Monday: Welcome Back Kotter Style
I apologize in advance for typos.
Mondays. Diatribes about Mondays are easy to come by, and even on this blog I have posted one, two,or some more. Every now and then a Monday proves exceptional, causing a need for a brain dump, recharge, and maybe a bourbon or two. Let's see . . . Monday for the making.
9:00am, first class. I come into the classroom a few minutes early to see a student who hasn't been there in WEEKS waiting. Walking in I remarked the he had returned, and he said "yea, I wanted to talk to you about that." What did he want? He hasn't done any work all term, and I'm talking not a lick. He wanted to sit-in on class and be able to pass . . . Did I tell you that he said he couldn't all semester because I have a policy that if you are more than ten minutes late you can't come in? So it's my fault he couldn't get there on time? Yup, you know it . . . pass the bourbon, and it's not even 9:00am.
Class wasn't bad. That group is pretty lively because they are used to me and . . . they are good group of kids, for the most part. But, I headed to the office to grade some papers and submit failing reports to academic advising (as requested). Out of four classes, I had twelve--yes TWELVE--emails and forms to click off. Even better, all of them required a paragraph blurb or so. Only one is passing, barely. I sigh. That sucked almost two hours of my time. Joie, mais c'est la vie de la vie de la communauté universitaire.
Then, my Monday trucks along and I need to go to my seminar. My seminar is a lot of things. I saw these kids last term for 310, so they are like a cult. The single digit handful who are "new to me" this term are the minority. Though, there's one who I refused to sign in (and let's not go there about how he cried to someone behind my back to get in) is failing from doing NOTHING all term makes it a point to be an ass every class. Special. I head over to this class, knowing that student presentations begin today. Yet . . . I should detour now and tell you a little backdrop to this scenario.
From circa 1975 to 1979ish a television show captured the American public with it's tale of a idealist teacher who returned to his former neighborhood to reach out and reshape troubled youths. His classroom was underachievers, troublemakers, and pranksters. The atmosphere came across as chaotic, trying, and at times outright depressing. With humor lines like "Roses are red, violets are blue, my mom wants me to date a Puerto Rican Jew" clearly the show is set in New York. None-the-less, "Welcome Back Kotter" has somehow merged into a strange vein of my life becoming a bizarre symbiotic relationship with my students. Sometimes I feel like these are the students who somehow were dropped here, in a strange moment of time travel, where they stay stationary and do little to change.
Walking in the "girls" got me in the hall. No big deal, they usually do. I seem to be popular these days. One came in with a silver Coach, and another made a comment about liking it. She was also carrying a Coach. Silver Coach girl made the typical comment, "Yea, thanks to the ex!" She makes sure that you know her ex's have bought her "nice" things. I looked at her, in all seriousness, and said "Does the one you live with, who gave you the diamonds, know this?" Here is where I should tell you when the semester began she was beside herself to tell me and show me her promise ring. She's 23, and I just smiled. In my mind, my mouth was hanging open and I was screaming "take your time!"
She replied, "Oh yea, he knows. All the clothes from my ex's I keep, but I pawn the jewelry. I had a diamond tennis bracelet from the last one I pawned."They don't know that I've never had a boyfriend give me jewelry. They don't know that only boyfriend bought me a wearable . . . a Mickey watch because I had mentioned that in high school all the girls had them except me . . . partly sweet. I still have that, in the bottom of the jewelry box.
I made some comment about outlets . . . her, "I've never paid for a Coach, and I have like ten." She had a horrified look that I buy my own.
My mouth went a little slack. I made a comment that my three or so come from the outlet, and they all have meaning: I defended the dissertation (100), didn't have cancer (150 and a Kate Spade for 65), first book contract (85), and graduated with a PhD (250). She was still a little shocked that I buy my own, and that I get them for cheap (they asked). There was even mention in there that the "I don't have cancer" bag is past it's prime. So much so, my $600+ bag scored for 150 bucks is now dead. She was a good bag though. In the course of this conversation all I could think of is I shouldn't tell them I buy my own flowers . . . I swigged my water, closing my eyes, and wishing it would turn to bourbon. Does anyone see the irony of their obsessions with designer goods in a class about advertising?*
Somewhere in here, and the day, two guys from the class cornered me about their girlfriends. They didn't understand why they were pissed . . . I don't even know this drama. I sent them to this group of girls. Another wanted to ask me about his invention and how he can pitch it to companies. Amusing . . .
Another faculty member and I tried to have a conversation in passing, but a needy student intervenes like a jealous lover.
Well . . . class starts. One delightful dumbass gave a presentation, on his term project, on breast cancer. I guess we can say breast cancer products. No thesis. No concise point. . . but the only info he used was what I had given them in class as part of a presentation I did from my own research, the article they had to read as a glass, some images he found on a quick Google search, and a four minute montage video from E! (I think). I had told him in his paper comments that this was unacceptable. He got miffed that I wouldn't let him use a pointless four minute video for his presentation. It was an effort to not fall asleep.
Another presentation, about gaming marketing, was a little more interesting. Though, it cleared up some red flags I had about a couple of students . . . they are so gamers. That also leads to me to conclude that the gaming population on this campus certainly leads to the "Kotter" atmosphere out there. There are a lot of gamers, trust me. The presentation, about ads within games, was actually fairly interesting about the layering and cheap production.
The pain-in-the-ass student illegally sign-in, mentioned earlier, asked "Do companies like Coca-Cola have to pay for their ads?"
I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. A few weeks ago he said "Wow, a lot goes into advertising." I know . . . I know . . .
Yet, another one of the jocks, gave his talk. I should tell you, I kinda made sure they were first . . .you know, get them out of the way early. Well, after a lack luster presentation on weight loss (I think), Breast Cancer Kid pipes up "Have you ever tried the programs to see if they work?" Clearly, this was staged.
Response: "Well . . . a friend of mine tried one he said it almost made him pass out."
Breast Cancer Kid: "I don't mean to ask so many questions, but isn't almost passing out . . . not good?"
Laughter.
And what the hell is with the jocks presenting in slouchy sweats? Are you kidding me? Oh . . . the first presenter bribed his cohorts with donuts. He's a good kid who tries real hard, so it makes up for his gaps in ability (for lack of a better term). Hard worker though.
There was student who went off about how everyone should speak English because this is America, and he made a few other borderline offensive comments. Another student, who has always been a little needy, has been growing a little more needy lately (the jealous lover type from earlier). My favorite moment of the three hour seminar: there was an extra credit two weeks ago because I was asked to bribe students to attend a college event. I did, otherwise I don't give extra credit. Well, three students think that since it was in Manhattan and they couldn't go I should give them another extra credit option. Seriously! If you know me, you already know I'm signing a boot up your ass line right now. Senses of entitlement just PISS me off.
I do what I love, and I love what I do . . . but sometimes . . . sometimes . . .
Ask me if I had that bourbon? Nope. Too much grading and writing to do. The ethical and productive never rest. And that, my friends, was Monday via Kotter in a nutshell.
* And yes, I know . . . I am a Coach Wannabe Whore, but even I have my limits. Consumption and stewardship, two different things. We can only have so much before it becomes dust collectors and markers of a lost and cold soul.
Mondays. Diatribes about Mondays are easy to come by, and even on this blog I have posted one, two,or some more. Every now and then a Monday proves exceptional, causing a need for a brain dump, recharge, and maybe a bourbon or two. Let's see . . . Monday for the making.
9:00am, first class. I come into the classroom a few minutes early to see a student who hasn't been there in WEEKS waiting. Walking in I remarked the he had returned, and he said "yea, I wanted to talk to you about that." What did he want? He hasn't done any work all term, and I'm talking not a lick. He wanted to sit-in on class and be able to pass . . . Did I tell you that he said he couldn't all semester because I have a policy that if you are more than ten minutes late you can't come in? So it's my fault he couldn't get there on time? Yup, you know it . . . pass the bourbon, and it's not even 9:00am.
Class wasn't bad. That group is pretty lively because they are used to me and . . . they are good group of kids, for the most part. But, I headed to the office to grade some papers and submit failing reports to academic advising (as requested). Out of four classes, I had twelve--yes TWELVE--emails and forms to click off. Even better, all of them required a paragraph blurb or so. Only one is passing, barely. I sigh. That sucked almost two hours of my time. Joie, mais c'est la vie de la vie de la communauté universitaire.
Then, my Monday trucks along and I need to go to my seminar. My seminar is a lot of things. I saw these kids last term for 310, so they are like a cult. The single digit handful who are "new to me" this term are the minority. Though, there's one who I refused to sign in (and let's not go there about how he cried to someone behind my back to get in) is failing from doing NOTHING all term makes it a point to be an ass every class. Special. I head over to this class, knowing that student presentations begin today. Yet . . . I should detour now and tell you a little backdrop to this scenario.
From circa 1975 to 1979ish a television show captured the American public with it's tale of a idealist teacher who returned to his former neighborhood to reach out and reshape troubled youths. His classroom was underachievers, troublemakers, and pranksters. The atmosphere came across as chaotic, trying, and at times outright depressing. With humor lines like "Roses are red, violets are blue, my mom wants me to date a Puerto Rican Jew" clearly the show is set in New York. None-the-less, "Welcome Back Kotter" has somehow merged into a strange vein of my life becoming a bizarre symbiotic relationship with my students. Sometimes I feel like these are the students who somehow were dropped here, in a strange moment of time travel, where they stay stationary and do little to change.
Walking in the "girls" got me in the hall. No big deal, they usually do. I seem to be popular these days. One came in with a silver Coach, and another made a comment about liking it. She was also carrying a Coach. Silver Coach girl made the typical comment, "Yea, thanks to the ex!" She makes sure that you know her ex's have bought her "nice" things. I looked at her, in all seriousness, and said "Does the one you live with, who gave you the diamonds, know this?" Here is where I should tell you when the semester began she was beside herself to tell me and show me her promise ring. She's 23, and I just smiled. In my mind, my mouth was hanging open and I was screaming "take your time!"
She replied, "Oh yea, he knows. All the clothes from my ex's I keep, but I pawn the jewelry. I had a diamond tennis bracelet from the last one I pawned."
I made some comment about outlets . . . her, "I've never paid for a Coach, and I have like ten." She had a horrified look that I buy my own.
My mouth went a little slack. I made a comment that my three or so come from the outlet, and they all have meaning: I defended the dissertation (100), didn't have cancer (150 and a Kate Spade for 65), first book contract (85), and graduated with a PhD (250). She was still a little shocked that I buy my own, and that I get them for cheap (they asked). There was even mention in there that the "I don't have cancer" bag is past it's prime. So much so, my $600+ bag scored for 150 bucks is now dead. She was a good bag though. In the course of this conversation all I could think of is I shouldn't tell them I buy my own flowers . . . I swigged my water, closing my eyes, and wishing it would turn to bourbon. Does anyone see the irony of their obsessions with designer goods in a class about advertising?*
Somewhere in here, and the day, two guys from the class cornered me about their girlfriends. They didn't understand why they were pissed . . . I don't even know this drama. I sent them to this group of girls. Another wanted to ask me about his invention and how he can pitch it to companies. Amusing . . .
Another faculty member and I tried to have a conversation in passing, but a needy student intervenes like a jealous lover.
Well . . . class starts. One delightful dumbass gave a presentation, on his term project, on breast cancer. I guess we can say breast cancer products. No thesis. No concise point. . . but the only info he used was what I had given them in class as part of a presentation I did from my own research, the article they had to read as a glass, some images he found on a quick Google search, and a four minute montage video from E! (I think). I had told him in his paper comments that this was unacceptable. He got miffed that I wouldn't let him use a pointless four minute video for his presentation. It was an effort to not fall asleep.
Another presentation, about gaming marketing, was a little more interesting. Though, it cleared up some red flags I had about a couple of students . . . they are so gamers. That also leads to me to conclude that the gaming population on this campus certainly leads to the "Kotter" atmosphere out there. There are a lot of gamers, trust me. The presentation, about ads within games, was actually fairly interesting about the layering and cheap production.
The pain-in-the-ass student illegally sign-in, mentioned earlier, asked "Do companies like Coca-Cola have to pay for their ads?"
I couldn't make this shit up if I tried. A few weeks ago he said "Wow, a lot goes into advertising." I know . . . I know . . .
Yet, another one of the jocks, gave his talk. I should tell you, I kinda made sure they were first . . .you know, get them out of the way early. Well, after a lack luster presentation on weight loss (I think), Breast Cancer Kid pipes up "Have you ever tried the programs to see if they work?" Clearly, this was staged.
Response: "Well . . . a friend of mine tried one he said it almost made him pass out."
Breast Cancer Kid: "I don't mean to ask so many questions, but isn't almost passing out . . . not good?"
Laughter.
And what the hell is with the jocks presenting in slouchy sweats? Are you kidding me? Oh . . . the first presenter bribed his cohorts with donuts. He's a good kid who tries real hard, so it makes up for his gaps in ability (for lack of a better term). Hard worker though.
There was student who went off about how everyone should speak English because this is America, and he made a few other borderline offensive comments. Another student, who has always been a little needy, has been growing a little more needy lately (the jealous lover type from earlier). My favorite moment of the three hour seminar: there was an extra credit two weeks ago because I was asked to bribe students to attend a college event. I did, otherwise I don't give extra credit. Well, three students think that since it was in Manhattan and they couldn't go I should give them another extra credit option. Seriously! If you know me, you already know I'm signing a boot up your ass line right now. Senses of entitlement just PISS me off.
I do what I love, and I love what I do . . . but sometimes . . . sometimes . . .
Ask me if I had that bourbon? Nope. Too much grading and writing to do. The ethical and productive never rest. And that, my friends, was Monday via Kotter in a nutshell.
* And yes, I know . . . I am a Coach Wannabe Whore, but even I have my limits. Consumption and stewardship, two different things. We can only have so much before it becomes dust collectors and markers of a lost and cold soul.
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