Category: TIK365

Things I Know 356 of 365: The network worked as it’s supposed to

This was the status that caught my eye:
Screen Shot 2011-12-31 at 12.22.57 AM
An email showed up to tell me I’d been mentioned. (I want this service in real life.)

I in Central Illinois clicked through to see what Aaron in New Jersey said to start the conversation.

I jumped in to suggest some possible widgets or sidebar options for Aaron’s plan for 365 days of documented fitness training. He mentioned considering signing up for a marathon and triathalon to have specific goals and be able to compare results. Mary Beth in Philadelphia hopped back in to suggest we both try running a few miles and then heading to a yoga class. Aaron liked the idea, and then Heather from northwestern Illinois chimed in to second the running+yoga idea.

As all this was going on, Pete in New York tweeted some suggestions for embeddable apps for tracking training. I followed up with a suggestion for running the D.C. marathon in March and the Chicago marathon in October. We discussed it a bit more and I had to head out for lunch.

The whole conversation happened publically across 4 states and included hyperlinks for reference.

The cherry?

Hours later, when I opened Words with Friends on my phone, I had a chat message in one of my games. Michael in Colorado had seen the twitter conversation and said he was up for a shared workout plan.

Every once in a while, I’ll see a tweet or facebook update from someone asking for examples of social networking in the classroom. Those are fine. I’ve had many of them myself. What happened this morning, though, across the span of a few minutes, was an example of social networking in real life. In a conversation of 6 people, I’d met three of them face-to-face, but each had something positive to contribute to the conversation.

Things I Know 355 of 365: My digital footprint isn’t for you

Every man is his own ancestor, and every man his own heir. He devises his own fortune, and he inherits his own past.

– Francis Herbert Hedge

Speaking of reading, I’ve spent an inordinate time today on GoodReads.com adding books and writing mini reviews. A sucker for metrics that tell me what percent I am away from completing a profile, I’ve been rating like it’s my job. (Consequently, if this is a job, someone please tell me.)

At one point, I started asking myself why I cared.

This is a website the the soul purpose of collecting my reading information and connecting me to other readers. I don’t need a site for that. I have friends and family for that.

In a moment of neo-luditiousness, I turned against the tech and showed signs of resentment toward my digital footprint.

Then my mom read an entry of her journal.

She journals every day, my mom. (The apple and it’s post-fall distance from the tree, right?)

It’s been made clear that, when my mom is gone, her journals are to go to her best friend, my godmother.

There’s something I like about the idea of pieces of my mom, her memories and documentation of her interactions with the world continuing on.

In between assigning stars and jotting thoughts on tomes I’ve read, I listened as my mom read an entry from her journal of the past year. For that moment, who my mom was in the past, the not-so-distant past, was present again.

The moment made clear why I might care about keeping a journal of the books I’m reading, my evaluation of them, and thoughts through the pages. They will be the bread crumbs of my past for those who come after me.

I have no knowledge, and he probably has no memory, of the books my dad read in his late 20s and early 30s. I don’t know the thoughts with which he was playing or how they influenced the person he was to become.

For my children and grandchildren, the things I create today, hopefully, will serve as a map to who I was – to who they will become.

In some ways, the pieces of me on Facebook, Myspace, and Friendster will serve as the personnel files of my life. The memories I curate on GoodReads and here, though, will be the journal of me and tell the story of how I met the world.

I often wish I knew more about my great-grandfathers. One died before I was born, and the other died when I was young. Each photo or story shared at family gatherings is jotted down in my memory and stored in the file in my brain marked, “Where you come from.” I hope my digital footprint will be a clearer, if imperfect, file for those who come after me.

Things I Know 354 of 365: I’m still a reader

Every “You should read X” sentence over the last few months was met with some off-the-cuff, “Sure, when I get to decide what I’m reading again.”

Graduate school has just as much reading as undergrad and then some. Think of it as all the reading you were pretending to do for your bachelor’s, plus 50%. Add to that the fact I was picking up ancilary reading left and right, and I’m surprised my eyes didn’t start bleeding by the end of the semester as some sort of academic stigmata.

Secretly, each time I added a book to the When I Get to Read What I Choose pile, I also remembered a secret worry – What if I didn’t want to read anymore?

For the first few weeks of break, it seemed true. I caught up on and re-watched favorite trash television before I considered picking up a book. I was worried this would be the default for my trip home. I imagine all addicts feel that way during detox.

Then, a few days ago, I picked up Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere. My sister Rachel brought it home for me from school on a friend’s recommendation when the friend learned of my appreciation for Doctor Who.

After I picked it up, I couldn’t put it down.

Yesterday, I started and finished Jeanne Darst’s Fiction Ruined My Family. I’d picked it up on a Barnes & Noble splurge fueled by the gift cards due as patronage for any family of an English major.

Today is a writing day.

Otherwise, I’d be delving deeply into Catching Fire (the second volume of Suzanne Collins’s Hunger Games series) with World War Z fast on its heels.

It turns out, yes, I am still a reader. I am still one who finds comfort in the words of others after they’ve been knitted together from a single narrative strand to wrap myself in, and take comfort in worlds just out of focus from my own.

Things I Know 353 of 365: It isn’t all for everyone

A successful tool is one that was used to do something undreamt of by its author.

– Stephen C. Johnson

My stepdad was explaining at lunch today why Facebook just wasn’t how he connected to people. I understood.

“What about Twitter?” he asked. “I haven’t looked at that.”

Knowing him as I do, I told him to stay away. “It wouldn’t be useful to you.”

I get the feeling this is was unexpected piece of advice coming from me.

It took less than a semester for people at Harvard to come to expect my nerdiness.

Even at SLA, a school that breathes technology, I was one of the nerdiest.

Here’s the thing to remember, I like technology. I will totally geek out on the newest gizmo, gadget or app. Being a beta tester is a source of pride for me.

When thinking about systems and considering a task to be completed, however, one of the last things I’d advocate is technology for its own sake. Out of context or usefulness, there are few things I can think the use of which I’d advocate for their own sake.

This is because the misuse or thoughtless application of tools, structures, and systems can be an ugly, counter-productive thing.

I’ve seen it in the teacher with access to 1:1 laptops who makes the worksheet using Word and distributes it for her students to type in their answers and then print them out to be submitted.

I’ve heard it in the arguments of those who call for changes in schooling so that students can, as a result of those changes, do better at school.

While I think most every teacher could benefit from jacking in to the network of educators on Twitter, I don’t think every teacher should. Requiring every teacher in a school to sign up for this account or that account is a great way to insure you’ll never have 100% participation in that market.

The best way to make a tool useful is to wait for the use of that tool and build the capacity to recognize when it is called for.

Had I encouraged my stepdad to sign up for twitter, I would have been giving the world another person complaining about twitter’s uselessness.

That’s not my bag.

Things I Know 352 of 365: I support the National Writing Project, and you should too

Every day, in every state, we make a difference in the lives of students of all ages — breaking new ground and preparing students for success in school, college, the workplace, and in life.

– National Writing Project

As I’ve written before, the national education budget was extremely shortsighted and ended direct federal funding for the National Writing Project and programs like it. This was despite the fact the NWP continually met or exceeded federal benchmarks for program success in improving writing and writing instruction in classrooms around the country.

Proving ever-nimble and adaptive, the NWP is not going gently into that good night. In fact, it has no plans of leaving. As of this Fall, the NWP has begun a capital campaign to shore up support for the NWP and its regional sites around the country.

Contributions to local sites will be used to help fund the sites while contributions to the NWP “will be used for areas of greatest need, infrastructure, research and cross-site programs, and new sites,” according to the NWP.

I made room in my budget to make a small donation a few moments ago. You should too.

Once grad school’s behind me and I’m back among the land of the employed I plan on contributing to the NWP the way some people contribute to their alma maters. That’s how much I believe in the work they do.

Please, do the same.

When completing my donation, I was given the choice of donating in honor of someone. I chose Dr. Justice, one of my mentor professors in undergrad. The effects of her tutelage on living and breathing the written word have had innumerable echoes in my life as a writer and teacher.

When you donate, I encourage you to think about the writer or writing teacher in your life who inspired your voice and donate in their honor or memory.

While I’m saddened that the NWP has been forced to dedicated resources to fundraising that could otherwise be turned to improving teaching and learning, I’m happy to know it is an organization of impassioned professionals dedicated to continuing their mission, no matter the obstacles.

Please, help.

Things I Know 351 of 365: I want to memorize this

Tonight, I read Jeanne Darst’s Fiction Ruined My Family. Every once in a while, a book presents me with a passage I wish I had the focus to memorize. Were I the type of person to post quotes on the walls near my desk, this would make the cut:

As a kid I was absolutely terrified of cliches. My father forbade them in our home. It was like the way other people regarded cursing in their house. If you said, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink,” my father would go ballistic. Mom couldn’t control herself, apparently, because she violated this rule about every five seconds.

I was under the impression cliches could ruin your, ruin your life, your hopes and dreams, bring down your whole operation if you didn’t watch it. They were gateway language, leading straight to a business major, a golfy marriage, needlepoint pillows that said things about your golf game and a self-inflicted gunshot to the head that your family called a heart attack. Language was important, sexy, fun, alive, extremely personal, it was like food, you wouldn’t pop just anything into your mouth, why would you let anything pop out that hadn’t been considered and prepared for someone to enjoy? To ignore language was akin to ignoring the very person you were speaking to, rude, uncaring, unfeeling, cold. It was a way to connect and also to woo, to charm, to manipulate, it was a tool for love, for survival. Your words were you.

Things I Know 350 of 365: This is a brilliant waste of time

Last week, a former student posted a link to this game to Facebook with an apology for the time suck she had just unleashed on the life of anyone who clicked through. (I echo that same apology here.)

I’ve kept the window open the entire time.

I’ve played the game while participating in entire conversations with my family of which I have little-to-no memory once I realize what’s happened.

Today, I ventured off the game page, up a level to the list of games written by the game’s architect William Hoza.

I have two questions:

  1. Where did he learn how to do this?
  2. Would giving students a choice between this work and whatever course their school schedules after Algebra I be a totally uncalled for idea?

Things I Know 349 of 365: ‘What Teachers Make’ is more than it first appears

The first time I heard Taylor Mali’s “What Teachers Make” performed live, it wasn’t by Mali. One of the other students in my undergrad program was a champion on our speech team, and he delivered a stunning performance.

Later, once Youtube arrived, I was able to watch Mali perform the piece as he intended. It was every bit as impassioned and dripping with personal experience as I imagined. I remember showing it to colleagues and shaking our heads knowingly.

Finally, someone was speaking out for us.

I looked the poem up online recently. Watching the performance, it occurred to me how complicated the piece is from a pedagogical perspective. I tear up when he says, “I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:/I hope I haven’t called at a bad time,/I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today./Billy said, “Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don’t you?”/And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.”

And I cringe when I hear the recorded audience cheer after, “I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall/in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups./No, you may not ask a question./Why won’t I let you get a drink of water?/Because you’re not thirsty, you’re bored, that’s why.”

For many teachers, on their first encounter with the poem, discussion turns to its encapsulation of how misunderstood the profession has become.

For me, the poem itself has become a rallying cry for the conversation we need to have about the relics of the professional past to which we cling to proudly and the changes we might be too afraid to make.

Mali has a new book due out March 29 with the same title as the poem. I’m looking forward to reading it – especially considering its subtitle – “In praise of the greatest job in the world.”

Things I Know 348 of 365: There’s one list I won’t be unsubscribing from

I love to go running. It’s a way for me to stay centered, to lose the stress of the world around me, and to just be present. I recommend it to everyone, especially if you’re looking for a way to find peace and focus in your life.

– Leo Babauta, The Zen of Running, and 10 Ways to Make It Work for You, zenhabits.net

I’ve been unsubscribing quite a bit this week. In an attempt to cut down on the overflow of e-mails finding their ways to my inbox, I’m unsubscribing. I’m removing the digital plaque.

One list that’s made the keeper list is my daily e-mail from the folks at Runner’s World Magazine.

Called the “Daily Kick in the Butt,” it brings an quotation about running to my inbox each day.

I don’t remember when I signed up for the service, but it feels like years ago.

Most days, lately, I haven’t been running. Being a student again has frazzled most hopes at a regular schedule, and I’ve failed to make it a priority.

Still, each morning, my Kick is one of the first things I read. It’s a reminder that I’m still a runner. It’s a nudge toward being a better one, and it reminds me other people are in the game with me.

This is someone’s job. I imagine it’s not their entire job, but each day, someone sends out an e-mail to thousands of people filled with words of inspiration to be just a little bit better. It’s not a conversation, a friendship, or counseling. It’s just taking a chance that what they do can make a difference in the decisions other people make.

Sounds familiar.

Things I Know 347 of 365: Tom Baker was my first Doctor

Because it’s the best idea ever invented in the history of the world!

– Russell T. Davies

“Really?” was my mom’s response when she found out.

I held my ground.

“But people who like it are weird.”

Months later, catching up with my uncle at Christmas, he said something similar. “It used to be you were a freak if you liked Doctor Who.”

Something had changed in the intervening years between the series’ original run and its re-boot by the BBC in 2005. Doctor Who became something one could confess appreciation for in public.

My first episodes were late-night reruns on PBS when I was in middle school. Tom Baker was the featured Doctor, and I was drawn in by stories that struck my untrained eye as lower budget drafts of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

As was often the case with such reruns, the viewing schedule was irregular, and I never became fully immersed in the world of Doctor Who.

Still, my mom’s words got me thinking. No matter how high geek culture has risen, no one wants to be called weird by his mom.

I started considering why I’d been so taken with Doctor Who since its return. Aside from being science fiction, there’s something else in there that has influenced my affinity for the Doctor.

Namely, he wins by being smart. Not smart, really – clever. In each episode, the Doctor overcomes his enemies, brings peace to whatever planet he’s on, and generally saves the day by being the cleverest person in the room.

While other heroes win by brute strength or sometimes a combination of that strength and intelligence, the Doctor wins by being clever.

As the kid who was never going to be picked first for any athletic event and who wrote off straight A’s early on, clever was the card I could play. Most of the time, this manifested itself in my offering up a one-liner in class or finding the way to leverage everyone’s skills most effectively in group work.

Throw an alien who travels time and space being curious who also says things like, “bow ties are cool” in to the mix, and it’s no wonder the show struck a chord.

I’ve gone back recently and watched some of the earlier episodes of Doctor Who on Netflix. Though each actor’s successive portrayal of the character has varied, the soul has remained the same. In the one episode I can recall where we witness the Doctor involved in a prolonged physical battle, it is revealed that the fight was taking place in his mind.

I could totally have won those kind of battles growing up.

Watching those episodes has also made clear the weirdness of which my mom spoke. The show was decidedly low-budget by today’s standards. It relied on story and viewers’ willing suspension of disbelieve. Each episode asked its audience to play along, ignore the seams and frayed edges and get lost in the impossibility of it all.

I’ve come to accept the weirdness, to almost embrace it.

It turns out I like Doctor Who because it’s a show that presents us with a character who finds his way through life by being curious and makes his way through life by being clever. It’s a show that values its audience, counts it as intelligent, and promises to ask “What if?” in each episode.

It’s still weird, but I won’t bristle next time my mom says it.