For about a fortnight I’ve been going through withdrawal. I wake up in cold sweats. My hands shake constantly. Migraines wrack my brainpan. I have no internet. My computer, ancient and overheated, collapsed of exhaustion two weeks back, and the only replacement I have is my fiancé’s old desktop. Her machine won’t connect to the internet. I cannot satisfy my gaming needs. I have clocked over twenty hours of Solitaire and Minesweeper. Some nights, I sleep walk and awake in my computer chair, staring into my beautiful ViewSonic 23 inch. The experience hasn’t been without benefit, though. Biking to campus to check e-mail at least serves as good exercise.
Okay, so most of the above is fabricated. No sleep-walking, no withdrawal symptoms, and not nearly that many hours of Solitaire and Minesweeper (although I’ve still logged an embarrassing amount). But I don’t have internet, and I’m pining for my new machine. The whole ordeal has quite quashed my romantic desire to retreat to a log cabin in the remote north to read and write in solace and comfort, in commune with nature. I’d die or go loony in the first month.
My predicament has enlightened my perspective though. It has given me insight into the inequities of the impoverished. I can empathize with greater compassion their need for networked libraries or community centers; I can appreciate their need to plan days around trips to those places with net-access.
However, the end is in sight. Tomorrow my new computer will arrive, glorious and triumphantly, to rescue me from my squalor. It is a bold, hardy machine, worthy of the cost I paid. When it arrives I shall embrace it lovingly, install my software, and then race to make up for lost time. Pray I don’t die of fatigue.
Friday, May 8, 2009
English Department Luncheon
After talking with my colleagues, I’ve come to the conclusion that the English Department needs more intradepartmental activities, especially at the beginning of the year. The only introduction new students (of both grad and undergrad caliber) get to a faculty member is on the first day of that instructor’s class. There are no mixers, luncheons, picnics, etc. that allow us to mingle, find common interests, or chat. I find it unfortunate that the only instructors in the department I know are those I’ve taken classes with, and that is a sorry fraction of the faculty even after having been here three semesters.
English department GAs receive some modicum of welcome from a portion of the faculty during the first day of orientation. This is not nearly sufficient. For one, only a handful of the faculty are present for the orientation. For two, only the GAs attend that orientation. For three, the greeting, while genuine and warm, introduces rarely more than a name and area of interest of the faculty present. The current means of learning about faculty interests and pedagogical styles is through the percolation of word-of-mouth; I’m sure students would much prefer to have a soirée.
In addition to serving as a basis for introduction between students and faculty, intradepartmental activities are community building. Returning students can meet and chat with new students. At the present, there are few opportunities provided by the department for students to coalesce. I want to sip cocktails and discuss Henry Jenkins. I want to eat chips and ponder Paulo Freire. I want to grill and discuss literature. And I know I am not alone.
**Disclaimer: If there are such intradepartmental gatherings, they are not nearly well publicized enough.
English department GAs receive some modicum of welcome from a portion of the faculty during the first day of orientation. This is not nearly sufficient. For one, only a handful of the faculty are present for the orientation. For two, only the GAs attend that orientation. For three, the greeting, while genuine and warm, introduces rarely more than a name and area of interest of the faculty present. The current means of learning about faculty interests and pedagogical styles is through the percolation of word-of-mouth; I’m sure students would much prefer to have a soirée.
In addition to serving as a basis for introduction between students and faculty, intradepartmental activities are community building. Returning students can meet and chat with new students. At the present, there are few opportunities provided by the department for students to coalesce. I want to sip cocktails and discuss Henry Jenkins. I want to eat chips and ponder Paulo Freire. I want to grill and discuss literature. And I know I am not alone.
**Disclaimer: If there are such intradepartmental gatherings, they are not nearly well publicized enough.
Friday, May 1, 2009
At Semester's End
I found another media fearmongering article—this one about computers in the classroom ruining students’ handwriting. There is a hilarious disconnect between the title of the article—“Computers ‘Will Ruin Handwriting’”—and the actual content. The content discusses much of what our class has been looking at this semester, the need for computers in the classroom to provide digital literacy for students. The ruined handwriting concern makes a brief appearance at the start of the article, and then vaporizes. Readers are left quizzically wondering at the disjunction between headline and content; those familiar with Drew Curtis’ It’s Not News, It’s Fark: How Mass Media Tries to Pass Off Crap as News should be familiar with the ploy. If you’re in want of a laugh or a way to waste a few minutes, here is the link to the article:
http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/98202/Computers-will-ruin-handwriting-
The talking heads that the journalist cites to provide a counterview seem dangerously uninformed, but that is standard at this level of journalism it seems. Let’s move on to more interesting topics.
After writing my previous blog entry about MS Word’s “writing-level,” I began to wonder how the function might benefit my composition class next semester. It might provide some interesting insight into freshmen’s initial perceptions of writing. If I were to show them the function and, after having learned the algorithm that it uses, inform them what criteria it employs, I could question the students on some important aspects of composition. It could provide for a great discussion, or, should that fail, at least a solid segue.
The semester is nearly at an end and I wonder what will become of my blog. Part of me wants to keep writing in it; part of me thinks I will plan to keep writing in it and, after a sporadic entry or two, it will fade into disuse. Having discussed the potentials of blogs all semester, I know the benefits of continuing: blogging provides me with a creative outlet, the practice of continual writing, and a tentative tendril tickling the tubes, not to mention the fame, fortune, and female groupies—okay, maybe not the last three—but there are strong incentives to encourage me onward.
A colleague and I intend to start up a website similar to Dr. Barton’s Armchair Arcade (http://www.armchairarcade.com/). There, I will publish semi-formal, intelligent (though not always scholastic) articles on a variety of topics, many of which I’ve already dipped into on this blog. I will analyze popular machinima videos, internet memes/viral videos, Hollywood releases, video games, and the like. The URL for the site hasn’t been purchased yet, but I will keep any readers I have here informed.
http://www.express.co.uk/posts/view/98202/Computers-will-ruin-handwriting-
The talking heads that the journalist cites to provide a counterview seem dangerously uninformed, but that is standard at this level of journalism it seems. Let’s move on to more interesting topics.
After writing my previous blog entry about MS Word’s “writing-level,” I began to wonder how the function might benefit my composition class next semester. It might provide some interesting insight into freshmen’s initial perceptions of writing. If I were to show them the function and, after having learned the algorithm that it uses, inform them what criteria it employs, I could question the students on some important aspects of composition. It could provide for a great discussion, or, should that fail, at least a solid segue.
The semester is nearly at an end and I wonder what will become of my blog. Part of me wants to keep writing in it; part of me thinks I will plan to keep writing in it and, after a sporadic entry or two, it will fade into disuse. Having discussed the potentials of blogs all semester, I know the benefits of continuing: blogging provides me with a creative outlet, the practice of continual writing, and a tentative tendril tickling the tubes, not to mention the fame, fortune, and female groupies—okay, maybe not the last three—but there are strong incentives to encourage me onward.
A colleague and I intend to start up a website similar to Dr. Barton’s Armchair Arcade (http://www.armchairarcade.com/). There, I will publish semi-formal, intelligent (though not always scholastic) articles on a variety of topics, many of which I’ve already dipped into on this blog. I will analyze popular machinima videos, internet memes/viral videos, Hollywood releases, video games, and the like. The URL for the site hasn’t been purchased yet, but I will keep any readers I have here informed.
Business Writing? Word.
The end of the academic year is a paradox of clichéd metaphors: things are winding down simultaneously with their ramping up. Students scurry to finish their portfolios; teachers exhaust themselves grading megabytes of paper; and we teaching assistants are stuck precariously in between: we scurry and exhaust, finish our work and grade that of our students. In the midst of all this whir and huff, the average conversation on campus consists of itemized lists: “All I have to do is X, Y, and Z before I am done.”
It was during one of these exchanges that I learned about Microsoft Word’s ability to evaluate the level of writing within a document (as in a grade-level akin to reading-level: 12th grade writing level, etc.). The information was coupled with the sigh that the business program at St. Cloud State relies heavily on Word’s writing-level evaluation in their paper grading. I was confused. I was aghast. Having freshly learned about Word’s ability to process data and determine a level of writing—and without having toyed with the software’s application myself—my knowledge of composition immediately made me confident there was something wrong with the business program’s practice.
Software is unable to identify clichés. Software is unable to recognize clever wordplay. Software is unable to appreciate rhetorical, literary, or poetic tropes. Software is unable to assess the accuracy of content. Software is an impractical tool for the grading of writing, even coupled with a business professor’s keen eyes. It can do a number of tasks though, to be sure; I imagine Word can at least recognize syntactic fluency, proper mechanics and spelling, and formatting. But to have any faith in the notion that these last items are all that composes a person’s “writing-level”? Absurdity. Malarkey. Blasphemy. That any business instructor places stock in the feature is disheartening.
Now, I confess the need to find the function and play around before my final assessment. Conversations at semester’s end tend to be brief, and, in the haste of the day, I did not learn or think to ask where the function is located; nor do I have time to dig around overmuch myself. I also confess the level of reliance the business program places on Word’s writing-level is anecdotal only. Nevertheless, the situation is provocative. If any readers want to comment with their experience or reactions, I’d love to read them.
It was during one of these exchanges that I learned about Microsoft Word’s ability to evaluate the level of writing within a document (as in a grade-level akin to reading-level: 12th grade writing level, etc.). The information was coupled with the sigh that the business program at St. Cloud State relies heavily on Word’s writing-level evaluation in their paper grading. I was confused. I was aghast. Having freshly learned about Word’s ability to process data and determine a level of writing—and without having toyed with the software’s application myself—my knowledge of composition immediately made me confident there was something wrong with the business program’s practice.
Software is unable to identify clichés. Software is unable to recognize clever wordplay. Software is unable to appreciate rhetorical, literary, or poetic tropes. Software is unable to assess the accuracy of content. Software is an impractical tool for the grading of writing, even coupled with a business professor’s keen eyes. It can do a number of tasks though, to be sure; I imagine Word can at least recognize syntactic fluency, proper mechanics and spelling, and formatting. But to have any faith in the notion that these last items are all that composes a person’s “writing-level”? Absurdity. Malarkey. Blasphemy. That any business instructor places stock in the feature is disheartening.
Now, I confess the need to find the function and play around before my final assessment. Conversations at semester’s end tend to be brief, and, in the haste of the day, I did not learn or think to ask where the function is located; nor do I have time to dig around overmuch myself. I also confess the level of reliance the business program places on Word’s writing-level is anecdotal only. Nevertheless, the situation is provocative. If any readers want to comment with their experience or reactions, I’d love to read them.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Facebook, Autism, and Media Fearmongering
I came across an article called “Social websites harm children’s brains” awhile back and never got around to reading it till tonight. You can find the article here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1153583/Social-websites-harm-childrens-brains-Chilling-warning-parents-neuroscientist.html
The rhetoric of this article, of media fearmongers in general, is boggling. I see it with 'text-messaging ruins grammar' news pieces frequently. It almost seem as if there is a template, or formula even, to churn out articles about web 2.0 technologies: take one curmudgeonly authority, one “new” technology, add a lot of qualifiers, and voila—a new cautionary tale of woe, a lot of hot air scented with plausibility and devoid of empirical evidence.
Notice the way Greensfield’s quotes are handled. “Baroness Greenfield, an Oxford University neuroscientist and director of the Royal Institution, believes repeated exposure could effectively ‘rewrite’ the brain.” My emphasis. The next line, however, supplies a semblance of certainty: “Computer games and fast-paced TV shows were also a factor, she said.” A factor in what? The plausibility of her notion? The article references no study, no data, no evidence—only speculation.
Another quote, beginning with “My fear is that…,” confirms the Baroness’ ideas are purely speculative. “Then she argued that exposure to… could leave a generation with poor attention spans.” Again, my emphasis. If this article is the judge, Greenfield has not done any actual research on the topic. She has merely wondered about it. “I often wonder whether real conversation will give way to these sanitized and easier screen dialogues…”
Her picture’s caption is almost comical. “Professor Susan Greenfield: Concerned.” But the real treat is the bit on autism. Correlation does not equal causation. At least the ‘connection’ between autism and computers is tempered by her admission of ignorance.
Fearmongering aside, her credentials are nothing to laugh at (except maybe the royal title, tee-hee). She may very well be right. But who is to say that the changes aren’t for the better? Aren’t necessary given the acceleration of technology? If youths’ brains are being reprogrammed because of the changing environment, perhaps the old stubborn brained folks will be the ones in danger of not being able to communicate. L2Txt, Gramps.
The rhetoric of this article, of media fearmongers in general, is boggling. I see it with 'text-messaging ruins grammar' news pieces frequently. It almost seem as if there is a template, or formula even, to churn out articles about web 2.0 technologies: take one curmudgeonly authority, one “new” technology, add a lot of qualifiers, and voila—a new cautionary tale of woe, a lot of hot air scented with plausibility and devoid of empirical evidence.
Notice the way Greensfield’s quotes are handled. “Baroness Greenfield, an Oxford University neuroscientist and director of the Royal Institution, believes repeated exposure could effectively ‘rewrite’ the brain.” My emphasis. The next line, however, supplies a semblance of certainty: “Computer games and fast-paced TV shows were also a factor, she said.” A factor in what? The plausibility of her notion? The article references no study, no data, no evidence—only speculation.
Another quote, beginning with “My fear is that…,” confirms the Baroness’ ideas are purely speculative. “Then she argued that exposure to… could leave a generation with poor attention spans.” Again, my emphasis. If this article is the judge, Greenfield has not done any actual research on the topic. She has merely wondered about it. “I often wonder whether real conversation will give way to these sanitized and easier screen dialogues…”
Her picture’s caption is almost comical. “Professor Susan Greenfield: Concerned.” But the real treat is the bit on autism. Correlation does not equal causation. At least the ‘connection’ between autism and computers is tempered by her admission of ignorance.
Fearmongering aside, her credentials are nothing to laugh at (except maybe the royal title, tee-hee). She may very well be right. But who is to say that the changes aren’t for the better? Aren’t necessary given the acceleration of technology? If youths’ brains are being reprogrammed because of the changing environment, perhaps the old stubborn brained folks will be the ones in danger of not being able to communicate. L2Txt, Gramps.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Piracy, Ahoy
Pirates: 3,500,000 (Pirate Bay’s registered users) Courts: 4 (Pirate Bay’s hosts)
The Pirate Bay trial verdict is in, and it doesn’t look good for the pirates. If you haven't been following the Pirate Bay trial, allow me to provide you with some background via links:
http://torrentfreak.com/the-pirate-bay-trial-the-verdict-090417/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Pirate_Bay
For those “tl;dr” (too long; didn’t read) followers of this blog, here's a brief summary: Filesharing megasite hosts are tried, found guilty.
What surprises me with the Pirate Bay case is that only the site’s hosts were tried. I’m no tech-xpert, but I imagine there is a way to pursue and prosecute the users of Pirate Bay through the site’s logs or IP history. Now, the penalty the founders face (years in jail, millions of dollars in restitution, etc.) may be enough to discourage other would-be captains of pirate hosting sites; or, bilge rats may see the lack of prosecution of the users as clear waters for further piracy.
My interest is in the particulars. The founders were charged with, according to the first link, “assisting in making copyright content available” by archiving and storing BitTorrent files. It seems to me the real scallywags here are the unprosecuted users: they are the ones consuming and using the files; the founders were just the pirates who sorted the cove’s treasure, not the ones who thieved it. A mobster’s crooked accountant is as guilty as the mobster, I guess.
I’ve always imagined the underground piracy movement was too ethereal, too ubiquitous for any legal action to catch up with the chum buckets involved. Apparently not. While prosecuting four people may seem like a small victory, if doing so sinks the world’s largest BitTorrent tracker, perhaps it is the same as bringing down the flagship of a giant armada. Maybe we ought to do the same with one of the renowned Somali pirate ports: take it down.
The Pirate Bay trial verdict is in, and it doesn’t look good for the pirates. If you haven't been following the Pirate Bay trial, allow me to provide you with some background via links:
http://torrentfreak.com/the-pirate-bay-trial-the-verdict-090417/
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Pirate_Bay
For those “tl;dr” (too long; didn’t read) followers of this blog, here's a brief summary: Filesharing megasite hosts are tried, found guilty.
What surprises me with the Pirate Bay case is that only the site’s hosts were tried. I’m no tech-xpert, but I imagine there is a way to pursue and prosecute the users of Pirate Bay through the site’s logs or IP history. Now, the penalty the founders face (years in jail, millions of dollars in restitution, etc.) may be enough to discourage other would-be captains of pirate hosting sites; or, bilge rats may see the lack of prosecution of the users as clear waters for further piracy.
My interest is in the particulars. The founders were charged with, according to the first link, “assisting in making copyright content available” by archiving and storing BitTorrent files. It seems to me the real scallywags here are the unprosecuted users: they are the ones consuming and using the files; the founders were just the pirates who sorted the cove’s treasure, not the ones who thieved it. A mobster’s crooked accountant is as guilty as the mobster, I guess.
I’ve always imagined the underground piracy movement was too ethereal, too ubiquitous for any legal action to catch up with the chum buckets involved. Apparently not. While prosecuting four people may seem like a small victory, if doing so sinks the world’s largest BitTorrent tracker, perhaps it is the same as bringing down the flagship of a giant armada. Maybe we ought to do the same with one of the renowned Somali pirate ports: take it down.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Composition's Reach: The Legitimization of a Discipline?
Some questions have been lurking in my brain for awhile now, ethereal and recurring; but before I raise them in this blog I want to issue a disclaimer. What follows is by no means an attempt to undermine, incite, or attack. What follows is an attempt to negotiate what, for me, and I think some of my fellow classmates, have been some difficult issues we’ve struggled with throughout the semester as we discussed the topics of technology and English pedagogy. In reading Wysocki’s Writing New Media, I cannot help but think about the distinction between disciplines.
At which point does English overstep its bounds in teaching technological composition? If a graphics design syllabus was submitted as an English syllabus, bound by ties to composition practices, wouldn’t somebody over in the comp-sci or art building (and I’m not sure which: this uncertainty may be an indication of a greater, underlying issue of obscurity in course/discipline relationships) get upset? I mean, some film studies courses are taught by English instructors: what’s the difference here? Is there one?
Dr. Dorn’s “Bibliographic Strategies” class last spring got me thinking about how others view the English field (how are the humanities valued? Why does our field matter?). Dr. Barton’s “Teaching College English” this past fall got me thinking about how English has tried to legitimize itself (cognitive theory, empirical research, scientific language, etc.). I see the connections between technology and composition; I see the value of teaching certain principles regarding technology; I understand the desire of some English instructors to defy tradition, upset hierarchies, and teach outside the norm; I understand all this, but still wonder.
How far can our discipline extend itself in the quest to teach composition? Does any creative act, when defined as composition, license us to seize the reins? Are there even such boundaries, borders, or bifurcation between fields? Does the academe have those types of politics? I cannot imagine it doesn’t. At what point does a friendly, scholarly interest in a field marginally (and this is a loaded adjective, I realize) related to English overreach? I’m interested to get some comments/replies/feedback/input from my readers. What do you think?
At which point does English overstep its bounds in teaching technological composition? If a graphics design syllabus was submitted as an English syllabus, bound by ties to composition practices, wouldn’t somebody over in the comp-sci or art building (and I’m not sure which: this uncertainty may be an indication of a greater, underlying issue of obscurity in course/discipline relationships) get upset? I mean, some film studies courses are taught by English instructors: what’s the difference here? Is there one?
Dr. Dorn’s “Bibliographic Strategies” class last spring got me thinking about how others view the English field (how are the humanities valued? Why does our field matter?). Dr. Barton’s “Teaching College English” this past fall got me thinking about how English has tried to legitimize itself (cognitive theory, empirical research, scientific language, etc.). I see the connections between technology and composition; I see the value of teaching certain principles regarding technology; I understand the desire of some English instructors to defy tradition, upset hierarchies, and teach outside the norm; I understand all this, but still wonder.
How far can our discipline extend itself in the quest to teach composition? Does any creative act, when defined as composition, license us to seize the reins? Are there even such boundaries, borders, or bifurcation between fields? Does the academe have those types of politics? I cannot imagine it doesn’t. At what point does a friendly, scholarly interest in a field marginally (and this is a loaded adjective, I realize) related to English overreach? I’m interested to get some comments/replies/feedback/input from my readers. What do you think?
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