Blog (David's) [The Best Of]

Writing reflections was an altogether new experience for me. The combined effects of being someone who’s never kept journals along with my math- and science-heavy coursework left me, as far as I can tell, one of the least experienced writers in the class.

This is apparent in one of my first posts, titled “Reflection 2”. I was clearly struggling with writing style: many of my sentences are choppy and poorly worded, and I frequently interrupt myself with parenthetical asides. The all-caps “headers” seemed like a good idea at the time, but don’t really make sense in the flow of the narrative. They seem to divide the text too much, hurting the overall cohesiveness. Despite the many problems with this reflection, I chose it because I see some positive traits in it. The piece was successful, albeit marginally so, in combining something from my experience with Gawande’s text. (My argument was that independent musical artists used Gawande’s idea of ‘trust’ to for a more effective ‘group’ with their customers, something the RIAA failed to do.) Additionally, the awkward word choices and sentence structures are sometimes lucky enough to appear creative, which at least help the piece stay interesting to the reader.

My comfort with writing reflections increased with time, as can be seen in a reflection from the second three weeks titled “5”. In this piece I discussed my favorite college course, “Mythology of Greece and Rome”. This writing was clearly an improvement over my previous work: it had only a few of the awkward sentence missteps of earlier posts, (the most noticeable being “Daedalus did, so Queen Minos did, allowing Zeus to,”) and the flow of the narrative was uninterrupted and well-organized. Negative aspects, of course, are still apparent in this reflection. Neither the class discussion nor any of the class text is referenced, which would have helped give this reflection more of a point and allow it to fit with all the other reflections. Also, while the piece was fun to write, it didn’t present any real argument answering the prompt.

For my last post in October, I wrote a reflection linking other students’ ideas in “Is Diversity Good?” At this point, I can say that I was perfectly comfortable with my writing style. There are no awkward breaks, no noticeable missteps that take the reader’s attention away from the writing. Additionally, the fusion of Kim’s and Joe’s ideas with my own made this piece a lot more colorful. I’d say this post was easily one of my most interesting, as it involved many different views of the same topic of diversity within working groups. While the post is lacking the “storyline” of some of my earlier posts, I think it makes up for it in a cohesive argument.

My favorite post, the one I consider best, is my argument against the rigid guidelines of graduation requirements: “For Flexibility”. I like this piece for three main reasons: the argument it presents is perfectly cohesive (more so than any other one of my posts,) there are good references to both class discussion and the text, and the links used seem to help clarify the piece even more. Of course, the piece isn’t perfect: my defense against counterarguments could have been better developed. All in all, though, I think this piece stands as my best for the semester.

The weekly required writing was illuminating for me. I was forced to push through my initial inability to convey meaning effectively through text. I found that an easy way to break through writer’s block is to simply tell a story from personal experience (whether it is perfectly related to your subject or not.) As I grew more comfortable writing, I found that reading other writing (be it other students’ blogs, or outside articles,) helped solidify my own ideas and help me put them down in words.

I have a feeling I will continue writing, if only to keep practiced on the progress I have made so far. I doubt I will continue this blog in its current form, but now that I have gained confidence in making reasonable and cohesive arguments, I think it will be easier for me to continue writing on a regular basis.

A Thought on Senge's View of Disengagement

When in class the Professor asked us to consider our disengagement dilemma in Senge’s terms, a thought emerged: disengagement is the lack of personal mastery. In this case, I’m using “personal mastery” to mean the act of constantly striving towards bettering oneself, (the “journey”.) Senge portrays personal mastery in its corporate incarnation. He explains that personal mastery means digging deeper into one’s work, constantly striving to learn more and become more skillful. Such a description can be easily translated to the classroom: a student disengages when they apply just as much effort as is necessary, spending no time or effort in “digging”.

Personal mastery, Senge argues, doesn’t come easily. It takes patience, and clarity of vision. Most importantly, it seems to me, personal mastery comes from the understanding that one will never stop learning. There will never be a person who knows everything, and keeping an open mind to new ideas and changing circumstances is integral in pursuing personal mastery.

In her latest post, Alessandra mentions a stubborn ex-team member who she calls Kurt. Kurt is asked to think of ways that he can involve his community in achieving a visionary goal – in his case, eliminating disasters caused by engineering mistakes. He refused, however, to consider anything outside of his comfort zone, arguing that he could solve the problems by researching solo. It took the rest of the team members’ arguments to show Kurt that his stubbornness was counter-productive to his goal.

While the Kurt Situation might not immediately parallel the obstacles to personal mastery, I think his stubbornness illustrates a common human trait that keeps many from taking on “the journey”. Kurt, like many people, couldn’t see any problem with his solution: he could solve the problem fine by himself, he thought. He considered himself proficient enough to solve his goal without the immediate help of his peers.

This thought is counterproductive. With such a huge goal as solving engineering mistakes, there isn’t a person on Earth who is capable of solving it alone. Kurt is not seeking personal mastery as long as he is considering the fact that he always has room to learn, and other people will always have something to teach him.

Disengagement may involve a similar symptom. When I think back to the classes I was most disengaged in, I am reminded most of a Fusion Science course I took. This class, despite being completely within the topic boundary of my major and interest, was nearly impossible for me to become engaged in. I was the classic disengaged student: I put no more effort into the class than was necessary to get an A.

This disengagement wasn’t because the material was far above my head, and it wasn’t because the teacher was especially boring. I think I was uninterested mostly because I felt like I knew most of the course’s material already. Because my focus is Plasma and Fusion, I had taken courses before (and went on to take classes after) that repeated much of the same material. This course, however, offered the least amount of “new” information. I couldn’t help but zone out in class.

This disengagement, then, is my fault. I refused to pursue personal mastery in the course because, like Kurt, I felt like I had nothing to learn. Had I worked harder at finding new and interesting information from the subject matter, I may have eliminated my disengagement.

My point here is that, in an effort, to eliminate disengagement in a given course, the designer would be best of considering this human characteristic. With opportunities for a student who already knows much of the information to find something new and interesting, disengagement might become less of a problem.

Upperclassmen as Wikipedia

Dave’s post on the subject of freshman/upperclassman relations mentions a number of means by which underclassmen in our University can reach upperclassmen. I just so happens that, in all of my time here as an underclassman, I wasn’t involved in any of Dave’s recommendations. I came to the university without a major, and never took an introductory class. My Resident Advisor (RA) was decidedly unhelpful, being a particularly unsocial student who spent most of his time at the gym. I was never involved in a Registered Student Organization (RSO) for more than a week.

I assert, however, that some contact with upperclassmen, especially in the first year months of college, is necessary for an underclassman to be successful. My contact came when I took a job as an undergraduate research assistant at the Nuclear Radiations Laboratory, a lab on campus.

Admittedly, I didn’t come to the lab with upperclassmen dialogue in mind. I was expecting nothing more than research experience from the job. The hierarchy of the lab, however, put me in constant contact with upperclassmen also working as undergraduate workers. Superficially, this relationship was purely job-based: they explained the (relatively simple) tasks I was to perform, and I came to them if I had simple questions about the work. This, of course, was not the extent of our communication. Since I was constantly around my upperclassmen coworkers, I had numerous chances to ask questions on any topic, be it how to switch my major, or which professors I should seek out as teachers, or whether Chipotle burritos were worth the extra cost of their Qdoba counterparts. I almost always got immediate and useful information this way. (College of Engineering Deans, Professor Ruzic, absolutely yes.)

These upperclassmen contacts were invaluable my freshman year. The way I see it, a student can only be so successful seeking information from professors, advisors, etc. Having an older student to answer questions is much more effective. This effect is comparable to one of the points in our class discussion on Wikipedia. One of the reasons I believe the open-source online encyclopedia is so popular (I wanted to say “successful” here, but that’s a whole different discussion) is its transient behavior. Wikipedia is constantly being updated (as evidenced by its Recent Changes log.) Although this may be seen as a source of its potentially inaccurate information, it also allows the encyclopedia to keep up with current events much more rapidly than a more “reputable” encyclopedia can. As an example, this Wikipedia article includes information about Iran’s nuclear program, including the minor developments that happened this week. On the other hand, Encyclopedia Britannica offers only this stagnant list of articles with the same subject matter, none updated nearly as lately as Wikipedia.

The parallel isn’t perfect, but my point is that there are some situations where Wikipedia really is the most helpful, and there are some questions that are most helpfully answered by older students. Professors and other University faculty/staff sometimes have obstacles to giving helpful information:

-they didn’t go to the U of I as an undergraduate and thus don’t have the essential experience,

-they can’t “bad-talk” other professors or staff (which students are more than willing to do)

-they may worry about losing their job by being too candid

Be it through one of Dave’s processes, through an on-campus job, or some other way, I would recommend any freshman to seek out an upperclassman as an information resource.

Klingon Birth Rates and Successful Exams

The prompt on learning immediately brought to my mind the Neutron Diffusion course I mentioned early in the class. I brought up then, and want to bring up again, the unique final the professor designed for this course.

The course’s material dealt mostly with understanding and using mathematical equations to approximate the position and dynamics of neutrons (tiny neutrally-charged particles) as they move about a nuclear reactor. Because neutrons are so small and move so quickly, they don’t always obey the “classical” laws of physics that relatively large and slow things do. Through the use of various formulas and mathematical approximations, the general behavior of neutrons can be modeled.

(It should be noted that the value of this course was immediately verified. Not only did the concepts introduced in this class appear in almost all of the next semester’s courses within the same department, countless graduates confirmed that neutron-modeling techniques are commonly utilized in actual industry settings.)

The final exam was, as I said in class, of genius design. The exam had one problem, and the professor allowed the entire three-hour period to solve it (although few students stayed past the first hour.) The problem asked the students to model the population of a planet of Klingon people through use of neutron-diffusion equations. The students were to account for Klingon births (corresponding to neutron multiplication,) deaths (neutron absorption,) growth into adulthood (neutron scattering / energy diffusion,) among a number of other aspects. Additionally, and in my mind most importantly, the problem gave directions to include modeling for “any other aspects of Klingon life you can imagine.”

In the class discussion where I brought up this exam, I explained that I was impacted most by the creative aspect of the exam: while it obviously still tested our skill with neutron diffusion equations, the addition of an interesting theme and the prompt to use our imaginations made the exam exciting and fun.

I do not see the creativity of the exam, however, as what makes it successful in measuring the amount of the students’ learning. It was the fact that the exam tested “on-your-feet” skills, instead of dry knowledge, that sets this exam above many of the other’s I’ve taken.

It’s well-known among students that nearly all of the facts and knowledge you “cram” in your brain before the exam are gone by the end of finals. I think this is the mark of unsuccessful exams. If the information has nowhere to be used, it seems to quickly be forgotten. The kind of exams like the one in my neutron diffusion class, however, do not seem to have this fate.

To answer the prompt: successful learning in a course can be characterized by the ability to do something or think about something in a new way. With this in mind, I suppose it could be said that yes, all good learning comes with a kind of personal transformation. Further, evidence of this learning is measurable through exams that require the student to test their new skill or way of thinking. Instead of regurgitating cold facts, a successful learner can use what they’ve learned to analyze something, model something, do something…

I believe that all courses, with a little work, could utilize “on-your-feet” exams, which, if the course successfully presented its content, and the students successfully learned, would verify successful learning.

For Flexibility

My gut reaction is to argue for the ability to drop classes. I knew from the moment I read the prompt that this would be my stance, and I know why. There have been numerous times throughout my college career that I have been confused why a given class would be required for my major. Currently, I am in a required Physics course in which I can see no relevance to what I want to do with my life. This alone isn’t a reason to allow this course to be dropped, as it could be that my entire major doesn’t fit with my life plans. This isn’t the case, however: these courses also have seemingly no relevance to the discipline of my major, Nuclear Engineering, at all.

In his post on this subject, Tyler brings up a good point: the people who decide which classes are required for our majors are the experts in our field, and so it would be a mistake to think we know any better. I agree with this idea: our department heads should have the final say on what coursework constitutes successful completion of a degree. I’m less supportive, however, of the idea of a “set-in-stone” course sequence.

During one of our class discussions on “Declining by Degrees”, I remember the idea of the decreasing worth of a Bachelor’s Degree being brought up. (I’m interested to see if this topic is breached at all in the movie.) In short, the argument is that a bachelor’s degree twenty (fifty? I’m not exactly sure of the time frame here) years ago was a guaranteed ticket to the job your major trained you for, but the same degree today is just a stepping stone towards a career. I believe it. More than one of my engineering professors have framed the bachelor’s degree as a test of “basic training”; to achieve further success in the engineering discipline, post-graduate education is extremely recommended, if not required.

What, then, is the final goal of earning an engineering bachelor’s degree? With my professors’ argument in mind, I would have to say that it is accumulating the basic engineering skills required for post-graduate education or training. This is a pretty concrete goal, at least for an engineering degree, because there exist nationally-accepted requirements for officially earning the “Engineer” title for all of the major engineering disciplines and many of the secondary ones (including Nuclear). The National Academy of Engineering is the governing body of these guidelines, and one only needs to take a Professional Engineering Exam to prove one’s aptitude and earn an engineering license.

What if the department heads, instead of assigning a sequence of courses required for graduation, made a list of knowledge and skills that a student must accrue to earn their degree? The list would not be a short one: I imagine it encompassing everything earning a degree by the current system involves. The difference, however, comes from the fact that this new system allows any course that teaches a skill or topic of knowledge that is on the list to count towards graduation.

Obviously, many items on the list would be pretty narrow, and couldn’t be fulfilled by more than one specific course. For instance, “Student Knows How to Solve Differential Equations” could probably only be achieved by a Differential Equations course. I’m confident, however, that some of the requirements are more general and could be fulfilled by a number of courses: this is why “professional electives” exist. In my major, at least, there is a required sub-set of courses that can be chosen among many options. My physics class is one of these courses, and the only “list item” I can think of that these courses would fulfill is “student has advanced knowledge in one topic related to scientific research.” Clearly, an enormous number of classes could fit this description.

Additionally, a publication of a requirement list would be sound with Drucker’s ideas on effective individual work, specifically, knowing one’s goals and constantly working towards them. A student who has daily access to the list of skills he or she knows must be accrued by graduation can constantly work to better themselves in these areas. The current “required sequence” style of educations seems to emphasize a different goal: good grades in each of the individual classes.

Obviously, I am proposing a change that would require the entire college (or university) to alter almost every aspect of its existence. For instance, courses university-wide would have to have their contents and “list items” determined. This is an enormous task, and a lot of time and money would have to be available to achieve what I have in mind.

I’m confident, however, that a student who knows what he or she is working towards and has more choice in the details of how to reach those goals (e.g., choice of classes) is a happier and more effective student.

Is Diversity Good?

I her reflection on one of our class sessions, Kim presents the thoughts of two semi-fictitious students surrounding another class-member’s statement of confusion with the direction of discussion. (That was you, right, Kim?) I say “semi-ficticious” because, while neither Rebecca nor Felicity actually exist, I’m confident their thought processes are common enough that one could say our class holds many Rebeccas and Felicitys.

Kim presents the two girls as having very dissimilar reactions to the unnamed student’s outburst. This third student questions whether it is useful to continue discussing the class project’s minor details before its main goal is specified. Rebecca is decidedly resistant to halting the discussion right away, arguing that the minor details will be a deciding factor in the general direction of the goal. Felicity sides with the third student, seeing it as more useful to start working on the project and work out the kinks along the way, as the deadline is approaching quickly. In the end, Felicity “wins,” as the class breaks up into smaller groups and starts tackling the logistics of starting the group project.

The discord between Rebecca and Felicity is also semi-fictitious, being imaginary in this case but real in almost any group-project setting. Nearly every time a diverse group of people is put together to accomplish a goal, at least two of the group members are in disagreement. This is unavoidable. There will always be both Rebeccas and Felicitys, it’s what diversity is all about.

As an instructor of an engineering introductory course, “Diversity” was one of the subjects I had to present to my class of freshmen. The instructions I was given were fairly vague; it was assumed that I knew what “Diversity” was and why it is always desirable. When it came to teaching the class, however, I found myself at a loss. I couldn’t find a logical way to argue that diversity is always better. From an objective standpoint, doesn’t diversity seem like a negative thing when, say, a group of people with extremely differing viewpoints can’t find common ground? Couldn’t this, for instance, ruin the effectiveness of a group project?

I was forced to think of a reason why diversity is better, even in the case of a group of people having absolutely nothing in common, capable only of arguing. The engineering course guidelines offered the cookie-cutter answer of, “diversity teaches people to open their minds to new thoughts and experiences.” Yes, yes. I think everyone has heard a version of this line at some point. It may be true, but I was looking for something more compelling, more relevant.

Perhaps I could argue that, despite the dissonance, diversity might help to increase the ability of the group. For instance, the motivation of the group as a whole might be impacted by the fact that the group members have starkly different personalities.

Joe had good way of phrasing the right way to increase motivation. In his post about group alignment, he remembers a speaker relating the motivation a person should feel towards prayer to the draw caused by a Krispy Kreme “Hot Now!” sign. Although Joe calls it corny, I consider the analogy perfect: motivation is caused by an obvious, loud attractiveness. So how can diversity make a group objective “Hot Now”?

In the case of Rebecca and Felicity, both students have clearly different interests. Although it can’t be said to be absolutely true, a person’s interests generally line up with their skills; they like same things that they are good at. (I don’t want to impose any cause or effect in this case: like we discussed in one of our early classes, it’s unclear whether interest breeds skill because of increased practice or skill breeds interest because of the joy of doing something well.) The same mentality could be raised to the group: a group most likes what it is doing when it is doing it well. If Rebecca and Felicity are both allowed to pursue their particular interests in the group, the overall happiness of the group is raised. The more diverse the group, the more the total amount of different problems it can accomplish, and the happier it becomes.

Of course, this isn’t by any stretch a perfectly logical argument. Surely, the arguments born from the diversity of the group still stand as obstacles towards a happy (and effective) group. This reflection should be taken as more of an advocation for diversity, which I see as an opportunity to make a group “Hot Now”.

Swimming In The Internet

The world wide web is the ocean and “Designing for Effective Change” is a tiny gulf no one has heard of.

Let me start again. I don’t think our class reflections would be any different if, say, they were posted on a private compass page where only we could read them. I agree, Joe, anyone wielding the internet could read this. I really don’t think anyone outside our class is. The world wide web offers the chance for our written thoughts to be internationally public, but I’d say this facet isn’t being utilized here.

Still, the simple fact of having our reflections online, international or not, may have an effect on how we face our job of writing.

The world wide web, being a source of near-instantaneous, often accurate information, makes fact-checking an almost mindless exercise. This fact is the writer’s boon as it offers quick and easy access to correct information (I just looked up “boon” to make sure I was using it correctly,) and his bane as it forces him to dissect his arguments more thoroughly, anticipating an audience capable of the same quick and easy access (I changed “mostly accurate” to “often accurate,” not wanting to tangle with Wikipedia’s shaky status as a source of correct information.)

(Actually, that latter one is probably also a boon. Thorough argument dissection should produce more accurate writing.)

Hyperlinks are another advantage of online writing. I haven’t used any at this point, but I can see that many students have introduced links to other websites within the text of their reflections. Again, this offers both b-words to the writer: his reader will have immediate access to information he deems pertinent to the writing, but he risks losing his reader altogether to another page before they have finished reading his work. In fact, I’d put distraction as the number one problem facing online writers.

The online nature of our classwork can be seen more as a “networking” situation: it facilitates sharing of reflections between the students of the class and allows for outside sources of information to be woven smoothly into our writing. To answer the “are we taking full advantage of our online capabilities,” I’d say yes. It’s true, we try more worldwide publicity, but what’s the point? I’d say these reflections of are the most use to our fellow classmates, and the only comments I care about are from people involved in the class. In this regard, putting our reflections in this small gulf off the main body of the internet ocean is completely beneficial to our course.

Two Ideals in Constructive Criticism

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

I can’t think of a worse way to introduce criticism. Invariably, the receiver will be inclined to take the following comment personally. There’s something about the criticizer “sugar coating” the criticism that seems to make it that much more of a personal attack. I can honestly say that I would never recommend a person to open criticism in this way.

Criticism in itself, however, is an important part of progress. No one can make the claim to have never made a mistake, and it is often through the comments of others that these mistakes are recognized. It appears, then, that criticism exists in two forms: “good” and “bad”.

I’ll answer the easy question first. What is “bad” criticism?

When I was in sixth grade I had a teacher who I will rename Mrs. Blue. Mrs. Blue, I feel no remorse in saying, couldn’t have been suited worse for her job. She was quick to anger, a very unfortunate trait for a woman constantly surrounded by herd after herd of eleven-year-olds. What made it worse was that Mrs. Blue had seemingly resigned from trying to teach her students the wrongness of the actions that brought on her anger. Instead, she was willing only to express her violent emotions through, you guessed it, “bad” criticism.

I took some time deciding which of Mrs. Blue’s quotes I wanted to use as an example here; there are a lot of examples. Daily, she would take a student in “private” to reprimand them. Obviously, the availability of these quotes in my memory proves that her efforts for privacy were either completely half-hearted or intentional failures.

“I can’t believe you were screaming in the classroom!” I remember hearing her hiss at a classmate after they let out an outburst during a group activity. “You’re acting like a baby!” She sent the student back to his seat and grumpily continued class.

Mrs. Blue’s criticism is “bad” for apparent reasons: she insulted the student instead of pointing out the mistake and its negative effects. Criticism should not be designed to offend the receiver. Clearly, this works against the goal of the criticism, as the offended party is less likely to take into account the criticizer’s point of view. In Mrs. Blue’s case, I think she had been withstanding the same flaws of children for so long that she lost the energy required to continue being an effective teacher.

As I see it, “good” criticism has two main elements: it addresses a fixable problem and supports the comment with reasons why a change is necessary. Consider how differently the student would have felt if Mrs. Blue would have said, “You need to stop yelling, the other students can’t hear each other when you do.” The comment holds no less authority than her original wording, and has the added bonus of not being a blatant attack on the student.

Yes, I recognize that most criticisms between adults do not include the blatant offensiveness of Mrs. Blue. I’d argue that anything that doesn’t make a point of including the “good” criticism guidelines is a form of “bad” criticism. If the problem addressed is not fixable, the criticism can only work to hurt the relationship between the two parties without improving any performance. If no reason for necessity is understood, the criticized party may be inclined to believe the criticizer has no motivation to comment other than the desire to observe others’ flaws.

“Good” criticism will be an extremely important part of our class project. Tutors, by definition, will need to be critical of those they tutor. In this case, I think that sticking to my definition of “good” will be invaluable in keeping tutor/tutee relationships constructive. With luck, no one will end up taking anything “the wrong way”.

Liberal Education and the Dismay of GenEds

In her essay, Carol G. Schneider argues that the perceived importance of liberal education has steadily been declining in recent years. She cites the proliferation of “general education requirements” as one of the symptoms of the problem, and I couldn’t agree more.

In class, we briefly discussed our opinions on general education classes, and I think it was agreed that the main objective of GenEds is to give students of all disciplines the opportunity (and obligation) to have diversity in their education, to briefly study something they would otherwise miss. Schneider gives a list of these potentially missing things, mentioning “integrative learning” and “cross-cultural knowledge” among others (65). She argues that modern universities try to ‘fill in the blanks’ that a departmental major leaves with general education requirements.

In a previous reflection, I expressed my deep satisfaction with one of my general education classes, CLCV 115: “The Mythology of Greece and Rome”. While this class stood out as an exceptional intellectual experience for me, I must say that the majority of my general education classes were a pain to take, and I’d be wholly surprised if that sentiment wasn’t shared by at least a majority of students. It is no secret (in fact, it is often openly said) that most people take GenEds to get them “out of the way”. (Schneider even mentions this specifically, but I think I’ve heard it too much in the past four years to cite her with the idea.) The root of this sentiment is no secret: GenEds are purposely different from a student’s chosen path of study, often in subjects they have no interest in. Even with the broad choices available, it is unlikely to find classes filling each requirement without at least one you’re less than excited about.

The immediate solution comes to mind: eliminate general education requirements. If there is such general distaste for forcing these classes on people, it seems logical to fix the problem at the root. This, of course, is counterproductive to the big-picture-goal. These classes are distasteful because they are so foreign to a student’s chosen curriculum. The solution isn’t to eliminate the foreign element, but to integrate it more effectively.

Schneider argues for an increase in all of the “core liberal education requirements” in every possible major. While her plan may be effective in eliminating the need for general education classes, I don’t think it addresses the larger problem of full integration. It’s true that any discipline could be skewed to include at least a basic understanding of all of the basic liberal education goals. What’s missing, it seems to me, is the diversity of class topics that made CLCV 115 so alluring to me.

My idea, instead of eliminating GenEd requirements, is to move the requirement to a higher level: something like an obligatory minor. In addition to the classes that make up a student’s major, a core of classes would be required that must be significantly different enough to represent all of the “blanks” left by the main concentration. The subject of these classes is up to the student; the only requirement is that the “minor” classes represent a core of liberal education goals different than that of the major.

I recognize a major opposition to my plan: a forced minor would increase the amount of courses required to graduate. I see this as the price of insuring a “complete” liberal education for a student, and one that they can absolutely be interested in. If the goal is increasing the importance of core liberal education, I see this as an option in reaching that goal. Schneider writes that we are on the forefront of “an era characterized by greater expectations in every sphere of life” (76). Our response to this challenge should come from our commitment to improve the effectiveness of our education, instead of letting it decline.

A Common "Enemy"

(An off-topic note to the professor regarding reflection titling: I’ve always had an aversion to titling my writing. Something feels confining about naming the entire piece, and I usually feel inclined to let the body of the text be the only area where the reader might get an idea of how to classify the work. I have a feeling this is what you were thinking when you asked us to title the pieces; without a title, I can be lazy in my adherence to a topic. In the effort of learning, I’ll try titling from now on and see how it changes my reflections.)

Last year, I was given the opportunity to teach a zero-hour, seven-week course to a class of incoming freshman in my department. The class, essentially an “Introduction To Basic University Skills” course, was basically a joke, academically. Without any credit hours, “grades” weren’t really a concern. I could assign homework and require its completion, but in the end I was just giving them a pass/fail grade (with no GPA weight.) There was little reason for these students to put any work or attention into the class.

The true reason for the class, besides the few useful skills presented (compass usage, résumé designing, job interview tips,) was to have these freshmen meet other freshmen in the class and develop contacts early on. They would, after all, be most likely to find at least one of their fellow NPRE students in each major-related class they took for the next four years. My real job was to foster these relationships. Get the students working together.

Previous teachers of this course all gave similar advice: the deplorable ceremony of “ice-breakers”. I hate ice-breakers. I consider ice-breakers the least creative (perhaps laziest) way to get conversation moving. I was determined not to fall on the crutch of “go around the circle and tell the class your favorite movie” or “line up in order of birth date in five minutes”.

Without any other reason than it amused me, I had each student on the first day tell me their favorite animal. Then I told them if I forgot their name, and forget their name I surely would, I would be calling them by their “spirit animal”. The class seemed initially confused and probably thought I was lying. Only fifteen minutes had passed, however, before I couldn’t remember a spiky-haired kid’s name in the back row, and referred to him as “The Antelope”. (As a teaching note: for reasons I can’t explain, it was and is easier to remember a person by their favorite animal than by their given name. There is a chance, of course, that this is a behavior unique to my brain, and other teachers have no problem learning human names.)

The antics continued. I made it a regular routine in my class to do something for (to?) the students that they wouldn’t expect and would generally weird them out. The second day I made them enter a vote in the decision of which is better, Dinosaurs or Free T-Shirts. The losing team (Free T-shirts, by only one vote,) had to sit at the very front of the class, the winning team got the (apparently more desirable) seats in the back. During another class period, told them we were going to end class by taking a short exam on the quad. After seating them in a big circle out on the grass, I initiated a giant game of Duck Duck Goose.

Besides chronicling the fun I had confusing a class of twenty-five freshmen, this essay should convey the lesson I learned in getting the class working together. Because they always had something to talk about (namely, their possibly insane instructor,) the students became talkative right away. I quickly observed the root of my solution: no one felt awkward talking to each other, because I had already given them a much more awkward class hour.

I think this principle could be translated to a managerial concept. The individuals, with a common “enemy”, act with added cooperation among each other. I was actually pretty surprised that this idea didn’t come up in the Drucker discussion we had on management earlier this week. While we covered the idea of a manager keeping cordiality with his or her workers, we didn’t rate the effectiveness of an “enemy” manager, someone who the workers can mutually aim their cooperation.

I anticipate the counterpoint: an “enemy” manager would only work to decrease productivity. They would alienate the workers, make them less likely to do their best work. I’m not saying it’s the best solution, but I think deliberately giving the workers something in common could prove to be a step towards good alignment.

5

I can’t help but simplify “intrinsic motivation” to “liking it”. I accept that there may be a distinction. Perhaps you don’t have to like something for it to be motivating in and of itself, but I can’t think of any such examples off the top of my head. (It seems that if you don’t like something, the only reason you’d do it is for an outside reward or punishment.)

If, then, we’re on the topic of an experience where my motivation was “liking it” and “liking it” alone, the example that immediately comes to mind is CLCV 115: The Mythology of Greece and Rome. I briefly mentioned this course in one of our discussions as something outside my field of study that kept me interested.

As a preface: CLCV 115 did not

- have any relevance towards my major, minor, or academic plan of study in any way

- teach me any practical skills that I would later use in any other class

- grant me any academic knowledge that I have since used in any useful way

- seem important to me at the time or since

The last bit seems like a strong insult towards the course, but understand that I mean it in the most endearing way. Regard it the way you would an elderly wife calling her husband “that senseless oaf.” A loving way. I wouldn’t remember the course with such admiration if there was any other gain than the pure joy of taking it.

The class was in no way one that I was innately good at. I am good at taking math tests. I am good at answering questions where there is one correct answer. I am good at applying given rules to new situations and producing a single, clean, concrete result. I struggle in situations where the prompt may be, “What does Zeus’ part in the creation of the Minotaur say about the ancient Greeks’ view of omniscience?”

It should be noted (as context) that Zeus was well-known for his habit of seducing and impregnating mortals. As far as pregnancy-success rates go, Zeus holds the global record, hands down. Literally every one of Zeus’ recorded liaisons ends in a baby.

Zeus, it may not be commonly known, also had the ability to take any form he chose. One time he chose to appear as a bull. This bull, being Zeus and all, was so ravishing and utterly magnificent that the queen of Minos (now Crete) was instantly enamored. Her husband, chagrined as he was, accepted his wife’s obsession and set out to find a way to allow her to satisfy her desire.

King Minos commanded a local engineer, Daedalus, (who later built the perilous wings for his son, Icarus,) to build a cow suit for his wife so that she may successfully (in an anatomical way) invite the Zeus bull’s affection. Daedalus did, so Queen Minos did, allowing Zeus to.

Without fail, a child was soon born. “Child,” of course, being a stretch of the term: apparently, the godly shifting of form had impact on Zeus’ DNA, and the child was born half bull. The Minotaur (“Minos” + “Taurus”,) a monster, was nonetheless King Minos’ son, and no one had the heart to kill it. Instead, the ferocious, deadly creature was put into a labyrinth so that it could never cause any harm. (Later it was slain by Theseus, but that’s neither here nor there.)

I loved learning that absurd background of an even more absurd fictional creature, and I love that I still remember it. Something about ancient lore is extremely interesting to me. I did well in CLCV 115, despite the aforementioned lack of reason or academic worth.

To answer the prompt: it is interest, the “liking it” motivation, that accomplishes the most. Since this motivation is highly personal and almost completely impossible to induce unless it already exists, I can’t say that it will be useful in any way towards our final project. It’s worth noting, however, that if “liking it” is felt in a person’s course or profession, that person would be best off pursuing that feeling, if only because it will give them happy memories.

Reflection 4

There are a number of things the past three reflections have taught me about my own writing.

ONE

I can’t stand a formal tone. I thought, at first, that a formal tone was appropriate for these writings. It seemed to me that my reflections would read better if I used the long words and spotless grammar characteristic of sentences you would read but not speak. This is not the case. After re-reading my first two reflections, I recognized that the over-wording sounds awkward and makes the writing ineffective.

In my third reflection, I attempted a casual tone, and I consider the results successful. I tried telling a personal anecdote to answer the prompt, which brings me to

TWO

Telling a story is effective. The cohesive narrative of Reflection 3 was much more effective in presenting a point than the essay-style writing of Reflections 1 and 2. This idea, in fact, is not one that just currently occurred to me.

I have recognized the strength of a plotline for a while now. In my senior year of high school, I was given the chance to present a speech in front of the National Honors Society student body and their parents. My only criteria were that the speech must define ‘character’ and present its importance. After a few unsuccessful rough drafts, I decided to frame my speech around the story of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The story of the Turtles, albeit simple and predictable, gave a perfect example of strong character: though the public doesn’t respect or thank the Turtles for what they do, the teenage heroes continue fighting crime because they know it is right. I consider the speech effective, not only because a few students mentioned it later but many parents did, too. One father told me later that he looked up the Ninja Turtles when he got home, having never heard of them before and, through my speech, convinced that they were a fictional group worth knowing.

The secondary bonus of telling a story is that the writing flows quickly and smoothly, as opposed to the choppy, tiresome process of essay-style writing. In this, I recognized

THREE

I like my writing more when it is done quickly. In my own opinion, my writing that flows out naturally and rapidly is much more effective than the writing that I have to trudge through. I am not ignoring the negative side to this method: quick writing is exceedingly simple and sometimes lacks the deep thoughts of well-thought-through writing. Maybe I am misunderstanding the assignment, but I believe that a “reflection” should be exactly the product of quick, natural writing: an expression of the thoughts that are most prominent in my mind at the time. I feel much more confident of my writing when I know it describes thoughts that I can stand behind, and with quick writing, there isn’t as much time to lead myself away from my true point.

THE EFFECT

of these three rules of writing are what the reader finds in Reflection 3. I am happy with this. Reflection 3 basically concluded with the idea that finding common ground with others is a method of inducing conversation. I saw this idea working perfectly in class. Whether you intended to or not, Professor, you brought the level of conversation to its peak when you asked about which exams we liked, and then soon afterwards when you brought up video games. College exams and video games are two subjects that most people my age know a lot about, and it was immediately obvious that conversation flowed actively between the classmates when they realized their common ground. I don’t propose the idea that my reflection inspired this. Instead, I am proud that the idea I presented clearly in my writing later had its effectiveness proved in class.

TO SUMMARIZE

Write quickly, simply, and with a story in mind.

Reflection 3

While the suggested topic of this reflection is probably referring to facilitating conversation in a group setting, like that of our class, I can’t help but let my personal experience leak into my response. As it is, the prompt reminds me of an experience I endured a few summers ago.

My roommate’s name was Ben Builit. He and I were participants in a program for engineering students at the University of Illinois who wanted to learn about nuclear power in Pisa, Italy. (It can be noted that Italy at the time did not, and does not today, have any operational nuclear power plants. The choice of location for the program remains a mystery to Ben, I, and the other students.) The plan was to spend six weeks in Italy, taking classes on weekdays and excursions on weekends.

The rooms where we stayed were rented out of an apartment building two minutes from the Leaning Tower. The rooms were not large, containing one room divided by a half-height wall, with a bathroom attached the size of a closet. The “bedroom”, which was the northmost half of the large room, held two beds separated by about six inches of empty space. The observant reader should recognize that I am building the setting to be a haven for interroommate tension.

I did not like Ben upon meeting him. He was quiet and detached to the point of seeming unfriendliness. He was much more content reading a book or sleeping than he was in sustaining a conversation. To be honest, though, I wasn’t really bothered by his silence. More, I couldn’t stand the fact that I couldn’t make him laugh.

Humor is my conversation lubricant of choice. (I suppose this is a partial answer to the reflection topic.) I am a firm believer in the idea that making someone laugh is the first step in gaining their respect. Although I don’t believe that it’s right, it seems to me that one is inclined to give authority to someone who can make them laugh. Worthy of it or not, humorous people, if their humor is appropriate, seem smarter, more charismatic. These presumptions allow conversation to flow more freely between two people. Humor, however, seemed to have no effect on Ben.

I won’t bore the reader with a paragraph summarizing my numerous failed attempts at making Ben laugh. Truly, this part of the story is uninteresting and unimportant: let it simply be understood that I tried and I failed.

It wasn’t until the second week of classes, in fact, that I caught Ben expressing amusement at all. Our Italian Language and Culture professor, Irene, was asking for the name of a prominent American sports player.

“Dennis Rodman,” I offered. She repeated the name hesitatingly.

“Den-nis Rod-man,” I said the name slower, really stressing each syllable. Irene walked over to the board and wrote: D-A-N-I-S R-O-B-B-I-N.

She looked back at me and spoke confusedly, “Danis Robbin?”

The class burst into laughter. My eye caught Ben, nodding and chuckling lightly. I felt excitement rise through my chest. I had found Ben’s sense of humor.

I wasn’t sure what it was about Irene’s inability to properly reproduce the name “Dennis Rodman” that tickled Ben, but I was determined to find out. As is sometimes the case, my first try turned out to be effective. That evening when I found him in our apartment reading, I dialed up my most outrageous Italian accent and shouted to him, “Buon giorno, Ben-ne-jammin Byoo-leet!”

Success was mine. Ben was laughing. I had crossed his defenses.

Although it serves little purpose to the reflection, I can’t help but give the expected happy ending. With Italian mispronunciations as our inside joke, Ben and I became good friends and went on to have many meaningful conversations.

I don’t place humor as the skill required to encourage conversation. Instead, I’d say it was the determination to find something in common with Ben that allowed conversation to eventually flow freely. Similarly, (and perhaps even in the group setting of our class,) “breaking the ice” by finding similar ground could work as an effective mechanism to encouraging conversation.

Reflection 2

Are the prompts for this reflection opposites? Is the choice between failed group efforts and successful group efforts? Did I misread?

IN ANY CASE

I consider the fight against media piracy, particularly through the internet, an example of a partially failed, partially successful group effort. In the schema I have in mind, the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) is the losing group, while independent artists and their fans are the winners.

The reader should be quickly losing confidence with my authority: the RIAA, everyone knows, is all-powerful. Optimism on the side of unlabeled artists is naive. Despite the public distaste for the RIAA's anti-piracy methods mounting nationwide, (please excuse that mouthful of a half-sentence,) little progress seems to have been made by The Industry's opponents.

FIRSTLY

I have in mind a particular definition of "piracy": stealing. Via the internet, files containing copyrighted material (most commonly music) are easily downloaded, granting property ownership for free. My definition continues to verify that neither party favors piracy. The good guys hate piracy with the same vigor as the bad guys, for the exact same reason: it is a sap on their livelihood. Piracy, in my argument, is colored "bad".

AS AN ASIDE

I accept the argument that piracy may, in fact, have positive effects for independent artists, as it awards wide exposure to small-time artists that would otherwise have a hard time spreading their music. True, I say to those making this point, but such a narrow picture of things isn't appropriate for my point. Ultimately, piracy takes money away from the creators. Let the "bad" rating stand.

TO START

I present a brief and highly simplified history of the situation:

1.) Music is invented by humans, possibly inspired by birds.

2.) Much later, an industry is founded to distribute recorded music.

3.) The recording industry is extremely successful, by financial terms.

4.) Piracy exists through many mediums, including copied cassette tapes, burnt CDs, and finally in its most powerful form, the internet.

The RIAA has made numerous efforts to combat piracy. When faced with the threat of burnt CDs, anti-copying mechanisms were installed on new CDs. When Napster became an easy avenue for piracy, the RIAA used its influence to push through legislation to shut down the p2p software, and even sued a few of its most prolific users. Most recently, the RIAA (along with other powerful groups with similar interests) worked with Apple to put digital "protection" on all media bought through the iTunes Online Store. Effectively, all files acquired through iTunes cannot be freely passed to other computers, other software, or even onto too many burnt CDs.

If the reader is skimming, this is the paragraph where I present the failed group effort as mentioned in the prompt. The RIAA is failing at stopping piracy. I think their failure can be blamed on the fact that their solution to the problem does not properly serve all of the members of their "group", which I am taking to include both the RIAA and its customers. While the anti-piracy ploys work to ensure the income of the RIAA and its clients, these methods hurt the customers. (I am assuming the reader understands the frustration and inefficiency of .mp3 digital protection.)

IN CONTRAST

I insist that independent artists are a group that is (more) successful at fighting piracy. More bands have started approaching piracy as a problem that must be conquered by morality, not by force. Increasingly, bands are selling songs (both digitally and on CD) straight from their homes, without filtering them through the "protection" of the RIAA. This solution immediately brings an element of trust to the artist/fan relationship, something I think (as Gawande stressed) is quite effective at bringing effective change.

SPEAKING OF GAWANDE,

I think that I can fit the independent artists' solution to piracy into his three elements of betterment.

INGENUITY is apparent in the software that allows bands to sell music directly from the artist to the fan over the internet. This technology is so new, in fact, that it has not yet been deemed entirely legal. (I will leave it up to the reader to deduce which heavily influential industry is fighting against this legislation.)

DOING RIGHT can be seen in the fans' decision to, instead of downloading the music for free, supporting the artists by buying directly from them.

And DILIGENCE, I suppose, is the years and years of opposition pirates gave the RIAA, never giving up on the idea that the current system is too faulty to keep.

Reflection 1

IN GENERAL

I am expecting to learn to write more eloquently. For instance, even after two revisions, the previous sentence is awkwardly hosting the word "to" twice, in close proximity. I believe that, by writing regularly enough with critical feedback, I will be able to express thoughts with smoothness and clarity.

ON A RELATED TOPIC

I disagree with the idea proposed in class today that a student writer could be at a disadvantage because their work has no room to improve. I think, or, more accurately, I hope, that developing writing skills do not follow a linear path. I want to believe that learning to write will not be like a giraffe, growing taller its whole life to reach the most valuable leaves (that only appear on the very top of trees.) Rather, the process will be an octopus, with its numerous appendages growing outwards in many directions; one leg may sieze a delicious crab, another reaches to investigate a suspicious fissure in the coral. If the reader has lost faith in this analogy, imagine me as a carpenter in a department store. There are many tools, and the more I aquire, the more jobs I can carpent.

ADDITIONALLY

I expect this course to (continue to) be a source of interesting conversation with the entire class. I'm excited to see where the discussions will lead. "Designing for Effective Change" seems to me an ambiguous enough topic to support a wide array of stimulating debates.

This is a

test post.