If Only I Could Teach Them Irony.....

Because our students use a mostly computerized curriculum, for some reason they think they can get away with some things. Perhaps these are the same students who would try to get away with the SAME things in the traditional environment; I don't know.

The English portion of our curriculum is pretty rigorous. It requires a lot of reading, some grammar, and anywhere from 4 to 7 essays, depending on the level. The essay topics are explained in detail, students are given the chance to do pre-writing (they rarely do), and the essays are graded in less than 15 seconds by artificial intelligence.

I'm fascinated by the whole artificial intelligence thing. [Insert joke about many of my students here.] I was concerned at first that the computer program would grade too leniently, but it actually grades much harder than I think I would. Of course, it doesn't have the advantage of knowing the students' abilities, their future plans, and their previous successes (or lack thereof). Perhaps it would be better if I didn't know those things either.

One thing that dismays me (is that a verb?) about the program is that it grades heavily on word count. The essays are required to be at least 300 words in length, and an essay of 400 words that are not as well organized as 307 words will receive a higher grade. Luckily, I have the power to go in and change the grades as I see fit. This usually happens only when a student who actually CARES about his or her grade receives something like a 72 on an essay that he or she spent countless minutes ... 20 maybe ... writing. Sometimes I agree with the computer's grade; sometimes I don't. I will only change the grade UP. If I think the essay needs some work, I point out to the student where he or she could gain some extra points and recommend editing.

Some students just want to be DONE with the essays, and they are more than willing to accept failing grades for them. That is not an option. Before I will mark their courses "complete," they must have received a 70% average over all the essays. This way they may get away with one failing grade on an essay, but the rest must be above average. I realize not all of them are stellar writers, but there is always room for improvement. Even if they don't give two rats' fannies about Ralph Waldo Emerson's attitude toward nature in an essay brilliantly entitled "Nature." (Really? That's the best you could do, Ralph? Or do you go by Waldo, and that's why you wrote that stuff in the first place?)

Another thing I like about this magical program is that it is (in some cases) smarter than the students think it is. One of my students, a young man who will probably never be required to write another essay in his life, finished the course last week and said the computer had given him a zero for one of his essays because it was "too off topic." That happens occasionally, and if I think the student has approached the topic and written a decent enough essay, I will award a grade accordingly. It requires that I go into his course and look at the essays individually, and I don't mind doing so.

When I checked this young man's essay in question, I knew we were in trouble as soon as I came across the word "ethical." (See what I mean about irony?) Picture this student, a young man who will go to his grave insisting it is his constitutional right to carry smokeless tobacco in his back pocket at school and would rather be driving a tractor than writing an essay. Here is the first part of his essay. The topic was to write about how sometimes bad things can lead to good.

Long ago, I realized that having some sort of ethical system requried that one sort every possible thing in the world into the approved of and the not approved of, or the desired and not desired, or the good and the evil. Having been able to pick a particular moral scheme myself, and not having missed out on the childhood directioning lessons.

They are always amazed at how quickly I can find the same essays on the internet that it took them 15 minutes to copy and paste. We have actually suspended students for this infraction, but that would be a reward for this student. Besides, he is so close to being finished that it would be meaningless to suspend him. I did, however, share it with my principal, and she's the one who pointed out the irony in his writing. 

At least now I have a real-life example I can use the next time one of my students asks, "What is irony?" 

Absurdity and Irony.....

Because I like to end my blog posts on a positive note (unless it's one of those blog-post-long rants that can't possibly end on a positive note - and I'm sorry for those), I'll go ahead and get the absurdity out of the way first.

Disclaimer: I would be writing about this incident even if it had happened at our own gym. Or Auburn. Or Alabama. Or Utah. Or Michigan. Or any of the other college gymnastics sites around the country. The fact that it happened at FLORIDA just makes my blood boil as opposed to making me say, "Huh. Didn't see THAT one coming."

Almost two years ago I wrote a blog post about not being allowed to take my camera into a college gymnastics meet. I still didn't understand the stupid rule about not being able to have a camera with interchangeable lenses, but I guess theoretically a really smart terrorist (and they frequent college gymnastics meets ALL. THE. TIME.) could conceal a bomb in the inside of the camera. Sure. Let's go with that.

Last night, after I drove 6 hours to get to Sweet Girl's house, she and I drove another hour to attend the Georgia-Florida gymnastics meet. (Yes, I'm a glutton for punishment and can't resist the temptation to go into ENEMY territory to see my team.) We didn't realize Florida also had a baseball game (thankfully not in the same arena, but on the other hand wouldn't that add a whole new element of difficulty to the gymnastics? and the baseball?), and parking was horrendous. We did manage to get into the parking deck before it got full, and we wound around and around and around and around until we were on the very top. (Some folks weren't so lucky and were still searching for parking after the competition had begun.)

It was only about half an hour before the meet began, and anyone who knows me realizes that to me this was almost like missing the first rotation. If I'm not there an hour early, I consider myself late. As Sweet Girl and I approached the entrance, I had my purse open and ready to be searched, as I knew it would be. The guy looked at me (I SWEAR his gaze lingered too long on my Georgia sweatshirt), looked in my purse, and said, "Is that a tablet?"

He was referring to my iPad, which I had tucked into my purse. I was puzzled, but eventually I nodded.

"Tablets aren't allowed inside," he said. I just stared. "Sorry."

I was tempted to argue, but I knew it was fruitless. So I said, as nicely as I could, "Well that sucks" and stomped off. I was going to tuck it into the waistband of my jeans in the back and then go in a different entrance (they haven't stooped to body searches - yet), but I was afraid it would embarrass Sweet Girl. So I marched up the gazillion stairs of the parking deck and returned it to the car, FUMING the whole way.

If you're curious about why I would be so insistent about taking an iPad into a gymnastics meet, it's so that I can keep up with the scores. I can write them down, but on the iPad I have a spreadsheet with formulas built in that know to drop the lowest score from each event. That way I know at any given moment where our scores stand in relation to the other team, what we need to score a certain number, or whether or not we have a chance to win (we didn't).

Seriously? I can't take an iPad into a gymnastics meet? I have no idea what the rule is behind THAT foolishness. I posted it on the gymnastics message board, and so far everyone else has been as puzzled as I.

Enough of the absurdity. It is Florida, after all.

Now for the irony (and this is the happy part)...

When I finally made it into the arena for the gymnastics meet, naturally I was in a fine temper. The lower section was completely full, so I couldn't sit with the other UGA fans. I looked into the upper level and spotted a lady wearing a red UGA shirt, so I decided to go sit near her. Safety in numbers and all that jazz. My very first words to her were, "Never again!" meaning I will NEVER AGAIN go to that particular venue. I fumed and fussed about having to return the iPad to the car, yada yada yada. She asked where we lived in Georgia, and that's when she began to look familiar.

To make a long story not quite as long as it could be, she and I had a class together on the very first day of my very first semester at UGA. It was a pre-calculus class, and that was the last word the instructor ever said that I understood. (Both the honors program and the pre-med program became hazy, distant memories after that summer.) Not only that, but she went on to marry a guy who was in school with me from third grade all the way through to graduation. Smart, smart folks (but they still let me be their friends).

They live in Florida, about an hour south of where the University of Florida is located. Their daughter does gymnastics, so several of the girls and moms from their gym had come to the meet. Unfortunately, they were pulling for Florida and were slightly embarrassed that Cathy and I were cheering for Georgia.

Reconnecting with a friend from almost 34 (!!) years ago took some of the sting out of the whole iPad issue. Now if we can just get her daughter to stop doing that Gator Chomp.

Oh...and she has a blog: Created for Good Works. So you KNOW she's good people.

Life is All About Timing....

....and most of the time mine isn't great.

Take today, for example.

While this isn't a TRAGIC event and normally wouldn't even appear on the radar of life, it is worth noting. Besides, it's excellent blogger fodder.

Let me set the stage for you, because that will make this blog post even longer than it needs to be.

Hey, give me a break...I'm just home from a gymnastics meet, and you COULD be reading about THAT. (And probably will tomorrow, so don't let that breath you're holding escape too soon.)

Katydid and I were planning to leave for the meet at around 1:45, so I had PUH-LENTY of time this morning to get some things accomplished. Instead, I sat around and crocheted, surfed the Internet, and dozed. (I've GOT to teach that dog to recognize numbers and train him that if it's Saturday, the get-up time should NOT start with a "5".)

Then at 12:00, when I should have started getting ready, I decided to go walk in the park. It was a nice day and I hadn't exercised today, so I took Gus and we walked. The long route.

I had my music playing on my iPhone, and I promise I'm getting to the point of this blog post.

I don't have THAT many songs on my iPhone...fewer than 100, I would guess. And I had it set on "shuffle," which I'm guessing means that the songs play in some kind of RANDOM order. (Is that an oxymoron? I think so.)

I'm no statistician, so I can't give you a good estimate of the odds of any particular song playing on my iPhone at any given moment on an hour-long walk through the park.

However, knowing the kind of luck I have, and the fact that irony follows me around like a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe after using a public restroom, I should have been able to predict with some certainty that if I ran into one of my students (and two of his friends) as my walk was ending...

...the song that would show up and play randomly on my iPhone while we were talking would be the Jimmy Buffett song with the lyrics, "Why don't we get drunk and screw?"

I don't even LIKE that song that much.

"Welcoming" Committee.......

Our little non-traditional school will complete its fourth year tomorrow, making it the second-longest I have stayed at one school. I've never been fired or non-renewed, although at one school they made it so uncomfortable for me that I chose to leave. I just tend to move on to new things. The toughest school I have ever been in was the one I stayed in for 8 years. Go figure. I finally told the principal there "the inmates are running the asylum," a statement she didn't bother to contradict. I probably won't break the 8-year record, as I only have three more years until I'm eligible to retire. While I MAY continue to work a year or two past eligibility for retirement, especially if I can find someone with whom to share my position, it ain't likely.

But I digress.

I went back to that county when they opened the first non-traditional school much like the one where I teach now. I loved the concept, loved the fact that it was computer-based, loved the fact that I would be working with a math teacher I had worked with before, loved the fact that we didn't have school on Fridays. [That actually sounds a lot better than it turned out to be. You'll just have to trust me on that one.]

The drive to school, however, was about 35 minutes, so when they opened a similar school in the county where I live, only 7 miles away, I jumped at the opportunity. The principal was glad to have me because the whole concept was new, and she was thrilled to hire someone with experience in that setting. When I interviewed with her she told me, "The job has not officially been posted, so I can't offer it to you today. But I'm not interviewing anyone else." I was flattered at the time. I have since discovered it was because she's lazy. What a blow to my ego.

She is also the principal of our district's punitive alternative school, which is a bargain for the county because they get two principals for the price of one. We are housed in the same building as the alternative school, but on the other end of the building, and our students don't have to wear uniforms.

Our school is in an old elementary school that probably wouldn't meet any codes of any kind today. We do well just to keep the fire marshal off our backs, and sometimes we don't do a good job of THAT. Our end of the building was renovated for our program, and each classroom was outfitted with 15 brand-new computers, computer stations, office-type chairs, and new equipment for the teachers.

But we had to share the building with a staff that was already in place, the staff of the other program.

They seemed nice enough.

However, on our second day there, we arrived at school to find that some of them had spray-painted their names on parking spaces.

How charming.

What a way to make the new folks feel wanted.

I remember the guy who was our electives teacher at that time standing in the parking lot, looking at those spaces and saying, "What a bunch of idiots!"

Turns out that karma, however, is a bitch.

In one of life's great ironies, it occurred to me the other day that out of the six people who marked their territory not with urine but with spray paint, this is the only one who is still there.
And rumor has it that she may be on her way out due to some recent conflicts.

I didn't get to know this guy very well. I think he moved on to work for the State Department of Education or something like that. I've heard that's where teachers and administrators go to die at the end of their careers.



This lady was a paraprofessional who died from a brain aneurysm. In a very strange set of circumstances, she told everyone (including her family) that doctors were trying new treatments and procedures but she had to wait for blah blah blah, but after she died her doctors said they had told her there was nothing they could do for her. She kept it even from her family. So sad.
This one left the alternative setting to return to the traditional high school.


This one was another paraprofessional who may or may not have been stalked by her ex-husband but disappeared for days at a time, and then altogether. Rumor has it that her stories of being stalked may have been clouded by her use of controlled substances. She has since abandoned her son (who is now enrolled in the alternative school, surprise surprise) and reportedly moved out of state.

This one may take the all time irony prize, however. He was summarily fired only days after the parking space painting incident. Apparently, in addition to being particular about his parking spot, he was conducting business with a prostitute USING HIS SCHOOL COMPUTER AND EMAIL ACCOUNT. The prostitute with whom he was communicating, offended by such a blatant misuse of government property and time, forwarded his emails to the superintendent. She was referred to on at least one occasion as the "hooker with a heart of gold."

Pardon me if I seem smug. It's just that I feel so much more.......................welcome.............now.