What's in a Name?

I have quite possibly the best job on this entire campus. For those of you unfamiliar with my work, I sit at the Campus Honors House at the University of Illinois for five and a quarter hours once a week. Sometimes I clean the whiteboard, others I decorate the interior for whatever season or holiday is upon us. Most of the time, though, I sit. I sit and do homework, study, watch videos, or read. Tonight, I am sad to say, is my last shift as a "student worker," my official title.

It's finals week, and I've spent the majority of time tonight watching "The Sing-Off," which mixes two of my favorite things: a cappella music and expert critique. Listening to and watching groups perform "Viva la Vida" and "Rehab" with only voices is a joy. Hearing constructive criticism mixed with the occasional joke from Ben Folds and others is interesting. Now if only the show wasn't limited to four episodes. *tear*

After one and a half hours of musical entertainment, I decided that it would behoove me to read something. The Honors House, or "HoHo" as we affectionately call it, is chock full of journals and magazines. I set my eyes on TIME's Special Issue: The Year in Pictures. Now, I know for someone wanting to read something, a magazine full of pictures may not be the way to go, but the issue complements the photos with captions and commentary that bring the framed life to action again.

In the "Inbox" section on page 18, I read dissents from some readers at the notion of calling the years from 2000-2009 the "Decade from Hell." TIME's cover story from the December 7th issue was all about how bad the past ten years have been. Whether it was war or financial crisis, contested elections or natural disasters, this decade seemed like it had every kind of catastrophe possible. We might even say it was a clean sweep of the calamity grab bag.

From the Inbox, I moved to "The World," and here I came upon something that connected the Decade from Hell to something about which I have been wondering for a while. The piece is small, in the corner, kind of like a journalistic afterthought. In blue font on page 25, one reads "The decade is nearly over, and the world still hasn't reached a consensus on what to call the 2000s." Yeah, I know! What the heck do we call this decade? I know people say that the new decade doesn't begin until 2011, but if we refer to the "Roaring '20s," or any other decade, don't we mean 1920-1929? It makes sense to me, at least, so now I come to my main point: the past ten years should be aptly dubbed the "Double O's."

Yes, the "Double O's." Think about it. Say it a few times. Let it roll off your tongue. Double O's. Mm-hmm, you hear it? Because I do. The "Decade from Hell," as TIME calls it, should be given a name that refers both to what it literally was (2000, 2001, 2002, etc.) and to what it felt like at many times. Sure, there have been plenty of hard times in other decades and plenty of good times from this one, say some TIME readers, but that doesn't mean we can't feel that the past ten years were trying in many ways for our country. It also doesn't mean that we should pass up the fantastic opportunity to give this decade a catchy name that sticks. And isn't that what really matters here? It's all about making it easier for us to refer to bygone eras. Well, almost bygone.

Among Mirrors

This is my final post... as a CHP 395 student. My hope is to blog every once in a while when I think of something to say. It's just that I already write down thoughts and moments in a notebook to which I can refer if I want to throw myself back to a past time, and there are so many other things to do. Nevertheless, writing on this blog is a bit of a creative outlet for this math major, and Gawande told us to write something, anything.

Here I am—here we all are—among mirrors: reflecting on our reflections. We have this one mirror in front of us, and we're trying to look back on all of our experiences over the past 15 weeks, each a little mirror of its own. Its hard to choose which ones give the best picture. This also reminds me of those reunion shows with which most reality television shows end. You know, where all the people come back looking nicer than they did while the show was taping. All of my blogs are coming together for this final post, but just like in the reality reunions, only a few will get to talk for a majority of the time.

My best blog post from the first three weeks is probably Limits and Living with Others. I was able to connect a couple of different ideas from a few sources into one coherent post. It's funny to look back on what I wrote about the dishes not getting done very much. One of my housemates put a sheet above the dishwasher to keep track of who was starting and unloading the dishwasher. I think it increased our overall helpfulness by simply making it known when we haven't been doing our fair share recently. Imagine that: a real life example of effective change!

From the nest three weeks of the semester, I have chosen I Think I Can because it was something that hit close to home. I find motivation a very intriguing subject because there are so many questions about it. I tried to explore that in a way that brought my faith into the discussion, and I tried to do it in a way that presented my beliefs in a more expository than persuasive way. I felt especially good about the finished product afterward, and I think it shows some personal growth.

As for my other two "wild card" posts, I have picked Your Blog Bites! and This One's About Vision. These two posts are very different from one another, but I'm happy with both of them. The former was a lot of fun to write because I got to pretend to be a harsh critic. I intended for the intro to catch people off guard and draw them into the post. For me, the intro is the most important part of a blog. If you don't hook the reader within the first few sentences, you've likely used the wrong bait. On the other hand, my penultimate post was much more analytical than my other posts. It brings in more of what I was able to gather from our conversation last week. I didn't contribute too much that day and chose to listen more to what everyone else had to say. I think that it gives a pretty good summary of how the class went and some reasons why.

I think I've made it known that I liked the blogging aspect of the class. Sure, sometimes I felt like I had nothing good to say. Sometimes it felt forced, but most of the time it was a fun way to use parts of my brain I don't often use. Part of the reason I liked minoring in anthropology is that it was much different from math. I didn't have any anthropology classes this semester, and this course in some ways jumped in the space left by those courses. I think I will continue to use this blog, whether for other classes or for just sharing thoughts. This next semester during student teaching, my supervisor wants us all to keep a journal and send him the entries on a weekly basis. Maybe I'll post them here and send him the link. I hope to continue to grow as a writer and use reflection in conjunction with it as a way to grow as a reflective practitioner wherever I teach.

This One's About Vision

Reflecting through the use of blogs has been an important practice in our class this semester. Discussions have also played a large part in getting us to synthesize information. Reflection and discussion have really been the primary ways in which we have unpacked what our readings and guests have to tell us about designing effective change. On Wednesday, discussion about reflection took center stage for a while.

Quite a bit of this post is what I gathered from our discussion yesterday. I can only know for sure what I thought and think about the reflections. However, I can know with some certainty what others thought, based upon comments from the discussion. I guess this is a caveat.

Talking about reflections in class on Wednesday tied in really well to the material from Senge on personal and shared discipline. Turns out our personal visions for reflection were diverse, and we were not all aware of the shared vision for reflection. Some of us thought the process was supposed to be more structured and planned while others thought there was more room to maneuver with our posts. It wasn't clear at first how commenting was supposed to work or if we were supposed to look a bit to the week ahead. Some of us chose to write more formally, others chose to be more informal. One of us chose to write from the point of view of a rabbit. It seems like we each had a unique way of viewing the weekly reflections, and this is, well, reflected in our blogs. However, it isn't that our blogs are each so very different that shows a discrepancy among our personal visions and the shared vision. That's perfectly fine. What tells me that there was a gap between the visions is that we all but said it on Wednesday. There are two points from The Fifth Discipline that stand out to me when I think of what could have been better about our reflection-writing.

First, we never really answered the question that, according to Senge, addresses shared vision at its "simplest level." (Senge, 192) I don't remember our answering "What do we want to create?" That's probably the reason that there was so much confusion on Wednesday. Some people thought our blogs were supposed to address the week's prompt unless we had a "more awesome" idea, as one of us put it. The idea, in my mind, for why we wanted to maintain blogs was that it would be a way to extend the discussion outside the classroom. It would be a way to show Prof. Arvan that we were thinking about the material outside of class, and it would allow us to express our opinions and ideas in an alternative form. I guess I saw blogging as a fun alternative to writing research papers or something of that nature. What I wanted to create may have not been what others wanted to create, which may have not been what our professor wanted us to create. If we had answered more clearly, or at least revisited as a group, the question of what we wanted to create with our large network of blogs, I believe we would have been more successful in establishing a shared vision.

Going along with that, I think the blogging experience would have been more favorable if we had each firmly established our own personal vision for blogging. I think, from the comments on Wednesday, that a lot of us were concerned with knowing Prof. Arvan's vision for the blogs. We wanted to know how they would be graded, and not knowing that very clearly, in my opinion, caused us to not take as many risks. Some of us would have more often deviated from the prompt if we were sure it was encouraged. I think sometimes we just did not have a good sense of our vision for blogging. None of us are seasoned bloggers. I would say that our "personal mastery" is higher than it was fifteen weeks ago, but it still isn't extraordinary. Senge says that for people with high personal mastery, "a vision is a calling rather than simply a good idea." (Senge, 132) Maybe if we each had more of a vision rather than an idea for our blog, we would have all enjoyed the experience more.

I think we could have done more, but we did quite a bit as it is. A lot of this has to do with this course having a lot of "firsts" involved: first time for blogging (most of us), first time for the course, etc. Given all of those firsts, I think we have ended up with some fairly nice products of our experience. Maybe we didn't design as much effective change as we wanted to, but there's still time for us to reach more of our vision for the class. We still have one or two more posts to write, some of us have a multimedia project to finish, and my group is working on a survey and proposal to get a mentoring program for ANTH 143 going. It took us a while to get personal visions to line up with the shared vision, but I think it has happened here near the end of the semester. I would have liked it to have happened earlier. I would have liked for this ANTH 143 project to have come into focus before Thanksgiving break, but it didn't. So now, we work the best we can with the time we have this semester and maybe next semester, too. So long as we don't let reality bring us down too much, maybe we can achieve our vision for this class after all.

The Largest Game of Telephone

When many students get to campus, they're so lost and scared (whether they will admit it or not) that they cling to whomever they marginally know. "Oh, hey! I sat three seats behind you in U.S. History our sophomore year of high school." "Yeah, I vaguely remember that." "Can we make each other feel less lonely for the next couple weeks?" "Sure." Nobody ever explicitly has one of those kinds of conversations with anyone, but the dynamic among newly-arrived freshmen is similar. I remember going to IHOP with a couple people at some absurd hour of the night my first day here. I knew maybe four of the dozen people, and those I knew, I think I have talked with them perhaps ten times since. Not because we don't like each other, but we all found a support network and friends in other places. Acquaintances can be like your best friends when you're surrounded by strangers.

Once I found college organizations and people with whom I shared much in common, things became easier. One of the biggest differences I noticed between high school and college is interaction among students of different ages. I would say that 95% of my friends in high school were in my same grade. Part of the reason is that high school is much more linear and standardized with its curriculum. In college, I began to make friends with people of many different ages. It didn't matter that I was 18. It didn't matter that some people were 22 and sometimes even older than that. The four years between 14 and 18 and much greater than the four years between 18 and 22. Hence, the college experience for me seemed immediately to be much more community oriented. I had frequent conversations with people who had more experience than me, and I learned a lot about what was to come. Without realizing it, I was drawn into the largest game of telephone ever started.

Most of you have played telephone, but for the sake of not assuming, I'll give a quick explanation. In telephone, one person chooses a message to whisper to the person next to them. That person in turn whispers it to the person next to them, and so on, and so on until the last person receives the message. By that point, if the original message chosen was long or crazy enough, the message is quite different. At college, the game of telephone is similar, but obviously much more complicated. The idea is the same: passing a message along. "Gameplay" is different: no one knows what the original message was; there are countless messages being circulated; each person adds their own experience to the life of the message. Maybe you think this is a stretch, but just think of a pair of cans connected with a length of string and an iPhone: they're essentially the same... except for a bunch of differences.

When you get to college, you begin to be told things by those who have more experience. I think most people, unless they are unfortunate enough to have no older friends, have this experience. "Beware the freshman fifteen!" "Don't sell your textbooks back to the bookstores. They give you nothing." "MATH 347 is a weed out course. If you make it through okay, you'll be fine." The truth of some of the statements is questionable, but I would say that a majority of the advice I received was helpful, or at least worth thinking about. My friends who had been on campus for longer than I had been were informally acting as mentors to me. I was their appreciative apprentice. Some of what they said, I passed on to others ("Beware the freshman fifteen!"); some, I ignored ("You don't want to minor in anthropology if your major is math."); other messages, I created on my own and continue to pass on ("Avoid a senior crisis and do some of the things you've always wanted to do now, like join an a cappella group!") Mentoring relationships on campus aren't hard to come by, and most of us are in them; we just don't realize we are.

Tying mentorship of some sort into ANTH 143 (our project), would be fantastic. If we could link students who have taken a course with those who are currently taking it, we eliminate the difficult task of finding someone with the type of knowledge you would like a mentor to have. If we can bring some formality and structure to the mentoring relationship, maybe it will be more effective. I think that when you're trying out something new, success is measured by how well you were able to implement your idea. Let's say I put something into place the best I can, and it flops. Success! I found out that's not the way to go. I hope that whatever we come up with for ANTH 143 works out and helps both the former and current students, but if even if it doesn't, we will have tried something new. The next pioneers have one fewer option they need to consider when thinking of how to make the largest game of telephone the best game of telephone.

Gaining EXP Like Crazy

When I played Pokémon as an adolescent, I used to try to spread out the experience points (EXP) among my monsters so that they would all be well-rounded. I beat the game (that is, defeated the most difficult opponent, not caught everything for you purists) without too much difficulty. However, I had the easiest time beating the game when I decided to invest in only one monster. My fiery chicken friend was remarkably powerful, and he acquired EXP at a rate that suggested that it might be discontinued soon. It's funny that in this addictive video game, the best way to win, for me, was to go against the "being well-rounded" approach we are so used to supporting and instead become as one-dimensional as possible. It makes me wonder. When I look around, I see lots of well-rounded people, but the ones who make it to the top of their fields have spent disproportionate amounts of time pursuing one goal, whether it be comedy, golf, or eating hot dogs. I wouldn't trade many of my lesser abilities for greater proficiency in one, but I might consider it. For instance, I still remember waaay too much about Pokémon. I would gladly trade this knowledge for knowledge in a more important realm, which would probably qualify just about any other knowledge realm. Experience is valuable; we learn from/during/within/preposition it.

Most of us can probably recognize when we've learned from an experience or course. I know I can tell in part because it's directly related to the way in which I learn. When I'm using the "bucket" approach instead of the much more effective (There's that word again!) "fire" approach, I don't learn as much. With the bucket approach, I take all the material covered, stick it in a "bucket" and pour it into my ear until it saturates my brain. My brain, soaking with real analysis or whatever, slowly leaks until what's left is the dried remains of whatever I poured that could not escape. WIth the match approach, my curiosity and desire for more experience sparks a fire inside that continues to burn as an ember, conflagration*, or something in between. The match method works better than the bucket method because it keeps feeding the desire to learn and know. (Yes, Mr. or Ms. Critic, sometimes fires go out. The metaphor isn't perfect.)

The results of learning can take two forms, which are suggested right smack-dab in the middle of our prompt for this week:
"Does it matter for this whether the learning is transformative, where your fundamental beliefs are altered, or if the learning is more surface, new ideas or skills are acquired but your world view remains intact?"
I believe that both occur in my life.

Sometimes, there's a place on one of my mind's shelves just waiting for knowledge to fill it. In mathematics, I find that there is a logical progression from one course to the next. That's why math is taught linearly so often. We can bring a student from counting to binary operations to pre-algebra to algebra, etc. As I learn math, I don't feel that my fundamental beliefs are altered. Most of the time, I am acquiring new skills that connect very nicely with my previously acquired skills. That's one of my favorite characteristics of math: it spirals and grows. I don't have to eliminate what I know, unless I've been taught incorrectly; I only have to connect it to what I already know. It makes sense as a coherent whole.

Other times, however, I need to reorganize the shelves in my mind before I can place an object down. I feel this has been more the case with my faith and its relation to the observable world. I believe the Bible to be God's Word to us. I also believe that science has shown us many observable truths. To me, science and religion are not mutually exclusive. This proves challenging when thinking of how the truth of the Bible and the findings of modern science can coexist. Until about 9 months ago, I couldn't see how the theory of evolution could possibly fit into the world view of someone who believes in Christ as his or her savior. However, my reading and re-reading of Genesis, my study of who God is, and prayer have brought me to a point where the theory and the truth can "live in harmony." It took me a while to reorganize my shelves, but I managed to fit new knowledge in without eliminating anything I believe to be true.

Of course, there are times when space simply needs to be cleared in order to make room for newly acquired knowledge. In this case, I think of it more as an upgrade. Why would I want to believe that I can hypocritically judge when the Bible says that I should lovingly confront? (Matthew 7:2-5 and 18:15-17) Why would I want to think that parallel means "two lines that never cross" when "everywhere equidistant" is such a better way of putting it? In other words, it makes little sense to me to keep knowledge that is outdated or just plain wrong.

In all of these ways, I think that learning becomes a part of me. What I know is useful if I can use it in my own life, but what I know is really meaningful to me if I can explain it to others. The more I truly know, the more I am able to discuss with others. Ideally, I'd be well-rounded and well-versed (like having a whole troupe of super-powerful fire chickens at my disposal!). I want to be able to use and teach what I know. And that's why I'm trying to gain EXP like crazy!

*Credit for my use of this $5-word goes to Ms. Tookey and her PSAT prep methods.

You Gotta Sell It, Or I'm Not Buying

It is in a cruel situation I'm put most nights. Let me start off saying that I find it so maddening that my most interesting thoughts come to me as I drift off to sleep. They rise to the surface and pass before my closed eyes. Suddenly, it becomes a struggle of mind versus body. What a cruel state of affairs. Should I continue to lie on the bed, letting myself slip deeper into unconsciousness, or should I rouse myself and write down what seems like a gem? Most often, I choose the former. How sad. How cruel, and how sad.

Anyway, I am fortunate enough to remember some semblance of my last waking thought from yesterday night. I was trying to decide what to write for this week's post. "Effectiveness. Eliminating major requirements. Effectiveness. Eliminating major requirements..." The two thoughts bounced back and forth in some weird courtship dance until (finally!) mutual consent, conception, birth of an idea. So here it is, what you've all been waiting for: my first ever post in November.

Drucker discusses effectiveness in chapters 13-15 of The Complete Drucker. The individual must be effective, and he or she may accomplish this through contribution and knowing his or her strengths and weaknesses. An individual is NOT effective if he or she does NOTHING. You can have the best ideas, but if you fail to act, you fail to be effective. You can analyze the right problems, know the right choices, but if you do not provide or contribute toward a solution you are not very valuable at all.

Now, classes in our majors and minors are supposed to help us figure out more of what we need to know to be effective in our careers. These classes, I propose, are effective if they accomplish this. Then these classes are not effective if they fail to contribute to our eduction as engineers, teachers, writers, accountants, etc. Classes have strengths and weaknesses. They cover certain topics and neglect others so that, I think, we become more effective ourselves. All this is to say that I think I can, instead of looking at the individual and effectiveness, look at the major or minor course requirement and its effectiveness. And that's exactly what I plan to do, right here, right now.

The mathematics major is very effective. The beginning classes, like calculus and basic proof-writing, are absolutely necessary, and students are given plenty of choice among the more advanced courses, which I feel are challenging and worthwhile. The courses build upon one another. One can see the progression from one course to the next and connections among the courses. I think someone who is serious about math and has the desire to major in it at the U of I will emerge ready to effective in whatever field of mathematics he or she chooses to pursue. That is why I am not giving the math major much attention in this post; it is a well constructed, effective major.

Get ready to rumble, Mathematics Secondary Teaching concentration!

There are so many courses in the secondary education minor that need either serious work or serious scrapping. The core courses, a four-course curriculum and instruction sequence in mathematics (CI 401-404), are wonderful, and I have learned a great deal from them, but many of the others need serious help. The main problems with these other courses is that they are neither challenging nor convincing.

Take for example the course EOL 440, aka Educational Organization and Leadership 440: Professional Issues for Teachers. This is a one credit hour course, which is the first sign that it is not very important. One hour a week? It makes it seem right away like I won't be investing much in this material. The professor reads through PowerPoint slides having to do with all the many ways a teacher interacts with the law. The main thing I remember from this class is that the instructor at one time was going to become a priest. He also at one time was a superintendent. (I found out this semester from another professor that he is no longer a superintendent because of, in short, his not following some reporting procedures as he should have.) Nothing else stuck with me.

Nothing else stuck probably because the class was set up in a way that you could get an 'A' without any effort or interest whatsoever. Our homework consisted of some "quick writes" in class and journal entries outside of class. These required no reading. Tests were entirely multiple choice (multiple guess, as my high school Physics teacher liked to call them), and some questions were repeated multiple times within the same test! If you create a class where students do not have to do any studying at all, you've created an ineffective class. I "glided" through EOL 440. I'm not proud that I didn't have to do anything, but I am somewhat impressed that the University is able to create these classes that end up just being a completion checkmark. "Good job, Joe! You sat in lecture 15 times and made it to the final! You have completed your professional issues requirement." This course, and others like it, are not effective because they contribute virtually nothing to our education. EOL 440 never convinced me that I should invest my time into it. I didn't buy into it.

Existence doesn't assert meaningfulness. In chapter 14 of Drucker, he criticizes managers who justify their work by saying "I have [some number] of people working under me." Big deal! If you don't contribute to the greater good, you aren't very important. This goes for classes. Just because a class exists doesn't mean it says anything. I think that it's probably very important that teachers learn about professional issues, but that's just a feeling I get. EOL 440 didn't convince me of this. The professor, classroom, and journal entries were a clever attempt to make it seem worthwhile, but it didn't work.

I could analyze the class' strengths and weaknesses to attempt to make it effective, but that would take a while, and that's really not going to get us anywhere. The University, the College of Education, whoever is in charge of developing the sequence of courses that education majors must take needs to look over the curriculum again. Why is a class where no thought is required, well, required? Why is CI 473, Literacy in Mathematics, taught by someone who knows plenty about literacy but nothing about mathematics? Why are my two special education classes crammed into fifteen 3-hour sessions in one semester?

Some classes, like CI 401-404, are effective. They contribute to my education. The choices of what should be covered in those classes have been made well. If only the other classes were as effective, maybe more students like me would buy into them. As it stands, we leave them on the shelves.

Crazy Little Thing Called Apathy

"This thing called [apathy] I just can't handle it / This thing called [apathy] I must get round to it / I ain't ready / Crazy little thing called [apathy]"

One of the most difficult things for me to overcome is apathy. Sometimes it's blatant, like when someone asks a question I just don't even want to get my brain going to think about. Other times, it's more passive, like when I just don't care enough to step out and say something. Therefore to me, apathy comes in two different flavors. Both of them come and go, and I think that there is one major thing that makes me let down my defenses enough for the apathy bug to bite.

Many thanks to Kim whose most recent post has proven something that everyone can work into their respective blogs. Though the two characters, Rebecca and Felicity, are extremes, I think we all feel that we lean more toward one than the other. Some of us feel more inclined to ready, aim, re-aim, examine our firearm, polish it, aim again, call our friends for advice, aim one last time, and then fire. Others are more likely to fire before before knowing exactly where the target is. But certainly there are other roles in group projects. What about the ones who didn't even bother to load their weapon or to even buy one? There are plenty of (I'll just name this character so that everyone has a name.) Andy's in classes. After all, the disengagement pact doesn't make sense if there are only Rebecca's and Felicity's. The Andy's of our lives just let the Rebecca's and Felicity's duke it out and then tag along with the victor. (Note: 'victor' is not another character.)

When trying to institute change, I think it's helpful in the long run to have a diverse cast of characters working together. If we manage to make a change with which nearly everyone agrees, then we have something that will withstand scrutiny. If I asked only people who liked vanilla for advice on establishing an ice cream store, I'd end up with something that served only a specific sector. Meanwhile, if someone else polls a variety of ice cream lovers, he or she will end up with a finished product that more people will like. David claims in his post, "Diversity," that "The more diverse the group, the more the total amount of different problems it can accomplish, and the happier it becomes." This goes along with my ice cream analogy to an extent: diversity of input makes for a better end result. BUT! This only happens when the diverse inputs can mesh.

I think that when there are more opinions within a group, there is a greater likelihood that nothing will get done. Some will want to do one thing while others will want to do another. In her post from earlier today, Alessandra talks about Felicity and Rebecca from her standpoint as a Felicity. She states that Rebecca "ends up coming off like she doesn’t really care about the project – whether she does or not it is hard to tell." Later on, she esteems Felicity by saying it is "more demanding and draining" to be her. I really think the two are misinterpreted. Rebecca isn't a slacker. Felicity isn't a hero. They're both just people who do things differently, and it's hard when they try to work together.

"A house divided against itself cannot stand." When horses who want to push forward and think later and horses who want to do lots of thinking and then move get together, the cart stands still or gets torn apart. Sorry for all the doom and gloom, but at some point you need to make concessions. That's where apathy (and Andy) comes into play. I am most tempted to become an Andy (Sorry for continuing to use these names, but it's just so convenient.) when I look at the horses pulling the cart in different directions. That is when I'm tempted to look and say, "Well, that's going nowhere. Where's another cart?" The ANTH 143 project option seemed to me to be an abandoned cart waiting for someone to take a seat. It involves what we have been talking about for so long, was something that Prof. Arvan suggested could be a good option, and looked like something in which I could hop and go for a ride.

I don't know how our projects will end up looking. I hope that all three or four or them come out great with each group designing an effective change. I want the mentoring catalog to be a useful tool, the ANTH 143 proposal to be instituted, etc. Sometimes you can't unite everyone. Not every idea gets people "hot now," to reference a previous post. What we can do is find a topic in which we are interested and go for it. Whether that means we go for it now or think a bit and go for it later, that's fine. Just don't be apathetic.

For A Moment, I'll Be Ebert Jr.

Declining by Degrees: thumbs up, as far as informing you how the post-secondary education system works; thumbs down as far as something to spend two hours watching over popcorn with friends.

Sure, it's not a fun movie. It doesn't leave you feeling happy or sad or angry. I don't really know what it left me feeling except more knowledgeable about what our higher education system has become. Higher education is more a business than I ever thought it was. What brings in the big bucks? High-achieving students, flashy buildings, and great sports teams. While state funding of post-secondary education continues to be cut, families find it harder to send their children to college. Nontraditional students have it harder, too, but that has to do with more than just money. Are we being challenged? Not really, if we don't want to be. I guess I've been living the good life here (no debt, honors courses, comfy job, challenging classes in the field I want) and never truly realized it.

Bottom line, I would definitely watch the movie at movie night if I had it to do over again. If you have the two hours it takes to watch it outside of class, go for it!

Anyone Can Read This

The most exciting thing about this blog is also the most terrifying: anyone can read this! (Hi Mom! Hi Dad! Thanks for sending me to college. I swear I do more than write blogs here.)

I would, for the most part, classify the results of openness as benefits rather than challenges*. Being open about our class and with my writing encourages me to take it more seriously. For example, let's say I'm making dinner. If I'm only feeding myself, 95% of the time I heat something up in the microwave. If I'm feeding the guys at my house, I choose a simple recipe and take an hour, maximum, to cook. Now if I'm suddenly trying to impress some large unknown audience with my cooking skills, I probably take the task a lot more seriously. What I mean is that I don't want someone to visit this site, start to read, stop mid-way through a post, and then cough it back up on his or her plate. Especially that last part. There's no way of my knowing if someone were to do this, but nevertheless it motivates me to try to be creative and mildly entertaining. But let's face it; if you're reading my blog for entertainment, you have larger issues to work out.

Putting this writing out in the open can also lead to a product larger than what I originally created. When you can read other people's work and comment on it, a multilogue can begin. I'm not even sure multilogue is a word. That might be a topic of debate you want to pursue through commenting on this post. This is another benefit of writing out in the open: maybe something I have to say will spark another person's thinking. Maybe we'll debate and come to a conclusion we hadn't expected. I was reading Greg's blog an hour ago, and I think he made some good points about how blogs allow people outside our class to get involved in our discourse. We could just as easily fulfill this class requirement by using the tools available to us through Compass, but that would eliminate the possibility of anyone besides the 18 of us from entering the discussion. Even though no one outside of our class has commented on any of our blogs yet, I know for a fact that at least a couple of people outside of our class read them.

Because people outside of our class can and do read our posts, we're getting the word out about what we're discussing. I have no idea if the discussion is going anywhere far beyond the 18 of us. I highly doubt it. But a benefit of openness is possibility. We are allowing others to challenge us.

Of course, it's not all peaches and cream with blogging. It's a rough world out there, and privacy is definitely an issue with this style of writing. I know one of the members of our class wants to take special care to protect his or her privacy online. That's why in my last post, I simply refer to him or her as "R—." One way to resolve this issue would be to have some sort of alias under which you write. I guess that would take care of it. Maybe privacy isn't such a major problem—I mean, challenge. A greater challenge of openness, I think, might be actually being open. I don't think we've had too much difficulty with this. The general class population seems to have no problem critiquing the course. I've also read many posts where people are willing to bring in examples from their lives.

The challenges of openness, we have dealt with nicely. The benefits of openness, we haven't fully realized. There are means by which we can make others aware of our writing and project. We can use public forums to link others to our blogs. Maybe they'll read them. I'm not sure how many people will want to contribute to our course goal, but you never know. Someone really important or influential might read what you have to write. Not that all of us aren't really important or influential!

Well, for now that's all folks.

*There are no problems; only challenges. Thank you, political correctness.**
** This used to say "politically correctness." I'm letting you know for honesty's sake, though it really wouldn't nag my conscience if I didn't add this note.

Your Blog Bites!

Yeah, you heard me! Your blog bites! It's really quite sad that you've even attempted to write one. I'm actually planning to read it within the next hour or so because I've been having trouble falling asleep lately. My plan to remedy my insomnia? Your blog! It's just really bad, and that's all I should have to say. So, there you have it.

Oh, and by the way: can you be better? I just think that someone who writes as poorly as you do has such great room for improvement. You've got all this potential that you're wasting because you're not trying. I can see it in your eyes. I can smell it coming from the page. What, you ask? The lack of awesomeness. It pains me to know that you're not reaching for the stars. You're content to wallow in the muck and mire of your attempts to write.

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Don't worry, everyone! I wasn't talking to any of you, so you can move your cursor away from the "delete account" button. I'm sure my criticism had some of you on the verge of tears, and it's okay to cry sometimes, but—Okay, wow. Getting waaay off track. I promise to consider any criticism directed at my intro, sarcasm, etc.

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I actually did read a couple of blogs this week, and I think I see a little of my own experience and views on criticism coming through the writing of my classmates. In Jake's description of his two basketball coaches, I could see my own experiences with my high school baseball coaches, A— and L—. (Thanks, Mr. Poe, for giving us The Purloined Letter and your method of withholding names to make things seem more serious.) A—, much like Jake's Coach M, liked to get in your face and openly criticize you. He made cutting players a spectacle. I remember the team during my freshman year gradually being whittled down from an enthusiastic 19 to nervous 10. I was really hoping that A—'s plan wasn't to follow the example of Willie Wonka, cutting our numbers down further and further until he found his successor. *shiver!* His methods of criticism worked for a select few, for whom I think just about any form of criticism would have worked. His style was very much unlike L—'s method of criticism, which was much more constructive. L—, whom I mentioned in this previous post, was a really good coach for me, though not the best in terms of leading our team to success. His criticism didn't aim at embarrassing you into improvement but instead aimed at building you into a better person who would improve because he wanted to be the best he could be. Not to boast, but for the sake of showing how he in fact did this, L— once said that he wished he could have a team full of guys like me. Knowing he said that made every bit of criticism that came from his mouth more meaningful. This was someone trying to make me better, and I wanted to take his advice. I think most people have had an A— and L— in their life.

This connects to what I read in R—'s post, where she talks about three main points she considers before offering criticism: context, audience, and goal. I've never stopped to think about what I consider before criticizing, but those points really sum it up well! I feel like if I went into further detail, I'd just end up rehashing what R— has already described very well on her own blog, so I think it'd be best for you to read what she has to say. Thinking about whom you are giving criticism, in what situation, and for what purpose is a good practice to have because it makes you carefully chose your words so that they have the most positive impact. After considering these three points, you may even decide that your criticism isn't even necessary! I would add another perspective to this pre-criticism thinking, that of the one being criticized. Just as the one doling out criticism must consider context, audience, and goal, the one receiving criticism should consider the context, speaker, and his or her goal. I have to admit that I can be very defensive when being criticized. I need to resist the urge to release my ego's quills upon contact, and I think I've been better about that in recent years. (Feel free to let me know how I can improve. Yes, I just suggested you criticize how I take criticism.) When someone sits me down for "a talk," I need to think about why that is, who they are, and how I can be a good recipient. For instance, I knew this past Monday that Prof. Arvan was taking each of us aside to talk with us about our reflections. I wasn't in trouble. He wants me to improve my writing. He offered his criticism through conversation. Knowing all this, the meeting went well. If I had thought incorrectly about any of context, speaker, or goal, the meeting may have been less beneficial.

So I'm not the greatest (yet!) at receiving criticism, but am I any good at giving criticism? Maybe. I feel like it's not my place to gauge that. I never go in thinking, "Oh, boy! This is really going to be received totally differently from how I want it to be!" but sometimes that's what happens. I could afford to take the other person's perspective a bit more often. I mentioned last week how I'd really benefit from not assuming things so much. I think this feeds into my ineffective criticism. Sometimes, I consider motive, which I can't really do, and that gets me in trouble. Not to make myself sound like an awful critic, I think I can be very constructive when someone comes to me explicitly looking for something of theirs or about them to be critiqued. I occasionally read over skits and essays to offer improvement. Sometimes, I'm asked if I think such and such is a good idea. In those situations where I don't need to make the first move, I think I succeed. I certainly could improve how I initiate conversations where criticism is involved so that the results are better.

Good criticism can be difficult to recognize. In the end, the value of criticism is best measured retroactively. If the situation changes for the better, without anything changing for the worse, I think something must have gone well. At the time, it can be difficult to see if anything will really change as a result of criticism. We can recognize if a conversation is calm or if it's getting out of hand. We know how we feel immediately after having received or given criticism, but we don't know how or if another party or we will actually change. I'll have to sit Criticism down for a chat on how we can improve that.

It's Better Not to Assume

This is one of those posts where you can read the title and pretty much know the bottom line. (In this case, the bottom line is the top line! Har har har...) Allow me to quote myself: "It's better not to assume." There you have it. I think that you end up looking like a fool less often when you don't assume things about other people, situations, or events.

Now, before you devil's advocates reading this come up with all sorts of examples to tell me that I'm wrong, allow me to clarify what I mean by 'assume'. Assume, to me and for this post, means making a judgment based upon minimal knowledge, often none. Assume does not refer to choices made on instinct. When a police officer sees suspicious behavior and acts based on it, I think of that more as an instinct move. Though police get in trouble if they profile people based on race or ethnicity, I would treat those cases separately from those where the are acting apart from any prejudice. Additionally, some of baseball is based on quick thinking, which one might mistake for assumption. A player gets to a point where he knows the game so well that he can make good decisions almost instantaneously, but this isn't quick thinking based on little information; it's actually based on quite a bit. Just to clarify, 'assume' to me means acting based upon little proof.

The reason this topic comes to me this week is because my group, Team Dew, interviewed the Deans yesterday. Deans Watkins (LAS) and DeBrock (Business) were very easy to interview. They spoke well and gave accessible explanations with their answers. Overall, I think our proposals for a student mentoring program will be better for having had them spend an hour with us.

As we interviewed the Deans, there were quite a few surprises to me, but most of them centered around their view of large classes. Going into the interview, I thought their general tone toward large classes would be negative. Looking at the script we wrote to guide our interview, you can see that we thought that when planning it. One of the main headings in it is "The Disengagement Pact and Large Classes." So you can imagine I was surprised when Dean DeBrock talked about his effectively teaching ECON 102: a class with 1685 students! The cap for classes has shrunk to 750 students since then, but I can't even imagine teaching a class that large. And to teach it well? It seems impossible, and yet he said that he managed it well. Dean Watkins went on to say that if it weren't for large classes, we couldn't have as many small, interactive classes as we do on campus. I don't know why I hadn't really thought of that. Suddenly, my view on large classes wasn't as negative as it had been minutes before, and our script was not as useful anymore. If I had not assumed the discussion would go a certain way, I think I would have been prepared with more questions along different lines. I still think that the interview went well, and I managed to ask a question off the top of my head, but that's in spite of preparing for a certain discussion that didn't really happen.

I've found myself in similar situations my entire life. One that immediately comes to mind is the time my parents wanted to take my brother and me to listen to chamber music at a local library. I whined about it. I just knew it would be boring. I didn't know why I had to be exposed to "culture." The whole time leading up to it, I complained. And then I ended up enjoying it. So what did my assumption do for me? It made me waste my time by being miserable, and it wasted my parents' time explaining how it would be fun. I'm sure it also got on their nerves to some extent.

There have been times recently when I've been prone to assume something negative, but thought back on all the times I've been wrong before. If I stop and think, I often find there are many other possible reasons or outcomes than the one that immediately comes to mind. This is something at which I want to get better, especially since teaching seldom goes as planned. I think I've gotten better about not assuming things, but I'm still a work in progress; I assume all of you are, too. (Just kidding.)

(A Lack Of?) Alignment

Of all my posts thus far, this one took me the longest to think of what to say. That's not saying much since the others, for the most part, have just come to me. It took me a while because I had a hard time thinking of a stellar example of a time when some unit of which I was a member lacked alignment so much so that it frustrated reaching our goals. I could have easily thought of times when being aligned helped us accomplish what we set out to do, but those aren't as interesting to write about. "We were all on the same page, and we did it. It was fun. Difficult, but fun." That's how I imagine that blog reading. No, I wanted to remember a time when everything came apart because the alignment was so poor. I have something close, but not perfectly disastrous.

In The Essential Drucker, Peter Drucker (who else would it be?) discusses the purpose and objectives of a business being essential to its success. He writes that "Objectives are the foundation for designing both the structure of the business and the work of individual units and individual managers." (p 30) He identifies eight key areas (marketing, innovation, and human resources, for example) in which objectives "are always needed." (p 30) Alignment among objectives is paramount to a successful business. If individuals have different objectives than that of the business, then progress is stalled or halted. Alignment is important because it is a necessary requirement for movement. Ultimately, the manager is in control of this. He or she needs to make sure that the work assigned to each individual is appropriate given his or her abilities and that each individual is doing his or her work.

On a high school baseball team, or any team for that matter, the coach acts as manager. In the major leagues, the coach even goes by the title "manager." In addition to the manager, there can be captains or other individuals who adopt formal managerial responsibilities. These assistant managers and captains are vital to the success of the team, but I'll say it again: ultimately, the manager is in control. The 2006 Lincoln Park Lions Varsity Baseball team really didn't have any assistant managers or captains in place to make the team more successful. We had a very likable coach; I can't imagine his being more understanding or kind, but we didn't win, and that's what a sports team is all about. There were some members of the team whose objective was to win. Some players dreamed of playing college or professional baseball, but others of us knew that this was the end of the road. High school baseball would be it for us. I fell into this latter group along with some of my friends.

We all wanted to win (Who doesn't like winning?), but we were not all aligned. Some of the team wanted to practice more often than three or four times a week. Others were content with that level of dedication. This was the source of some disagreement as the season drew near to its end. The playoffs were approaching, and it was time to "go big or go home" as I hear all the time. (Aside: I really don't like that phrase, but I'll use it anyway.) A couple teammates organized a meeting outside to talk about our needing to practice more. Some of us weren't willing to take that step. AP and IB exams were just around the corner, and preparing for those mattered more to us. Furthermore, we had a coach who completely supported our academic lives. School always came before baseball. That said, the meeting did not unite us toward a common goal. We dispersed in our respective directions, and our team lost in the second round of the playoffs.

Alignment isn't easy, especially when you consider motivation. I'm in charge of organizing prayer activities at Axiom, a ministry here on campus, and I have never had such a difficult assignment. I think part of the reason it's difficult getting people united in prayer is an alignment issue and part of it is a motivation issue. As far as alignment, people have many different ways of praying. Some prefer praying alone, others in groups. Some pray at specific times, others whenever it comes to mind, and some do both. All of these are perfectly acceptable methods of praying. I just find it hard to find common ground, some way to get everyone excited about prayer. That's the other part: motivating prayer. Something as cool as talking with God should provide its own motivation. About two and a half years ago, I went on a retreat where the speaker chose to preach about prayer. He used a corny but memorable connection between Krispy Kreme Donuts and prayer to motivate his point. "When I see the 'Hot Now!' sign lit up at Krispy Kreme, I get excited," he said. "We should feel the same way about prayer. Being able to approach God in prayer should make us say 'Hot Now!'" As I said, the analogy is super corny, but I think it makes some sense. Alignment and motivation are closely related. There needs to be some source of motivation to align. My team wasn't motivated to go far in the playoffs, so we had unaligned objectives, and we lost. Communal prayer at Axiom is difficult to coordinate, but I'll keep praying for it!

That reminds me of something! When I think about it, my life is a business, and God is the manager. When I let Him be in charge of my life and align my objectives with his, it's way better. Woot! That thought just made my day a lot better.

To sum it all up, alignment is one of the keys to the success of a business, which can be just about anything. The manager and all other individuals involved need to know the business' objectives and his or her role in fulfilling them. Drucker writes that "Defining the purpose and mission of the business…alone enables a business to set objectives, to develop strategies, to concentrate its resources, and to go to work." (p 28) Alignment is both difficult and necessary for success.

I Think I Can

(Aside: Did anybody else have the story of The Little Engine That Could come to mind with this topic? Anyone? No? Okay.)

"You really should be doing more of the readings," it says.

"Watching movie reviews again!? Aren't there more important things you could be doing?"

"Get out and get going!"

These are things I frequently "hear" my conscience, or whatever it is, say to me when I'm neither intrinsically nor extrinsically motivated to do course work or some other task I feel obligated to do. I can't shut it up, and it's right waaay too often. It just never gives up trying to convince me to be a more disciplined student.

Typically, I get enough motivation from grades and wanting to establish a foundation for the future, however one does that, to keep me going. I wasn't very interested in learning about educational organization and leadership, but it was an easy 'A', and wasn't about to let a class like that tarnish my GPA. I also don't care too much for knowing the ins and outs of assessment, but that seems like something of which a teacher ought to have an understanding, so I pay attention and do the work.

Every once in a while, there's a class that just clicks with me. A source of motivation doesn't have to exist outside of myself. The instructor doesn't have to rely on saying things like "This will be on the test." to keep me going. I don't have to remind myself that it's a 4 credit hour course that will have a significant impact on my GPA. These courses are worth their weight in gold. (Hmmm... how do you weigh a class anyway?)

At the beginning of the Fall 2007 semester, I decided to take a TI Graphing Calculator short course. There were a few reasons why I was intrinsically motivated in this course. First of all, it wasn't graded. There wasn't the "I have to get an 'A'" motivation that usually exists. Furthermore, I chose to take the course without having to take it. I received an email, telling me about is availability, and I thought it would interest and benefit me. Along these same lines, the class proved indeed to be interesting, so my curiosity was simply enough to keep me engaged. The class had very visible applications because everything we learned could be immediately applied with the calculators in front of us. Using a calculator for stats work is fun, and I wanted to discover more than just what the instructor was teaching.

It's difficult to pinpoint exactly what makes learning in courses like this one so painless. I hesitate to say that intrinsic motivation stems entirely from curiosity or interest because those things are so vague and they mean such different things to different people. If curiosity and interest are the roots, then the role of teacher is that much more difficult and nearly impossible to master because there is no heuristic for creating a lesson that everyone will find worthy of their attention. At a certain point, it seems like the desire to learn has to come from within or from some uncontrollable source.

It all makes me think of what is "right." Everyone has a different take on what is right and what is wrong. Some argue that there is no such thing. Yet, I'd be hard-pressed to find someone who would say it's okay to kill people or steal from old ladies. It's just... wrong, right? What's our motivation to not kill or steal, though? Is it extrinsic or intrinsic or both. I think it would be pretty scary if the motivation were entirely extrinsic for us. If jail time or fines were the only thing keeping us from causing our fellow man harm, I think we'd be in really bad shape as a society.

C.S. Lewis writes quite a bit about the Moral Law in his book Mere Christianity. He argues that there is a law of right and wrong, known to all humanity and "hard as nails." We know of this law because of certain actions, such as genocide or stealing, we all just "know" are wrong. Thus, the moral law is known intuitively instead of through observation. We often break or ignore it. Breaking it causes us dismay and keeps us from that which would provide us eternal joy. It makes sense to me that a law like this would come from a source outside of myself. There is more than extrinsic motivation that drives my behavior, but I cannot point to anything of who I am as the source of the intrinsic portion. When I point to a source beyond myself, God in this case, choices of right vs. wrong and reasons for curiosity itself make more sense.

There are always more ideas to consider and more questions to ponder. We have the desire to learn because we don't understand everything around us but want to so badly. Sometimes school/learning/studying seems overwhelming to me. Extrinsic motivation isn't enough. There's something inside me that keeps me going even when I no longer think I can. It's beyond my control, and yet I like it that way.

Writing into my Own

One month has passed quickly. I've only written a little bit, and not anything spectacular, but nevertheless it's refreshing to be able to write about a topic and see where I go with it. Furthermore, I like the idea that somewhere, someone might actually read this. There's the possibility that what I have to say matters to someone enough that he or she will finish the first sentence and decide to read the second. I have creative control over something, which I feel I often don't have in my mathematics courses.

Sure, you can be fairly creative with proofs, but there's still a right answer, a target. I appreciate that most of the time because I like having a specific goal, but sometimes I like to determine my target by how I decide to launch. That's how I feel it is with blogging. I start off with a general idea of what I want to say, and then fire and hope that where I end up is somewhat meaningful.

Finding a balance between structure and improvisation is not easy for me in general. It's kind of the same with being analytical and intuitive. I take sure steps when it comes to solving problems, and don't often go off in directions that I haven't tested before. Blogging has let me do a little more exploring than I tend to do, and I think in the process I've "found my voice," as they say.

As far as connecting this to the class material, I think it's pretty easy to see how this subject matter connects to my life. Jerome Bruner's The Process of Education is something I would have expected to have been assigned in one of my education classes. So much of what he writes, I have read in other contexts the past 2 years. The ability of children to learn abstract ideas increases as they get older. There is a step-by-step way we tend to learn, even if we don't realize it. All children can learn something if you teach it at the appropriate level. These things I believe true; they affect the way I teach.

Just yesterday, there were some guests at my house's worship night. One of our campus ministers invited Thad, one of his friends who works at Salt and Light Ministries in Champaign, to talk to us about volunteer opportunities. Thad in turn invited along the executive director of Salt and Light, Nathan, and Nathan's kids. After the night was over and everyone was milling around, I decided to talk with the director's son, Benjamin, just to be nice and make waiting around a bit less dull for him. As I talked with Benjamin, I learned that he "used to be good at math" but now is "horrible at it." "Oh no!" I thought. "Another child destined to hate math!" I immediately took it as my mission during the time we had left to change his opinion about math and his abilities as much as I could.

My strategy was to present a problem I think is pretty interesting and shape it to fit his 4th grade understanding of things. The problem starts out dividing a line segment with points to make more line segments. A fourth grader can surely define the pattern as (# of points) + 1 = (number of lines), and Benjamin did. Then, I took it a step further to dividing a disk with lines. The pattern here can be defined recursively or empirically, though the latter would be very difficult for a fourth grader because it involves linear algebra. With the right questioning on my part, Benjamin came up with a recursive definition, no problem. We started talking about different dimensions of objects and other related topics, and the conversation kept going until he had to leave. When he left, he took the notes we had written and told me he was going to show his friends and teacher. For the foreseeable future, I don't think math will leave as bad a taste in his mouth as it did before.

The point I tried to get across to Benjamin, and what I'll try to communicate to my students, is that math is well within their reach. It's my job to make it accessible. Through quality questioning, I think teachers can turn any student into a good math student. Maybe not good in the sense that they get all the right answers, but good in the sense that they have the right approach; that they understand the methods of mathematics and can apply them to problem solve. Anyone can learn math; I believe that.

Talk

Your favorite brand of mayo versus your favorite movie. One is probably a lot more appealing to discuss than the other, and for most I assume it's the latter.

Think about it. The topic of discussion is the key to a good discussion. Sure, your partner or partners in discussion matter. If I wanted to talk film, I would take Michael Phillips, the Chicago Tribune film critic, over just about anyone else because his expertise is unquestionable and I read his reviews regularly. But if you're about to have a discussion with any random sampling of 10 people on this campus, the topic of conversation will correlate most closely with the liveliness of the conversation, if there even is a statistic that can measure something like that.

When I meet someone, I always go for the most reliable conversation topic I know: that person. It's fairly simple and so effective. The best way to start a discussion with just about anyone is to talk about him or her. What does everyone in the world care about? Himself or herself. People, for the most part, really like themselves. Similarly, people really like to talk about what they really like. If you can be genuinely interested in whatever interests your conversation partner(s), you are in for a good conversation. I think the people you talk to will be at ease, too. I'm certainly not saying to fake interest (see: genuine), but only that if the goal is to find out what others think and to put them at ease for discussion, talking about them is typically a sure bet.

This tends to translate well in the classroom. Ask anyone to supplement their ideas and responses with personal experience, and you are likely to have plenty of hands raised. In our own discussion, the most lively and interactive topics of discussion have been the ones in which we have personal experience. (I've never seen people, myself included, so interested in talking about what they call their professors!) Secondhand experience, like "I have a friend who..." or "I read somewhere...," is great, and I don't want to diminish it, but nothing can replace experiencing or researching something for yourself.

Of course, there are always the quiet ones. The ones who listen intently and fail to contribute out of fear, pride, or feeling like they have nothing worthwhile to contribute. Sometimes, these people just need a personal invitation to join in the conversation. There's nothing wrong with that at first, but I'm not much of a pusher when it comes to anyone who doesn't call me "Mr. Matuch." I want you to be a part of the conversation. I want to hear what you have to say. I just don't want either of those things badly enough to continue to focus my attention on drawing you in. If I'm in a classroom, teaching high school math, and one student just doesn't talk, I'll keep trying different methods to engage. If I'm with people my own age, and one person just wants to sit on the outskirts of the discussion, I don't feel it's necessarily my role to keep yanking them in. Continuing to try to force someone into a discussion of which they want no part makes that person uncomfortable, makes the others who are engaged feel inadequate, and makes me feel tired. Allow me to let my interest in baseball show for a moment: three strikes, and you're out.

Discussion is how a great deal of learning takes place in college. I've learned a lot from talking with people in class and even more from talking to them in other public spaces. An interesting topic is a solid way to start. It's up to you and whoever else to decide where you want it to go. And if they don't feel like talking, you can see if Michael Phillips has some time free.

Limits and Living with Others

On Monday, we talked about hand washing. Seems like a simple enough topic, right? "Everyone, just wash your hands. Do it." It shouldn't be much more complicated than that, and yet it is. Something most of us are taught from our earliest of years, to frequently wash our hands (especially after contact with "germy" things), is such a burden to doctors. In Better, an entire chapter is devoted to the subject. How do you get doctors to wash their hands more frequently? What efforts need to be taken to get a desired result? The hand washing battle looks like one that will never get to the conclusion desired by everyone involved, but that doesn't mean it isn't worth the time. It just means that hospitals and those individuals inside need to be more, as Gawande puts it, diligent. Diligence is key. Constant, earnest effort may not solve the problem, but it will get them close. (At least that's the hope.)

As a math major, I can't help but think of this situation in terms of calculus and limits. You can never reach a limit. It's impossible. But you can get close. Very close. We throw out the word "infinity" like we really understand it, but we don't. Some things are beyond our capabilities, beyond us, but we continue to reach for them with diligence. We will never reach perfect hand washing technique. I think I can assert that. Therefore, making progress is hard work both because it simply is and because we're working at something that will never be perfect.

This year, I am living in a house with nine other guys, just as I have done the past two years. While living with men who share my faith and some of my interests is a very rewarding experience, there are difficulties that arise. We have different schedules, so eating dinner together is usually impossible. We have different personalities, so finding activities to do together does not always work. Most frustrating for me in the past has been our different standards when it comes to cleanliness, specifically in regard to doing dishes and maintaining the bathroom.

I'm a neat freak. I enjoy cleaning and organizing. It didn't take long for me to discover that not everyone in the house felt the same way. As a house leader, I tried to impress upon people that we should each do our part to start the dishwasher and unload it after the cycle is over. Most people got the idea, but there were a couple that either didn't understand the message or rejected it (probably the latter). Despite our efforts to get everyone to do the dishes, the same 4 or 5 of us always ended up doing dishes and keeping the kitchen clear of messes. Our diligence didn't make a dent, and I'm sure we'd still be in the same situation this year if it weren't for changes in residents.

Despite failure to improve kitchen cleanliness, we actually managed to improve bathroom cleanliness. What was the difference? I think it came down to one event that some might say was drastic. Residents continued to leave their things all over the place even though we have a house rule that states community space must be kept clean. After weeks of diligence with no tangible results, the resident in charge of cleaning the bathroom once a week posted a message that anything left out in the showers or on the counters would be thrown out. Some ignored the message, and he later proceeded to clean up and put everything that had been just lying out in the trash. Our bathroom was much cleaner thereafter. Though some people were understandably ticked off having some of their things tossed out, they adopted cleaner practices thereafter.

The difference between the two situations in my house was the type of efforts made in each. I think sometimes, it takes a drastic measure to make change. You have to be careful with using these, though, because they can leave people more than temporarily peeved. Diligence can take us closer to where we want to be, but we have to be careful about how we get there.

(Responding to my previous post, I would say that bell curve grading is not the fairest method but is quite motivating. Also, when dealing with people's lives I think every effort should be made. There are some endeavors where it might just not be worth it at a certain point, but I don't think medicine is one of them.)

Some ?s About The Bell Curve

It has been a while since I read the chapter in Better called "The Bell Curve." Still, I think I remember enough to be able to pose a couple of questions for others to consider.

First, do you think bell curve grading is the fairest way, or even one of the more fair ways, to assign scores to students?

Second, is there a point in medicine at which the effort you put in is no longer worth the fractional results? If not so in medicine, are there any endeavors where marginal improvements just are not worth the time?

I'll post very short responses to these questions at the end of my next post, which will be arriving soon. Of course, you may hear my answers in class tomorrow.

Hello, CHP 395!

"Welcome to CHP 395!" That's the first thing I expect to get out of this honors course.

In all seriousness, though, I expect to learn a lot during the way-too-quickly-approaching semester. One of the reasons I signed up for this course is because it sounds like it will have universal applicability in my life. "Effective change" can be implemented anywhere, right? But how is that done? About that, I am not so sure. I hope that discussion during the semestr will give me a much clearer idea of how to go about improving the organizations, institutions, and other -tions in which I involve myself. Specifically, I hope to discover ways to implement change at whatever high school I find a job.

Yes, that's right: I've chosen a lucrative career in teaching. (Just kidding about the lucrativeness, of course.) The secondary education program at UIUC has allowed me to pursue being a high school mathematics teacher. There's something about teaching others, whether it's math or baseball or anything in between, that excites me, and that's why I want to be a teacher. It pains me that so many statistics and research says that our school system is not doing a very good job at it. Teachers need to take the lead and strive to effectively change their classrooms and their school. Though I haven't read Bruner's The Process of Education yet, I look forward to what it has to say, if anything, on the topic. I have, however, read two of our course readings: Gladwell's The Tipping Point and Gawande's Better.

After having read those two books, I already have faith that my expectations will be reached. I've already learned a lot about how much the "little things" matter. If I decorate my classroom with bright posters and keep it organized, maybe the power of context will kick in, and maybe my students will be perkier and more organized themselves. Maybe if I find that one student in the class to whom the others look for direction and leadership and have him or her buy into my teaching, maybe the others will follow. Maybe I just need to find ways to make math "stickier." Though it seems like I just have a lot of "maybes," those are all places to begin. When I think about the next 16 weeks and Designing for Effective Change, I expect that I'll find more ways to start to make my teaching, school, church, etc., well... "Better."

I hope that having a small group will allow us to become a strong group. There are few opportunities to be in classes of such small size, and I really want to take advantage of being able to listen to each person in the class. During our time in and out of class together, I hope to get to know everyone and build some meaningful friendships. That's not so much an expectation as a wish, but I'll include it in this post anyway.

Overall, I expect that this class will be no different from any other CHP course in that it will be an enjoyable learning experience. A couple of my favorite classes at UIUC have been CHP courses. In particular, ANTH 180 (Archaeology of Death) provided me with a unique experience studying a subject that interested me with students who provided a wide range of viewpoints on the topics. This class, taught by Helaine Silverman, flew by each session. The discussions on funeral practices, cemeteries, and personal beliefs were well facilitated, and everyone seemed to be prepared to talk about the designated topic. Prof. Silverman established a comfortable learning environment right away and sat at eye level with us, and I think that made us more willing to talk about death and related material, all things that might make one uncomfortable at first. This CHP course was one of the two main motivations for me to pursue a minor in anthropology. (The other motivation was a small unit on anthropology in my high school’s theory of knowledge class.) This late in my college experience, I do not expect this class to make me suddenly decide to add a minor, but I hope it produces an "effective change" in myself.

Square Inscribed Inside a Square

Last week, I made an activity for a geometry class using Geometer's Sketchpad. This is a tool anyone who teaches geometry should have in his or her classroom.
The topic of my activity was a proof of the Pythagorean theorem. It combined concepts of area, congruence, algebra, and construction. The construction of the inscribed squares was where I ran into trouble. I wasn't sure how to get the squares just right, so that they had the proper relationship and so that moving them around would keep the relationship stable. I never was able to make it so that students could manipulate the inner square, only the outer.
Anyway, it was disappointing that no where on the Internet is there an explanation of how to do this (without paying for it). In case anyone needs to do this, here is my (almost) perfect method. It will do.

First, construct a square in Geometer’s Sketchpad:
• Start with a line segment AB.
• Construct a perpendicular line m to your segment through A.
• Construct a perpendicular line n to your segment through B.
• Construct a circle with center B and second point at A.
• Mark one intersection of n with the circle as C.
• Construct line segment BC.
• Construct a circle with center A second point at B.
• Mark the appropriate intersection of the new circle with m as D.
• Construct segment AD.
• Construct segment CD.
• Hide the circles and the perpendicular lines.

Now, construct a square inscribed within your square ABCD:
• Construct the diagonals of square ABCD.
• Construct a circle with its center at the intersection of the square’s diagonals and its second point on AB, but closer to A than to B.
• Label the circle’s other intersection on AB (the one closer to B) as E.
• Construct a line segment from E to the point closest to C where your circle intersects BC.
• Label this point F.
• Construct a line segment from F to the point closest to D where your circle intersects CD.
• Label this point G.
• Construct a line segment from G to the point closest to A where your circle intersects AD.
• Label this point H.
• Construct line segment EH.
• Hide the circle, its center, its unlabeled point on AB, and the diagonals.

You now have a square inscribed within another square! Congrats!

Facebook Fast

So, I've recently taken a leave of absence from Facebook; a "Facebook fast," if you will. You might wonder how I've managed to survive the past two days. (Yeah, that's right; I've been off of Facebook for TWO whole days!) Actually, it's been quite relaxing.
Facebook had become an integral part of my daily routine. I would check it at least five times a day, probably twice as often while at school. Someone may have written on my wall! Maybe someone I know peripherally wants to be my friend! Perhaps I'll finally break the 25,000 point threshold on Word Challenge! Facebook had morphed from a way to stay up to date with friends and family to a way to entertain myself and distract me from the world around me. Deactivating my Facebook account has given me a fresh perspective on the networking tool, I think. It has many significant uses. I'll probably be back on Facebook in the next week or so, but mainly because it sure sucks to fall off the face of the map, and not having Facebook can feel like that. Just ask someone you know who has recently given in and created an account.
This may seem like a novel idea, but there are others fasting from Facebook, too. An article I just read (just found, too, for the purposes of seeing if other people are doing this) mentions how other students have given up Facebook for various reasons, some for Lent, and lengths of time. Facebook is an incredible tool, but maybe a break from it can force me into some better habits, like being an active friend and not just a collector (or creeper, haha).
There are many different reasons for leaving Facebook. Two of my friends have deactivated their accounts. I think one of them just thought of it as a nuisance. He came back on for a while recently to organize a party, but beyond that, he's managed just fine without it. The other friend deactivated her account because she would go on and see all the great things other people were doing, and it just kind of made her think she wasn't having as much fun as other people. I know what she means; sometimes it just seems, judging from pictures and updates, that everyone is leading more exciting and meaningful lives, and what am I doing? Maybe I'm missing out on it all.
In truth, I am having fun and making something of myself. Using Facebook can give me the impression that I am a slacker when I'm not. In a twisted sense, it's my excessive use of Facebook at the center of my slacker behavior. Being on Facebook all the time lets me see all the things others are doing at the same time it takes away my time away to do important things. It's a double whammy! But you know what? Writing this blog entry is bringing about the exact same result. So enough of this. I'm enjoying a fast from Facebook.
I think I'll go save the world now, or maybe read a book; something useful with my time.