Monthly Archives: April 2013

Minnie the MOOC

Folks here’s a story ’bout Minnie the MOOC;
she was a red hot edu-kook.
She was the best-funded epic fail,
but Minnie had enrollment big as a whale.

Edu edu edu boo
P.d . P.d. PhD
hee hee hee hee hee hee hee
oh whoa whoa whoa

She messed around with a Superprofessor
She loved him though he was a great big messer.
He put her up online and showed her
how to spread the content around.

Edu-edu-edu-boo
oh-no-whoa-whoa
P.d. p.d. PhD
Oh-no-oh-no

She had a dream about real deep learning;
what she and her students were yearning.
Her institution gave her lots of press,
high hopes and her own web address.

Edu-edu-edu-edu-edu-edu-boo
p.d.p.d.p.d.p.d.PhD
Forgettabouta bookie-dookie oodles-n-oodles a links!
A-clickety clickety clickety hey!

He gave her citations with links for sources.
He gave her the goods from his most popular courses.
She had a million students every new semester
but 90 percent would eventually ditch her

Edu-edu-edu-boo
P.d.peeeeeeee.d.PhD
Hee hee hee hee hee hee hee

Poor MOOC, Poor MOOC, Poor MOOC

(With apologies to the songwriters of “Minnie the Moocher,” Irving Mills, Cab Calloway, Clarence Gaskill.)

_____
Here’s what the Digital Humanities are like for me so far:

When I started graduate school, I asked to be assigned in the smoker’s office.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” said the nice lady in charge of T.A. office assignments.

“I don’t,” I said.

But I wanted to be with the cool kids. All my friends, most of them anyway, were in the smoking office. Beckie (no longer smokes), Aron, Neil, Craig, and more whose names I’m blanking on.

This was in 1987, when smoking was allowed inside college offices. And classrooms–the first time I walked into Rodney Jones’s poetry workshop, I could barely see across the room, it was so smoky, and it took me a solid ten minutes to figure out who the teacher was, because there were three guys involved in an intense conversation, puffing away (none of whom looked like what I was used to professors looking like).

The smoking friends I now shared an office with were ones I’d met at the On-the-Island Pub, where I hung out and spent all the money I thought would last me a year after getting my bachelor’s degree. (It lasted almost six months, which actually, given my level of cluelessness and the fact that I didn’t have a credit card at the time, is pretty impressive.) So of course they all smoked.

I’m not saying that listening to all the cool kids talk about the Digital Humanities is putting me at risk for cancer.

I’m just saying that I’m not a full participant yet, just an observer.

Learning by osmosis.

So far, the cool kids seem to be saying MOOCs are

  • typically touted the most by people who understand them the least,
  • not actually good at what people want them to be good at,
  • potentially really exciting, if created by someone who understands pedagogy, cares about learning, and has experience teaching online.

Hence, I’m not willing to dismiss them as possibilities, but I’m awfully skepti-epti-epti-eptical.

I will, at some point, post something a little more substantive on this here topic. In the meantime, one of the non-smoking cool DH kids references the Hanson Bros.

Bowie’s Voice (“Where Are We Now”)

starched linen right when
it’s not so stiff

piece of paper twisting
in a breeze

sheet of metal
a thin sheet
its sound waves
emerging at the quiet snap
of bending this way
and then that

Bowie’s voice
in “Where Are We Now”
quavery
elegant
sad

exactly how we ought to speak
to the dead, were we to speak
to the dead, were we dead,
were we out walking the dead.

_____

Gracious I love that new album. And, for those of you landing here after Googling “walking he dead meaning” in oh, so many languages–I take it to mean being nostalgic for what is gone, so nostalgic so often that our nostalgia has become banal, and yet heartbreaking and urgent at the same time.

Scavenged

(in which two bottom feeders eye me)

1. Lone Rock Crow Diner

Less and less of the deer each week,
the ribs stick up now, six white arches
just visible above the edge of the ditch.

Today three turkey vultures loomed there,
linebackers next to the crow punters.
One turned his T-Rex head and watched me.

2. Republican Cruiser Sedan

Standing, waiting to cross the street,
I realized too late how slow,
slow, slow the approaching car was coming.

Slumped like a low-rider wannabe,
the driver turned his head and, leer-like,
watched me just like the vulture had.

_____
vulture

Red, red wine.

What I long for is the Welcome Table,
people singing hymns and drinking beer.
Apparently this isn’t possible.

If Jesus really was born in a stable,
It has to be o.k. I like it rougher.
What I long for is a welcome sort of table,

where, seriously, everyone can mingle
And hang out, peacefully, together.
Apparently this isn’t possible,

but I keep hoping. Church is more like hell
for me sometimes. Totally my fault, I’m sure.
What I long for is the Welcome Table

where the music’s hot. Nearly potable.
The Lord’s first miracle was wine (more, more).
Apparently it isn’t possible

to worship without being totally structural.
I just really want to toast the Lord.
What I long for is the Welcome Table.
Apparently this isn’t possible.

After Fools Day

I’m a bigger fool than I can say.
I’m so sorely, wretchedly exhausted
I almost need another holiday

to celebrate my foolishness, my way
of stopping just when I’ve gotten started.
I’m a bigger fool than I can say,

but that won’t stop me trying every day
to pin down my soul, to parse it.
I already need another holiday

and we’re not that far past spring break.
Adrenaline drove that car and crashed it.
I’m a bigger fool than I can say.

Calling myself a fool is such canker,
the Bible says not to even say it.
I totally need another holiday,

and although it’s foolish to pray
for time off, I can’t stop doing it.
I’m a bigger fool than even I can say
repeatedly, next time I get a holiday.

____

I told my son this morning that I had an idea for a new holiday–“After Fools Day,” where you say something that’s true, but follow it up with “After Fools Day!” and thus make people wonder if it is true. He was quiet for a moment then said, “Mama I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

I told him that was o.k. That one of my greatest joys in life was coming up with new ideas, and I had so many, I didn’t worry if most of them crashed and burned. And then my day pretty much crashed and burned. But as days do, this one is ending. Whew.

red shoes make any day better

red shoes make any day better

The Zen Baptist Eats a Wasabi Deviled Egg on Dyngus Day

Egg and mayo mildness and then
hello!
Just prior in the pool today
the water was cold,
way colder than usual,
hello!

Fast laps.
Good lunch.
Sweet life.
_____

Symons Rec where I swim. My happy place.

Symons Rec where I swim. My happy place.

_____
I had a very, very hard time hitting the word counts in NaNoWriMo. But I think I can write a poem a day since I come pretty close to doing that every month, so NaPoWriMo, here I go!

Also note: I am so happy to have put wasabi and Dyngus in the same line I can barely stand it.