Google for dummies?

For you educators out there, who haven't seen this...oh the narrative of decline--how deliciously bitter you are. I cannot resist. So, um, what do you think? Is this true?

TALK of decline was old news in academia even in 1898, when traditionalists blasted Harvard for ending its Greek entrance requirement. But today there's a new twist in the story: Are search engines making today's students dumber?

In December, the National Center for Education Statistics published a report on adult literacy revealing that the number of college graduates able to interpret complex texts proficiently had dropped since 1992 from 40 percent to 31 percent. As Mark S. Schneider, the center's commissioner of education statistics, put it, "What's disturbing is that the assessment is not designed to test your understanding of Proust, but to test your ability to read labels."

The Higher Education Supplement of The Times of London reports that a British survey also finds that the ability of undergraduates to read critically and write cogently has fallen significantly since 1992. Students are not just more poorly prepared, a majority of queried faculty members believe, but less teachable.

In the End...

Lest the previous silliness be my lasting professorial legacy, I want to record some of the comments from real student evaluations. I got them back yesterday. The first one in the pile made me happy indeed:

"This may sound sad but it's true. This is the first class I have ever taken that made me think...really think."

In general they were favorable. The standard complaint: too many quizzes!

This one is worth recording. The student says he

"...enjoyed the veriety (sic) of Philosophists (?) covered over the course of the semester. As a bonus, the Proffessor (sic) taught excellent English/writing skills."

Really? You don't say. The criticisms he offers only reinforce this idea:

"Too many quizes (sic)! They were put in place in order for innsurance (sic) of that the student was doing the readings, BUT only serve to wittle (sic) down at one's final grade."

It's not my fault I tell you. The youth of America have been screwed by their educational system. Nah, that's too easy. They've been screwed by the whole culture. I at least could tell myself that I was teaching philosophy, not English or composition. Even so, a stack of student papers was enough to paralyze me. I don't know how you English teachers (and there are a few who check in here regularly) get through the semester. I'm guessing whiskey and menthols.

My spellcheck bereft commenter concludes:

"In the End, it is up to the students to be responcible (sic) and to do their own readings."

I agree with his sentiment but he's never had to stand for an hour and fifteen minutes in front of a group of thirty 18-21 year olds, twenty-eight of whom have not done the reading. That makes for a real fun class.

A few of them acknowledged the usefulness of the weekly quiz:

"Weekly quizes (sic) kept me accountable."

"weekly quizes (sic) greatly aided in my ability to ascertain vital information in the class."

"The reading quizzes were extremely helpful because they motivated me to read for detail."

Hallelujah.

Predictably, some complained about the reading material. And it's true, Kant is not fun to read. Nor is Thomas Kuhn or several of the others. But the readings were short and life is not always entertaining. At least they didn't have to read Hegel.

The only other real criticism was of my occasional demeanor:

"I wish the class was more upbeat. Almost slow."

"...class could have been more interesting, the professor could have been more enthusiastic."

There were days when I went to class brimming over with enthusiasm, but it was stifled by the realization that only the usual two or three suspects had bothered to prepare and the rest were exhibiting nothing but apathy or disdain. And I took them to task for it on more than one occasion. I guess that's not very entertaining. And lord knows theodicy is oh so upbeat. Perhaps we could have devised group cheers explaining the problem of evil. Talk about edutainment!

There were some other very affirming comments of the sort that make all the misery worthwhile:

"I can truly say that no other class has made me contemplate my life so much."

"The teacher was very informative and he knew what he was talking about. He was passionate about the subject and pulled the class into discussions."

"This class was a great class, I actually didn't want to quit school after taking this class."

As for me, I've never learned more in my life. I don't know if I'll miss it, I'll find out I suppose, but I'm glad I had the opportunity.

Requiem for Hottie Pants

A friend brought this to my attention a few months ago and I have yet to live it down. Then a couple of my current students, well my most recent former students, went and found it too and enjoyed teasing me. I didn't want to share it until I was all done. It's from a site where students rate their profs in a number of categories. I've been rated by two students. Out of a possible total of 5, I average:

Easiness: 3
Helpfulness:4
Clarity:4.5
Quality:4.2

I'm clear but I ain't easy!

And now that I am probably done teaching for the forseeable future, let this comment from one of his raters be the requiem for ol' Professor Hottie Pants:

He makes me want to touch myself and everyone around me with his hotness...Otherwise he is a great/funny professor with a very dry sense of humor. LOVED IT!

The bar for professorial hotness must have been set very low indeed.

Adjunct detritus

There is nothing hanging over my head. Um, there is no work hanging over my head. I am done. Maybe done with teaching for good, but at the least for several months. I’m not entirely sure what to make of this feeling. Knowing that there was always a lecture to prepare, an exam to write, a stack of papers to read, or often all of those piling up at once, has been a weight on my back for a long time now.

An anchor keeping me grounded?

Nah.

Now I can do some shit. Start recording. Get back to the gym. And maybe sort out the mental attic. But first I need to remember and reflect just a bit on the recent teaching escapades. Now that I’m done, I can share some things I’ve been sitting on. Adjunct detritus as it were.

Exhibit A is a note I received in April. It’s from a female student who had stopped coming to class. I think the point of it was to notify me that she was no longer going to come to class and was ok with the F she would receive. And to take advantage of that to be crude at my expense. I have a sense of humor, and am not sensitive about such things, but I can’t help but think that this note would be rather more insidious if our genders were reversed. Should that matter?

The names are hastily covered over to protect the guilty. An image of the note itself is posted below. The epistolary decorum of the youth of America:

Dear Professor Hottie Pants,

I miss your class, but I don’t need it for my transfer. Please send my paper with xxxxx or xxxxxx.

Stay Hot (in the pants)
xxxxxx

Exhibit A

prayer of the adjunct

Oh sour merciless God, please deliver me from this deluge of abominable student prose. Save me from the passive voice. Let someone do something. Redeem the tepid relativism of this younger generation without turning them into your zombie cheerleading squad. Grant me the good will to see the hint of potential in the oh so very mediocre. Allow me the patience and fortitude to shoulder this load for two more days. Or better yet, make these last twenty-eight papers so good that I will wish I had more. Fill them full of modest but thoughtful philosophical speculation. Let them demonstrate a previously hidden attentiveness. Let my labor bear some visible fruit. Give me a sign Lord.

Amen.

vocational appreciation

I will spend hours at work doing very little and it's mostly pleasant. In theory I'm here to help medical professionals and students in the Health Sciences with their information needs or with more mundane tasks. Whatever they need. Occasionally someone will walk in and drop some kind of interesting research topic in my lap: seasonal and environmental factors in the spread of various respiratory diseases and tuberculosis screenings among employees of state and federal prisons were two recent examples. Those can be fun. I like finding stuff and I'm good at it. I find it terribly amusing that information brokers do basically the same thing and sell their services to various corporate entities who pay them lots of money for it. All they have to do is pick up the phone and give me a call...it's free here as long as you're nice.

Every once in a while I also get to hear a very interesting story. I had a woman a few weeks ago who was a former faculty member here. She needed me to help her find the most recent literature on the neurologic effects resulting from ingesting antifreeze. Why? She was involved in some sort of legal wrangling over the brain damage she'd suffered when one of her students at this fine university had poisoned her coffee with a small amount of antifreeze. Yessir. One of our very privileged youths tried to kill her. Every teacher, myself included, has some astounding stories about their students but that...oy. The first semester I taught I got one bad student evaluation and it was a classic hatchet job. But I had no idea who it was. They were all very nice and smiled at me but clearly one of them had grown to resent me bitterly. That was a little disconcerting, but antifreeze in your coffee? Damn.

destitute fellowship and the categorical imperative

So I have to get up in the morning and go talk about Kant and the categorical imperative. The will, the good, universal moral maxims, duty...all that shit. So where did I wind up on the evening before lecturing on such an august topic to the young minds of America?

The Clermont Lounge.

For those of you not familiar with Atlanta and its institutions (welcome by the way to our newest customers from Iran, India and Spain), the Clermont is a place where...um...the destitute... go for uh...fellowship. It has successfully resisted years of attempts at gentrification. It never took hold and the Clermont is still proudly repulsive. Not even a gut full of Jameson can make the Clermont, or its denziens, appear attractive in the least.

I went, not from inclination, but from duty alone. What good is an untested maxim?

And someday, when I can afford therapy, I'll tell you about the time I visited with my mom, governor Ann Richards of Texas, and two homosexuals with devious moustaches.

for what ails you

I spent the day teaching Hume and the problem of evil.

Now I'm going to go drink.


Irish Chicken Soup for the Suicidal Philosopher.

It is a perfectly fitting response to reading the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, and entirely in the spirit of Hume.