marginalia gratae

A Trio of Poems

2009-10-05T22:32:00.003-05:00

Some days, it is better to listen . . .

I. Robert Frost

October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if the were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

II. Carl Sandburg

Under the Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon,
When the soft silver
Drips shimmering
Over the garden nights,
Death, the gray mocker,
Comes and whispers to you
As a beautiful friend
Who remembers.

Under the summer roses
When the flagrant crimson
Lurks in the dusk
Of the wild red leaves,
Love, with little hands,
Comes and touches you
With a thousand memories,
And asks you
Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

III. W.B. Yeats

The Wild Swans at Coole

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty Swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

Simply Stated

2009-10-04T22:48:00.004-05:00

Granted, that 4th Q? Not so beautiful. The rest . . . exquisite.

Hopefully next time Pittsburgh's D will remember that they are playing football and not hockey: the game doesn't end after the 3rd, fellas!

Still . . . Here we go, Steelers! Here we go!

A Quiet Day

2009-10-03T20:26:00.004-05:00

It began when my husband, himself not a coffee drinker, woke me with the scent of my favorite hot brew. This has been our weekend routine for some time now, ever since he learned to use my French press. He wakes, grinds the beans, measures out the water and the coarsely-ground, fragrant roast, presses, pours, and lets the oversized, steaming mug coax me from sleep. We sit in bed, talking of nothing in particular, while I lay against the pillows and sip and sip and sip.

A short time later, I made breakfast: slow-cooked oatmeal on the stove, garnished with Honeycrip apples and a bit of cinnamon. I stirred the milk as it steamed, scalding it to a pale and golden white, its warmth and scent a perfect complement to the slow, fall morning.

The day pressed on. The kids played; they built a tent out of blankets and the dining room table, and they took the kitty inside with them. We watched football. Kurt and the kids made popcorn. During the Penn State game, my son crawled up on the couch next to me and propped his cheek against my arm. It wasn’t long before I felt his head relax against me, nod just slightly forward. I lifted him into my lap. He shifted, and sighed, and smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, much the way infants do once they’ve fallen, sleepily, from the breast. Across the room, I could hear my daughter quietly talking, and talking, and talking to her Daddy.

For dinner, I made the best meatloaf of my life. A few weeks ago, I attempted tomato preserves; while the taste was perfection, the preserves didn’t set. I used some as a glaze on grilled pork, and tonight I used a jar to make meatloaf. Culinary goodness.

All I can say, today, is that sometimes beauty is simple and implicit.

A Beautiful Mind

2009-10-02T18:27:00.001-05:00

On June 11, 2008, my grandmother went to the hospital for a routine, preventative procedure, during which she sustained significant, unexpected trauma. That singular event changed not only her entire state of existence, but it altered our family dynamic and, from all accounts, reframed and redefined both ‘the personal’ and ‘the professional’ for the doctor who performed the procedure.

It was a rough summer: just weeks after my grandmother’s trauma, my husband’s grandmother began a rapid decline, and we lost her. The day of her funeral, in Detroit, my grandmother was taken in for emergency surgery, in West Virginia, a surgery that was necessary for her survival but that she wasn’t expected to survive.

But she did survive. Strong, tough Appalachian woman, I said. But when we visited her at the hospital---in her minimally conscious state, it took me a moment to recognize that wonderful woman who has given me so much of herself . . . most symbolically through her recipes.

I treasure my “Grandma Weezy’s” recipes, and I share her love of the kitchen. On a visit to her home in Pennsylvania a few years ago, she sat me down at her kitchen table, and we went through her book--a binder filled with her favorite recipes. Of course, not one recipe in that book is followed to the letter when Grandma makes it, so she walked me through each recipe adding her own “now I don’t do thats” and “but here’s how I do its” and “it works best if you do it this ways.” I left her house that day with my own collection of annotated recipes, and they have been my source of comfort since her trauma.

She has improved and declined by turns, suffering several subsequent ‘events’ secondary to that original trauma. For just a short time around Christmas last year, she was finally--after some six months in the ICU--able to go home, but that lasted only days before she suffered seizures and a stroke and was back in the ICU. She hasn’t been able to go home since, splitting her time between a nursing and rehabilitation center, the ER, and the hospital. Sixteen months.

The last time we visited her, I took her some of my freshly canned, homemade jams. I treasure the smile she shot me as she turned the jar over in her unsteady hand.

Though she is often coherent and alert, the trauma has left its imprint on her, and she now experiences frequent confabulation. While I was talking with my mom last night, she explained that the subject of nearly all these confused memories and perceptions involves the kitchen. Grandma just baked bread (she gestures to the side table). Grandma finished canning tomatoes, or hot peppers and sauerkraut, or green beans. “Go get yourself some. They’re your favorite, and they’ll go well with that fresh bread.” And on.

All day today, I’ve been going over the conversation I had with my mom last night. It is tragic to see my grandmother--strong, independent, blithesome--so compromised. But her mind--her beautiful, beautiful mind-- seems to give her solace, seems to compensate for her present condition by placing her in her vibrant kitchen and freeing her do what her body will no longer allow.

"Things of Beauty May Be Then in Season"

2009-10-01T22:40:00.008-05:00

I began today with an attitude of discovery, looking “up and out,” just as I had hoped. It was something of a joy to notice the spray of burgundy leaves crowning the line of trees I pass every day, to glimpse the surprising strip of vivid green framing the drying cornfields and the shock of golden chrysanthemums on display outside the fruit market, a contrast to the crates of fresh honeycrisps. Quiet, iconic October.

And then . . .

Acid-washed jeans with tapered legs. Members Only-style jackets. Neon, color block hi-tops. An abundance of safety pins worn as accessories. Pleated pants with a long rise. Footless, lace-trimmed leggings. Oversize, neon, plastic sunglasses. Canvas, checker-board print, slip-on shoes. And a Whitney Houston-“I Wanna Dance With Somebody”-style perm.

More ugly, of a different kind: the creepy, scowling, leering guy on the bus who looked like an understudy for Argus Filch. The person sitting behind me on the bus whose breath I could smell with each exhalation. Whatever it was that someone dumped into the ‘bubbler' drain ('bubbler,' by the way, is ‘Sconnie for ‘water fountain.’). Just . . . ew. Then, on the way home, it rained mud.

So on day one of purposefully seeking and noting beauty, I was surrounded by a whole lotta ugly.

"There ought to be gardens for all months in the year,
in which, severally, things of beauty may be then in season."
~Sir Francis Bacon, "Of Gardens," 1625

At least I can be sure of this: October has a wicked sense of irony, and that is a beautiful thing.

An experiment

2009-09-30T09:19:00.005-05:00

Bear with me for a moment, folks: I've grown bored with myself.

Bored with my writing, which has grown ever more academic and dense. Bored with my thinking, which feels hopelessly unremarkable. Bored with my scholarship, even as it is becoming more relevant and interesting. Boo-frickin'-hoo, right? But here's the thing: nothing worth reading has ever, I assume, come from a bore: "that which is written without labor is read without pleasure," as Johnson wrote, and labor may be a lot of things, but it is never boring.

So this morning I had a thought. I scribbled a couple lines of verse

September's final kiss--
light frost at morning's light,
the delicious scent of autumn's breath
brings promise and renewal.

(go easy on me . . . it was just a few lines of scribbled verse while I was waiting for my coffee to brew. Anyway . . . )

Autumn, for me, is the very essence of beauty and renewal, and here we are on the cusp of October. In honor of October, then, and in an attempt to shake this ridiculous self-indulgent boredom, I have decided to carry out a little experiment: once a day, for the next 31 days, I will post something that has struck me as beautiful, beauty being as good a criteria as any, I suppose.

In doing so, I want to remind myself to "look up and out"--up beyond my immediate frame of reference, out beyond the end of my own nose. In posting every day, I hope to establish a bit of a rhythm, a bit of discipline in my non-academic writing, a scheduled 'break' from the academese that will, in turn, improve my other writing efforts. I also hope that, maybe, those of you who read my musings here will enjoy the fruits of my little experiment . . . and by the end I might have created an interesting little October essay. So, I guess we'll see.

Eight Years

2009-09-11T11:33:00.006-05:00

I'm doing what many are doing today: remembering. It comes to me in snapshots now, only eight years later, rather than in a neat and consistent narrative. Maybe that is how I experienced it, through the burdened silence and plethoric fog of disbelief and nascent grief. Snapshots.

We thought there had been a terrible accident when we turned on the news. Kurt had come by for breakfast, as was our routine. We sat in my living room, on the loveseat, eating cereal and trying to understand what we were seeing. Even the news team speculated that some freak accident had caused the plane to smash into the tower. Then, in just a glimpse between the towers, the cameras caught the second plane.

That striking, clear sky seems to have worked its way into our collective memory. Calm, still, unchanging blue.

In moments, I tried to get in touch with my friends who were in NYC: Lucy, my oldest and dearest, who worked for Viacom at the time. David, a doctoral candidate at NYU. Both responded. Lucy wanted information; they were in some sort of lock-down in her building in Midtown Manhattan, and little information was coming in. David was across the river, in a laundromat in Hoboken, describing what he saw. I saved those e-mails for a long time. Eight years and several computers later, I'm not sure where those files are.

With the world's attention on New York and, by this time, D.C., the news out of PA was but a footnote, an aside: "Another plane has gone down in rural Pennsylvania, about 60 miles south of Pittsburgh." That's it. No detail. Selfish, I know, but those were the most chilling 14 words I had yet heard. I called my Dad. No answer. I called my mom. No answer. No answer. God.

I finally reached my mother some time later. She hadn't yet heard.

Later, I talked with my friend, Ryan, who lived about a mile from the crash site. He said the sound of impact woke him that morning.

I went to campus. Classes had not yet been canceled. We gathered in our offices and in the hallway, piecing together what we knew, what we thought we knew. In the Midwest, there was increasing anxiety about the security of Chicago. Would it be targeted, too?

Classes were canceled by the late morning or early afternoon; my very dear friend, Bill, and I walked across campus together to let our students, who were likely already on their way to class, know. I spoke to my students briefly--they were already in their seats. I have absolutely no idea what I said.

I spent the rest of the day in the campus cafeteria, huddled around a TV on a tall, rickety media cart with Bill, Nicky, Alex, Peter, Geoff . . . a few others came and went. Alex was feeling particularly bad after chastising the students in his early class for their lack of attentiveness and apparent apathy; he had not yet heard about the attacks when he did so, but they had.

That evening, Kurt and I went to his folks' house. We were all . . . quiet. And even though Kurt and I were not yet married--were not even yet engaged--it was very important, somehow, to be with family. And that's exactly what they were . . . even then.

What is extraordinary to me is the immediacy of these snapshots, fragmented though they may be, and the banality of them. The logical memory recalls, reflects, but the emotional memory seems to evoke, and in doing so eight years could be eight seconds or eight decades: the heaviness, the quietness, press as fully and steadily as they did in those moments eight years ago, slipping, somehow, into timelessness.

Of Rescue Plans and Five-Paragraph Essays

2009-07-27T08:43:00.004-05:00

My pal Bradley brought this piece to my attention this morning, so I thought I'd share. I'd be very interested to hear folks' thoughts. My initial thoughts follow.

A Rescue Plan for College Composition and High-School English by Michael B. Prince, associate professor of English at Boston University, where he directed the College of Arts and Sciences Writing Program from 2000 to 2008.

Image by Jordin Isip for the Chronicle Review

I need to read and consider the piece more carefully, and a bit more coffee wouldn't hurt. Still, my initial response involves bristling at the notion of 'a rescue plan' (in the singular) for 1. High School English, 2. the SAT et al. AND 3. College Composition. Conflating these three very (fortunately) distinct, very (unfortunately) divorced projects seems problematic from the get-go. Yes, HSE tends to teach to the SAT in addition to addressing, broadly and in the best circumstances, rhetorical awareness. Yes, the SAT metric is based on approaches to writing that run counter to the values and strategies about writing that we comp/rhet folk introduce and/or promote and support in our classrooms. I'm not sure, however, about Prince's argument about FYC: there are exciting and emergent approaches happening in FYC across the board: private schools are implementing a rigorous rhetoric-based curriculum, larger schools are working on interdisciplinary collaborative approaches to the curriculum with 'pods' and, at UW, FIGs (an incredible program, by the by). Change is happening, but it is an evolution. Just go to Cs and you can see countless panels that explore innovative, promising, grounded approaches. College Composition needs not be 'rescued.' I'm excited enough about what is going on in FYC that I requested it this Fall after teaching mid-levels and doing WPA work these several years; what I will engage this Fall is a very different approach than it was just five years ago.

I am firmly in the camp that sees the need for rhet/comp courses to be content courses (as opposed to 'skills' courses), and it is a growing, if contentious, movement. The fact remains, however, that "rhetoric is at once everywhere and nowhere": what student learn in FYC et al. rhet/comp courses will be useful and applicable in other endeavors. Critical thinking is a rhetorical strategy . . . and it is not the only rhetorical strategy we teach.

The Palin Rhetoric

2009-07-09T08:57:00.004-05:00

So, I admit it: I've been a lazy blogger of late, more often cribbing discussions I've been having on Facebook than posting original content. But hey--I'm claiming intercontextuality and continuing with the trend (truly, though, I just happen to think some discussions are worth of wider circulation).

The most recent lazy blog, then, comes from a story posted by my friend, Bradley, who readers may notice makes a frequent cameo on this blog. Anywho . . .

Today Bradley posted a link to Dahlia Lithwick's piece for Slate, "Lost in Translation: Why Sarah Palin really quit us." Thought provoking and accurate, the piece got me thinking, so here are my 2-cents:

I couldn't agree more with Lithwick--but I think it goes even a little deeper than a lack of rhetorical finesse. I think Palin is trying to invoke a particular vernacular that signals that she is a "real deal, everyday American gal." I have always argued that Bush-43 utilized a very carefully crafted ethos through his bumbling, good ol' boy vernacular--and say what you will, it worked for a long, long while. His manner mitigated the ivy league/working class tensions that exist in the minds of many, and it prompted his opponents to "misunderestimate" him. Ultimately, that ethos failed and came back to bite him, but I have little doubt that it contributed to his initial, broad appeal. Still, when necessary, Bush could deliver a clear message and even a powerful, effective speech (think his 9/11 speech, which is, rhetorically speaking, quite well crafted and effective).

Now, for Palin (and thanks to Bush-43) that card had been played, and it is now a tired routine. That was strike 1. Strike 2: Palin never played that card half as well as former President Bush.

Strike 3, I think, came in the form of her bull-headed unwillingness to think about her audience and unique rhetorical situation. I've known plenty of people with good ideas who simply cannot communicate them; I've known wonderful communicators who were, after the lovely rhetoric, devoid of good ideas. Palin, I think is a unique case. She seems uninterested in communicating, and so we are left wondering IF she has good ideas. It seems that Palin speaks for an audience of ONE (that one, of course, being herself--and therefore, her discourse is deeply encoded, perforated as if awaiting Gestalt intervention). In studying interaction, once can really only observe and assess what the participants treat as real; in Palin's case, even that is unclear.

Ultimately, she reminds me of the student--and anyone who teaches writing and rhetoric at an intermediate or advanced level knows this student-- who writes in a jumbled, garbled, rambling, ‘noisy’ style completely devoid of internal logic and who seems insulted, affronted that you, as the instructor, don’t ‘get’ his or her genius. It is a challenge to explain just where the writing goes wrong, and a greater challenge to convince the student that there is a problem, one that he or she can overcome.

Ultimately, both parties can end up repeating themselves with growing frustration as they ride this rhetorical Ferris wheel, an unsalvageable situation until at least one party is willing and able to shift into critical engagement mode and slow the ride. In the case of Sarah Palin, neither party seems willing—and she seems particularly resistant, electing instead to yell “faster, faster!”

I think her resignation is a direct result of this crazy ride. Her motivation may truly be noble, but who could tell? And that, I think, is truly unfortunate.

Big Does Not Equal Ubiquitous

2009-06-12T08:35:00.008-05:00

Just this morning, a friend drew my attention to yesterday's New York Times Op/Ed by Paul Krugman, "The Big Hate," and it got me thinking . . .

While Krugman's point is well taken, I still think it is a dire mistake to conflate the positions of the loudest, most violent and even sociopathic members of our society with a broader ideology and political organization. The logic doesn't hold: these token 'members' of a group are outliers, and they do not necessarily represent the views or actions of the wider, inherently diverse constituency to which they claim membership . . . and that holds true for any extreme and misguided manifestation (or bastardization) of a political, social, or philosophical position.

With the increasingly violent and tragic events of the past month--slain doctors and Army recruiters, shrill 'celebrity' commentators, horrifying and ugly physical reminders of diseased, seething, and still-extant hatred played out in the halls of a national memorial and monument--attention must be paid to the relationship between language, thought, and action (a matter explicitly rhetorical).

That said, to my mind one of the biggest threats to civic discourse is the all-too-common practice of fallacy that leads even the most well-intentioned among us to permit a small yet terrible number of self-sponsored individuals to represent the attitudes and behaviors of a larger cohort. Seductive though it may be to hold these specimens up as examples of the thoughts and behaviors one, personally, finds objectionable or even reprehensible as a means to oppose and critique, the practice compromises temperance and undermines reason, progress, and responsible engagement.

(Re)Imagining a Common Ground

2009-06-09T10:57:00.003-05:00

I have a very difficult time even talking about what has become such a divisive, sedimented 'abortion trope' in our civic discourse, and I have grown weary of the equally emotional, vehement opposition (to put it politely) and even disdain that I encounter--have come to expect-- when I express my opposition to elective abortion. I have in recent years, therefore, opted not to engage the discourse.

That said, Ross Douthat's 8 June 2009 New York Times column, "Not All Abortions are Equal," struck me as worthy of consideration, especially this passage:

"But the law is a not a philosophy seminar. It’s the place where morality meets custom, and compromise, and common sense. And it can take account of tragic situations without universalizing their lessons.

Indeed, the argument that some abortions take place in particularly awful, particularly understandable circumstances is not a case against regulating abortion. It’s the beginning of precisely the kind of reasonable distinction-making that would produce a saner, stricter legal regime."

Perhaps, by re-imagining the common ground, the ability to engage thoughtful, respectful, worthwhile discussion about abortion is actually possible. With any luck, deliberative and responsible discussion will mitigate the violence--both in the language and in the unthinkable acts of physical violence we've seen in recent weeks.

"Unconditional Love"

2009-06-06T18:35:00.004-05:00

After all that seriousness, a little hockey levity.

This is what happens when a Pennsylvania Girl Marries a Michigan boy.

This is my mother-in-law, Suzanne, my father-in-law, Bob, and my kids, Anya and Gideon, ready for Game 5.

Cheers!

It weighs heavy . . .

2009-06-03T10:40:00.005-05:00

"So Right It's Wrong"
The ten conservative women Cimbalo, ostensibly speaking for men-in-the-collective, would like to "hate-fuck."

Excuse me?

I don't know how to approach this subject, as sickened as I am about it. Nothing I could say, really, negates the brutality and depravity of Guy Cimbalo's recent piece for Playboy. Fortunately, others--whose words do not stick in their throats in a sickening, suffocating mass as they negotiate such blatant flagitiousness--have said what I cannot.

Megan at Jezabel writes,

it's not as if Cimbalo does anything in his piece but slag on these women for having the audacity to be attractive, conservative, opinionated and loud about those opinions.

Chip Hanlon writes for The Huffington Post (via AlterNet),

We all know that many good people on both sides of the aisle never consider entering the political arena because the brutal, personal nature of political attacks makes them think to themselves, 'why bother?' Well, it's not hard to imagine an article like this possibly having a chilling affect on some woman out there who might be thinking of running for office herself.

[. . .] condemn this grotesque Playboy article on the basis that it might have just such an impact on a woman who could make a difference.

There are, in fact, many such discussions circulating about Cimbalo's piece and the decision by Playboy to not only post, but promote, this vile rhetoric that I really need not say much; however, I'm not so sure I applaud Playboy's decision to remove the piece from its site, and here's why:

Cimbalo's piece represents an insidious and terrifying reality that must be called out. Language is bound to thought and to action. Forcing such horrifying inclinations and deeply embedded assumptions into hiding does little to address the real problems: first, that these unspeakable perceptions exist at all and, second, they pose a legitimate threat that compromises the integrity of a moral society.

Stanley Cup Redux

2009-06-01T11:16:00.004-05:00

Gosh, like last year, I'm so torn.

First, I am both a Penguins fan AND a Red Wings fan--and yes: one can be both.

Last year, I picked Detroit for the win; this year, I picked the Pens . . . but I have to admit that it is tough to back a team who behaves so poorly.

Straighten up, Pens. Keep your cool. Save the heat for legitimate play: with a little discipline, you could be--dare I say it?--a worthy opponent for the Wings.

Related: Jeff Passan's Yahoo! Sports critique of the NHL is worth a look.

What I Have to Show . . .

2009-05-30T13:08:00.005-05:00

D-I-double S-E-R-T-A-T-I-O-N
Should have based my study on Ralph Ellison
Or maybe I just should have stayed in medicine . . .

D-I-double S-E-R-T-A-T-E
It’s a word-- have you heard?--
guaranteed to perturb
It’s Dissertate! for me.

D-I-double S-E-R-T-A-T-I-O-N
Though I really kinda dig the theory
Foucault and Derrida can make me weary.

D-I-double S-E-R-T-A-T-E
Writer’s block, watch the clock,
Read a little more of Locke.
It’s Dissertate! for me.

One more time!

D-I-double S-E-R-T-A-T-I-O-N
Who knew it could inspire such self-loathing?
(Oh, suck it up and quit your damn bemoaning.)

D-I-double S-E-R-T-A-T-E
It’s the path that I chose,
Now I’m off to compose . . .
It’s Dissertate! for me.

Okay, so now that that's out of the way . . .

Cross-Checking: A Lesson in Semantics

2009-05-21T13:12:00.010-05:00

In hockey, it's a penalty.

In engraving, it's a necessity.

Case in point: today's Wall Street Journal piece, "The Stanley Cup Could Use an Editor" by Reed Albergotti investigates the fascinating and, as blogger Puck Daddy (Greg Wyshynski) put it, "unintentionally hilarious" errors that have been engraved into the Cup over the last 117 years. Frankly, I'm really impressed that they continue to stamp the thing by hand; now that's craftsmanship.

Still, some of the errors--but especially the, uh, shorthand notations--that appear on the Cup are worth perusing, whether you are a hockey fan or not. One that had me laughing like a ten-year-old boy: the entry for the 1944-1945 champions, the Toronto Maple Leafs. Allow me to draw your attention to poor F.J. Selke (line four) and Arc Campbell (line six):

Ah, semantics. It is amazing the difference context makes.

Communities of Discourse . . . In the Community

2009-05-18T12:45:00.005-05:00

I have the good fortune to count among my good friends two colleagues, Dr. William Bradley and soon-to-be-Dr. Heidi Stevenson, whose intelligence is rivaled only by their sense(s) of humor. Witty, thoughtful, ethical, and fair, Bill and Heidi consistently command my attention and respect, and I can always count on them for exceptional conversations—from the inane to the profound. That is why, spurred by a conversation we began on facebook this morning and at Bill’s suggestion, I have decided to post this entry.

A recent news item profiled a teacher in Milwaukee who, after finding graffiti adorning public property in her community, decided to ‘fight back’ by posting red flyers critiquing the graffiti artist’s/ perpetrator’s (depending on your stance) grammar. The story, appearing in today’s Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, has already been taken up by numerous other news outlets. For those of us with an investment in composition and rhetoric, as well as in education, Beth Biskobing—the teacher in question—misses the mark, as well as an important teaching opportunity.

As Heidi noted when she posted the story to her profile, “This woman has no concept of the term ‘discourse community.’” And this is where the conversation begins. What follows is a compilation, in part, of our conversation:

C: Hahahaha . . . imagine a world where graffiti employs 'proper, correct' English grammar!

Still, I kinda dig her for bringing graffiti in to her class and "geekifying" it. At least she is, inherently, showing how language may employ different conventions and works in different contexts--even if she doesn't explicitly address it as such.

H: That's the part that bugs me--not explicitly addressing the fact that her "proper" grammar is only proper and functional in a very specific context--and don't get me started on her lack of discussion of why or how it's proper. The critical pedagogue part of me bristles at the thought of this. The ecocompositionist part of me shakes her head and sighs. All that said, the thought of graffiti written in academic, "Standard English" is pretty funny.

C: Well, true. But it's a start, right? Just another reason I would love to see more conversations between K-12 educators and Comp/Rhet scholars: I understand that primary and secondary educators have different constraints, but so much of the pedagogy—especially secondary pedagogy—seems to ignore the research in the field. As you point out, and as this teacher's exercise shows, such research is certainly relevant to primary and secondary teaching practice. It is a conversation worth having . . . and a fun lesson, to boot.

B: [posting a slightly different version of the same news story to his profile:] I can agree that the question "Where da bitches at?" is offensive, but it's not because it ends with a preposition, for God's sake. I can't imagine that this type of pedantic arrogance serves any purpose other than making the teacher herself feel smug. Hey, fellow English teachers? THIS is why students hate us. Just sayin', is all.

[. . .] this version (which is a bit longer [. . .] has some fairly obnoxious quotes from the teacher). I've never met this woman, but I feel quite confident I know her. You know what I mean? As you said, this is a woman who has never even heard the phrase "discourse community"-- instead, she's just convinced that "black people speak incorrectly." And, again, the misogyny in the question isn't even discussed, really (except for the too-precious-for-words "bitches are female dogs, betcha didn't know that, tee-hee!"). But then again, this isn't about having a teachable moment-- it's about grammatical shaming.

H: Yep. She's "smart," and she'll never let anyone forget it. It's sad to see that as the guiding principle behind a person's teaching.

C:The posting of flyers is a bit much, no? Ever the Pollyanna, I tried to make lemonade out of this, but there is so much more than a fine line between a 'teaching moment' and, as you say, Bill, pedantic arrogance.

But hey--why should K-12 teachers worry themselves about little things like discourse communities and understanding how and why particular conventions develop within them? Why bother with such nuisances as cultural assumptions? Why contextualize when one can boil everything down to right and wrong? After all, isn't it our job--as post-secondary instructors--to debunk such myths? That is what we do in FYC, right? Otherwise, what might we teach?*

Guess the coffee kicked in. Where I fist saw potential, a step toward having such discussions in the K-12 classrooms, now I'm just annoyed.

What a lost opportunity. It is one thing to bring the graffiti into the classroom to discuss it; it is quite another to ignore its context and post flyers in the community that, in essence, state "I know more than you." Foolish. Rude. Faulty.

But I still see it as a teaching moment—for her.

H: It has potential--just quite possibly lost potential, and that makes me sad. It could have been an introduction to the issue I brought up in regards to your link this morning--academic and public writing. It could have been a moment in which that teacher helped her students understand that people whose writing deviates from the academic norm are wrong, or stupid . . .it just seems like she ignored that opportunity and did the exact opposite.

B: [I’ll] just add—all joking aside—that I think you and Heidi are absolutely right when you talk about this being a teachable moment for her. This could have been an opportunity to discuss discourse communities-- hell, she could have even taken the opportunity to explain the value in being fluent in more than one discourse, because there are people out there who believe "academic=correct" and "urban slang=incorrect." But instead she just posted these cutesy little signs berating the vandal (and, coincidentally, creating an even more irritating eyesore for her neighborhood) for his "errors."

I also think that there might have been a useful conversation about the term "bitches" among urban youth to describe women in general, and to ask about the possessive assumptions that underlie the question of "where they at?" There's legitimate ignorance to criticize in this discourse community, but the problem isn't that their English doesn't always sound like mine.

So what? Well, only that here you have the informal conversation of three people deeply invested in education and language who are troubled by Beth Biskobing’s ‘rebuttal.’ Her actions serve little purpose and offer nothing of real substance to the situation. This was an opportunity rich with potential—for discussing language, rhetoric, communities of discourse, cultural assumptions, exigence (i.e. what might have compelled the agent to act?), kairos (at that time), and all the other elements of a rhetorical situation (see Bitzer)—so many possibilities presented to this teacher of language.

In short, Biskobing missed an opportunity to teach—and even understand—the relationship between critical thinking and language.

Instead, Biskobing wields her ‘learning’ as a weapon, ignoring the fact that language is situated, that rules and conventions are only appropriate and useful in a particular and unique context, and that correctness is determined by the entirety of a rhetorical situation, one that is informed by a complex web of cultural meaning. With her action, completely devoid of rhetorical awareness, she merely capitalized on an opportunity to “show off’ her mad grammatical skills

. . . or might that be ‘skilz.’

A Model Republican

2009-05-11T08:07:00.003-05:00

From Janie Lorber's piece in the New York Times, yesterday:

Former Vice President Dick Cheney said on Sunday that he preferred Rush Limbaugh’s brand of conservatism to former Secretary of State Colin L. Powell’s [. . . more]

My prediction: we will soon see a shift in the battle, not over what the party stands for or who among us 'bears the standard,' but who--which subgroup within the GOP--will get to call themselves "Republican" and who will constitute something . . . else. Trouble is, factions on all sides of the chasm(s) are brand loyal, so none will give up without a fight.

I certainly know who I hope carries the day, and let's just say I'm disinclined to allow a radio personality to lead a political party--that blurs the line between pop culture and governance too much for my taste.

From NPR's All Things Considered: April 23, 2009

2009-04-24T09:02:00.003-05:00

The segment begins, "Thirty-eight years ago this week . . ."

Senator John Kerry this week chaired the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, the same committee he once stood before, voicing his opposition to military action in Vietnam. A different war, a different time, a remarkable juxtaposition. History, or perhaps our desire to see patterns and construct narratives, certainly lends itself to poetics.

In hearing the excerpted testimony of the Afghan war veterans, I was most affected by the testimony and perspective of Ret. Army Capt. Wesley Moore:

"We are under-funded and under-manned in Afghanistan. [. . .] We have fought this war on the cheap, and I say that not only on the military side, but particularly on the civilian support side and the reconstruction side” (1:46).

Put simply, I am continually humbled by reminders that domestic perceptions—public opinion—and support for our military personnel matters to those serving. It is a small but significant revelation I’ve seen not just here, in Capt. Moore’s testimony, but in reading veterans’ memoirs and accounts of combat and in talking with veterans. It is one thing to say “support our troops”; it is quite another to understand what that means to active duty servicemen and women.

Capt. Moore also notes that our forces are dealing with

“insurgents who were not Taliban for cause, but Taliban for hire”(2:24),

offering, to my mind, more than sufficient justification for President Obama’s decision to commit more troops and funds to the cause in Afghanistan.

Opinions on the war aside, with this particular moment—this senate hearing—I am struck, once again, by the way historic moments often transpire quietly, simply, in footnotes to the events that demand the national—or international—stage and capture our collective attention. I am also reminded, here, of Chekhov's lines from "The Student":

"'The past [. . .] is linked with the present by an unbroken chain of events flowing one out of another.' And it seemed to him that he had just seen both ends of that chain; that when he touched one end the other quivered."

It is a moment worthy of attention.

The Quandry

2009-04-18T13:47:00.004-05:00

aka "The Baby and the Bathwater"

Q: Is it possible to legitimately separate an argument, a thread or a particular claim, from its philosophical and ideological moorings? To appropriate and apply the premise but reject the foundation from which that premise has emerged? What are the consequences? And am I brave enough—or smart enough—to attempt it? To pull it off successfully?

This is a problem I have been grappling with for quite some time, and it is causing both disquiet and stagnation as I attempt to negotiate the problem, as it is always flowing like an underground river through my dissertation.

Specifically, I find objectionable the implicit violence I read in Critical Literacy texts that call for toppling ‘dominant discourses’ and prescribe an activist political stance toward pedagogy. But while I reject the activist forces that drive the movement, I cannot dismiss the value and importance of the conclusions and arguments advanced by Freire and Giroux, among others. I have written about this tension before, going as far to include in a prelims essay the following:

[. . .] critical literacy holds important implications for understanding the complexity of ethos and for theorizing, practicing, and designing pedagogies that operate on the principle of ethical beneficence and its corollary, Primum non nocere.

However . . .

[Critical Literacy] seems, to me, to assume that power is a zero-sum game and that, in its most extreme interpretation, in order for oppressed or marginalized literate traditions to fully participate or access a given discourse, the existing powers must be countered, resisted, or deposed—almost violently. Its calls, either implicitly or explicitly, for radical pedagogical activism, seem to risk overturning existing hegemonies only to replace them with others [. . .]

and . . .

Insofar as I agree with the many of the claims of Critical Literacy, I can’t help but feel somewhat vilified by them. I am torn between my heritage, the values that inform the culture I live, and the desire to ensure that others have equal and just protections extended to them. And I am unsure how to resolve the problem.

I wrote those passages back in the spring and summer of 2007; a year-and-a-half later, I am no closer to reconciliation. Perhaps I’m too close to it, the old “can’t see the forest for the trees” situation. So I’m asking folks who are smarter than I—what say you? Can I legitimately concede, even embrace, the point while rejecting the call to action--or, at least, the recommended course of action?

Is this something you have encountered? A problem with which you have been able to contend?

Carrying the Standard?

2009-04-17T11:03:00.003-05:00

An article from today's Politico titled "Out of Alaska, Palin's Star Shines" caught my attention for many reasons, not the least of which is because I am curious about Palin's role in the future of the GOP. Folks often ask my what I thought of Palin's candidacy, and I always offer the same response: I think the selection of Palin to run on the GOP ticket was an impatient choice. In rhetoric, we call this kairos, the opportune or most appropriate moment to advance an argument (in this case, the argument was that the McCain/Palin team held the most promise for leading the country). But my response is mostly influenced by something I've taken from Sun Tzu: that no individual should assume a position of leadership and power before his or her 'time.' And I don't think Palin was ready--she was, and is, politically immature. That is in no way an indictment of her character, intelligence, or ability.

I am sorry to admit that, for quite a while now, I have been saddened by the lack of leadership, service, clear philosophy, and sense of purpose from the party I still consider my own. The members of the party I most respect have said 'no thank you' to the mantle of leadership. And it troubles me, because I do believe in the value of classical liberalism--the very impetus for the party's inception in 1854 and source of inspiration for the nation's founders--and its enduring cogency. I also recognize the importance of understanding the dynamics of a republic and how a democratic republic such as ours provides its own inherent structures of balance. Ours is a graceful and powerful paradigm for governance, and the party system helps to support that paradigm.

But perhaps I digress . . .

In reading Andy Barr's Politico piece, I was most struck by the following:

The Alaska governor received a warm reception from Republican National Committee Chairman Michael Steele, also in attendance, at a news conference ahead of the dinner.

“I think she is a standard-bearer right now,” Steele said. “She and Mitt Romney and Gov. Pawlenty, Gov. Sanford, Rudy Giuliani, Eric Cantor, Mike Pence. We have a significant number of men and women in our party who are in a very good position right now to carry forward the standard of the GOP.”

Mr. Steele, I ask you without a trace of irony, what is this standard you speak of?

As a member of the party and one who routinely defends the GOP, I find I can only defend what the party should stand for, what it has--historically--stood for, but I am still trying to articulate--and even understand--the kind of contemporary standard of which Michael Steele speaks. And without it, it is incredibly difficult to argue the party's purpose, its relevance in the contemporary public forum.

Gen Y and the Promise of a New Polis

2009-04-15T09:06:00.006-05:00

I came across this piece this morning as I browsed the news over my morning coffee and shared it with my students over at Engaging the Polis. Given the context of the course, the nature of their research projects, and the fact that my students are perfectly the demographic in question, I thought they would find Jim Burkee's commentary interesting (and yes, I hope it will spark an interesting and meaningful class discussion tomorrow since we have been talking about their roles as members of a polis).

That said, I find Burkee's observations worthy of consideration beyond the classroom, especially when he writes

[ . . .] the political loyalties of that coveted demographic are not yet decided. While they seem to lean to the left, they're actually more libertarian than liberal, a fact that will reshape the way we think about liberalism and conservatism in decades to come. [more]

As one who is slightly 'generationless' or 'on the cusp'--too old for Gen Y, a tad too young for Gen X by the strict sociological classifications--I am excited to think of the ways in which the old political alignments may give way to the new . . . and I wonder at the implications this shift has for the future of our Nation. One thing is certain (at least to my mind): it has been a long time coming.

There's a Bat in My Potty

2009-03-29T23:57:00.001-05:00

That's not a clever euphemism.

My husband came upstairs today and warned, "Don't run downstairs to use the bathroom any time soon. Someone has taken residence there. In the toilet, actually."

My first guess was a snake. Nope.

A bat.
A fat bat.
A fat bat clinging to the inside wall of the toilet, just at the water's edge.

So, uh . . . right. This is an ongoing theme; the potty is just a new twist. I'll explain, but first, a little bat--, er, backstory, presented in a series of posts. The first three installments are posted below; more to come.

Bear with me: I'll get there.

About a Bat, Episode I

2009-03-29T23:56:00.000-05:00

We bought our house shortly after my son was born; in fact, he was this tiny, one-month-old package that everyone enjoyed passing around during the closing, his ‘big sister’ keeping her protective, two-year old eye on him at all times. The house we were buying was the original home built in our town, the oldest part having been constructed in the late 1860s. Multiple additions later, it had taken on a somewhat quirky, very charming architectural ethos—an open and bright floor plan with something of a bygone feel. It was simple, with a lot of possibility: a project, but not an overwhelming one. Just about right for our little family.

It also had a great history: it had been owned by the same family since the ‘40s, and several generations had grown up in the house. Though sentimental, I liked the idea that happy family memories had been made there—I’m also quite confident that the previous owners’ children, as executors of the property on behalf of their late father, were pleased that they were selling to a young family: the promise of a new era of memories clearly delighted them.

Their father was a strong Wisconsin farmer, and he kept this house as his ‘house in town’ and, later, his retirement property; his farm, a considerably larger property, was just north of Madison. We learned that he was beloved in the community and that he always had impressive gardens in the expansive backyard—expansive, considering the house is smack in the middle of town, just a block off Main Street. When we entered our house for the first time—as its owners—their family had left for ours a note and a picture of their Dad, the farmer. It was a simple and kind gesture, the handing-off of the baton, that really captures the character of our home. But I digress . . .

As we were unpacking, my husband, Kurt, came up from the basement and announced, with some excitement, that he had been surprised by a bat. He reasoned that the house had been empty for two years, so it wasn’t entirely unreasonable to find a bat in the basement. I was not, however, cheered. So after digging through a few boxes and outfitting himself in heavy gloves, his Carhartt jacket, and a baseball cap—and armed with two large fishing nets—the mighty humane hunter headed downstairs. After much searching, he never again saw that bat and concluded that it must have left the way it came in. After all, there was no evidence that the little guy had taken up permanent residence (and by that I mean there was no guano that we could see). Fair enough.

About a Bat, Episode II

2009-03-29T23:55:00.000-05:00

Later that summer, once we were all moved in and reasonably settled, Kurt and I were enjoying the quiet late August evening. The kids were tucked in, sweetly snoozing their new rooms. The baby monitor was quiet save for the occasional, soft sigh. We were enjoying a rare ‘date,’ the kind that parents of young children often have: a shared bottle of wine and a few hours of quiet conversation. Simple. It was a nice evening, but as the sun began to set, we noticed a lot of activity in the sky. Bats . . . and in no small number.

Now, just east of our house—across the back alley and on the neighboring block—the spire of a beautiful old Catholic church, built about the same time as our house, reaches high above the roofline, so we thought perhaps—in this idyllic little house, in an idyllic little town, on an idyllic little summer night—that this impressive population of bats had taken up residence in that idyllic church belfry. But then Kurt heard it: a sound that I could not hear, but that he described as squeaking and chatter. He looked up, then slowly nudged me. There, in the oldest part of the house, where the steep pitch of the roof met the old chimney, a bat squeezed out of a small gap. It seemed to have materialized from the stone itself; the gap was so small, nearly indiscernible. Soon, another. Then another. Hesitantly, we walked over to the chimney, eyes fixed. Methodically, like the deployment of military aircraft, bat after bat squeezed out of the opening, dropped down, and made a long, graceful sweep above our heads, into the sky. They were dancing over our yard, the low trees, our neighbor’s sheds, dipping and maneuvering their way through the evening air. We focused on the chimney. Another. Then another. It was like an idyllic little clown car. Eighty-seven. Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine . . .

My husband and I just looked at each other, and continued to count.

About a Bat, Episode III

2009-03-29T23:54:00.001-05:00

That Fall, after we were sure all the bats had left their nest, I steadied the bottom of a very tall ladder as Kurt climbed up and examined the nearly imperceptible gap, filling any potential gaps in the stone with expanding foam. We had spent quite a bit of time researching bats since that evening in August, and while we certainly didn’t mind having a few good bats around, patrolling the evening sky, we weren’t too keen on having them share our indoor living space. See, we couldn’t tell whether the bats had come from the old chimney alone—there were just so many of them—or if they had taken up residence in the old attic, which was no longer in use. So up the ladder went Kurt, battling mild acrophobia, can of expanding foam at the ready.

By this point I had made my imagination crawl with absurd but nonetheless unsettling scenarios of bats flying about the kids’ rooms, hanging from the crib rails, becoming tangled in my daughter’s hair as she slept, getting mixed up in the baskets of stuffed animals. I made myself sick with the thought of guano contaminating onesies and baby blankets. So Kurt, having completed his outdoor assessment, shimmied through the teeny access panel in the ceiling of our son’s closet—and I have to pause here, because the image of a 6’2” man shimmying through a two square foot opening in the ceiling certainly deserves pause—in order to examine the old attic, armed with his can of expanding foam. Problem solved.

Another "Must Read"

2009-03-26T09:35:00.005-05:00

In honor of its release, the Chronicle of Higher Education today profiled Kevin Roose's book The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner’s Semester at America’s Holiest University.

Having not yet read the book, I can only comment on what is in the Chronicle article; still, in the small sampling offered here, I admire Roose's treatment of Liberty (and its constituents) as a cultural study--this is precisely what makes me so excited about our system of higher education in the U.S.: lacking a federal curriculum and constitutional mandate for higher ed, but held accountable by the regional accreditation bodies, we have a wonderfully diverse system of HE that allows for discrete institutional cultures to thrive. There's real value in that.

The U.S. system of higher education certainly faces numerous, significant challenges, but it is encouraging to focus, from time to time, on its unique strengths. Discrete institutional climates and cultures that draw and serve unique populations are, to my mind, one of the greatest strengths of our system.

The hope, of course, is that through the accreditation process, students in all these discrete educational enclaves have something of a shared mission-- a common, grounding principle--that values such cultural diversity and promotes temperance, critical reflection, and respect such that they acquire a foundation for negotiation and deliberation . . . the rhetorical core of our democracy. It is here that the relationship between higher ed and a thriving, stable democracy is revealed most clearly . . .

ah, but I have now digressed into the realm of my dissertation. More on that to come, folks.

"No, We Straight": Obama Racially Bilingual (from NPR's Talk of the Nation)

2009-03-10T15:08:00.004-05:00

Audio for this story will be available at approx. 6:00 p.m. ET

Talk of the Nation, March 10, 2009 · In January, then President-elect Barack Obama visited Ben's Chili Bowl in Washington, D.C. When the cashier asked him if he wanted his change, he replied "Nah, we straight." [more]

I have been posting the link to this program far and wide, and I encourage anyone who enjoys language to take a few moments to listen. Dawn Turner Trice's brilliant and engaging discussion of adapting one's speech to best reach a specific audience--while still being 'true' or genuine--goes right to the heart of rhetoric.

I am particularly fond of Turner Trice's discussion about negotiating multiple discourse communities and understanding what grounds the nuances and vernaculars--and the dangers of mimesis when the speaker fails to understand the culture from which a particlar idiom, cadence, figure, or syntax emerges. As one caller to the program pointed out, the attempt at mimesis can be cause for embarassment or controversy: she recalled a moment from the recent campaign in which Mike Huckabee's use of the term "bling bling" and his awkard "Who let the dogs out-woof" chaser when attempting to align himself with an African-American community. Of course, examples like these from our political characters participating in their favorite sport--pandering--abound. Recall that Hillary Clinton's surprising and affected dialect when quoting a gospel hymn in a Southern Black church sparked a national debate.

So how far is too far? Well, I suppose it depends on the speaker's level of rhetorical awareness and the audience's acceptance or repudiation of the speaker's use of language, or how well the speaker understands and employs the nuances and conventions of a vernacular or dialect. Of course, I am reminded here of Shirley Brice Heath's treatment of language as a cultural artifact, as a 'culture carrier' inseparable from its community of origin. Her treatment of language, much like Turner Trice's, still awes me.

Anyway, Turner Trice really captured my attention on today's Talk of the Nation . As one who was raised at the crossroads of two rather colorful vernaculars, two distinct dialects-- Yinz know, where Pittsburgese n'at meets that good ol' West-by-Gosh-Virgina Mountaineer twang--and who spent three years living in 'da U.P., eh' and the last five living in 'Sconnie (that's prononced "scaah-nee," in case y'all didn't know), I have an appreciation for Turner Trice's commentary that goes beyond a professional interest in rhetoric.

All this to say, "A great broadcast." Fascinating, enjoyable, and highly recommended. Listen and enjoy!

Athletics and Higher Education

2009-03-05T11:11:00.014-06:00

A while ago, while enrolled in an upper-level (i.e. 900-level) economics in higher education course, one of my peers offered the following during discussion:

Can we all just stop pretending that athletics has anything at all to do with education?

While the majority of those in class nodded in approval, a few of us—maybe about a quarter of the class—looked as though we had been collectively slapped. I suspect the number of us who were taken aback by her sardonic remark was falsely inflated: many of those enrolled in the course worked in the Athletics Department and/or were working on an advanced degree in Athletic Administration.

Her comments, and the positive, vigorous nodding enacted by most in the class, is not at all uncommon in academe. Not long ago, over lunch, I sidestepped an argument with a friend’s husband about the benefits of strong athletics programs to the wider institution. I have fielded criticism by some colleagues and advisers for permitting my students to write about sports and sports-related topics. I have seen the polite response by some in my field who clearly question the relevance of my interest in language and culture related to athletics (You wrote a paper about trash-talking? Oh, that’s . . . unique), the subtext of which is, “It may be interesting, but it’s idiosyncratic and not publishable.” And I have read and heard countless comments like the one following an article in today’s Chronicle discussing Texas’ proposed 10% Admission plan and its implications for the Texas football programs:

“Forget the impact on academics. I guess if you want to influence Texans you need to go after athletics. Nice…” (B. Smythe).

I have also been following this critique of values as played out in the media in recent weeks vis-à-vis the revelation that USC’s football coach Pete Carroll’s salary is four times that of USC’s president, Steven Sample. This particular case, echoing the tone of B.Smythe’s comment, is held up as the emblem of our culture’s skewed priorities. While there may be some truth in such a critique—$4.4 million is an astounding yearly salary—Carroll’s deal is, in fact, a compensation package. “USC Football” is a powerful brand, and Carroll is the guardian of the brand. To that end, Carroll’s salary is much less ridiculous, to my mind, than the exorbitant compensation offered Hollywood actors and actresses.

It seems to me that the bad vibes we scholars generate related to our athletic programs does a disservice to the complexity of the institution and of higher education as a multifaceted project. Too many of us in academe disparage athletics; we set up unhelpful dichotomies between athletics and education that are unhelpful at best—and are, at worst, damaging. It is understandable: it is difficult, especially in the humanities, to see ‘fat cat’ pockets of our campus thrive while we, in preparation for teaching our classes, jog room-to-room looking for chalk.

Still, I am cautious, even critical, of privileging curriculum as the only significant heuristic in Higher Education. With everything we understand about multiple intelligence, liberal education and its beneficial externalities, and the importance of cocurricular participation in learning, I am hesitant to turn away from the value of athletics, and I will defend athletics as steadfastly as I do the arts. As noted in the Chronicle’s coverage of the Texas admissions case

This year 81 percent of the freshmen at the flagship campus here are “top-10-percenters,” and next year the proportion is expected to rise to 86 percent. That trend, Austin officials say, gives them practically no flexibility to admit musicians, scientists, and athletes who don’t make it into the top tier for automatic admission.

The fact is that strong athletics programs are an instrumental part of institutional viability. At my behemoth BigTen institution, for example, I know that of all our athletics programs, only one turns a profit (football); one breaks even (men’s basketball), and—because as a non-profit enterprise all proceeds must be reinvested in our institutional programs—all other athletic programs, including those required and protected by Title IX, are funded by the capital generated through concessions, television deals, Bowl appearances, licensing, and the like. Athletics, in this way, is a self-sustaining industry within the broader context of the academy. Situated thus, athletics provides opportunities for student access and name recognition that transcends esoteric academic communities (i.e. “the ivory tower”); in short, strong athletics programs blur the boundaries between the academy and the non-academic community and open the academy to a much broader constituency.

At smaller, non-profit institutions, the benefits of strong athletics programs and the closely-coupled relationship between athletics and academics are more conspicuous. Adrian College in Michigan, for example, expanded their athletics programs in the face of markedly declining enrollments. In just a short amount of time, their risk paid off: as reported in the 19 September 2008 Chronicle

The additional revenue from higher enrollment has enabled Adrian to make significant improvements in academic buildings and in faculty hiring. As its operating budget has grown to $43-million from $23-million since 2005, the college has modernized two academic buildings, expanded the campus dining hall, and hired 16 tenure-track faculty members.

There is so much more to say, of course, but I am probably already pushing the boundaries of this medium with such a long post. So I'll close with this: as an advocate for athletics in higher ed, I am also cognizant of the fact that balance here is key. Still, my fellow doctoral student’s remark resonates with me, and I would argue that athletics—for the role it plays--is as important to higher education as the academic programs, people, and facilities that define it.

I have not yet abandoned thee . . .

2009-03-03T10:20:00.006-06:00

It occurred to me this weekend that I did not post a single item the entire month of February, so today I've taken a moment to at least make some changes 'round here, a little redecoration, if you will. I'd grown a little tired of the old look, and watching my students design and work with their blogs inspired me to play a little. It's not much, but it's a start . . . one step closer to posting something that at least attempts to be substantive.

The pictures I used in the redesign are all from 'back home.' The one on the left is of the sun setting on 'the hollow,' taken at my family's home in Pennsylvania. The right, also from the Gideon homestead, is of a wooden fence along the road that leads to 'the knob.' The central image, which I retained from my old blog design, I took while walking down a country road behind my Grandma and Papa's house. Just over the hill from their home, West Virginia meets Pennsylvania; as the road I was walking is not by any means a main thoroughfare (and, really, barely a road), no official sign marks the state line--but some industrious someone fashioned a sign out of a piece of scrap metal and black electrical tape. This state line marker is much better than the big, fancy ones on the highway, and it is, to my mind, a perfect emblem of where I'm from.

If it were possible to peek inside a person to see what dwells within, this is just about perfectly what you'd see in me.

More soon . . .

Need I say anything else . . .

2009-01-21T15:49:00.001-06:00

I'M A PROUD MEMBER OF STEEERS NATION!

Salt, Bread, and Silver

2009-01-01T16:57:00.002-06:00

Happy New Year!

As per my family’s tradition, I sent my husband out in the sub-zero temperatures just after midnight to retrieve the “New Year’s Bucket,” a container holding salt, silver, and bread, which I set out on the back stoop on New Year’s Eve.

Did I mention that my husband is a good sport?

The “New Year’s Bucket” is a tradition that, according to family lore, my Great-great Grandmother, Hannah Phillips, brought with her when she emigrated from Wales ca. 1881. According to custom, the members of the household collect salt, silver, and bread in a bucket and place it outside on New Year’s Eve; at the stroke of midnight, or shortly thereafter, the ‘head-of-house’ brings in the bucket. The coins are gathered and donated to charity; the salt and bread is spread on the ground—salt to the earth, bread to her wildlife. The whole process is about giving—showing appreciation for community, respect for nature, and reciprocity with the earth.

Of course, it is also suggested that the reward for this first act of the New Year is the blessing of a plentiful and prosperous year: that the family will always have enough yet will be free from avarice and that they will enjoy good health, plentiful crops, and great joy.

I have celebrated nearly every New Year with this tradition. This year, I didn’t have a satisfactory bucket, so we placed the salt, silver, and coin in a wooden bowl made by my grandfather—a gifted woodcrafter—from Pennsylvania cherry grown and harvested on our family’s land. It seemed an appropriate vessel for a tradition borne of the same family who tended the tree and crafted the bowl, and it made ‘home’ feel a little closer to home. When I spoke with my Grandmother this morning and told her about carrying on the tradition in this way, she was clearly pleased.

I’d say that’s a pretty good way to start the New Year.

Here’s wishing you plenty of salt, bread, and silver of your own in the coming year!

Brilliant!

2008-12-08T15:12:00.004-06:00

Fellow happy coffee lovers: you must check out Christoph Niemann's "Coffee" from Abstract City, his NYTimes blog.

Thanks a latte, Lucy!

(ugh . . . too much? yeah. probably. I'll go now.)

I'll show you mine . . .

2008-12-05T10:44:00.011-06:00

So here it is: the 'project' I mentioned in my last post. Here's what to do: share yours (here or on your own blog . . . but don't forget to link). It would be fascinating, I think, to build a matrix of writerly advice (a la Richard Hugo's 'Nuts and Bolts') with each component revealing its author's unique ethos. C'mon--you know you want to . . .

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A Completely Idiosyncratic, Slightly Off-Beat, Not Necessarily Original but Potentially Helpful Collection of Writing Advice

~or~

A Few Tips about Writing I’ve Picked up along the Way

Everyone in a complex system has a slightly different interpretation. The more interpretations we gather, the easier it becomes to gain a sense of the whole.
~Margaret J. Wheatley

To my mind, there is no system more complex—or more beautiful, intriguing, and beguiling—than our system(s) of language. Through the years, I have gathered a few little gems that I have taken to heart, made my own. What follows (in no particular order) is not formal advice; it is, perhaps, a revealing portrait of my own mind—but these scraps of writing wisdom, quilted together, inform my own writing practice, so I thought I’d share them with you. The point, of course, is not to ask you to adopt my criteria, but to inspire you to gather your own.

1. The better you understand the rules, the more liberated you are from them. This is a variant of the “you gotta know a rule before you can break it” philosophy, and there is something to it—making the conscientious decision to break/disregard a writing rule or to utilize a particular figure ‘reads’ very differently than haplessly stumbling onto something. Learn the conventions. Write with purpose. Break the rules with purpose. Make writing decisions, and be able to back them up. Doing so will give you confidence and will give your writing presence.

1 ½ . And yet . . . welcome, embrace those ‘happy accidents.’
Maybe it is your subconscious at work or maybe it is just serendipity, but every so often, despite one’s best intentions, a word comes out not as we intended . . . but so much better. Rule 1 ¾: Read your work aloud: sometimes what you say differs from what you wrote . . . and it is much, much stronger. A simple detail can change the efficacy of entire piece of writing.

2. Heed this gruesome advice: murder your darlings.
Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch penned this little gem in 1914, and it has since been picked up by Faulkner (as “kill your darlings”), Mark Twain (allegedly), and countless creative writing instructors. Writing is sometimes about tough decisions; ‘cutting the fat,’ or culling your hard work may be the toughest of them all, but it is often the right thing to do. The moment we become enamored of our own brilliance, we have lost our objective edge. Take one for the team, and all that . . . very noble, very valuable.

3. Eschew Obfuscation.
Huh? Exactly. This is an oldie but a goodie from the classic Elements of Style by Strunk and White (originally published in 1919):

Avoid the elaborate, the pretentious, the coy, and the cute. Do not be tempted by a twenty-dollar word when there is a ten-center handy, ready and able. [. . .] In this, as in so many matters pertaining to style, one’s ear must be one’s guide: gut is a lustier noun than intestine, but the two words are not interchangeable, because gut is often inappropriate, being too coarse for the context. Never call a stomach a tummy without good reason (76-77).

4. To know and know well: the nature of the sentence and the power of strong verbs.
To my mind, sentences and verbs are the DNA of writing—stunning in their simplicity, awe-inspiring in their logical complexity and potential. If one can master not only the grammatical types of sentences (simple, compound, complex, compound-complex) but also stylistic forms or modes (i.e. the periodic and the final free modifier) AND if one can come to understand the inherent power of verbs and their role in the internal logic of the sentence, then one can create life . . . on the page.

5. Appreciate the marriage of sound and sense.
There is a reason Plato banned the poets from his utopia: language is inherently musical and music is mesmerizing, persuasive. Pay attention to how language works, what it does, how it sounds—not just what it means. As the poet Edward Hirsh observed in How to Read a Poem an Fall in Love with Poetry, “writing fixes the evanescence of sound”— what an extraordinary phenomenon. Never underestimate the power of the auditory imagination.

6. Grammar is a part of language . . . and it can be fun (like a puzzle).
Consider Joan Didion’s argument for grammar: “All I know about grammar is its infinite power. To shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning of the object photographed.” Details make all the difference (i.e. ‘the devil is in the details’), and grammar represents one of the most nuanced, most influential, subclasses of ‘details.’ When it works, it supports and defines your writing; when it is flawed, it is distracting, like white noise or static.

7. Read!
From Richard Hugo: “a writer learns from reading possibilities of technique, ways of execution, phrasing, rhythm, tonality, pace” (The Triggering Town, xi). Read what you like, what you admire. Read the work you wish you had written. Don’t imitate, per se, but come to understand the nuances, the culture, of your favorite (or most serviceable) form or genre.

8. Don’t be lazy.
Rhetorical questions try to be provocative without taking the time to craft an appeal . . . lazy. As Hugo notes, “If you can answer the question, to ask it is a waste of time.” Other ways to be lazy: relying on clichés, drawing on ‘canned’ arguments, using gratuitous slang. The choices you make affect your ethos—choose wisely.

9. Always consider ethics.
Language can be incredibly powerful, and there is an inherent trust between writer and reader that must be honored. To paraphrase Andrea Lunsford, language use must be principled, accurate, and fair.

10. Learning opportunities present themselves in unexpected places and ways.
I learned much of what I know about rhetoric I learned from poetry. Much of what I know about poetry I learned from . . . sports. My writing education is informed by what I learned in chemistry and pre-med (consider the beauty and extraordinary grace of molecular geometry). With that in mind . . . a few favorite, random (but nonetheless valuable) quotations (some about writing, some not) that guide my writing:

An exclamation mark is like laughing at your own jokes.
~F.Scott Fitzgerald

Make your own kind of music.
Sing your own special song.
Make your own kind of music—
Even if nobody else sings along.
~ ‘Mama’ Cass Elliot, 1969

The most essential gift for a good writer is a built-in, shockproof shit detector.
~Earnest Hemingway, The Paris Review

PHENOMENAL COSMIC POWER—itty bitty living space.
~Robin Williams
as ‘Genie’ in Walt Disney’s Aladdin

To write [. . .] you must have a streak of arrogance—not in real life I hope. In real life try to be nice.
~Richard Hugo

The language is perpetually in flux: it is a living stream, shifting, changing, receiving new strength from a thousand tributaries, losing old forms in the backwaters of time.
~Strunk and White

You can be a little ungrammatical if you come from the right part of the country.
~Robert Frost

Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go.
~E.L. Doctorow

The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between the lightening and the lightening bug.
~Mark Twain

Verse forms do not define poetic forms: they simply express it. It is an important distinction. For many people what is off-putting about poetic form is the belief, sometimes based on an unlucky class or exam, that these are cold and arbitrary rules, imposed to close out readers rather than include them. [. . .] poetic form is not abstract, but human. [. . . ] This is the charm and power of poetic form. It is not imposed; it is rooted.
~Mark Strand, The Making of a Poem

The poet may legitimately step out into the universal only by first going through the narrow door of the particular.
~Cleanth Brooks, Irony as a Principle of Structure

And now for a bonus rule, one that is perhaps my favorite . . .

Embrace your own weirdness.
I believe this, too, comes from Hugo, but I first learned it at the feet of my first true mentor, the poet and professor Dr. Jonathan Johnson. What does it mean? Well, my friends, that's the point: that's for you to decide, as only you can.

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Okay, so that's my list of 'rules.' Ante up, folks!

Stray Thoughts: A Long Winter's Nap . . .

2008-12-05T09:55:00.005-06:00

Okay, not so very long, but I haven't been blogging much. Of course, I haven't been napping much either; my writing energy has simply been more focused on teaching, dissertating, preparing for upcoming conferences and workshops, and--as a poet-in-semi-stasis who averages about a poem a year these days--working on my latest sestina (God, I love that form).

(okay, okay . . . and following football and hockey--what can I say?)

Of course, that all sounds more interesting than it actually is--which is to say, I'm really in something of a boring moment. Not professionally: the dissertation work is fascinating and frustrating; as I said to one of my diss directors (MBD)the other day, it is frustrating to work so hard to produce so little, so slowly (those of you who are working or have worked on a dissertation or dissertation-like project, I'd love to hear from ya' on this if you know what I'm talking about; though MBD gave me good, encouraging advice, it can't hurt to solicit more--you know, to gather a strong sample).

I have to add that the group of students I have this semester are perhaps the most interesting, smart, engaging, enjoyable collection of folks I have worked with as writing/rhetoric instructor: I'll be sad to see them go, this 'dream' class, and it has been fun preparing, designing, and reading the work associated with the class.

I suppose, with new projects on the horizon and a new poem to capture my imagination, I just don't have a whole lot else to say. It's an odd feeling, this 'having nothing to say.' I guess I just have to accept that, for the moment at least, I'm just kinda boring. Been there? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

That said, I compiled a list of my favorite writing perspectives and advice for my final 'lecture/discussion' of the semester, and I was pleased with what came of it. So I'm going to post it (separately) and invite all who care to participate to offer up their own.

Cheers! zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Do you send Christmas/Holiday Cards to Friends and Family?

2008-11-15T12:37:00.003-06:00

Folks, if you do, please consider adding one more to your list:

"Holiday Mail for Heroes"
P.O. Box 5456
Capitol Heights, MD 20791-5456

This program, now in its second year, is sponsored by the American Red Cross. Their goal is to distribute 1 million cards to wounded and active service members, veterans, and their families. You can learn more about the program here.

IMPORTANT NOTE: All cards must be postmarked by December 10, 2008 to reach their destinations.

Its a simple, powerful gesture . . . one that grows with each card sent.

Thinking and reading; reading and thinking . . .

2008-11-11T15:54:00.006-06:00

Came across this, from Michael Steele's "Listen. Adapt. Be Positive." (WSJ online).

Republicans once said that the opportunities this nation has to offer rest not in government but rather in the hands of individuals. Over the past decade or so, however, we Republicans lost our way. The disparity between our rhetoric and our action grew until our credibility snapped. [more]

And this, from Dennis Prager's "Some Positive Reactions from the Right"(Real Clear Politics):

We who oppose Barack Obama's policies will, hopefully, act in accordance with conservative values of decency. Hence my simple announcement on the day after the election: "I did not vote for him. I did not want him to be president. But as of January 20, 2009, Barack Obama will be my president."

[ . . .] we can celebrate the aforementioned good of Barack Obama's election and pray for him and for our beloved country. [more]

While I am certainly more comfortable with Steele's argument than Prager's (when considered in their entireties and taking into account the latter's treatment of his subject and, as I read it, his somewhat condescending tone), I do appreciate the spirit driving both . . . a spirit palpable in many other editorials and commentaries of late. These seem to reflect the general tone echoing through the ranks of the right following last Tuesday's election. No animosity, or at least very little of it. No ominous predictions. No making excuses (for the most part). Honest, forthright introspection and a genuine expression of optimism, rather than a cynical gesture, that the new leadership will do right by the nation . . . and the world. In fact, the only truly negative rumblings seem to be emerging from those who ineffectively ran McCain's campaign. 'Out with the old, in with the new' may be an oversimplification, but a useful one.

I have to say, I am very pleased. Who knew the kind of 'change' offered by President Elect Obama would offer a katharsis of sorts? But to my mind the biggest surprise is how this election presents the GOP with an opportunity to revisit its purpose in this country, to re-prioritize its (often nested) missions, to reconnect with the wider constituency, to step almost completely out of the spotlight, and to re-imagine the ways it may serve the nation. As the moment matures, as moments must, I hope the goodwill and civility continues. That said, it is an exciting moment (on all fronts), and I have to admit that I am a bit taken in by it all.

Bradley's been at it again . . .

2008-11-06T16:20:00.006-06:00

Over at The Ethical Exhibitionist, my pal Bradley posted a thoughtful and provocative reaction to the election results, which he titled "Lets Not Pat Ourselves On the Back Too Hard." Though I'm sure I'm about to get myself into a heap of trouble, here's my response:

nathan is entirely on the mark when he writes

the problem is that they (and we) haven't respected that there are two things that we're talking about as one. One is a legal contract between two people, upheld by the State that agrees that two people will share life together. The other is a religious symbol that has all sorts of meanings different than what the majority of "marriages" encompass.

I also admire his attempt to engage the ethos of those who vote to deny the rights of their compatriots on moral grounds. This is an important, if extremely difficult, step in working toward consensus—or at the very least, mutual respect. That said, I hold fast to the opinion that it is erroneous in the extreme to attempt to legislate morality.

As you know, I am a dyed-in-the-wool Republican, but on this issue I break with much of my party. To say that I cannot understand the justification for denying people these basic rights understates my stance: doing so undermines, at the most basic level, everything this country stands for. It is our concern with rights and liberties that underscores every US ideology and serves as our common ground. I cannot comprehend why anyone would want to deny their neighbors the full rights and privileges guaranteed (implicitly and explicitly) by the constitution—or to amend a constitution to limit the rights of one’s own citizenry. The only limits to freedom I can embrace are those that reflect the philosophy that one person’s rights extend only as far as another’s begin—that is to say, we cannot justify violating another’s rights in the name of our own. The 1996 Congressional Essays reflect the importance of reasonable limits cogently.

More to the point, allowing same-sex marriage (or, the related hot-button topic of the ‘90s, allowing homosexuals to serve in the US armed forces) does not impede on the rights of the individual; disallowing full rights and privileges does.

One final thought: while it may be 'democratic' to allow the constituency to vote on such an issue, it runs counter to the notion of the 'republic,' which explicitly ties liberty to law. If one considers the notion of law Aristotle advances in the Politics as “reason unaffected by desire” and understands morality as pathos(in the rhetorical sense), then it is worthwhile to note that, perhaps ironically and certainly theoretically, it is my party—with its philosophical concern for definition and law—who should be the most adamant champions of equal rights under the law . . . for every US citizen.

Tyranny of the Urgent

2008-10-30T13:51:00.014-05:00

I mentioned in class the other day that Eliot gives us, April is the cruelest month and Shakespeare's warns, beware the ides of March, but neither April nor March have anything on October in academe.

Maybe that overstates the case, but what a busy time of year! Good busy. Crazy busy. Dynamic, engaging, exhausting. Surprising. One expects the rush toward the start of the semester, and the storm of grading and student panic and project deadlines near the end of the semester, but the October surge sweeps one up in a vortex of falling leaves and student essays . . . of dissertation work and student advising, grant applications and the job market season opener, letters of recommendation for former students applying to grad school, planning, conferences, proposals, sustaining the day-to-day classroom vigor, reading and responding to papers, the course blog . . .

October is the veritable 13.1 mile mark in the innovation marathon.

Add to that travel (and the unexpected, untimely death of our alternator while driving through Gary, Indiana), a wedding, two toddlers at Halloween, and

THE ELECTION (echos)

---whew, baby-baby.

Still---and just maybe this is a divine madness---I wouldn't want it any other way. I've only just begun to realize that a central tenet of my life's philosophy is

From chaos, order. This has always been the case; this is, for better or worse, my way. So as the semester pushes on, as I continue to gather more momentum than moss and feel that I am, like Yeats' falcon, turning and turning in the widening gyre---as the election nears with all of its chaotic, piercing, frenzied energy, and I am reminded again of Yeats' lines

The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity

---I know that what feels like the Tyranny of the Urgent is really no more than the view from the eye of the storm, a prerequisite for progress, the chaos that precedes order.

And rather than be tyrannized, I choose to conquer.

And while I'm rambling (not waxing) philosophical . . .

2008-10-30T13:06:00.006-05:00

A question:

If "praise and blame," as Nietzsche gives us, "is human virtue; [. . .] is human madness," then does that mean our nation goes mad every four years? And is such madness a virtue?

Guess we'll see.

What I read . . .

2008-10-08T10:10:00.003-05:00

From "The Bailout and the Vanishing Taxpayer" by Steven Malanga:

In the end, how we actually pay for the bailout is just part of the issue. The larger point is that if McCain or Obama follow through with their tax plans, we’ll continue a trend that makes us look more and more like some European social welfare state, where many people have a stake in growing government entitlements, which fewer and fewer taxpayers finance. At some point along that road, change becomes impossible because too many citizens benefit from the system in place, while those who pay the freight for this system try whatever they can, including starting businesses elsewhere, or reducing their output, to avoid the disproportionate tax bite.

That’s a prescription for a static economy largely bereft of opportunity. On the other hand, we probably won’t have to worry about volatile markets in such a world.

The Transformative Power of Coffee

2008-10-06T15:14:00.006-05:00

Came across this brief piece by Kate Porterfield for Cookie Magazine this morning and just had to share:

I'm not proud that my 13-month-old has already learned, when she first wakes up, to wait--very quietly--for me to have my coffee before she starts angling for a bottle. Or that there have been times, watching the coffee drip through the filter, that I've caught myself whispering plaintively, "Okay, almost there . . . . Come to Mama." This isn't just about "jump-starting" my day. Sure, coffee wakes me up, but so does hearing my 5-year-old shouting, "Skittles fit in my nose!" It's what coffee does to my mood, the way it alters--I mean really changes--what I believe about my life, my loved ones, myself. That vague, haunting feeling that I've done something terribly wrong with my life begins to dissolve with each sip. And in its place emerges my love for my kids; for the idea of a jam-packed day stretching out in front of me; hell, even for myself. And that's just the first cup.

Yes, Ms. Porterfield. I hear ya'. And I lift my over-sized, steaming mug to you.

On the lighter side . . .

2008-10-02T09:07:00.002-05:00

Who's the #2 whiniest coach in college football, according to FOX Sports ranking of the Top Ten Whiniest Coaches?

Rich Rodriguez, Michigan

"Being Rich Rod," coming soon to a theater near you. Scream "excessive" about the $4 million buyout in your West Virginia contract clause, then later admit that your Michigan buyout is the same amount. Claim "coersion" [sic]after signing a contract when your lawyers and agents were at your beck and call. Whine about death threats, then fail to provide proof. Pat self on back for getting an entire state to light couches on fire.

Might I add "leave your team just before their bowl appearance?" and "flat-out lie about interviewing with U of M in 'neutral' Ohio just two weeksafter the big match-up with Pitt that knocked WVU out of the national title game"? So much for "I’m very excited to stay here, and I plan on being here a long time. [. . .]We’re not done yet. We’re going to continue to grow.[. . .] It’s all about the reason for staying. I’m biased. This is my school."

Lookin' good, ace. Lookin' good.

We're in This Together

2008-10-01T09:47:00.006-05:00

In a NYT article dated 30 September 1999, Steven A. Holmes offers the following:

Fannie Mae, the nation's biggest underwriter of home mortgages, has been under increasing pressure from the Clinton Administration to expand mortgage loans among low and moderate income people and felt pressure from stock holders to maintain its phenomenal growth in profits.

and

In moving, even tentatively, into this new area of [subprime]lending, Fannie Mae is taking on significantly more risk, which may not pose any difficulties during flush economic times. But the government-subsidized corporation may run into trouble in an economic downturn, prompting a government rescue similar to that of the savings and loan industry in the 1980's.

This economic crisis has been a long time coming and is owed to an impressive, complex array of social, political, and economic factors.

In light of my last post, I find in this piece further evidence that we must work together, with neither acrimony nor extreme partisanship, to make informed policies that address social inequity while protecting the nation's infrastructure to the benefit of all.

Just One: Number 8

2008-09-29T15:57:00.004-05:00

A dear friend and colleague recently posted a MySpace bulletin that included the following question:

8. Thoughts on the presidential campaign?

This is my attempt at answering it.

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Make no mistake: this election is of monumental importance. Still, I fully appreciate the fact that the executive branch is much larger than the president, and the election is much larger than its primary players.

For my money, I think this election provides an important opportunity for the citizens of this nation to stand up for civility and mutual respect in civic discourse and to become thoughtful practitioners of temperance; to steadfastly engage one another with grace and without malice; and to learn to not only negotiate but embrace ideological difference in order to learn from one another, to act with beneficence, to protect and preserve that which is worthy of such care, and to progress.

When people I value, respect, and just-plain-like make unfounded, disparaging, dismissive, unsupported, vicious comments that attack either ‘side’ through ad hominem and dogmatic arguments, I am greatly saddened. I am saddened by the anger and venom that accompanies almost all of our contemporary public discourse. I am saddened by the far right claiming proprietary rights over faith, and I am sickened by the far left claiming proprietary rights over intelligence. These strategies are unfair, unprincipled, and inaccurate and, to my mind, do not reflect, to borrow an iconic phrase, the state of our union. These practices—not any act of congress nor executive order nor economic crisis—will be our nation’s undoing.

In this election cycle, especially, I pledge to remind myself to think, act, speak, disagree, and compose not without passion but with patience, consideration, and openness. Does anyone care to join me in the attempt?

Shameless Plug

2008-09-25T15:25:00.006-05:00

As I mentioned in a previous post, I am having my Intermediate Composition students keep team blogs to allow them the opportunity to write for a 'public audience.' This is the first time I've incorporated blogs into my pedagogy, and I am learning a lot. For starters, while ostensibly written for a public audience outside of the teacher/learner dynamic, the blogs have been, for the most part, written for me, the instructor. This may owe to the quality of the prompts I've offered, which have been predominately academic and have emerged from classroom lectures/discussions centered on rhetorical theory. So we'll see where the next unit takes us. Still, I am encouraged by the investment these students have shown in engaging the project.

With all this in mind, I would like to invite anyone who reads my musings here to visit our class blogs. I have established a 'hub' where I post class notes, prompts, et al. materials appropriate for an open-access forum, but more importantly, the 'hub' allows access to the student blogs via the blogroll. I hope you will consider checking us out, and please feel free to engage these blogs as you would any other; after all, the course is called

Engaging the Polis:
Rhetoric and Forms of Public Argument

Care to join us?

Belated gratitude

2008-09-15T11:31:00.004-05:00

To Bradley for nominating my little ol’ blog for a 2008 “Brilliante Weblog” award.

(though after raising his dander with my most recent post, perhaps he has reconsidered?)

Anyway, it is shameful that it has taken me so long to post this and convey my sincere thanks . . . not just for the kudos but for his continued readership and thoughtful contributions.

Bradley, right back at’cha. And thanks.

I plan to pass the award along soon, so stay tuned.

'What Makes People Vote Republican?'

2008-09-12T08:42:00.003-05:00

I found the following, excerpted from Jonathan Haidt's most recent piece for Edge, intriguing:

Our national motto is e pluribus unum ("from many, one"). Whenever Democrats support policies that weaken the integrity and identity of the collective (such as multiculturalism, bilingualism, and immigration), they show that they care more about pluribus than unum.

Of course, there is much more to his piece than this singular observation; his treatment of political ideology and moral psychology is particularly cogent. Agree with his conclusions and treatment of the problem or no, he offers valuable insight that is, at the very least, worthy of consideration.

To my mind, Haidt's work compliments Richard Weaver's observation in Ethics of Rhetoric (1962) that in discursive practice conservatives tend to argue from definition and liberals tend to argue from circumstance, providing yet another locus for understanding the dynamic between language, thought, and action.

If you are at all interested in rhetoric, politics, and ideology, you should check it out.

My Scholarship

2008-09-11T17:09:00.003-05:00

I just 'wordled' some of my work, related to my dissertation, and this is what I came up with:

>

Image courtesy of wordle.net

Yup, that pretty much covers it. Cool.

Retiring Retirement

2008-09-10T10:33:00.004-05:00

No, not me. That is to say, though it may seem that I have retired from blogging for a spell, I haven’t really: I have just been a tad too busy with other writing and projects. So my absence was not a retirement, per se; therefore, I have no retirement to retire. But I digress . . .

No, the retirement(s)—or more appropriately, the coming-out-of-retirement(s)—to which I refer belong to none other than two incomparable sports legends: Brett Favre and, made official just today, LANCE ARMSTRONG.

[applause. crowd cheers.]

Yes, it is official: Armstrong will ride the ’09 Tour de France with Johan Bruyneel and team Astana. I can’t deny that I am very much excited about this news. When I first heard the rumors a couple of days ago, I had mixed emotions: why must these legends call it good only to return? Knowing that, at least among athletes, one’s return performance rarely matches the hope and hype left in the wake of one’s former glory and victorious departure, why tamper with a legacy? But that’s the story, right? The brilliant narrative. Retirement: the dénouement. That isn’t, as Russian Realism shows us, the experience of living.

So we see our larger-than-life characters dressed in the fictions we create for them, then are somewhat shocked when they do not recede into memory, submit to being placed on the shelf, their stories complete.

A while ago, during all the Favre hullabaloo, I wrote that I thought Favre should just apologize to everyone for all the fuss and stay retired. I still feel that way. Yet, I am excited for Armstrong’s return. Why the discrepancy? Both are immensely talented. Both have captured the hearts and imagination of a broad population. Both have remarkable, compelling stories to share. Both are amazing competitors and just plain enjoyable to watch.

I reckon that it is just the manner of coming out of retirement: Favre put the team, and by extension his fans, in a really difficult position. The Packers organization entertained Favre’s vacillation about retirement for much longer than a few weeks this spring; speculation and indecision about his retirement accompanied the end of every season for the last four years. When Favre finally decided to retire, he said it was on his own terms. No one wanted to see him go, but if he was going to go, at least he was going to go a Packer. If the reports are true, then the organization even hung with him through the period of indecision that followed his announcement last March. But at some point the team had to move forward. Once they made that commitment to Rogers, following Favre’s insistence that he would not come back, they were bound to honor it. A sports writer, whose name escapes me at the moment, once wrote that GB fans may never get over their collective crush on Favre; all the drama surrounding Favre’s six-month retirement certainly assuages the pain. I always admired Favre because he seemed to put the team first; his actions significantly called that assumption into question for me. I still like Brett Favre: I just can’t help myself, but neither can I help but feel more than a touch disappointed, nor can I watch him play for the Jets. His tale should have ended last Monday night at Lambeau with a ceremony to honor him and retire his jersey. Dénouement.

By contrast, Armstrong’s return to cycling, while risky at age 37, brings with it a drama of a different sort. To continue my earlier metaphor, Armstrong’s return is more like a long-awaited sequel rather than an epilogue the author should have scratched. And I, for one, am quite ready to read this tale.

Live Strong.

Crawling out of my hidey-hole . . .

2008-08-22T08:35:00.003-05:00

well, maybe not quite yet, but between processing our garden produce (which is quite bountiful) and preparing for the Fall semester (which, perhaps somewhat ironically, I have been reading up on the pedagogical benefits and drawbacks of using blogs in the teaching of writing while surreptitiously neglecting my own blog), designing an intermediate composition course that both engages public affairs but does not, in any way, compromise academic and intellectual freedom nor displaces writing as the primary focus of the course, digging in to more dissertation work before the Fall, and preparing for my oldest, dearest friend's bridal shower and October wedding, I have woefully neglected my blog.

Not that I am complaining: to the contrary, this time of year is invigorating and exciting . . .

But back to my purpose, here (besides disrupting the illusion that I have abandoned my blog): any of you folks have experience using blogs in your teaching? Thoughts about it? Visceral reactions? I'd love to hear from ya'.

Tagged by the literati lizard. . .

2008-07-15T09:54:00.004-05:00

My pal Bradley recently memed a little meme of literary classics, and I agreed to follow suit. So here goes:

Q1. What is the best classic you were “forced” to read in school (and why)?

Hmm . . . [scanning bookshelf]. This kind of question is precisely what makes canon discussions so darn difficult, no? Okay, so . . .

Today, at this moment, I’m thinking my choice must be Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man (though some may foolishly contest its canonical status). Here’s why:

Though separated by both time and war, Ellison’s novel seems to me the logical conclusion of two truly remarkable American moments, the Jazz Age and the Harlem Renaissance, in style, tone, and subject: for me, it’s like the literary grandchild of Dorothy Parker and Langston Hughes. Still almost painfully relevant, Invisible Man is uniquely, cogently, an American novel, one that speaks across multiple cultural moments---its narrator’s, its author’s, and this, our contemporary moment. Consider Ellison’s lines: “Step outside the narrow borders of what men call reality and you step into chaos [. . .] or imagination” (576) and “Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in the face of certain defeat” (577). The book is worth reading for these passages alone.

In fact, it has been a decade since I last read it; I do believe it is time to have another look.

Q2: What was the worst classic you were forced to endure (and why)?

Vanity Fair. Vanity Fair. Oh, Dear God, Vanity Fair. Never has any author even come close to rivaling Thackeray’s contemptible, damnable characters. I hated them all. I hate him for writing them into existence. I realize that it is intentionally a “Novel without a Hero.” I don’t care. Vanitas Vanitatum be damned. I hate this novel. If I have to say much more, I will just start swearing uncontrollably.

Q3: Which classic should every student be required to read (and why)?

Though not fiction (and for some reason I just assumed we were talking fiction here), I’m going to jump genre and recommend that every student should be required to read and thoughtfully consider Aristotle’s On Rhetoric and Poetics (and since there is a quality compilation edition available, I’m counting these treatises as one). There is so much of value for anyone interested in language, discourse, civic participation, et al.

(and . . . can you require someone to ‘thoughtfully consider’ a work? Neat.)

If I must decide on a distinctly literary piece, however, then I’ll go with poetry here and select Dante’s The Inferno (the rest of the Divine Comedy should be recommended, but not required, reading).

Q4: Which classic should be put to rest immediately (and why)?

This is a tough one because even though there are a few classics I despise (Canterbury Tales, Vanity Fair, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, The House of Mirth, The Old Man and the Sea), I suppose I can see their literary value and purpose. But to put to rest a classic . . .

Well . . . it’s a major stretch, but I’ll go with the entire Star Trek corpus (including the franchise). Maybe only a cult classic, the novels were inspired by a bad ‘60s television show!? C’mon now. So I’ll go with a loose interpretation of ‘classic’ and ax Star Trek, effective immediately.

I’m also a little over the Kerouac hype, but I don’t know if I’d put On the Road to rest, per se---especially since I kinda dig it.

Q5: **Bonus** Why do you think certain books become classics?

Here I’ll adopt Kerr’s definition of curriculum and apply it to the classics: “nothing less than the statement a college [perhaps in this case, a culture] makes about what, out of the totality of man’s [sic] constantly growing knowledge and experience, is considered useful, appropriate, or relevant to the lives of educated men and women at a certain point of time.”

That, coupled with longevity--or perhaps the honoring of or curiousity about what has been “useful, appropriate, or relevant” to previous generations ---is, to my mind, what makes a classic.

I would also argue that craft has something to do with it, though that may be a troubled and tenuous argument.

And now, to plagiarize Bradley, if you are reading this, consider yourself tagged.

Okay . . . just . . . breathe . . .

2008-07-09T22:09:00.009-05:00

So, after my run this evening, my hubby drops this little bomb:

Kurt: So did ya’ read the sports news today?

Me: Oh! That Rodriguez and Michigan will pay up on what they owe WVU?

Kurt: Okay, no. The other sports news: a few of the Steelers shareholders have been shopping the team around. Not the Chairman---what’s his name?

Me: [with growing shock and panic] Dan Rooney?!

Kurt: Yeah, not him, but I guess his brother . . . and a few other family members who hold shares.

Me: But . . . . But . . . . [blathering, incomprehensible, breathless drivel]

[Pause]

But . . . Rooney! Pittsburgh! Steelers!

[Pause]

NO! Art Rooney bought that team in 1933! They can’t---

Kurt: Well, we’re in an age without loyalty . . .

Me: The Steelers are all about loyalty! They’ve only had three coaches in nearly 40 years!

[Pause]

Can’t . . . leave . . . Pittsburgh!

Must be Steelers. Must be Pittsburgh. Must be Rooney. Not good. Not good at all.

[Pause. Panic growing.]

No, no, no, no, no. Won’t happen. The City of Pittsburgh will NEVER let it happen. They can’t. Oh, they can’t. I don’t think I can breathe. I hope those other Rooneys don’t live in Pittsburgh . . . mob . . . pitchforks . . . torches . . . black tar, gold feathers . . .

How. Dare. They?!

[Frantic searching on the Web]

Okay . . . from Steelers.com:

“Steelers Chairman Dan Rooney stated, ‘I have spent my entire life devoted to the Pittsburgh Steelers and the National Football League. I will do everything possible to work out a solution to ensure my father’s legacy of keeping the Steelers in the Rooney family and in Pittsburgh for at least another 75 years.’”

And this guy, this Matthew J. Darnell, from Yahoo! Sports, I enjoy him:

Steelers fans can take comfort in the following:

• Druckenmiller [the team's prospective buyer] might be the only man on the planet who's worth more than $3 billion and regularly paints his face for football games

• He wore a Troy Polamalu jersey and a hard-hat to a game last year

• Will not sit in a luxury box, and prefers to be in the stands with like-minded Steelers fans

• There's no chance he'd move the Steelers out of Pittsburgh

• He'd let Dan Rooney control the team for as long as Rooney would like

Kurt: Well that’s good news, anyway. This Druckenmiller seems like a decent guy.

Me: I guess we’ll see. Ugh. I feel ill.

~end conversation~

For the love of all that is good and just and right and holy in this world, please---please!---don't mess with the Black and Gold!

Go Stillers!

Never-friggin'-more

2008-07-01T10:40:00.007-05:00

As if, as a die-hard Pittsburgh Steelers fan, I actually needed another reason to hate the Baltimore Ravens (aka 'Old' Browns):

Ravens to Offer Fans Free 'Peck-Your-Eyes-Out' Service

Trained ravens as mascots, the actual friggin' birds, ominously gliding around the stadium and screeching out touchdown and Go Ravens?!

My take?

Apocalyptic flurry of feathered, mite-infested, sharp-beaked, scaly-taloned ebony horror. Gah!

Friggin' GAH!

Auroral Kilometric Radiation (AKR)

2008-07-01T07:40:00.005-05:00

Okay, so . . . the 3rd grade science geek in me is all kinds of excited about this clip from SPACE.com:

http://www.space.com/php/video/player.php?video_id=080627-earth-sounds

I've been a big fan of the aurora since the first time I saw it
over Lake Superior . . . .

Okay. Okay. My fascination with the aurora maybe began earlier when I learned about it via Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem's "Can You Picture That?" lyrics,

Lost my heart in Texas
Northern lights affect us
I keep it underneath my hat
Aurora Borealis
shinin' down to Dallas!
Can you picture that?
Can you picture that?

Yeah, well . . . learning comes from unusual places sometimes. Anywho . . .

These 'Earth sounds?' Seriously cool.

Back from my brain break . . .

2008-06-12T14:08:00.006-05:00

at least for a while, and I’ve recently (re)turned my attention to what I’ve referred to in a previous post as the ‘professional parcel,’ the marketing of oneself in academe. It’s a funny little dance, isn’t it? Complicated, or perhaps enhanced?, a tad by open-access blogs et al. glimpses of persona via the Web. From my Higher Ed Leadership and org theory coursework (and experience), I’ve come to appreciate the importance of institutional culture, collegial and human resource frameworks, and ‘fit’ (for both the institution and the individual) when it comes to building, enhancing, or contributing to an academic community.

To frame it another way (in my brain’s vernacular), the interviewing/hiring process is, like academe itself, an inherently rhetorical project: the claimant works to establish a desirable ethos in order to persuade her audience that the ‘brand’ of professional teacher/scholar/administrator (logos) and general human being (pathos?), an ethos that lends itself to the going academic/community/professional climate and is consistent with (or at the very least amenable to) the institutional mission and goals. This makes sense to me, but moving theory into practice is not, as always, quite so straightforward.

When I think of my ideal positions, which all have at least some explicit administrative/policy/leadership component, I realize that though from my perspective my training, experience, and scholarship may support in very specific ways the responsibilities associated with the position(s), those hiring for those positions may not necessarily see the connection between, say, rhetoric and administration. Goodness knows I’ve had plenty of practice trying to explain my decision to minor in Ed Leadership and Policy Analysis, though the marriage of the discrete areas seems perfectly logical to me—but I also have something of a tendency toward the enthymematic argument because by the time I reason out a particular conclusion I am so intimately familiar with the premises that got me there that they seem so readily apparent that I worry I will insult my audience by their mention; of course, I also suspect I am not unique in this regard. At any rate, I imagine negotiating the challenge of professional ‘fit’ is shared by just about every person who ever sought a job.

But then there’s the tricky personal tab of the personnel file, the one that could certainly influence ‘fit’ in ways not readily predicted by assessment of the professional profile and posture. Bradley spent some time considering this aspect of the job market dynamic a while back, with specific regard for marriage and political alignment, and in today’s Chronicle, Na'ema Suleiman (pseudonym) frames the consideration in terms of parenthood, specifically motherhood.

For me, the questions are these:

Just how much relevant ‘pathos’ should a person offer when marketing the ‘professional parcel’? Or, more to the point, what ‘pathos’ is relevant?

Does a Web presence actually offer a reprieve from directly engaging these personal matters? Or, is allowing your Web presence to communicate the sticky details that may or may not impact ‘fit’ too evasive or even devious? Or (again) might it serve as a form of passive resistance to answer the kinds of unfortunate circumstances that would make such disclosures a professional liability?

And, finally, the old question persists: would I want to present a version of myself that is in any way fragmented or incomplete . . . would I want to misrepresent myself or my priorities in any way to land the dream job? Would I want a position that required this of me? And what if my professional priorities and my personal priorities are neither in conflict nor inextricably intertwined, but are, to a relevant degree, mutually exclusive? Then is the question of ‘relevant pathos’ moot?

I’d be interested to hear other folks’ thoughts on this. It is exciting, and a little unsettling, to consider . . . but the real question, for me, when it comes right down to it, is this: will all this deliberation actually help me land a job, and once I do, will it help me do my job well?

Let Levi Ride!

2008-06-05T13:17:00.006-05:00

In my earlier post today, I mentioned that the Tour de France begins one month from today. Now, in case you hadn't heard, the Tour has been plagued by doping scandals of every variety for several years now, and in an effort to clean up the sport, the ASO (that's the organization that regulates the sport) made the decision in February to ban Team Astana from competing in the Tour because of their past involvement in said scandals. Trouble is, Team Astana has undergone a complete renovation in the off season and, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, has been completely reformed. With their decision, however, the ASO effectively met that Phoenix with the business end of an unfriendly double-barrel.

More to my point, part of Team Astana's reformation included inviting the incomparable Levi Leipheimer to lead the team, a man who joined Team Astana after the (sad) dissolution of the U.S. Team Discovery (formerly U.S. Postal . . . the team led for so many years by a Mr. Lance Armstrong--ever hear of him?).

I realize that of the three people who read my blog, two have absolutely no interest in sports (and that might be a generous estimate, on both counts). I also realize that support for cycling in the U.S. is just about nil. Still, Leipheimer is a dedicated competitor who has always conducted himself honorably. He is an athlete truly worthy of the iconic status of "role model" that is often too easily tossed around in our sports culture: disciplined, fair, humble, immensely talented, and possessing unbelievable endurance. He is the embodiment of all the sport, and especially the Tour, should want to represent.

So I am making an appeal to all you friendly academic types et al. who sometimes visit my musings here to take a half-minute to visit the Let Levi Ride Website and show your support. Please?

So there's no use in weeping / Bear a cheerful spirit still*

2008-06-05T11:00:00.006-05:00

CONGRATULATIONS

to the Detroit Red Wings, who clinched the Cup in Pittsburgh last night. While it would have been nice for them to take the series at home, I am glad that the City of Pittsburgh could share that moment with them. It was nice to see that many Pens fans were clapping for the Wings at the end . . . and a few even stayed for the presentation of the trophies! Truly, none are more deserving of hoisting that shiny, 35-pound symbol of victory than the Wings.

Having said that,

Congrats, too, to the Pittsburgh Penguins, who also deserve kudos for fighting to the very last tenth-of-a-second to try to tie it up. It is terrible to come so close only to lose the championship on home ice, but the Pens proved a worthy opponent comprised of fierce competitors of damn-near unparalleled talent. I can't help but have a sense that throughout the series we were witnessing the evolution of a (big-T) Team, and I will be looking forward to next season.

Thus ends my series of posts about hockey . . . but the Tour begins in only a month, and I do have that little-bitty thing called a dissertation to occupy my writing self, so I

Bear a cheerful spirit still*

and focus my attention elsewhere. Thanks to both organizations for a great series--it's been a hell of a show!

*I wonder what Charlotte Bronte, whom I doubt could ever have imagined her work appropriated thus, would have to say about the marriage of poetry and athletics?

Which is worse:

2008-06-03T09:40:00.006-05:00

the fact that VP Cheney’s ill-wrought attempt at “West Virginia” humor relied on a lazy and useless trope or the uninspired, vapid commentary issued in response to his snarky remark?

As one who studies rhetoric with an eye to public discourse, I just don’t know what to make of the majority of the comments posted online, the “Web 2.0 New Democracy,” an example of which may be seen over at The Washington Post.

This is the state of our civic discourse?!

Sadly, I have even seen similar discursive techniques, and I use the term loosely, pass as scholarship on rare occasion. But the real question, to my mind, is this: how are we to hold our public officials accountable, how are we even to take each other seriously, when our engagement in public discussions about civic leadership, governance, culture, and participation—not to mention ideological and social difference—amounts to little more than untenable insults, argumenta ad hominem, and generalized smack?

C’mon, folks: shame on us. I know we can do better. Right?

So, I took the Wings in 5 . . .

2008-06-03T07:39:00.001-05:00

and I've never been so happy to be wrong! As I watched the game last night, breathless and negotiating that razor's edge between frenzied enthusiasm and waking the kids (or annoying my quiet-by-nature husband), it occurred to me that I really, really wanted the Pens to win. It could be that I was just not ready for the series—and the season—to end. It could be, too, that I am truly just a 'Burgh-sports gal through‘n through. But I think what affected me the most was the way these guys—on both sides—have been playing in the last couple of games: despite a few early hiccups and nonsense, this has become an outstanding, exciting series.

And speaking of outstanding, who could fail to be impressed by Fleury? For my money, he’s the Game 5 MVP. It’s one thing to face 58 shots on goal, most of them rapid-fire, but to face 58 shots courtesy of the Detroit Red Wings? That’s a whole new realm of impressive.

Triple OT, Gonchar’s comeback, Malone’s puck-to-the-face-turned-triumphant-albeit-bloody-return, Fleury’s aforementioned brilliance, Crosby’s quiet leadership—how could I not get behind these guys last night? I still think the Wings are the better team all around and deserve, ultimately, to win the Cup, but I have no problem with the Pens making it a challenge rather than a gimme. Screwy OT penalties that seemed almost contrived—especially the pair of interference calls made in the 1st and 2nd OTs—notwithstanding, last night’s game, to borrow the old cliché, was the stuff of legends. That's what I want out of the playoffs.

I can’t wait for Game 6 . . . but I’m still hopin’ for a trip back to Joe Louis for the big, shiny denouement.

And while I'm on this hockey kick . . .

2008-05-29T09:22:00.004-05:00

Here's my little guy,

a boy conflicted.

Well, at least maybe he'll grow learning how to appreciate and negotiate diverse and conflicting perspectives . . .

or he'll keep a good counselor in business.

Cheers!

Man up, boys.

2008-05-28T22:19:00.002-05:00

Game 3 ended just moments ago, Pens 3, Wings 2. As I mentioned at the start of the series, I am conflicted. I’m becoming less so as the series continues.

See, this is the first game I’ve actually been able to watch. Believe it or not, I could not find Game 1 when I was in Seattle. It wasn’t broadcast on any of the channels I had in my hotel room. It wasn’t shown on the televisions in the bar downstairs. We even went to an awesome brewery that night and no Game 1?! They had basketball. They had poker (WTF?). They had soccer. They had no hockey. The trip was awesome. The city was awesome. The RSA conference was beyond awesome (more on that later). But I could not find hockey in the city of Seattle. Thank goodness I have such a great husband, who sent me text and cell updates.

My flight through Kansas City was delayed a bit on Monday, so I didn’t get home until after Game 2 had ended. But I’ve been hearing . . . things. About the games. About the Pens. Not so much good. Then tonight I saw it for myself. The Pens were playing dirty. Not just tough. Not just physical. They had a few moves in there that were plain uncalled for. Unsportsmanlike. Disrespectful. A damn shame.

These boys are talented, but they are looking like . . . I don’t know what. In sports, I want to see talent matched with class. Don’t laugh–class is what sets apart the champions. Champions show respect. Respect for the game. Respect for the fans. Respect for skilled opponents like the Detroit Red Wings. I’m just not seeing that right now in the Penguins. I really want them to do well, and it was great to see them play well tonight, but in Games 1 & 2 they were outplayed . . . in each game of this series, even tonight, they were seriously outclassed.

Still, I’m hoping this series goes all the way. I’ll always be a Pens fan. I’ll always be a Wings fan. But I do think the former could learn a little something from the latter.

Q: What’s Black and Gold and Red All Over?

2008-05-20T09:43:00.009-05:00

A: The Stanley Cup finals.

I think my head is going to explode.

When the Pens put it away Sunday afternoon, I was elated . . . and I immediately issued a snarky-yet-good-humored taunt to my cousin and a good friend who are both Flyers fans-—-and who had both been giving me a hard time the whole series. I have also had a slightly altered version of George Clinton in my head since Sunday, singing

“We want the cup! Gotta have that cup!
~YAOW~
We need the cup! Gotta have that cup!”

It’s been a LONG time. It’s been a LONG, UGLY 16 years for the Pens. I started college in Downtown Pittsburgh immediately after their back-to-back Stanley Cup victories in the early ‘90s. These were the days of Jaromir Jagr, Mario Lemieux (generation I), Tom Barrasso (I LOVED Barrasso!), Ron Francis, Phil Bourque, Paul Coffey . . . so many rockin’ ice men. Duquesne University, my school, was literally just a couple of blocks from the Civic Arena, and if you presented your student ID 30 minutes before game time, you could buy whatever seats they had left for, like, $11. Of course, I started college in ‘93, and we were always hoping for a repeat of their championship seasons . . . but the games were always exciting nonetheless, and the atmosphere was unparalleled.

I was in grad school in Michigan by the time Lemieux (generation II) shook off retirement and returned to the ice, and everybody hoped the mighty Pens would be reborn-—-came close, but during the playoffs they lost in quadruple overtime to . . . the Flyers (are you beginning to understand why I’m so dang excited . . . and why I couldn’t resist the aforementioned taunt?). Since then, with the escalating threats that the Pens would leave Pittsburgh, etc., etc., it’s been tough to get behind the team.

But now, with Lemieux (generation III) still at the helm (thank goodness!), new ice in the works, and the security of the team’s permanence in da ‘Burgh, I am so ready for the ultimate victory.

BUT

In the middle of all the Penguin strife, and during Lemieux II, I was (as I noted) in Michigan. It was there that my appreciation for the game itself deepened, in part because hockey is a part of the culture there, in part because I was able to watch the Canadian coverage of the games (which is far, far superior to the U.S.’) and in part because we had an awesome college team to follow: the NMU Wildcats. It was also there that I met—and I am sure this is a contributing factor, too--- my Michigan family and the two biggest Wings fans I’d ever encountered-—-the ladies who would become my sister-in-law and mother-in-law. And during the Wings’ 2002 Stanley Cup series victory, I sat at my soon-to-be in-laws’ house, watching the Wings and putting together wedding favors. Sentimental? Yepper. But I’ve been a fan of the Wings ever since—certainly not in the same category as my sister-in-law and mother-in-law, but a fan just the same. Last night’s victory pretty much sent me over the moon.

So here we are, the PENS against the WINGS for the Stanley Cup. I had prepared myself for the possibility that one day the Steelers might meet the Packers in the Super Bowl, but for some reason I’d never really mentally prepared for this NHL scenario. Even as I watched the Eastern and Western finals, knowing in my gut what the outcome would be (despite Dallas’ hometown officiating), I just hadn’t prepared. Come Saturday, I’ll be cheering for every goal, every assist, every save . . .

. . . and don’t even get me started on the power plays-—-will I root for a short-handed goal or be screaming for this-one-or-that to take advantage of the situation? Man, folks are gonna think I’ve lost it. But at least it should be an amazing series. Here’s hopin’ for a Game 7!

GO PENS! / GO WINGS!
GO WINGS! / GO PENS!

Yup. Folks will definitely think I’ve finally lost it. Lord Stanley have mercy.

Keening o’er My Mountain Mama

2008-05-14T11:15:00.003-05:00

Oh, how it pains me to criticize my beloved West Virginia! But in light of recent happenings, I have to say to the folks back home,

Some a' y’all don’t seem to have the sense God gave a goose!

This brief but scattered catalogue of thoughts will, hopefully, illustrate what I mean:

I suppose it began with the–ahem–departure of West Virginia’s (former) favorite son, Coach Rodriguez. Real class act, this guy, ditching his boys following an embarrassing, devastating, and season-changing loss to Pitt . . . but before finishing out the season in the Fiesta Bowl (ah, that victory was the sweetest of all victories, and coupled with the raw emotion and Mountaineer Spirit demonstrated by Bill Stewart, Pat White, and the rest of the ‘Eers in the face of what had just gone down, that particular moment-in-sports was damn near poetic—but I digress . . .).

Real bum move, if you ask me, Rodriguez leaving the team before the season ended, but given the questionable leadership at WVU, I can’t help but wonder about the other side of the story.

Which brings me to my next rub:

What the heck is going on at WVU anyway?

First there’s the Executive MBA scandal involving the Governor’s daughter . Really, why not just award her an ‘honorary degree?’ Then they could avoid the scandal that comes with the falsification of transcripts and jump right to the gratuitous conferring of degrees; it seems the two actions are a mere hairbreadth apart these days, though—theoretically—they differ in principle.

Brief aside: my friend and colleague William Bradley has addressed the issue of honorary degrees more thoroughly on his blog in recent weeks, so if you’re interested I’d encourage you to visit The Ethical Exhibitionist/Academia.

Okay. Then there’s the push for proprietary rights over the work of creative writers at WVU by requiring students in the creative writing programs to make their masters’ theses available online. I realize that ownership/authorship of written work is complicated, and intellectual property is further complicated by the writer/researcher/institution dynamic; as I understand it, the university owns all intellectual property created by any member of the university community using university resources (understanding, too, that members of the university community themselves are resources, from an organizational standpoint), and therefore the university has the right to retain, reproduce, and distribute the work. I also understand that while individuals are permitted to copyright the same work, the university retains the additional intellectual property rights.

Another aside: U of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign put together a handy little at-a-glance guide to this intellectual property chaos.

Complicated though they may be, there are plenty of good reasons for these protections, and most assume a certain reciprocity between author and institution; at the most basic level, an author’s copyright can protect his or her unique arrangement of words/symbols and the institution can protect his or her ideas. This works fine in the sciences where methods, procedures, practices–in essence, ideas—must be replicated for disciplinary integrity. But creative writing presents a different problem: it is here that the unique arrangement of words/symbols—the craft, process, and ‘finished’ work itself—does different work than the lab report or even the scholarly treatise, and the value—or at least part of the value—of a creative work is not that it can be replicated, but that it cannot. Further, these traditions belong to two different publishing cultures and two discrete philosophical paradigms. The concessions made by WVU administrators to allow students a five-year window to publish their creative work before posting it to the Web is not sufficient. It can be that a work is complete for the purpose of fulfilling degree requirements but is still in process in terms of its art, and it may take some time—even more than five years!—for the artist to refine and revise the work until the writer’s vision is actualized.

Regardless, what WVU has proposed for its creative writers is bad policy—and as a proponent of said bad policy Director of Creative Writing Mark Winegardner’s absurd argument, as quoted in the Chronicle of Higher Education, that “it looks like the weird creative types are asking to be let out of gym class,” falls woefully short.

And finally, Clinton by a landslide? Pshaw. You know, only around 23% of eligible voters turned out for the Democratic primary (and, sadly, only roughly 12% turned out for the Republican primary back in February), and when only (roughly) a third of the voting population turns out, theirs are the voices that are heard—-but they may not be representative of the whole of the state, despite "random sample" arguments to the contrtary. Still, seeing Clinton win in West Virginia by such a margin is unsettling---and for a whole variety of reasons, but that's more than I really want to get into at the moment.

Besides, I really do believe that all of these instances that I’m bellyachin’ about—from the academic to the athletic to the political to the social—are the exception and not the rule in the great Wild, Wonderful. Of course, it is discouraging that only about a third of voters made it to the polls during this primary season, a trend hardly unique to West Virginia . . . but that’s another can of worms.

"That was neat, wasn't it?"

2008-04-28T13:47:00.005-05:00

We bought a new laptop a few weeks back, so I have been slowly replacing and/or updating our software. The new machine runs Vista, so not everything is compatible. Case in point: my scanner, which is old but in perfect shape, is now obsolete. Most of our hardware and software have patches and driver updates available, but when I clicked on the 'Vista' button in search of a driver for the scanner, no dice. Instead of a download, I got a nice little note that said something like "regrettably we we no longer offer service updates for your device. Please consider buying a new product." B00.

[Insert sad commentary here.]

Today, the tech world gave me another little, mildly amusing, slap with its kid glove or, rather, a blast of canned air to the face: see, I prefer Corel WordPerfect over MS Word because, well, I just do. We can talk about it another time. Anywho, in the interim between the purchase of the new computer and the arrival of my new WordPerfect software (which still requires a Vista service pack to run), I downloaded the free trial version so I wouldn't be SOL when working on any of my going-projects-of-the-moment (i.e. fellowship apps, the dissertation 'package,' LORs, poems, E201 Undergraduate Writing and Research Exhibition, conference papers/proposals, etc.). Well, the trial period expired, and instead of a dry notice and the expected information about converting to the full version, I got this:

"That was neat, wasn't it?"

Who wrote that?! Nelson Muntz?! Even now, I can hear his trademark "Heh!Heh!" Still, I gotta admire their approach and pluck, glove/canned-air-to-the-face or no.

The Simplest of Pleasures

2008-04-19T17:24:00.000-05:00

You know, I’m not much for summer weather: after all, I moved to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula nine years ago—and to Wisconsin four years ago—on purpose. I’m also probably the most intense ornithophobe you’d ever care to meet. Yet, I cleaned and hung my hummingbird feeder today, and seeing it—this Symbol-of-Summer and Beacon-of-Birds—suspended just outside my kitchen window brings me such silly, uncomplicated, quiet happiness. Paradox or no, everyone should feel this nice every once in a while.

So here’s wishing you a little moment of your own, even—or perhaps especially—if it doesn’t make any sense at all. Cheers!

A few thoughts about CHANGE and Senator Obama’s Hubris

2008-04-16T11:58:00.001-05:00

I’ve been thinking: when one considers the dynamics of CHANGE as a political platform, it becomes clear that Senator Obama’s comments last week regarding the lives and values of small-town Pennsylvanians are not at all inconsistent with his message of HOPE and CHANGE.

The way I see it, HOPE makes lemonade out of the lemons of desperation and dejectedness. It gives folks a reason to persevere, to become empowered agents, and to give thanks even in the darkest of times. It is a powerful, beautiful, transformative force. It allows one to overcome difficulties, to seek CHANGE. So HOPE leads to CHANGE. And even better, widespread HOPE leads to widespread CHANGE. Shame on anyone who would sincerely wish to argue against positive CHANGE born of HOPE. But . . .

this transition from HOPE to CHANGE depends on one very important variable: one’s general dissatisfaction with one’s situation—one’s need for CHANGE. Anyone can have HOPE, and for a variety of reasons, but to turn that HOPE into action takes initiative; thus widespread HOPE and widespread CHANGE as a campaign platform—or at least the particular brand of HOPE and CHANGE that Senator Obama is peddling—depends on a pervasive sense of widespread dissatisfaction among the constituency. What a swell time, then, to capitalize on the constituency’s rancor and run such a campaign: there seems to be a lot of dissatisfaction in the air—and it smells like springtime in farm country.

Perhaps, then, this odious and familiar scent was still swirling in his nostrils when Senator Obama addressed his devout supporters in the golden City by the Bay, far removed from those broken and rusted patch towns of rural Pennsylvania—such poetic juxtaposition!; perhaps it was this scent he contemplated as he flew over the patchwork farm fields of the Midwest and came up with the idea that he could not only capitalize on the discontent that often inspires HOPE and certainly drives CHANGE, but that he could cultivate it, too, like farmers cultivate their crops, by simultaneously (and indirectly) reminding folks just how bad they really have it—reminding them all the while that he understands—and by capitalizing on this misfortune in disparaging terms to those whose local culture and lifestyle could not be further removed from those about whom he spoke as a means to explain away views and values he and his polished audience find naive or objectionable.

The arrogance of his assumptions is compounded by the fact that by pointing out the misfortune of those who have been making their way off the vestiges of an economy two-decades gone to an audience who is completely economically, culturally, and ideologically removed from them smacks of condescension. Back home, we call that tellin’ tales out of school, and it is not honorable. It is not honorable to affect a posture of sympathy and pity and superiority, to congratulate oneself for one’s depth of understanding in the company of one’s peers. It is not honorable to affect temperance and generosity of spirit.

I’ll not condemn Senator Obama’s recent remarks as “elitist”: I’ll leave that to the misguided populists who seem hell-bent on perpetuating such an unhelpful dichotomy in American life. I will say, however, that his comments are reminiscent of the attitudes of 18th century British colonizers upon encountering indigenous populations, those for whom ‘primitive’ behaviors suggested a want of understanding.

Senator Obama’s remarks were not mangled, nor was this a syntactical mistake, as he has claimed, but it is a perfect example of a logical fallacy: nothing Senator Obama said was untrue—that is, until he reached his damnable conclusion. To say that small-town Pennsylvanians are bitter, disheartened, frustrated, perhaps angry—this is not the issue. To claim that it is misses the point. The point is that his assumptions about those who “cling” to what is often described as “small town values” because they have nothing left to hold on to suggests ignorance, simple mindedness, and a lack of sophistication. Thus his is a fallacy of the most confounding sort in that he built a reasonable argument on the foundation of valid premises, only to advance a faulty conclusion—a conclusion that, paradoxically, seems all the more true because of the accuracy of his premises.

At once brilliant and unethical, this seems to me a calculated risk that afforded him the ability to excuse himself for his poor locution (whoops!) without actually apologizing for his own hubris and damaging, hurtful assumptions about the lives and values of those with whom he clearly does not align; it allowed him to draw out his opponent (and, by the way, is anyone really surprised at how Clinton has conducted herself during this primary season?); and it has rallied his supporters, placing them in a position to defend his intent, arguing to give him a pass—after all, who among us has not experienced verbal blunders of our own?

(Most of) Wisconsin Got it (Mostly) Right

2008-04-02T08:45:00.006-05:00

Rhetoricians rejoice (to a degree)! Yesterday, April 1st, we ‘Sconnies went to the polls . . .

and—WOW—did I just refer to myself as a ‘Sconnie? Anywho . . .

. . . [we] went to the polls to, among other things, right a 78 year-old wrong: voters overwhelmingly voted to remove (in part) the partial veto power of the governor. Since 1930, gubernatorial power included the lawful ability to selectively edit proposed spending legislation by removing words, phrases, numbers, and the like then splicing together all that remained to form a new spending bill, even if the new legislation bore no resemblance to the original. For an example, take a look at this. There are many ways to describe such a practice:

falsification
inaccurate alteration
democratic circumvention
unethical omission
adulteration and/or bastardization
rhetorically reprehensible action

‘Round here, it is most often referred to as the “Frankenstein Veto,” and it proved a mighty unpopular practice among voters (71% voted to amend the state constitution to ban the practice).

I am not necessarily opposed to veto power. I’m not even (theoretically) opposed to line-item veto power when it is used to strike down language units in their entirety. Both offer the potential for further deliberation and negotiation between executive and legislative powers, and both possibilities limit the potential for abuses or imbalances of power; however, this business of reconfiguring meaning by systematically deleting, fragmenting, and reorganizing symbols? Bah.

As one who teaches writing and rhetoric, I am relieved that the next time I instruct students about ethical and accurate research practices and language use, about authorship and intellectual probity—and most particularly about the importance of maintaining the integrity of language in quotations—there will be less (and I do emphasize less) of a disjunct between the practices I endorse (or insist upon) and the practices of one of our nation’s most prominent sites for rhetorical engagement.

It is a small victory, as the specific language of the referendum passed yesterday delimits only the scrapbooking together of the fragmented remains following the culling of the governor’s undesired bits of the legislation and not the selective culling itself, but it is victory nonetheless.

MWF, 32, ABD, seeks professional identity . . .

2008-03-28T14:25:00.003-05:00

I suppose it’s easy for some: the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker. It starts, really, in college: the use of the standard template,

“Hi. I’m Darcy. I’m a sophomore butchery major.”
“Hello. I’m Nate, a third-semester senior culinary major with an emphasis in fondant.”
“I’m Jamie, a junior candlestick-arts major. Hi.”

Instant identity tag, and it serves an interesting, perhaps important, social-rhetorical function. So when it comes to describing what it is I do—or, given the cultural practice and expectations associated with professional “branding,” who I am—I’m having a bit of a crisis. Well, maybe not crisis, per se, but something. A shift. A reorganization of self-knowledge. A period of adjustment. In the Maslow/Goldstein model, I guess I’m not self-actualized at the moment.

It may be the nature of graduate school, one function of which is to move the individual from student-status to professional-status, that explains my unrest; as a graduate student, I have been at once a student and an instructor. But even that has become more complicated: as a Ph.D. candidate, I’ve completed all my coursework, so I’m a student without a classroom. I’m working on a project that I hope will make at least some meaningful and original contribution to the field–or, rather, to at least one of the multiple fields I’m attempting to negotiate—so I am a student in that I am learning more all the time, Ancora Imparo, but I’m no longer attending classes: that phase of my formal education is complete. My professors feel less like professors, in the traditional sense, and more like colleague/mentors; those who were my classmates are now decisively my colleagues. It is a strange awakening. Not at all unpleasant, but certainly strange.

Then there’s the actual professional practice of teaching. When I teach, and I say this without arrogance, I teach very well. I am invested in my students’ learning because I am invested in my subject. But I don’t think of myself as a teacher. This perplexes people when I say it. Their eyes, under a skeptical, furrowed brow, ask, “but aren’t you planning to be a professor? And aren’t professors teachers?” Well . . . yes. But I don’t think of myself as a teacher. A facilitator, most certainly, but a teacher? It’s hard to explain, but the teaching-learning dynamic is different in higher education; therefore, the role of the instructor is also different. Further, as of this writing I have not been in an instructional role for almost a year; instead, I’ve been serving as a WPA for the program in which I have taught for the last two years. So what does this have to do with my search for a professional identity? Here’s my reasoning:

If teaching is my first love—no, wait. If teaching writing is my first love—but no, that’s not quite right either. Writing is my first love; teaching writing is the maturation of that love. Still, I’m not certain I want to marry my first love. Without it, though, I couldn’t understand the role of a WPA (my new love?); I couldn’t be an advocate for the multiple constituencies—most importantly the students and their instructors—invested in the program, and I wouldn’t understand the policies and practices that inform the culture of the writing program(s) I serve, nor could I grasp the implications of said policies and practices.

Add to all of this that my field is rhetoric, at once unintentionally esoteric and ubiquitous and generally misunderstood; that my scholarly interests and curiosities are about as orderly as the flickering of fireflies over a hayfield in late August; and that, in addition, I still consider myself something of a poet, essayist, Jazz Age Literature scholar, et al., then the process of branding becomes even more complicated: when I try to explain to folks what I do, I am met with the very same skeptical, furrowed brow as referenced above.

So every little pebble I’ve cobbled together to this point in my career reveals nothing, yet, of a cogent professional identity. The artistic, slightly bohemian side of me says, “Oh, how delightfully chaotic,” but the “old-style conservative realist” (Lieven) in me says, “Focus. Get organized. Be precise. You can’t market what you can’t parcel.” Given that it will soon be my turn to commit myself to the academic job market, my old-style conservative realist makes a compelling argument, but this collage is proving difficult to brand.

Congratulations, Amy!

2008-02-22T12:04:00.006-06:00

Congratulations Amy!

My cousin recently passed her driver’s test and is now fully licensed. In honor of her success, I offer the following:

Amy, now that you’re licenced to motor, I have a few of my favorite, hard-learned (yes, sadly, all from experience) tips for you. In no particular order (ahem) . . .

1. It’s not usually a good idea to pass tanker trucks . . .
. . . on a two-lane country road
. . . in a no-passing zone
. . . on a curve
. . . when your dad told you not to take your car to school.

2. Those giant concrete planters that you often see in cities, larger towns, on campuses, etc.? Yeah, they tip over and break when you back into them hard enough.

3. If you happen to back over your boyfriend’s aunt’s mailbox, it’s generally a good idea to pull the car off the road, turn off the ignition, and close the door before carrying the broken mailbox, post, and tread-marked mail up the driveway.

4. Always—and this is important—open the garage door before backing out of the garage.

5. When taking a long road-trip with friends, letting your cat ride on the dashboard is . . . complicated (right, Lucy?).

6. When you get pulled over, remember to pull off to the right (not across traffic to the left).

7. Doing 75 in a 25 is rarely a negotiable ticket.

8. If you are ever caught speeding in Michigan with an out-of-state license, be sure to have the cash handy to cover the fine; otherwise, they will take your license on the spot.

9. Sometimes, “Honestly officer: I didn’t realize I was going that fast! It’s just such a beautiful day, and I had good tunes on the radio . . .” actually works.

10. If you happen to find that you’ve managed to place you car on the top of a rather large snow drift (i.e. you need climbing gear to get to your vehicle), a couple of evergreen branches under the tires and the help of a couple of cute frat boys usually does the trick.

11. 7:1 is probably not the best bumper to car ratio (over a three year period).

12. It is unusual, and not particularly recommended, to transport friends in the trunk. Especially tall and/or large friends.

13. Be sure you know how to change the tire: should you ever, say, slide sideways through a field or grassy embankment, it is nice to be able to refuse help from the creepy guy who offers.

14. If after #30 you lose count of how many times you have been pulled over, you might want to rethink your strategy.

15. If you happen to get lost in the general region east of L.A. and the cop you ask for directions laughs at you, find a trucker (again: right, Lucy?).

16. On down the road, when you go on your first outing with your fiance’s mother, you can be sure that backing into another car will make an impression.

17. Rain-X is cool.

18. Should you find it absolutely necessary to, ahem, communicate with another driver in another vehicle, be sure that he or she is not a police officer . . . or sheriff.

19. If you are running late and have to move your roommate’s and/or friend’s car because she a) can’t or b) is being generally uncooperative, try very hard not to lock her keys in her vehicle . . .
. . . while it’s running
. . . and in the middle of the street
. . . accidentally on purpose
. . . at 7 a.m. on a Saturday.

20. If you happen to back someone’s bright red, vintage 1979 Firebird Trans-Am into a pine tree, the best thing to say is “I’m so, so sorry” NOT “See? I told you that you need to cut down that tree!” Contrite is best. Especially if *someone* happens to be your mother.

22. While drag racing off a traffic light in downtown Pittsburgh can be a great way to meet friends, it is generally discouraged.

23. It is great fun to confuse the cop who pulls you over by insisting that you know him from somewhere . . . where could it be? (Bonus tip: be sure he doesn’t know you from a previous traffic stop).

24. It can be a tad awkward when the cop who pulls you over—and who pulled you over last week . . . and about three weeks before that—is a good friend of your mother’s . . . but it is VERY funny when he tells you that you drive like your mother!

25. And finally, remember this rule: “those entering a traffic circle must yield to those already in the traffic circle” AND that this rule does not apply, it seems, to Carmichaels, PA.

Be safe, drive smart, drive defensively, and remember this mantra:

I’m a good driver. I’m a good driver. I’m a good driver.

"Without gerunds, your nightmare would've just recurred."

2008-02-21T10:39:00.002-06:00

Lucy (a.k.a. my very own amor socraticus--or, in the incredibly annoying contemporary vernacular, my BFF), who works for the New York Times, sent me this link, and it is just too enjoyable not to pass along for those of you, like me, for whom language is religion.

Little aside: religion though it may be, I would not consider myself blindly devout in my worship and am reminded here of Frost's observation, "You can be a little ungrammatical if you come from the right part of the country." Just sayin' is all.

From the blue semicolon dude to the comments posted by readers (I took the name for this post from my particular favorite), what you will find here is about as enjoyable as a hot, hot, hot Venti, non-fat, sugar-free caramel latte on a cold, cold, COLD Wisconsin morning. Enjoy!

http://gawker.com/358157/nyt-makes-comma-error-inside-semicolon-article

Approaching the WI Primary

2008-01-30T12:08:00.000-06:00

In just 20 days, Wisconsin voters will officially enter the 2008 political marathon, and I couldn’t be more befuddled or excited. I must confess, here, that I was a kid who couldn't wait to turn 18 just so I could register to vote, and I am still fired with that same wide-eyed energy when it comes to U.S. politics. As a republican—and, frankly, what feels like the token and oft misunderstood republican in academe—all I can think of is an old fight song that we used to sing to taunt the opposing—or, when awful circumstances warranted, our own—football team:

We’ll take a neck from some ol’ bottle!
We’ll take an arm from some ol’ chair!
We’ll take a leg from some ol’ table!
and from a horse we’ll take some hair [we’ll-take-some-hair].
And then we’ll put them all together
with a little string and glue–oou–ooou!
And we’ll get more action from a gosh-darn dummy
than we’ll ever get from you–oou–ooou!

Ah, to have a Build-A-Candidate Workshop! To make a composite candidate from all the best qualities from the field: a dash of McCain’s record for collaborating across the aisle, a pinch of Romney’s organizational leadership record, a smidgen of Huckabee’s integrity, a nip of Giuliani’s chutzpah and support for the nation’s servicemen and women, and several ladles of Paul’s grasp for the constitution and the (limited) role of the federal government delineated therein—what a project!

Together, these candidates (though Giuliani is now officially out) make an interesting collage, one that communicates a great deal about the complex and somewhat metamorphic identity of the republican party at present (I’ll tackle that topic another time and in another place, perhaps). While the idea of creating the übercandidate selected from the best qualities each has to offer is perhaps a wistful or amusing aside, in truth politics is always—has always been—about the human condition—which is fallible, vulnerable, contradictory, and often inconsistent. It is also precisely what makes it possible to learn, to defend that which must be defended and to eliminate that which is unjust, and to collaborate, deliberate, and negotiate across difference; it is what affords one the ability to hope, to dream. The trouble is, for me, what am I willing to concede to the realm of ‘let’s agree to disagree’ and what positions (and records) among the candidates are, for me, deal-breakers?

At this point in history when we as a people approach such a unique and nearly unprecedented presidential election, and in this precise moment and mood that I write, I am inclined to think that the best hope for our country—the very best possible spur and curb—is to see the parties come together and share the ticket: a republican and a democrat coming together to share the responsibility of leading the country from within the executive branch. I’m not a political scientist, perhaps obviously, and I suspect the implications of such a move could be . . . complex to say the least. But since I can’t use the Build-A-Bear—er, Candidate—approach (and even if such a thing were possible could we as an American constituency ever actually agree as to what qualities were ‘best’ anyway?), it might be interesting, for just a moment, to imagine where together, say, Senators Obama (for whom I have a great deal of respect for his apparent temperance) and McCain could take the country.

Caffeine Wishes and Anesthesia Dreams

2008-01-11T15:17:00.000-06:00

You have to appreciate trends in modern medicine: through them I finally got my wish.

Long ago I decided that life would be much simpler if I could just have someone hook me up to an IV of caffeine—I wouldn’t have to slow down to sip. In my pre-op screening, the anesthesiologist asked me about my caffeine consumption. I explained my ‘caffeine layering’ technique: chai in the morning (2-4 cups); ‘energy water’ midmorning; coffee in the afternoon (pro re nata); the occasional espresso in the evening; caffeinated mints throughout. He asked me if I get headaches when I don’t consume. Well, yeah. So he ordered 500 cc of caffeine to be added to my IV. Nice man. My hero.

I thought he was kidding, but soon the nurse came with a little bitty vial of the good stuff. She checked the order, then asked me hold on. I overheard the conversation:

NURSE

500 cc? Is that right?

OTHER NURSE

Yes. That’s what he wrote.

NURSE

Okay. I just wanted to check [pause] because [pause, then whispered] she’s so small.

OTHER NURSE

Yeah. 500 cc. That’s the order. That’s what he wrote. I can check with him again . . .

NURSE

No, no. That’s what he wrote. Okay. Just like to double check.

[end dialogue]

I have such appreciation for modern medicine.

Stapedectomy Revisited

2008-01-07T14:45:00.000-06:00

A little less than three years ago—on May 25, 2005 to be precise—I wore a hearing aid in my left ear for the last time.

That moment came thirteen years after the word ‘otosclerosis’ ushered me in, none too gently, to the world of hearing impairment—where audiograms signed with Xs and Os have nothing to do with notes of endearment but mark left- and right- side decible levels on graph after graph, charting peaks and valleys far below the 20dB ‘normal adult threshold’ for hearing.

What I learned in those thirteen years, both about otosclerosis and about myself, could fill a book: cliché aside, it has. And now I am about to be able to complete that book, a collection of non-fiction essays that I began in 2000: now, as I am about to submit my right ear to the same procedure I had on my left in 2005, I can’t help but think about the relationship between the body and the self, the physical and the ethereal, the allegory that is written by our bodies and edited by our consciousness. Too heavy? Well, I guess I’m feeling a little heavy. Funny, but I am more nervous this time around than I was the last. More on that in a moment. For now, a little about otosclerosis, the reason for my hearing loss.

Otosclerosis is a congenital condition affecting the bones of the middle ear (incus, malleus, and stapes) that causes degenerative hearing loss; it is caused by an abnormal growth of spongy bone that prevents the bones from vibrating correctly and carrying sound waves to the inner ear. Surgically, the condition is treatable through a procedure called a stapedectomy: the removal of the stapes, via laser, and its replacement with a small titanium rod. The procedure eliminates the spongy bone and allows for proper movement and conductivity in the middle ear.

The stapedectomy yielded very good, though not perfect, results for me in 2005: though my hearing on that side does not quite break the normal threshold, I have noticed a marked improvement over my preoperative hearing, and I have not, after all, even seen my old hearing aid since I handed it off to my husband just before the surgery.

So why am I more nervous this time? This should be comfortable territory as there are far fewer ‘unknowns’ this time around, having been here before. But that’s just it: last time, the condition of my middle ear came as a surprise to my otolaryngologist—he’d not seen such significant bone growth in someone so young. In addition to the expected spongy bone, a ‘bony shelf’ had formed over all of the bones, making them difficult to access. This explains why my onset was so early in life: I was 16 when I was first diagnosed, while onset for otosclerosis usually doesn’t occur until folks are in their late 20s or early 30s at least. To complicate matters more, I apparently have a malformed incus, a deep ear canal, and a prominent facial nerve (which, for those who are not necessarily anatomy enthusiasts, courses right through the middle ear), making the logistics of working in my middle ear even more challenging. What should have been a laser procedure required a drill. What was already a difficult maneuver became an even greater challenge. And Dr. P– expects to find the same thing when he goes into my ear on Wednesday. But, no—that’ not really what is making me feel a little uncertain.

The fact is that last time I was fully hearing impaired going in to the surgery; I had nothing to lose, really. If the procedure worked, then great; if it didn’t —and there’s always the risk—I still had another functioning, if aided, ear. There was safety in that status quo offered by my right. Though the left is now improved, I know that it is still weak. The potential for having little to no improvement in my right—or losing my hearing in that ear all together—is unsettling. To go through all of this only to be no better off is a discouraging potentiality.

Then, of course, is the potential for facial paralysis; loss of feeling, function, and control; inability to produce or control tear production; loss of muscle control, speech impairment, taste disruption, et al., et al. As a person who makes her living, at least in part, by speaking, this is not an appealing prospect. As a woman who at least tries to look reasonably put together, superficial though such objectives may be, well . . . . And as a person who loves to sing (though what results in not fit for normally-functioning human ears), and smile, and laugh, and chase her children around making a ‘lizard face,’ entertaining the possibility of exchanging hearing impairment for facial impairment nearly makes me want to rethink my ante.

And finally, in what is perhaps the ultimate example of illogical though compelling human impulses, I am worried about being able to hear.

Let me explain: I was very angry when I was first diagnosed with otosclerosis. I refused to wear my hearing aids. Chaos and disappointment ensued. I was obstinate. It was a long, complex battle. Eventually, I healed. I learned. And through it all, quietly and without a particular, discrete, discernable turning point, I adopted a new cultural identity. I belonged to a discrete community. I was ‘hearing impaired.’ The hearing loss became a significant part of my identity; who might I be without having that experience? Who will I be, in Pound’s words, “after the sound” (Canto XIII)?

Absurd though it may seem, my most significant concern is not that the surgery won’t work, but that it will.

nota bene

2007-12-15T13:34:00.000-06:00

I can't stress this enough:

When shopping online, please be advised that the url for Dicks Sporting Goods is NOT www.dicks.com.

Consider yourself warned.

Happy shopping.

The Mitchell Report and Cultural Change

2007-12-13T11:24:00.000-06:00

Today’s release of the Mitchell Report reminds me of an old, dear friend of mine in high school who was abusing steroids. He was a sweet kid, and I remember even then that I was so worried about him that, for a class, I did a research project on steroid use and athletics so I could try to learn more and convince him that aiming for biceps the size of my waist was not worth the risk he was taking.

I came of age in what has now been dubbed the Steroid Era in sports, and I find the implications of such a moniker more than disturbing: they are misleading. The truth is that performance enhancing techniques are not at all limited to athletics, and congressional inquiries that call out professional athletes do little to mitigate the problem.

Here’s what I mean: ours is a culture obsessed with performance, with besting, with record breaking, with exponentially—and often falsely—inflating human capital. In a competitive market, this drive for ‘excellence’ can be a useful thing, something that spurs progress and resourcefulness. But when any capital is falsely inflated, including human capital, the consequences can be devastating. Where, then, is the line? The balance?

Case in point: a recent study at Columbia confirmed what those in academe have heard about in hushed asides for some time: students’ abuse of drugs like Adderall and Ritalin to enhance their academic performance through increased concentration has risen sharply over the last 15 years—somewhere in the vicinity of a 93% increase. What was once an overuse of caffeine in academic life has become an abuse of other types of pharmacological stimulants. Students who turn to these measures have little difficulty rationalizing their choice because taking measures to improve oneself in any manner possible to achieve ‘excellence’ is deeply ingrained in our cultural attitude.

Arguably, as our technologies advance, as we demand more of ourselves, as we understand more about the ways our bodies and minds perform, it is logical to apply our emergent findings and resources and meld body with science in order to increase our collective human capital. When one considers the ways in which scientific intervention has allowed individuals to improve their quality of life—I myself have titanium in my ear where my malfunctioning stapes used to be—the occasional misuse of drugs to enhance performance—say, during finals or during the World Series—follows an accepted cultural trend.

Now, before anyone accuses me of making a faulty argument through a false analogy (or worse), let me be clear: I understand that correcting a hearing impairment is very different, ethically, than abusing steroids or Ritalin or any other controlled substance. I also want to make clear that I am neither endorsing nor condoning the misuse of substances to increase performance; I am merely trying to make the point that given our cultural climate, the use of such performance enhancing techniques should not be surprising.

To my mind, the Mitchell Report speaks to a cultural issue, not a policy issue. This brings me to my main contention: what, exactly, is the role of governance in shaping culture? While this question is central to my dissertation, it holds particular importance as we approach an historic presidential election where most if not all candidates are running on a platform focusing on cultural or social issues rather than policy issues. While the relationship between governance and culture cannot and should not be denied, relying on governance or repeatedly turning to governance to mitigate social and cultural trends and problems absolves those who are truly responsible for cultural change: we individuals who regularly define through our actions and voices and choices our collective cultural identity.

Teaching Philosophy

2007-10-04T12:13:00.000-05:00

Of late, I have been thinking more about my teaching philosophy, what grounds it, and how it informs my practice. This is ironic, perhaps, because I am not actually in the classroom this year, but I am, rather, serving in an administrative capacity for the program in which I taught for the last two years. I love the administrative work, and maybe it is because of the distance from classroom practice---or the regular encounter with other instructors' teaching philosophies and practices---that I am able to think more about my own.

My statement:

My teaching is informed by two positions: first, I believe that teaching, like all educational efforts, is an inherently rhetorical social practice. By this I suggest that teaching involves the dynamic interplay of ethos, pathos, and logos at a particular time and in a particular space (kairos) in order to persuade those involved to actively participate in the teaching-learning dynamic, for learning occurs only when those involved "buy-in" to the process.

It is my responsibility to construct an honest, responsive, and informed ethos that invites learners to engage; through preparedness, flexibility, reciprocity, temperance, empathy, and responsiveness to the unique circumstances each participant brings into the learning environment, pathos, I strive to foster a trusting and secure space where students will have the opportunity to explore their own and others’ knowledge and assumptions. I also believe in supplementing the learning that occurs in the group environment with regular, individualized instruction to ensure, to the best of my ability, that each student’s needs and expectations are being met, that each student and his or her work is recognized and respected. Finally, I invite my students to devise ways to make the course relevant to their own professional and personal development by selecting materials and designing assignments that offer a variety of approaches and perspectives, involve current events and figures, confront timely issues, and explore the implications of these perspectives and events; in this way, the content of the course, its logos, is balanced: it is both grounded and emergent.

Second, I believe that writing is a science, a craft, and an art. Through the introduction of method, form, and logical reasoning—as well as of rhetorical tropes, schemes, conventions, and modes—I attempt to reveal the science of writing, the "tools" that are available to writers and readers of texts. Never presented as prescriptive, but as techne that may be used by the writer as he or she chooses, these formal structures are effectively neutralized—a process that is explicitly discussed—giving writers power over them and over their writing; I have found that this approach lends students, especially, the confidence they often need to engage the writing process: what was once potentially dominating and oppressive becomes manageable and in service to the writer writing. It also provides an interpretive lens through which to view other texts. And, like a poet engages form, I charge students with the task of allowing their work to "find the form" that best compliments their ideas; this is the moment that the science meets the craft.

Writing is a deliberate act, and explicitly acknowledging writing as craft empowers writers to feel more in control of their prose. Further, it debunks the persistent myth of natural ability.

Finally, writing is an art. It is an act of creation and a symbolic extension of self. While this view is, admittedly, somewhat romanticized, when balanced against perspectives of writing that suggest both science and craft, it serves to allow students to invest themselves in their own writing, critique other texts critically and ethically, and take ownership of the writing act.

The relationship between these positions shapes the way I plan and design the courses I teach, the way I engage or attempt to engage the students with whom I work, the way I respond to events or challenges that arise in the learning environment, and the way I approach my scholarship. I see my role as one of facilitator but also as participant, and I recognize the absolute heterogeneity of interests, identities, ideologies, and investments at work in the learning dynamic.

I am also ever cognizant of my role and the role of the courses I teach in relation to the larger project of higher education, the specific mission of the course, and the departmental, programmatic, historical, and institutional contexts in which my teaching is situated. My job as an effective teacher, then, is to be aware of the nested missions and multiple stakeholders involved in the teaching transaction and to negotiate among them.

What is the Place of Rhetoric in Composition?

2007-09-29T12:27:00.000-05:00

I have been surprised, over the last several weeks, to realize just how difficult it is to address the question at hand: just what is the place of rhetoric in composition? Until I actually tried to articulate my position, in preparation for our program's first C&R colloquium of the season, I assumed, intuited perhaps, that my view of the field was clear and secure. Yet, any premise I draw becomes transient—-almost ephemeral–-the moment I try to build upon it. I’ve realized, then, that perhaps this is the nature of the field: it is adaptable, malleable. It is not a static body. It defies categorical conclusions. It is emergent. And it has been so for 2400 years.

Still, we have for the most part such anxiety about defining the discipline. Maybe this anxiety is in error: I am not convinced that ('big-D') Disciplinarity lends legitimacy or authority. With entities such as composition and rhetoric—-and despite my use of the conjunction I do believe they are discrete but similar systems-—we are dealing with complex forces, practices, objectives, histories, and pedagogies. With all the complexity, and all the possibilities for unique configurations, it seems to me impossible to view the field categorically or with the precision necessary for defining a discipline.

Having said that, I do think it is possible to offer a purview of the field. Describing what we do as a 'field' works for me because metaphorically it seems appropriate: a field, such as a hay field or corn field, offers an image of a vast space that can serve at different times many purposes; it changes according to multifarious and dynamic circumstances; to my mind (being a Pennsylvania gal) the landscape is rolling, creating a canvas of light and shadow at different times and in different seasons; it is both enduring and fragile; mostly, though, it is a location. In this way, the field of composition and rhetoric serves as a location for two components: composition and rhetoric. While different, they inform each other in significant ways.

I define rhetoric as the ways that symbols achieve efficacy. Here, I see 'efficacy' very much aligned with Aristotle’s notion of persuasion and 'ways' as "available means." I also recognize that the efficacy of symbols is not secure; it shifts with time, place, and purpose; it emerges in interaction. Defined such, rhetoric is inescapable—-but that doesn’t mean that it is limiting, because efficacy does not exist outside of kairos but rather emerges through it. I don’t believe this process is unlike poetry and poetic form: form must never be imposed on poetic expression. Rather, the expression must find the form that aids or enhances its expression; this is the only way to achieve poetic efficacy. I think this is the mistake that many current-traditional pedagogies make: in the name of efficiency, they compromise efficacy. I also think that it is the fear or resistance of imposition and efficiency that serves as the rationale that drives rhetoric out of composition.

The way I see it, though, composition is not only informed by rhetoric, it is itself rhetorical. Composition is both a creative and communicative act that adopts a mission that is closely tied to education and social justice. In fact, I don’t think it is possible to legitimately and responsibly discuss composition without addressing education and social justice. Rhetoric is implicated in all of these areas: the creative, the communicative, the educational, and the social. The creative act involves, among other things, invention, delivery, and cultural awareness. The communicative act involves utterance and audience, and here Furberg’s observation that “the phonetic act, the phatic act and the rhetic act are not subclasses, but parts of the locutionary act” is helpful in that it offers important insight into the dynamics of utterance: its power lies not in any one force but in the interrelatedness of several different forces: the epistemological (rhetic), the social (phatic), and the aural (phonetic). From a rhetorical perspective, Furberg’s synthesis of these three qualities associated with utterance may be understood in terms of the rhetorical triad, the interdependency of ethos, pathos, and logos in the Aristotelian paradigm, and the ways this relationship affords discursive efficacy. It offers a way of examining interaction through the dynamic alignment of rhetic/logos/text, phatic/ethos/author, phonetic/pathos/audience and the process of negotiation that occurs during interaction.

As for composition’s interests, the educational and the social, an important concern for education is “buy in” among different constituencies. At the institutional level, administrators and leaders must demonstrate and persuade state and federal supporters, as well as private investors, that their project, their institution, is worthy of continued or new funding. At the local, classroom level, instructors are hard-pressed to achieve their pedagogical objectives if students don't "buy in" to the course, if they don't--or can't--engage, take ownership, or otherwise invest themselves in the learning environment. At it's core, "buy in" is about persuasion and is, therefore, rhetorical. Further, because of its ties to and awareness of ethics, Rhetoric lends itself in theory and in practice to concerns of social justice. To my mind, and for all these reasons, rhetoric is solidly positioned in composition as much as it exists outside of it.

The question, then, is of relationship. Does rhetoric need composition? Probably. Mostly, though, our question, when it comes right down to it, is one of relationship, reciprocity, and symbiosis. I don’t think it is difficult to see evidence of these qualities “in each case.”

Vive le Tour!

2007-07-28T20:18:00.000-05:00

I have heard and read commentaries this week of the Tour de France hallmarked by the phrase "the Tour’s darkest hour." I disagree, and I was pleased to hear Phil Liggett give a public voice to my own conviction: that despite the tragic controversies, the heartbreak and betrayal, and the innate cynicism born of cheating scandals, the Tour is as powerful, graceful, and awe-inspiring as it has ever been.

I admit that Vinokourov’s positive test for blood doping left me in a state of disappointed wonder akin to the say it ain’t so bereavement experienced by Shoeless Joe fans in 1919. I wanted to believe that his performance in Stages 13 and 15 was the product of sheer grit, determination, and heart—after all, this was the man who had been riding the Tour against unimaginable injuries and a time deficit that would whittle even the most steadfast competitor’s resolve. Team Astana seemed a ghostly presence when the race resumed without him, and through my brumous veil I almost failed to notice that both Moreni and Sinkewitz produced positive A samples.

Then came Rasmussen. The Maillot Jeune. The leader. This was the man I’d cheered for the last two years, grinding his way up formidable ascents to win the King of the Mountains competition. He had been, in recent years, a brilliant competitor, winning on what seemed to be raw hunger and carefully-wrought skill. Despite the reports that he had failed to report his whereabouts and his cavalier attitude regarding what he called an administrative error, his performance in this year’s tour seemed a natural progression from performances past. But then, watching his time-trial set the red—and yellow—flags aflutter: he looked like a different rider. What would, under other circumstances, be celebrated as the athlete overcoming his Achilles heel collapsed under the burden of suspicion, of guilt by association. I want to believe he is clean, believe that his test results are accurate—but I also wanted to see the leader, well, lead . . . in more than just minutes and seconds. Leadership is a double-edged sword, no?

Still, when one witnesses Leipheimer’s humility during his pre- and post-race interviews, or glimpses Contador’s face as he is draped in slim-fitting yellow, or follows stand-out achievements like Evans’ believable-yet-unbelievable final 5K on Stage 19, one can see the true beauty of the Tour. These are the survivors. They have overcome so much more than injuries, quirky fans, roadside bombs, grueling climbs and treacherous descents. They have survived each other.

I, for one, will celebrate as they round the Champs-Elysees. Few could claim a better-earned victory lap than the riders who remain, and I suspect the historic cobbled avenue will seem smooth compared to the rest of the ride that got them there.

Vive le Tour!

Addressing Tragedy in the Writing Classroom

2007-04-25T11:47:00.000-05:00

On Tuesday, April 17, I made a decision to open the class up to a discussion regarding the events that occurred at Virginia Tech the day before. I have been thinking more about that decision, and in doing so I have realized, learned, or have been reminded of a few things that have shaped my teaching.

What I did:

Having begun a unit on creative nonfiction a week prior, my plan for the day was to open class by posing the question of whether language, specifically writing, can adequately capture the complexity and entirety, the enormity, of experience. I hoped to invite a discussion based on my students’ experiences and their perceptions of writing, grounded in the work we did as a class in the previous two units, and related to the texts, three nonfiction essays, that were assigned for that day. I then planned to move to a discussion of rhetorical modes, or forms, that are helpful (rather than prescriptive) in trying to capture and organize experience.

On Monday, the context for this discussion shifted. How was I to raise questions about capturing the enormity of experience in class on Tuesday without talking about the events at Virginia Tech the day before? Not doing so, it seemed to me at the time, seemed callous and disconnected; a discussion on this topic that ignored Virginia Tech would be a discussion in the presence of the proverbial elephant.

While I deliberated on whether to address it and how to go about it, I was struck by the ethical dilemma the situation posed: to what degree would a discussion of the Virginia Tech tragedy exploit the tragedy and the experiences of those involved? Was bringing these events into the classroom a tactless move? I still wasn’t certain when I walked to my classroom.

I begin each class period with a bit of "business," and then usually mention something about current events relevant to whatever we’ve been discussing in class and solicit responses from my students. This usually "primes the pump" before we transition into the class topic for the day. I began Tuesday’s class the same way, taking care of business, then it clicked: I had to introduce the topic of Virginia Tech. It was appropriate at that time and in that context to talk about current events. To ignore the previous day’s events, to skip the current events segment, would have made a statement that I wasn’t prepared to make.

I began with some hesitation, first asking if anyone in the room had friends or relatives at VT. I then asked if the group wished to discuss the events. Everyone agreed, but the discussion did not proceed without some awkwardness. One student hadn’t heard the news; since I had assumed everyone had, I did not begin by summarizing, but after the student asked what happened, the class reconstructed what they know from the media and that led into a discussion of the validity of early reports, misinformation, etc.

Then one student asked how, as writing instructors, we can assess writing, how we can tell the difference between writing that is creative or kathartic or just 'bad' and that which signals danger. It was a different kind of question, one that was not posed to the class but directly to me, asking for my authority or expertise on the issue. I answered him the best I could: that I didn’t know. That writing can only be assessed on a case by case basis and in context. That small class size and regular one-on-one conferencing is important because if writing seems troubled, perhaps that writing can be cross-referenced with the writer’s interpersonal behavior. Perhaps. I said, "Imagine how an early Tarantino script might look to a new TA." There’s just no real way to tell. I also pointed to what action the English faculty took, or at least that which was reported in the earliest days following the massacre, and said that we can only hope for best practices and to use the resources on campus to try to reach out to those who may seem troubled. But that is delicate territory, too.

This is now the second time I’ve faced something like this in my teaching. The first, of course, was on and after September 11, 2001. When a tragedy of such magnitude ripples the waters of our collective social experience, what is the place of writing? of writing classrooms? as instructors, what are our responsibilities and limitations? Here are a few things I've been considering:

Writing instructors are not trained or qualified to diagnose, or treat, serious problems. Writing instructors are not therapists . . . YET as writing instructors, we are often placed in that position, I think because of the nature of writing. It is at once personal and social. There is something to be said for engaging students at that level, for establishing rapport, but it is essential that we, to the best of our ability, continually examine and be cognizant of our personal and professional boundaries. When a student is working through something difficult and wants to talk, I have found in my practice that it is useful to be open to that . . . to a degree. If the conversation becomes too much like therapy, I try to tactfully steer the context, not the content, of the talk back to the writing. It is also essential to familiarize ourselves with the resources available on campus and use them. As one of my professors noted, consultation, communication, is key. To discuss concerns with aprropraite people through appropriate channels does not violate FERPA, and it may be the most important decision one can make in this context.

Best practices are often defined by what is already established in the classroom. For me, the structure and content of my class lent itself to a discussion of the events at Virginia Tech. In this case, it was more appropriate for me to open the discussion that it would have been to ignore it. The ethical dilemma was resolved by the context of my course.
I also realized how much of my teaching style is actually informed by my teaching philosophy. I believe in designing a course that make the assignments and content relevant to my students’ personal and professional interests. I am also committed to making explicit connections between the work we do in the classroom and the significance of lived practice, which is one of the reasons I try to connect current events to the issues that ground the course. This is my approach; in this case, my teaching philosophy directly influenced my practice.

Give the students a say. I believe this is what, in organizational theory, is called shared governance. It is also referred to as decentralized authority, or a student-centered classroom, depending on what lens you use to view the landscape. This can be taken too far, of course, but understanding that balance is important.

"It is okay to admit that you don’t have all the answers. In fact, it is better to admit that you don’t know than try to pretend that you do. Your students will never be fooled." Dr. Teresa Hunt, who just passed away last December, was the first person to teach me how to teach. She was a brilliant and caring instructor whose dedication to her students, undergraduate and graduate, was laudable, remarkable. This was one of her gems.

While the VT tragedy is set apart because of its magnitude, it seems to me that at any time writing instructors may be faced with delicate and challenging circumstances that directly impact the classroom, the students, or a student. What we as instructors do in those moments is as much a part of the rhetorical process, and is as essential to learning about writing, as the curriculum itself.