't know where it came from, but I do believe I've got a genuine case of discussion anxiety. I don't mind expressing my thoughts and interpretations on paper (er, screen); the process is often exciting and rewarding. But when I've got to just spout out answers and defend the holes that are poked in them, I crack up into little stuttering pieces of nonsense.
Showing posts with label graduate grumbles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label graduate grumbles. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Who gets the short end of the stick?
Before I became a teaching assistant, I completed a year of graduate school. Many of my peers, however, hit the ground running with a section of Comp One in addition to their first semester's load of classes. I don't really know how they did it. In my experience, I certainly needed at least a semester to readjust to being back in school, not to mention working at the graduate caliber. Then again, I don't know how any of us do it, any semester. It's grad school: if it's not tough and make-you-wanna-cry challenging, you ought to check the manual under "operator error". Each semester yields new challenges and you've either got to meet them head-on every time, or run home with your tail tucked between yer legs.
But if the challenge is teaching a class in addition to the graduate course load, is there a short end of the stick? In other words, do students suffer at the hands of too-green gradstudent teaching assistants? In a recent hallway conversation with me, a member of the composition faculty insinuated this. My immediate response was to become defensive, but the question struck me, and has been bothering me ever since. Allow me to ruminate, though I must warn you in advance that I'm not coming to any concrete conclusions here.
Admittedly, I have felt unqualified in front of my students. I feel self-conscious about the fairly small age gap between myself and some of my students, particularly when I sensed their awareness of it. There's been times I've been flustered at the front of the classroom; times I've had to admit to not knowing the answer; times I've had to correct a mistake I made on a handout, or in something I said. Guess what? I've seen my professors do these same things--and I didn't hold it against them, or feel cheated. In fact, I emulate these same professors in my own teaching.
While I am obviously more prone to beginner's mistakes, I make up for this because I always follow up with students. I might not know the answer off the top of my head, but I'll find out and letcha know, thats for damned sure. If I've given misinformation, I admit it to the entire class. I take advantage of the apparently small age gap between myself and students, and as a result I've connected with them; brought them into eye-opening discussion; shown them the vast world that is writing, and the one that writing can bring. My students are able to write in several different genres, from rhetorical analyses to music reviews to business letters. There are plenty of challenges in my classroom, and there's an assload of writing. And a lot of laughing.
Let's not forget the potential detriment, in this situation, to the graduate student. Because I am a graduate student, I hold myself to a higher standard of discipline and polish for any of my projects; my classroom is no exception. I am often suspicious that I work harder on my classes than most of my students do. My peers are no exception. Throwing ourselves in front of the proverbial train to please our students, we often spend more time on lesson plans and assignments than our own studies. We fill up the computer lab compiling assignments, grading papers and answering emails--of course, there's the occasional contest as to whose student has the best excuse for not being in class. We work damned hard for a small stipend (a third of which goes to our general fees each semester). Several of us take holiday jobs to help pay for our books and the mandatory health insurance. So, really, who's being cheated? The composition student who wants to get by with the least amount of work possible, or the TA blamed for that student's laziness?
But if the challenge is teaching a class in addition to the graduate course load, is there a short end of the stick? In other words, do students suffer at the hands of too-green gradstudent teaching assistants? In a recent hallway conversation with me, a member of the composition faculty insinuated this. My immediate response was to become defensive, but the question struck me, and has been bothering me ever since. Allow me to ruminate, though I must warn you in advance that I'm not coming to any concrete conclusions here.
Admittedly, I have felt unqualified in front of my students. I feel self-conscious about the fairly small age gap between myself and some of my students, particularly when I sensed their awareness of it. There's been times I've been flustered at the front of the classroom; times I've had to admit to not knowing the answer; times I've had to correct a mistake I made on a handout, or in something I said. Guess what? I've seen my professors do these same things--and I didn't hold it against them, or feel cheated. In fact, I emulate these same professors in my own teaching.
While I am obviously more prone to beginner's mistakes, I make up for this because I always follow up with students. I might not know the answer off the top of my head, but I'll find out and letcha know, thats for damned sure. If I've given misinformation, I admit it to the entire class. I take advantage of the apparently small age gap between myself and students, and as a result I've connected with them; brought them into eye-opening discussion; shown them the vast world that is writing, and the one that writing can bring. My students are able to write in several different genres, from rhetorical analyses to music reviews to business letters. There are plenty of challenges in my classroom, and there's an assload of writing. And a lot of laughing.
Let's not forget the potential detriment, in this situation, to the graduate student. Because I am a graduate student, I hold myself to a higher standard of discipline and polish for any of my projects; my classroom is no exception. I am often suspicious that I work harder on my classes than most of my students do. My peers are no exception. Throwing ourselves in front of the proverbial train to please our students, we often spend more time on lesson plans and assignments than our own studies. We fill up the computer lab compiling assignments, grading papers and answering emails--of course, there's the occasional contest as to whose student has the best excuse for not being in class. We work damned hard for a small stipend (a third of which goes to our general fees each semester). Several of us take holiday jobs to help pay for our books and the mandatory health insurance. So, really, who's being cheated? The composition student who wants to get by with the least amount of work possible, or the TA blamed for that student's laziness?
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Election season rant
There are some issues that align me with liberal thought; my stance on other issues apparently put me in a Republican camp. I'm rarely black and white, except on issues that are against abortion and gay marriage (I'm against those). Obama's a'ight, and I'm looking forward to the changes that his presidency will bring. On the other hand, I don't think that Sarah Palin should be mocked to the extent that she has been. It's kind of like a blond joke, or a Polish joke. They're not really appropriate, ever, and they're definitely old. Really old. *There, I said it.*
Although I keep myself informed, I don't enjoy discussing politics, and I'm quite relieved that the election is over. TAs can stop ranting in the cubicles we all share; students can stop repeating things--with hands on their hips, essentially--they've overheard their parents or their roommates say; and professors can stop hinting towards, or blatantly announcing, their political agendas in class.
I was keeping pretty quiet over here in my little corner, feeling like I didn't have a dog in this fight, until I read this post from BitchPhd (click here). Granted, its obnoxious to have students wave around vague statistics about some political point--I know of one in particular from a previous semester who managed to somehow write into every paper something to the effect of 'America is the greatest place on earth and everyone should stop picking on us'. It was difficult, I admit, to stick to grading grammar and communicative skills in those moments. However, what I've run into much more often in my academic career, is the professor tying their political agendas into their lectures (some more subtly than others).
But there's only a few available reactions to a professor moseying off-course to make a random comment about political affairs:
Although I keep myself informed, I don't enjoy discussing politics, and I'm quite relieved that the election is over. TAs can stop ranting in the cubicles we all share; students can stop repeating things--with hands on their hips, essentially--they've overheard their parents or their roommates say; and professors can stop hinting towards, or blatantly announcing, their political agendas in class.
I was keeping pretty quiet over here in my little corner, feeling like I didn't have a dog in this fight, until I read this post from BitchPhd (click here). Granted, its obnoxious to have students wave around vague statistics about some political point--I know of one in particular from a previous semester who managed to somehow write into every paper something to the effect of 'America is the greatest place on earth and everyone should stop picking on us'. It was difficult, I admit, to stick to grading grammar and communicative skills in those moments. However, what I've run into much more often in my academic career, is the professor tying their political agendas into their lectures (some more subtly than others).
But there's only a few available reactions to a professor moseying off-course to make a random comment about political affairs:
- You agree with them. You smile, nod, maybe laugh, and continue listening. Nothing is written down in your notes, except perhaps "cf. Obama's campaign" which, later, means little to you in the larger spectrum of understanding European history, or what have you.
- You don't get it. You smile, nod, maybe laugh, and continue listening. Nothing is written down in your notes, except perhaps "comment made about George Bush...look up later"
- You disagree. You grimace, you check your watch. Maybe you smile politely, or just look out the window. You feel like an outsider because everyone else is smiling and nodding, whether they get it or not. Nothing is written down in your notes.
- None of the above. Rather than being concerned about whether you agree or disagree, you just don't find it germane to the discussion and would like to continue with the class that you've spent time preparing for.
Sometimes, depending on the severity or outlandishness of the comment, a disagreeing student is left unable to concentrate. A professor once joked about running for governor in ________. He/she said that their #1 platform would be to ensure that all Vietnam Veterans are tried as war criminals.
Blood. Boiling.
It was everything I could do to not get up and walk out of class. But I relied on this professor for a letter of recommendation. Biting my lip, I focused on writing the alphabet down--that is, until I broke the tip of my pencil. I consoled myself with the irony of the fact that the very reason I was able to afford being in this class to hear this bullshit was because of my father's "Bloodmoney" from chapter 35 of the G.I. bill. It was filtering into the university system and into this professor's paycheck. Don't worry, lunch is on my dad. Eventually, the professor concluded the rant and returned to the subject matter at hand (which, by the way, was in no way related to the remark about veterans). By that time, however, I was unable to concentrate on the discussion. My notes from that day are sparse and incoherent. *
This example is one of the worst possible outcome of talking politics in the classroom; albeit an extreme case. Why even go down that road? I don't make my political bents known to my students. It's not that I care whether they like me or dislike me because of it, it's that it does not apply to the subject matter of my classroom. Nothing a professor has ever said in a classroom, politically, whether I agreed or not, has informed my own opinions. It is a wasted minute of my education, as I see it, and I want it back.
*Later that week I swallowed my nerves and my potential letter of recommendation (because you see, professors, while students are not afraid of disagreeing with you on the outcome of a poem, they certainly don't want you to know that they disagree with your politics). I went to this professor's office to discuss the comment. I certainly did not imagine trying to sway opinions, or create a debate. I simply explained that comments of this nature prohibited me from concentrating on the lecture. Apparently, this was the right angle to play. To my knowledge, no Vietnam veteran comments have been made in this prof's classroom since this discussion about three years ago.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The end is in sight
...and I can tell because I've spent the morning systematically destroying my fingernails, checking my Facebook, online Christmas shopping, typing random letters into http://www.acronymfinder.com/ and perusing blogs, academic and non-academic alike. Unfortunately, I rearranged my wrapping paper and gift bag assortment at the end of last semester, so that leaves me with alphabetizing CDs and DVDs (or arranging according to genre) or cleaning the microwave. *shuddering*
Despite my lolly gagging, I have begun a convincing list of sources for two upcoming papers and, with any luck, might just have abstracts prepared for two upcoming submission deadlines. I'm wondering if I'll send them, though. I hear about these conference things, and what great experiences they are and how nicely they pad a CV. I've got two under my belt but--aside from the little lines they occupy on my CV--they're pretty shallow notches. It seems that these are places where academic bigwigs rub elbows and share intellectual nods--worse yet are the graduate students, you know, with their theoretical jargon and their khaki pants (kids these days). They seem to know the game.
Then there's me. I attend these conglomerations with the same confused expression as someone at their first salsa lesson: its scary, it looks painful and I have no idea what the steps are. I smile, nod, shake hands, read my paper, smile again, and look forward to getting back to the hotel bar. Maybe I should buy khaki pants. I do enjoy listening to panels, and either making mental notes of how to adopt a speaker's excellent personal presentation or feeling relieved that at least I didn't grimace as badly as that dude.
Is there a limit to how many conference presentations one should have? A graduate student friend once told me not to go to too many conferences, because it looks bad on a CV. This confused me. Can anyone corroborate this advice?
...tap left on the first beat, step forward on the same foot, rock back onto the right foot...
Despite my lolly gagging, I have begun a convincing list of sources for two upcoming papers and, with any luck, might just have abstracts prepared for two upcoming submission deadlines. I'm wondering if I'll send them, though. I hear about these conference things, and what great experiences they are and how nicely they pad a CV. I've got two under my belt but--aside from the little lines they occupy on my CV--they're pretty shallow notches. It seems that these are places where academic bigwigs rub elbows and share intellectual nods--worse yet are the graduate students, you know, with their theoretical jargon and their khaki pants (kids these days). They seem to know the game.
Then there's me. I attend these conglomerations with the same confused expression as someone at their first salsa lesson: its scary, it looks painful and I have no idea what the steps are. I smile, nod, shake hands, read my paper, smile again, and look forward to getting back to the hotel bar. Maybe I should buy khaki pants. I do enjoy listening to panels, and either making mental notes of how to adopt a speaker's excellent personal presentation or feeling relieved that at least I didn't grimace as badly as that dude.
Is there a limit to how many conference presentations one should have? A graduate student friend once told me not to go to too many conferences, because it looks bad on a CV. This confused me. Can anyone corroborate this advice?
...tap left on the first beat, step forward on the same foot, rock back onto the right foot...
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
[In]experienced teaching
My mother unintentionally, but quite directly, gave me a great piece of advice/comfort over the weekend. She hadn't even heard my insecure musings about teaching a new class, and being a newb in general (*shuddering* Mom, are you reading my blog?). Basically she called out of the blue to talk to me about how experience is a teacher's best weapon, and that we can only really learn the success rate of a given discussion or assignment after we've tried it a few times.
*Rolling eyes as one can only roll eyes at mother* So my mom says that what I need is experience. I knew that! But she went on (I had no part in this conversation, by the way) and said that this is not to say that inexperienced teachers are inherently unsuccessful, of course not. Slightly more encouraging. What will carry me through in the meantime, she says, is consistent and insistent enthusiasm, plus lots of energy. Its contagious, keeps the kids awake, and might make them wonder--what's so great about writing, that she's so excited about it?
Obviously, there's other stuff involved. Writing theory, rhetoric; Pathos, Ethos and Abedneg--wait, wait, sorry. D'Artagnon. I've read it, taught it, but in the end I need to draw from what I know about writing. There needs to be more of it. So, my students write a lot. They certainly write more than they read. They talk about what they read about, and then write about what they talked about. They write in all sorts of different forms, to different audiences. And I comment back, in detail, on every single thing that they write. I love it. It's my favorite part of the job.
This year I am really honing in on discussion skills, and *gasp* its working! Is it the students? Is it me? They never did this last year! Today, I couldn't get them to stop talking. Hands were raised, everywhere I looked; faces were engaged, pencils were scribbling; they were looking at one another and responding to each other...what a rush. The only student who sits out and spends the entire time connected to her blackberry, or rolling her eyes, is the daughter of my high school dean. Oh, the irony.
So, back to enthusiasm-it's all I got; on a startling majority of my semester evaluations, students write that they appreciate my enthusiasm. I am still not entirely sure what this means. In fact, I'm not really sure exactly how to take those evaluations, what with the scantron and the "strongly agree/disagree" survey. Ick. There are some random odds and ends in written section that make me smile, but rarely anything about any of the assignments. Let's face it: by the time the students have filled out all those bubbles, they've reverted to standardized test mode and quit doing any thinking. So, this got me to thinking...
(whoops! more digressions)
The folks into student portfolios like to have a reflective letter included to serve as a 'road map' of the writings contained in the collection. This is nice. It's kind of a 'feel good' read for the teacher, in which the student talks about how much they learned, and how great an experience it was, and how much more they enjoy writing now, and how they've grown as a writer.
Yada...
Yada..
Yada.
Then, for the next portfolio at the end of the semester, they turn in the exact same letter. I've had it happen. Several times.
I'm sick of reflective letters. I'm sick of trying to patch assignments together based on theoretical methods of extracting the perfect reaction from students. I've already put them together, and assigned them--hell, a coupla semesters now. I can gauge, roughly, the success of the assignment based on the students writing, but what about their opinion of the scaffolding exercises? Did they make sense? Did they feel the discussion/reading/writing in class helped them for the larger assignment?
I'm desperate for honest feedback from the only people who really know my assignments--my students. So, for at least this semester--or until I gain some experience--I am coming up with a set of questions, specifically in reference to the latest assignment, for my students to answer anonymously. Typed. Optional, hell. No pressure, just give me some effin feedback.
*Rolling eyes as one can only roll eyes at mother* So my mom says that what I need is experience. I knew that! But she went on (I had no part in this conversation, by the way) and said that this is not to say that inexperienced teachers are inherently unsuccessful, of course not. Slightly more encouraging. What will carry me through in the meantime, she says, is consistent and insistent enthusiasm, plus lots of energy. Its contagious, keeps the kids awake, and might make them wonder--what's so great about writing, that she's so excited about it?
Obviously, there's other stuff involved. Writing theory, rhetoric; Pathos, Ethos and Abedneg--wait, wait, sorry. D'Artagnon. I've read it, taught it, but in the end I need to draw from what I know about writing. There needs to be more of it. So, my students write a lot. They certainly write more than they read. They talk about what they read about, and then write about what they talked about. They write in all sorts of different forms, to different audiences. And I comment back, in detail, on every single thing that they write. I love it. It's my favorite part of the job.
This year I am really honing in on discussion skills, and *gasp* its working! Is it the students? Is it me? They never did this last year! Today, I couldn't get them to stop talking. Hands were raised, everywhere I looked; faces were engaged, pencils were scribbling; they were looking at one another and responding to each other...what a rush. The only student who sits out and spends the entire time connected to her blackberry, or rolling her eyes, is the daughter of my high school dean. Oh, the irony.
So, back to enthusiasm-it's all I got; on a startling majority of my semester evaluations, students write that they appreciate my enthusiasm. I am still not entirely sure what this means. In fact, I'm not really sure exactly how to take those evaluations, what with the scantron and the "strongly agree/disagree" survey. Ick. There are some random odds and ends in written section that make me smile, but rarely anything about any of the assignments. Let's face it: by the time the students have filled out all those bubbles, they've reverted to standardized test mode and quit doing any thinking. So, this got me to thinking...
(whoops! more digressions)
The folks into student portfolios like to have a reflective letter included to serve as a 'road map' of the writings contained in the collection. This is nice. It's kind of a 'feel good' read for the teacher, in which the student talks about how much they learned, and how great an experience it was, and how much more they enjoy writing now, and how they've grown as a writer.
Yada...
Yada..
Yada.
Then, for the next portfolio at the end of the semester, they turn in the exact same letter. I've had it happen. Several times.
I'm sick of reflective letters. I'm sick of trying to patch assignments together based on theoretical methods of extracting the perfect reaction from students. I've already put them together, and assigned them--hell, a coupla semesters now. I can gauge, roughly, the success of the assignment based on the students writing, but what about their opinion of the scaffolding exercises? Did they make sense? Did they feel the discussion/reading/writing in class helped them for the larger assignment?
I'm desperate for honest feedback from the only people who really know my assignments--my students. So, for at least this semester--or until I gain some experience--I am coming up with a set of questions, specifically in reference to the latest assignment, for my students to answer anonymously. Typed. Optional, hell. No pressure, just give me some effin feedback.
Monday, August 25, 2008
My biggest regret: I said "yada yada" too much today.
I meant well when I got out of bed this morning, I really did. But the day was reluctant to play along. In the end, I felt triumphant--I mean, it was the first day, after all. I made it through.
First: Work. I was standing patiently, listening to my boss's instructions for a special therapy on a patient. This patient, whom I have known for some time, studies me for a moment then says, "Well, you must be well adjusted to married life--you sure do listen well."
Second: School. I got one of my first doses of outright competitive rudeness. I mentioned that I was dreading a class. Although I was referring only to its time slot (it is a late seminar), a young lady asks, "Oh, you don't like that it's old ?" I couldn't help getting ye olde vibe that she thought I couldn't handle *gasp* 17th century poetry. Ergh. I'm not a grad school grudge holder, and I don't think I can measure my worth by comparing how far back my literary tastes lie, but I couldn't help following her question with a very direct, "Where were you when we were studying Chaucer?"
Third: The mail on the counter. My suspicions were confirmed that I should take the GRE again. I mean, don't get me wrong--it was a'ight. But just that. A'ight. I had certainly hoped to do better on the analytical writing section.
All in all, it was a pretty good first day--I mean, I didn't black out. Once I was in the classroom teaching, the lights turned on and the performance began (I never considered myself a class clown until I was the one teaching the class:). The crowning achievement was my epiphany on the way home for a very fun and challenging opening assignment for my Comp II class (to replace the rather bland and insecure one I had initially considered).
Now I fear nothing. I have a plan!
First: Work. I was standing patiently, listening to my boss's instructions for a special therapy on a patient. This patient, whom I have known for some time, studies me for a moment then says, "Well, you must be well adjusted to married life--you sure do listen well."
Second: School. I got one of my first doses of outright competitive rudeness. I mentioned that I was dreading a class. Although I was referring only to its time slot (it is a late seminar), a young lady asks, "Oh, you don't like that it's old ?" I couldn't help getting ye olde vibe that she thought I couldn't handle *gasp* 17th century poetry. Ergh. I'm not a grad school grudge holder, and I don't think I can measure my worth by comparing how far back my literary tastes lie, but I couldn't help following her question with a very direct, "Where were you when we were studying Chaucer?"
Third: The mail on the counter. My suspicions were confirmed that I should take the GRE again. I mean, don't get me wrong--it was a'ight. But just that. A'ight. I had certainly hoped to do better on the analytical writing section.
All in all, it was a pretty good first day--I mean, I didn't black out. Once I was in the classroom teaching, the lights turned on and the performance began (I never considered myself a class clown until I was the one teaching the class:). The crowning achievement was my epiphany on the way home for a very fun and challenging opening assignment for my Comp II class (to replace the rather bland and insecure one I had initially considered).
Now I fear nothing. I have a plan!
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
GRE
I went in with two personalities. One me said, you've got this in the bag; the other me said, you can always take it again. It was a lot less intimidating than going in to the LSAT--no 100 yard long line curling about in the lobby, no thumbprint. Just a couple of chairs and some smiling, helpful faces at the counter. Nonchalant. Go ahead, take your silly test.
I can't really just go in my sweats, though it may be the comfortable route. Casual chic suits me better for these occasions. So, I went in my "new" jeans. See, I got a few pairs from my sister-in-law last May that I had to bend laws of physics to fit into. A few carrots and push ups later, they're my new comfy jeans. A feeling of accomplishment, just by getting dressed. I'm already winning.
I love that they give me ear plugs and giant headphones--I felt like I was gearing up at the shooting gallery (my dad will be proud). How did I do? Well, instead of feeling like crying with shame at the end of it, I felt like laughing at my own ridiculousness-trying to pummel through 8th grade algebra. I felt like one of those really awkward little kid ballerinas, you know--those ones who scrunch up their hands and shoulders into something vaguely reminiscent of first position. That's what I look like trying to do math. A giraffe with strep throat. I could go on. When I told my friend my quantitative score, she straight up laughed at me. So the ridiculousness wasn't just me.
Verbal? A'ight. Just a'ight. I'll wait to see my percentile writing before I decide to take it again. Writing section? I thought I made some very compelling arguments and analyses...whether the graders feel the same remains to be seen. The hard part is over though. Now I know the staff, I know the layout. I can even bring my own earplugs--actually no, they probably wouldn't allow that.
And just for the record, I must be a glutton for punishment because I went to the dentist's office right after the test. Or I might just be sick, because my dentist office's staff always cheers me up. I love those gals (Note: these are not the evil wenches from the oral surgeon's office). They tell me to take more yoga because my jaws won't unclench, and now I have to get some weird "bite plate" thing. They said I can't just use an athletic mouthguard. (I asked).
I can't really just go in my sweats, though it may be the comfortable route. Casual chic suits me better for these occasions. So, I went in my "new" jeans. See, I got a few pairs from my sister-in-law last May that I had to bend laws of physics to fit into. A few carrots and push ups later, they're my new comfy jeans. A feeling of accomplishment, just by getting dressed. I'm already winning.
I love that they give me ear plugs and giant headphones--I felt like I was gearing up at the shooting gallery (my dad will be proud). How did I do? Well, instead of feeling like crying with shame at the end of it, I felt like laughing at my own ridiculousness-trying to pummel through 8th grade algebra. I felt like one of those really awkward little kid ballerinas, you know--those ones who scrunch up their hands and shoulders into something vaguely reminiscent of first position. That's what I look like trying to do math. A giraffe with strep throat. I could go on. When I told my friend my quantitative score, she straight up laughed at me. So the ridiculousness wasn't just me.
Verbal? A'ight. Just a'ight. I'll wait to see my percentile writing before I decide to take it again. Writing section? I thought I made some very compelling arguments and analyses...whether the graders feel the same remains to be seen. The hard part is over though. Now I know the staff, I know the layout. I can even bring my own earplugs--actually no, they probably wouldn't allow that.
And just for the record, I must be a glutton for punishment because I went to the dentist's office right after the test. Or I might just be sick, because my dentist office's staff always cheers me up. I love those gals (Note: these are not the evil wenches from the oral surgeon's office). They tell me to take more yoga because my jaws won't unclench, and now I have to get some weird "bite plate" thing. They said I can't just use an athletic mouthguard. (I asked).
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I hate standardized tests
Like many people, I share a long and bitter history with standardized tests. Mine began in kindergarten, though why I had to take such a test then is beyond my understanding, or recollection. I do, however, recall the argument:
It was one of these--"Which one of these do not fit?" and they'd have, say a dog, cat, fish and giraffe. The latter, of course, is not a common household pet and thus, for the simplicity of my example, was the correct answer. The question I recall is a bit more involved. I was given the following geometric shapes:
a.) square
b.) rectangle
c.) circle
d.) triangle
Which of these do not belong with the others? Well-its tricky, if you ask me, even now. See, the answer is the circle--it doesn't belong because it doesn't have any pointy edges/angles sticking out, right? But I argued long and hard with the lady giving me the test. The square, rectangle and circle all have one thing in common--that is, they can all be divided up easily into four parts, while the triangle cannot. And so I had insisted upon the poor little triangle whilst it indeed appears I was sposed to vote for the circle.
I share this story because I am attempting to prepare for the GRE, but running into the same type of problem. For example, here in the "analogies section":
14. SKI : SNOW
A. drive: car
B. gold: putt
C. dance: step
D. skate: ice
E. ride: horse
What was your answer? Don't bother defending it, if it wasn't "E" as there's no such chance on the test itself---perhaps explains why I am particularly bitter. But, just to humor ourselves (and for people to educate me, if I am indeed being asinine ), don't you think that the relationship, analogically speaking, is closer between ski/snow; skate/ice, than it is between ski/ride; snow/horse?
askdfjtuioeghiudhviuehfgerughweiurtywetr--in other words, "grrrrr"
I hate standardized tests.
I have another example:
TARANTULA : SPIDER
A. mare: stallion
B. milk: cow
C. fly: parasite
D. sheep: grass
E. drone: bee
My thought was "C" because a tarantula is a type of spider, as as fly is a type of parasite ( although i suppose this is arguable?). I was indeed tempted by "E" I will admit, but was immediately concerned with the fact that typically all the drone bees are male, and a tarantula spider is by no means automorically male. Thus, I opted for C and was corrected. I should have gone for E, the correct answer.
Am i absolutely wrong about my approach to these craptaculous tests? I have yet to meet a single person with a positive attitude towards standardization of this sort, except of course for those who score well on them. These are the people I just hate in my heart, secretly, whilst I heartily congratulate them on their performance, after whcih I suddenly have a bout of coughing, that sounds like this:
*cough* pull a TONYA HARDING *cough*
but my body guard never comes through.
I had to go through summer school because I couldn't pass the 9th grade proficiency test in math; it wasn't until my third time through that I passed (I"ll have you know that i flunked by 6 pts the first time and 3 pts the second time). Meanwhile, I went on to take "Math for the Life sciences" (essentially precalc/calc) at the college level (one of those big lecture hall courses) when I was 16 and received a B+.
Typically--though its been a lil while since I've filled out an application (I've got plenty of practice comin up)--there's a slot wherein you can explain your shortcomings insofar as standardized tests are concerned. I have an easilyo demonstratable issue with these tests and yet, I am reaching a point in which I'd prefer not to accentuate any hint of an illegitimacy on my part and instead focus on the illegitimacy of the tests, and the testing system itself! Yes, I feel that there is a shortcoming regarding the procedure and practice of the GRE itself...take THAT. I hope that somone readig this can enlighten me on exactly what the GRE is able to do that a decent interview (whether online, via telephone, or in person) cannot.
We complain about these automated systems that dominate our lives now-whether its "please hold, we have an important message..." or "due to a significant call volume, all operators are currently busy with other calls..." or "please listen carefully to the fllowing options, as our menu has changed [but the menu is always the same!]" but I am as of yet unconvinced that these crap-ass fill-in-the-bubble tests, or 'click here' tests, are anything different than an automated weeding out process in lieu of an actual interview. In thirty years, or less, dear god I hope, when I conduct new-student applications, perhaps I will be corrected. In the meantime, if someone reads this and finds my assessment to be absolute malarky, please say so. Otherwise, I will continue to spout off and be generally cranky.
If nothing else, it might make me stick out more than my fellow applicants, who would likely spend their time more wisely explaining their 'test taking shortcomings', than my aggressive "GRE Blows" approach. Perhaps I am experiencing a bitter moment in my preparation for the test, forgive me.
It was one of these--"Which one of these do not fit?" and they'd have, say a dog, cat, fish and giraffe. The latter, of course, is not a common household pet and thus, for the simplicity of my example, was the correct answer. The question I recall is a bit more involved. I was given the following geometric shapes:
a.) square
b.) rectangle
c.) circle
d.) triangle
Which of these do not belong with the others? Well-its tricky, if you ask me, even now. See, the answer is the circle--it doesn't belong because it doesn't have any pointy edges/angles sticking out, right? But I argued long and hard with the lady giving me the test. The square, rectangle and circle all have one thing in common--that is, they can all be divided up easily into four parts, while the triangle cannot. And so I had insisted upon the poor little triangle whilst it indeed appears I was sposed to vote for the circle.
I share this story because I am attempting to prepare for the GRE, but running into the same type of problem. For example, here in the "analogies section":
14. SKI : SNOW
A. drive: car
B. gold: putt
C. dance: step
D. skate: ice
E. ride: horse
What was your answer? Don't bother defending it, if it wasn't "E" as there's no such chance on the test itself---perhaps explains why I am particularly bitter. But, just to humor ourselves (and for people to educate me, if I am indeed being asinine ), don't you think that the relationship, analogically speaking, is closer between ski/snow; skate/ice, than it is between ski/ride; snow/horse?
askdfjtuioeghiudhviuehfgerughweiurtywetr--in other words, "grrrrr"
I hate standardized tests.
I have another example:
TARANTULA : SPIDER
A. mare: stallion
B. milk: cow
C. fly: parasite
D. sheep: grass
E. drone: bee
My thought was "C" because a tarantula is a type of spider, as as fly is a type of parasite ( although i suppose this is arguable?). I was indeed tempted by "E" I will admit, but was immediately concerned with the fact that typically all the drone bees are male, and a tarantula spider is by no means automorically male. Thus, I opted for C and was corrected. I should have gone for E, the correct answer.
Am i absolutely wrong about my approach to these craptaculous tests? I have yet to meet a single person with a positive attitude towards standardization of this sort, except of course for those who score well on them. These are the people I just hate in my heart, secretly, whilst I heartily congratulate them on their performance, after whcih I suddenly have a bout of coughing, that sounds like this:
*cough* pull a TONYA HARDING *cough*
but my body guard never comes through.
I had to go through summer school because I couldn't pass the 9th grade proficiency test in math; it wasn't until my third time through that I passed (I"ll have you know that i flunked by 6 pts the first time and 3 pts the second time). Meanwhile, I went on to take "Math for the Life sciences" (essentially precalc/calc) at the college level (one of those big lecture hall courses) when I was 16 and received a B+.
Typically--though its been a lil while since I've filled out an application (I've got plenty of practice comin up)--there's a slot wherein you can explain your shortcomings insofar as standardized tests are concerned. I have an easilyo demonstratable issue with these tests and yet, I am reaching a point in which I'd prefer not to accentuate any hint of an illegitimacy on my part and instead focus on the illegitimacy of the tests, and the testing system itself! Yes, I feel that there is a shortcoming regarding the procedure and practice of the GRE itself...take THAT. I hope that somone readig this can enlighten me on exactly what the GRE is able to do that a decent interview (whether online, via telephone, or in person) cannot.
We complain about these automated systems that dominate our lives now-whether its "please hold, we have an important message..." or "due to a significant call volume, all operators are currently busy with other calls..." or "please listen carefully to the fllowing options, as our menu has changed [but the menu is always the same!]" but I am as of yet unconvinced that these crap-ass fill-in-the-bubble tests, or 'click here' tests, are anything different than an automated weeding out process in lieu of an actual interview. In thirty years, or less, dear god I hope, when I conduct new-student applications, perhaps I will be corrected. In the meantime, if someone reads this and finds my assessment to be absolute malarky, please say so. Otherwise, I will continue to spout off and be generally cranky.
If nothing else, it might make me stick out more than my fellow applicants, who would likely spend their time more wisely explaining their 'test taking shortcomings', than my aggressive "GRE Blows" approach. Perhaps I am experiencing a bitter moment in my preparation for the test, forgive me.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
There's a different me inside this student
I'm new to this bloggy world and, in some sense, looking over the blogs of other academics, I am slightly terrified. Those ahead of us in academia--farther down the road, however you want to put it, tend to be rather intimidating. It's frustrating that even in a pseudonymous world I am likewise intimidated. I don't know where this complex comes from, but it must be part of the mandatory bipolarization of a graduate student--to be completely humbled by our professors and published authors, yet able to enter in and converse with them intellectually; to be confident and sophisticated in front of our students so we don't reveal how unqualified and untrained we are (I often feel like quite a fraud when it comes to grading time); and finally, to be cavalier and brash wtih our colleagues and cohorts while we commisserate in the trenches. I think that list actually requires us to be tripolar, but lets not get picky.
What I'm trying to get at is that I'm fairly new at this whole game and just trying to learn the ropes. I don't want to sound whiny and overwhelmed but, well, its the end of a very long semester. I will be a much different person by next wednesday when I receive my grades and figure out if I managed to pull this semester off.
What I'm trying to get at is that I'm fairly new at this whole game and just trying to learn the ropes. I don't want to sound whiny and overwhelmed but, well, its the end of a very long semester. I will be a much different person by next wednesday when I receive my grades and figure out if I managed to pull this semester off.
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