I haven't had much to say in the past month that I felt anyone would really be interested in, but I feel like writing. So be warned, this is probably going to ramble and be boring. I am a week away from the start of another school year, my last. Yes, my friends, I am in the last 10 credits of my college career and what a long road it has been. This semester I will be taking Eng 445 and Eng 621. 445 is titled "The Composing Process" and 621 is a seminar class in "The Early Global Modern". My friend Julie will be in the 445 class with me, and I've had the professor before who is teaching the 621 class. I'm nervous about the 621 class as that seems to me it is going to be an advanced Eng Lit class. We are reading five Shakespeare plays so I guess I'm going to really have to figure it out. I've always had a bit of a well, not fear, of Shakespeare, but I guess an intimidation of him. However, when I took 302, I actually kind of liked what we read of old Bill, but it was still a bit of a struggle to get through.
In looking up what the difference between a "lecture" and a "seminar" is, I read that a seminar class is one in which there is active student participation. That a lecture class is one where the teacher just gives out the information. I think this professor teaches in that seminar fashion because there was much class discussion from what I can remember. He also uses lots of pictures and fun stories to keep the students interested. I don't know how this class will work, but there are only 9 of us so far, so that is going to be interesting. No hiding in the back row or not talking when having a bad day. I will be attending class after a full day of work and I have to admit that I will be happy when I don't have to cram both things in one day anymore. I'm not sure how I will get all the reading done, but I'm guessing that I will be glued to my table on the weekends.
I'm going to try having my textbooks on my tablet this year. After last spring's semester with four textbooks for Eng 439 and a large bound "reader" for Eng 434, my backpack was pretty heavy. If I can get away with a notebook and my tablet for my classes this semester, I will be a happy camper. My elbow is still giving me problems, and adjusting a lighter backpack will help with straining that tendon. Which brings me to how technology has changed the way we go to school. I heard on the news today that the price of educating our children (grades K-12) has risen 18% since the 1980's. I'm guessing that it has to do with computers. They are more expensive than textbooks, need to be replaced more often, and with advances in forms (tablets vs. desk tops), there's going to be an increase in price. I'm not sure how I'm going to like an electronic form, but it certainly is easier to carry around.
I'm still having a hard time believing that I will be done with college in two semesters. I have this little fear in the back of my head that when the powers that be go through my transcript they will declare that something is terribly wrong and I will need to complete another 36 credits before I can graduate. I guess it's just my negativity coming out, but honestly, I really have that fear. Crazy, I know, but that's how things work out for me. I am anxious to be done now. I can remember thinking at one point that 2015 was so far away and that I would never get there. Well, it's not so far away now and I'm glad I stuck with it. I know I was really debating about continuing on, but I'm really glad I did. I would have hated it that I didn't finish. I apply for graduation this fall, and I think that will be a good day. See, I told it was going to be rambling and boring. Thanks for reading anyway...
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Ch-ch-ch-ch-chaaaannnngggeeessss!
Yes, it is my eternal subject of changes. In the past month, two of my most least favorite coworkers retired. Yessiree bob, just like Elvis, they have left the building. It was never any secret that that we didn't get along, heck, most of the staff and these two didn't get along. They didn't get along with each other, either. I wasn't an island when it came to disagreements, and for decades they reigned chaos and dissent in the pharmacy.
Worker 1 is the person I was most recently sharing a work space with. She went out on medical leave last October and never came back. Well, she came back for one day and then put her retirement papers in the next day. The powers that be decided I could do her job, and mine, so she was called back to the main hospital to work second shift when she was finally forced back to work in May. Yes, she really did stretch a six week medical leave for eight months. It's no wonder no one threw a departmental party for her. 30-some years of crapping on her coworkers netted her the result of leaving with no one really caring.
Worker 2 retired after decades of tantrums, outbursts, physical fights, screaming matches, and total and complete incompetence. She fell several weeks ago at her home and broke her wrist in multiple places. She too, did not come back from her medical leave. However, it has been my contention that this person should have been fired decades ago. Between her nasty personality and total incompetence, I just don't understand how she managed to stay employed other than she sucked up to management big time.
Here's my favorite story of these two:
Many years ago, while I was working in the in-patient pharmacy and had several years of conflict with both of these persons, I witnessed the most epic collision two bodies could possibly have. Worker 1 is tall, obese, slow-moving, and unaware of her surroundings. She would not move unless she absolutely had to. And, it was slow movements at best. She has a sleepy hound dog look to her, and would slowly react to any situation. Sloth-like is the best way to describe how she reacts to the world around her. Lazy is the best description of her as a person. Worker 2, however, is a polar opposite: Short, tiny, skeletal, hyper-active, vibrates like a chihuahua on speed, and moves for no apparent reason. She also doesn't look where she's going, doesn't think anyone but her has a right-of-way (her driver's license was FINALLY revoked, thank God!), and charges full-steam ahead with her head down, like a battering-ram.
I was standing in the main part of the pharmacy putting an order away. My friend Kathie was across the room in the IV room filling IV's, there were a few scattered pharmacists standing around and a few other techs. In between the runner bay and the IV room was a very large freezer and a very large refrigerator that were side-by-side and formed a "wall" between the two areas. When it was close to round time, the runner would have to go to the IV room to get injectables for orders, and the IV room person would have to bring the IV's out for the round. As you can imagine, you would have to round the fridge in order to get to the runner bay and vice-versa. Well, worker 2 was charging full-speed ahead with her head down and worker 1 was slowly oozing from the IV side to the runner side, not paying any attention to whom was rounding the corner. Both Kathie and I were talking across the room and happen to be looking at the impeding doom, but worker 2 was moving so fast that we couldn't warn either person.
When the impact happened, it was like a 10-speed bike slamming into, and bouncing off of, a semi-truck! Worker 2 actually ended up on the floor, sprawled out in a confused state and worker 1 was still standing, looking around like a gnat had just buzzed by her. Kathie and I were hooting and hollering so hard we both almost peed our pants, and I yelled out, "it was like a 10-speed bouncing off of a semi!" To which worker 1 took great offense, and worker 2 was still on the ground, shaking her head and wondering what the hell just happened.
This is one of my favorite memories of working in-patient. Mainly because it was flippin' hilarious and because it was the epitome of how these two workers were so destructive to the morale of the pharmacy. Worker 2 got up and started yelling at worker 1 for running into her. It was quite clear that worker 1 moves so slowly that she has never run into anything in her life. Worker 2 is so oblivious to her surroundings that she runs into everything and then blames the world around her for being in her way. Neither understand that there is even a world that exists without them. I will not miss either, and have since found a new appreciation for my work now that I'm alone in my room with no bony elbows to elbow me in the runner bay or slow moving sloths to fall asleep while at lunch and have to be woken up to come back to work. Yes, both of these things happened multiple times. Worker 2's elbows could slice you open if you weren't careful, and we used to take bets as to how long worker 1 would sleep during her "lunch."
However, worker 1 is no longer in my work space and I don't miss her at all. I was asked by a pharmacist to go to a retirement party for worker 1 because, "there aren't that many Columbia people left and the Milwaukee people don't want to go." Well, this Columbia person didn't go, either. There is no way I could go, and play nice when she (and worker 2) were two of the three people I left the in-house pharmacy for. Even though I have found with time and absence of their presences, I could tolerate them for five minutes of idle chatter, I could not bring myself to the level of hypocrisy I would need to wish them happy retirement and go to a party for them.
Our world is in a constant state of change. Unfortunately, those changes don't always happen when we want them to. As I mentioned, these two were the biggest reasons I left the in-house pharmacy and pursued the path that I'm currently on. I often wonder what would have happened had I not left? How miserable would I have been? How happy? Would it have boiled over into some kind of HR intervention? These two were toxic to a dept, yet management never did anything about them. Maybe things worked out the way they should have. In any case, both are out of my life and, for that, I am extremely grateful.
Worker 1 is the person I was most recently sharing a work space with. She went out on medical leave last October and never came back. Well, she came back for one day and then put her retirement papers in the next day. The powers that be decided I could do her job, and mine, so she was called back to the main hospital to work second shift when she was finally forced back to work in May. Yes, she really did stretch a six week medical leave for eight months. It's no wonder no one threw a departmental party for her. 30-some years of crapping on her coworkers netted her the result of leaving with no one really caring.
Worker 2 retired after decades of tantrums, outbursts, physical fights, screaming matches, and total and complete incompetence. She fell several weeks ago at her home and broke her wrist in multiple places. She too, did not come back from her medical leave. However, it has been my contention that this person should have been fired decades ago. Between her nasty personality and total incompetence, I just don't understand how she managed to stay employed other than she sucked up to management big time.
Here's my favorite story of these two:
Many years ago, while I was working in the in-patient pharmacy and had several years of conflict with both of these persons, I witnessed the most epic collision two bodies could possibly have. Worker 1 is tall, obese, slow-moving, and unaware of her surroundings. She would not move unless she absolutely had to. And, it was slow movements at best. She has a sleepy hound dog look to her, and would slowly react to any situation. Sloth-like is the best way to describe how she reacts to the world around her. Lazy is the best description of her as a person. Worker 2, however, is a polar opposite: Short, tiny, skeletal, hyper-active, vibrates like a chihuahua on speed, and moves for no apparent reason. She also doesn't look where she's going, doesn't think anyone but her has a right-of-way (her driver's license was FINALLY revoked, thank God!), and charges full-steam ahead with her head down, like a battering-ram.
I was standing in the main part of the pharmacy putting an order away. My friend Kathie was across the room in the IV room filling IV's, there were a few scattered pharmacists standing around and a few other techs. In between the runner bay and the IV room was a very large freezer and a very large refrigerator that were side-by-side and formed a "wall" between the two areas. When it was close to round time, the runner would have to go to the IV room to get injectables for orders, and the IV room person would have to bring the IV's out for the round. As you can imagine, you would have to round the fridge in order to get to the runner bay and vice-versa. Well, worker 2 was charging full-speed ahead with her head down and worker 1 was slowly oozing from the IV side to the runner side, not paying any attention to whom was rounding the corner. Both Kathie and I were talking across the room and happen to be looking at the impeding doom, but worker 2 was moving so fast that we couldn't warn either person.
When the impact happened, it was like a 10-speed bike slamming into, and bouncing off of, a semi-truck! Worker 2 actually ended up on the floor, sprawled out in a confused state and worker 1 was still standing, looking around like a gnat had just buzzed by her. Kathie and I were hooting and hollering so hard we both almost peed our pants, and I yelled out, "it was like a 10-speed bouncing off of a semi!" To which worker 1 took great offense, and worker 2 was still on the ground, shaking her head and wondering what the hell just happened.
This is one of my favorite memories of working in-patient. Mainly because it was flippin' hilarious and because it was the epitome of how these two workers were so destructive to the morale of the pharmacy. Worker 2 got up and started yelling at worker 1 for running into her. It was quite clear that worker 1 moves so slowly that she has never run into anything in her life. Worker 2 is so oblivious to her surroundings that she runs into everything and then blames the world around her for being in her way. Neither understand that there is even a world that exists without them. I will not miss either, and have since found a new appreciation for my work now that I'm alone in my room with no bony elbows to elbow me in the runner bay or slow moving sloths to fall asleep while at lunch and have to be woken up to come back to work. Yes, both of these things happened multiple times. Worker 2's elbows could slice you open if you weren't careful, and we used to take bets as to how long worker 1 would sleep during her "lunch."
However, worker 1 is no longer in my work space and I don't miss her at all. I was asked by a pharmacist to go to a retirement party for worker 1 because, "there aren't that many Columbia people left and the Milwaukee people don't want to go." Well, this Columbia person didn't go, either. There is no way I could go, and play nice when she (and worker 2) were two of the three people I left the in-house pharmacy for. Even though I have found with time and absence of their presences, I could tolerate them for five minutes of idle chatter, I could not bring myself to the level of hypocrisy I would need to wish them happy retirement and go to a party for them.
Our world is in a constant state of change. Unfortunately, those changes don't always happen when we want them to. As I mentioned, these two were the biggest reasons I left the in-house pharmacy and pursued the path that I'm currently on. I often wonder what would have happened had I not left? How miserable would I have been? How happy? Would it have boiled over into some kind of HR intervention? These two were toxic to a dept, yet management never did anything about them. Maybe things worked out the way they should have. In any case, both are out of my life and, for that, I am extremely grateful.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
It's Summer!
It is June 1st, and the local weatherman tells me it is the start of meteorological summer. My husband has adopted this as the start of summer, but I'm more of a traditionalist and think that summer will start on June 21st. Like most normal people will think. Or, maybe it is just my need to put off summer as long as possible. I don't like summer. I never have. The only thing, as a kid, I found useful for summer was the lack of school. And that was destroyed in the 5th grade when my mother decided it was time for band lessons. Which lasted most of the summer.
My mom insisted that my sister and I play musical instruments, and being the poor family we were, hand-me-down instruments. My sister took to the clarinet easily and has some talent in both playing and understanding what makes music. When my turn came, five years later, my mother assumed I would play the clarinet, too. Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I have a stubborn streak that occasionally rears its ugly head and will not be dissuaded no matter how hard someone tries. I did not want to be like my sister, so there was NO WAY on God's green Earth I was going to play anything with a reed. I chose the flute.
I have no real talent in music. I like to listen to it and that's about as far as it goes. But my mother was as stubborn as me (hmmm, guess I'm sensing a trend) and there was no way I was going to get out of middle and high school without years of band under my belt. In the 5th grade, the West Bend School District starts to recruit students for the middle and high school bands. My teacher, Mr. Ratzer, was an old fashion German oompa polka-loving man who scared us with his gruff German accent, barely understandable English, and his top-of-the-lungs yelling in German when things weren't going right. The summer before I transferred to Badger Middle School in West Bend (1978), my mother signed me up for band, and took me to the meeting where we were paired up with an instrument just like Harry Potter was assigned a school. Only Mr. Ratzer was our sorting hat. He kind of looked like the sorting hat, come to think about it...
As my turn came up, Mr. Ratzer assessed me up and down, grabbed my hand, turned it over and pronounced, "clarinet!" I'm sure my mother told him what to say. I looked at him and said, "no. I don't want to play the clarinet." You could have heard the gasps, a pin, and the collective shock across the whole gym. NO ONE talks back to Mr. Ratzer. He had huge glasses that magnified his eyes, which he now set in to me like lasers. He pursed his lips and said, "Vat do you vant to play?" "The flute." He took my hands again, turned them over and said, "you vingers are to short, no good flute." I refused to budge. Flute or nothing. My mother tried her usual anger tactic, which made me sullen, but I refused. She sighed, said ok, and then said to the band people, "Will you take payments?" It never occurred to me that we didn't have the money to buy a flute, yet we had a crappy second hand clarinet that was free. We had two actually, and to this day I'm not sure where she got them. My sister has both now, as I still have my flute, but it must have been a hardship for my parents because I'm sure it wasn't cheap.
And the summer of flute lessons began. I really am not kidding when I say I have no talent in music at all. I never completely understood how to read music. I learned by repetitive playing. My band teachers were increasingly frustrated with my level of playing. I was just good enough to be in Symphonic band in high school, only because the motivation was strong to be with my friends. I did ok in groups, but solo work was horrifying. I took up the piccolo, which I loved for pep band, but if I had to play in Symphonic, I was terrible. I lettered several times over in band, did very well in the Solo & Ensemble contests, went to State in 1984 with the flute choir, and have many medals from duets and trios with my two flute friends, Amy and Karen. They both had talent, and Karen was our 1st chair for three years. We three played the piccolo and flute our sophomore through senior years.
While I feel I had no real talent, I still could play. I just wasn't that good. However, the social aspect of band taught me more about life than playing an instrument, and for that I thank my mother for her insistence in making me play an instrument. As an adult, I feel bad about acting the way I did because I know that they did not have the money for a flute, even if it was a used one. I know it was over $100 and back in 1978 that meant something. But, I have two friends that I'm still in contact with today, and I had some really fun times with the group. We even have our own color picture in the 1984 West Bend East/West High School yearbook. A color photo.
Yeah, it's a pic of a pic, but I'm sure the negative of this is long gone. No digital cameras back then. I'm the one in black behind Amy, and Karen is next to me. Gabby, in green, was more Amy's friend and was younger than us. We played in all the pep games for both football and basketball, did the parades, the outings, pretty much everything band. Yes, we were band geeks. But as I look back on the whole experience now, I'm glad my mother was insistent we play an instrument. Little did she know, however, that for me it would end up being a social element and not really about the music. I just didn't have the talent, but I understood that where my friends were, I would be. And while I will still hate the heat and humidity of summer, I will always look back on our summer outings and hang-outs as the best parts of my adolescent life.
My mom insisted that my sister and I play musical instruments, and being the poor family we were, hand-me-down instruments. My sister took to the clarinet easily and has some talent in both playing and understanding what makes music. When my turn came, five years later, my mother assumed I would play the clarinet, too. Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I have a stubborn streak that occasionally rears its ugly head and will not be dissuaded no matter how hard someone tries. I did not want to be like my sister, so there was NO WAY on God's green Earth I was going to play anything with a reed. I chose the flute.
I have no real talent in music. I like to listen to it and that's about as far as it goes. But my mother was as stubborn as me (hmmm, guess I'm sensing a trend) and there was no way I was going to get out of middle and high school without years of band under my belt. In the 5th grade, the West Bend School District starts to recruit students for the middle and high school bands. My teacher, Mr. Ratzer, was an old fashion German oompa polka-loving man who scared us with his gruff German accent, barely understandable English, and his top-of-the-lungs yelling in German when things weren't going right. The summer before I transferred to Badger Middle School in West Bend (1978), my mother signed me up for band, and took me to the meeting where we were paired up with an instrument just like Harry Potter was assigned a school. Only Mr. Ratzer was our sorting hat. He kind of looked like the sorting hat, come to think about it...
As my turn came up, Mr. Ratzer assessed me up and down, grabbed my hand, turned it over and pronounced, "clarinet!" I'm sure my mother told him what to say. I looked at him and said, "no. I don't want to play the clarinet." You could have heard the gasps, a pin, and the collective shock across the whole gym. NO ONE talks back to Mr. Ratzer. He had huge glasses that magnified his eyes, which he now set in to me like lasers. He pursed his lips and said, "Vat do you vant to play?" "The flute." He took my hands again, turned them over and said, "you vingers are to short, no good flute." I refused to budge. Flute or nothing. My mother tried her usual anger tactic, which made me sullen, but I refused. She sighed, said ok, and then said to the band people, "Will you take payments?" It never occurred to me that we didn't have the money to buy a flute, yet we had a crappy second hand clarinet that was free. We had two actually, and to this day I'm not sure where she got them. My sister has both now, as I still have my flute, but it must have been a hardship for my parents because I'm sure it wasn't cheap.
And the summer of flute lessons began. I really am not kidding when I say I have no talent in music at all. I never completely understood how to read music. I learned by repetitive playing. My band teachers were increasingly frustrated with my level of playing. I was just good enough to be in Symphonic band in high school, only because the motivation was strong to be with my friends. I did ok in groups, but solo work was horrifying. I took up the piccolo, which I loved for pep band, but if I had to play in Symphonic, I was terrible. I lettered several times over in band, did very well in the Solo & Ensemble contests, went to State in 1984 with the flute choir, and have many medals from duets and trios with my two flute friends, Amy and Karen. They both had talent, and Karen was our 1st chair for three years. We three played the piccolo and flute our sophomore through senior years.
While I feel I had no real talent, I still could play. I just wasn't that good. However, the social aspect of band taught me more about life than playing an instrument, and for that I thank my mother for her insistence in making me play an instrument. As an adult, I feel bad about acting the way I did because I know that they did not have the money for a flute, even if it was a used one. I know it was over $100 and back in 1978 that meant something. But, I have two friends that I'm still in contact with today, and I had some really fun times with the group. We even have our own color picture in the 1984 West Bend East/West High School yearbook. A color photo.
Yeah, it's a pic of a pic, but I'm sure the negative of this is long gone. No digital cameras back then. I'm the one in black behind Amy, and Karen is next to me. Gabby, in green, was more Amy's friend and was younger than us. We played in all the pep games for both football and basketball, did the parades, the outings, pretty much everything band. Yes, we were band geeks. But as I look back on the whole experience now, I'm glad my mother was insistent we play an instrument. Little did she know, however, that for me it would end up being a social element and not really about the music. I just didn't have the talent, but I understood that where my friends were, I would be. And while I will still hate the heat and humidity of summer, I will always look back on our summer outings and hang-outs as the best parts of my adolescent life.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Procrastination
I'm never sure why as the semesters roll on by, I feel the need to write a blog when I have the most homework due or test to study for. I suspect it is an avoidance issue, but all it does is make me more crazy because I've just lost an hour I could have used for studying. And, I just posted one not more than a week ago. Oh, well. I don't think anyone reads these anymore, so I guess it's just for me to purge and be done with my ranting and complaining. Hmm, maybe that's why no one reads these anymore...
I will finish my one credit internship this week. Which is good because I want to be done with that anyway. As a non-traditional student, I understand why they make the younglings go through internships, but for me it was a bit of a waste. I certainly know how to conduct myself in a work environment, I can supervised myself quite well, and I don't really need the contact. I don't think I will be pursuing a writing job anyway, so it's a bit of a lost class to me. However, it is interesting to see other places and find out what is out there. I applied to Kalmbach Publishing for my summer internship (I still need two credits), and I'm hoping they will find something for me on the jewelry end of the publishing line. Hopefully, I'll find out this week.
As I close in to the last two weeks of Document Design, I've been thinking about the class and teacher evaluation a lot. I'm trying desperately to separate my frustration and anger from the reality of the class and teacher. I have a one page diatribe that I really want to attach to the eval form, but I keep revising it so it isn't a rant and something helpful instead. As much as I'd love to just rant, ultimately that isn't helpful and will cause everyone to just throw it away. There are many things that need to change with this class, starting with why it is mandatory for English majors. It is a graphics arts class, plain and simple. If you have an English major who is going to go into publishing, maybe tell them it is available should they wish to take for an elective. It would have been more helpful to teach us the depths of Word, Excel, and Access for our business lives. As much as UWM thinks it is doing everyone a favor by using Apple and Adobe, all they are really doing is being elitist and short-sighted, and by default not really giving their students a fair chance at all.
As to the teacher. I just don't know. I really wanted to like this guy and learn from him, but he is too interested in being the smartest person in the room. I can't quite put my finger on why he treats the class the way he does, or expects students to teach themselves as much of the material as we had too. I certainly understand that in college, you do teach yourself quite a bit of the material. However, in a class such as this, there isn't a background to pull your base knowledge from. It was very much like learning a foreign language, but without the benefit of being taught the grammar rules or even the translations. We were up to our eye balls in four textbooks FULL of jargon about InDesign, printing, typography, and the art of visual language. Swimming in an ocean of printed words and trying to pick out what we thought the professor wanted us to learn.
When I compare this with Spanish, I realize now how important it was that Professor Kendall spent as much time as he did explaining over and over the rules of the language. Document Design actually made me realize how much I did learn in Spanish, and how little I learned with the DD teacher. I will never use InDesign again. But I find myself reading Spanish here and there and trying to remember all the rules. I can see and hear Prof. Kendall trying so hard to get points across. And, when we didn't get it, he would switch to English to make sure that we did. He taught the language. He made me care enough that I wanted to not just pass his class, but to do so with excellence. Professor Graham pointed to the books, told us to teach ourselves, and went back to checking his phone for whatever updates he was getting. And for that I paid tuition, tax dollars, and mental health.
I just hope that over the summer I regain my motivation and love of learning. DD just about put me on the "I'm dropping out" path again. And, there were parts to it that were helpful, but I'm not really sure I learned as much as I could have, and again, why I had to learn about 300 pages of typography. This class can easily be an elective. Instead, it is required. There are no substitutions, only one offering a year, and only one teacher who teaches it. When I think of what should be the core class of this degree (professional/technical writing) graphic arts is not what comes to mind. I'm pretty sure I will pass the class, probably with a B if I had to guess as this point. I don't know what I got on my last test and our major project (35%) of the grade is not due yet. But I have a B+ or maybe even an A- at this point, so it should be ok. I just can't, I just can't take this class again. And with that, I need to work on the major project, get a fantastic grade, and leave this class in the rear-view mirror. And that, my friends, is non-traditional student winning.
I will finish my one credit internship this week. Which is good because I want to be done with that anyway. As a non-traditional student, I understand why they make the younglings go through internships, but for me it was a bit of a waste. I certainly know how to conduct myself in a work environment, I can supervised myself quite well, and I don't really need the contact. I don't think I will be pursuing a writing job anyway, so it's a bit of a lost class to me. However, it is interesting to see other places and find out what is out there. I applied to Kalmbach Publishing for my summer internship (I still need two credits), and I'm hoping they will find something for me on the jewelry end of the publishing line. Hopefully, I'll find out this week.
As I close in to the last two weeks of Document Design, I've been thinking about the class and teacher evaluation a lot. I'm trying desperately to separate my frustration and anger from the reality of the class and teacher. I have a one page diatribe that I really want to attach to the eval form, but I keep revising it so it isn't a rant and something helpful instead. As much as I'd love to just rant, ultimately that isn't helpful and will cause everyone to just throw it away. There are many things that need to change with this class, starting with why it is mandatory for English majors. It is a graphics arts class, plain and simple. If you have an English major who is going to go into publishing, maybe tell them it is available should they wish to take for an elective. It would have been more helpful to teach us the depths of Word, Excel, and Access for our business lives. As much as UWM thinks it is doing everyone a favor by using Apple and Adobe, all they are really doing is being elitist and short-sighted, and by default not really giving their students a fair chance at all.
As to the teacher. I just don't know. I really wanted to like this guy and learn from him, but he is too interested in being the smartest person in the room. I can't quite put my finger on why he treats the class the way he does, or expects students to teach themselves as much of the material as we had too. I certainly understand that in college, you do teach yourself quite a bit of the material. However, in a class such as this, there isn't a background to pull your base knowledge from. It was very much like learning a foreign language, but without the benefit of being taught the grammar rules or even the translations. We were up to our eye balls in four textbooks FULL of jargon about InDesign, printing, typography, and the art of visual language. Swimming in an ocean of printed words and trying to pick out what we thought the professor wanted us to learn.
When I compare this with Spanish, I realize now how important it was that Professor Kendall spent as much time as he did explaining over and over the rules of the language. Document Design actually made me realize how much I did learn in Spanish, and how little I learned with the DD teacher. I will never use InDesign again. But I find myself reading Spanish here and there and trying to remember all the rules. I can see and hear Prof. Kendall trying so hard to get points across. And, when we didn't get it, he would switch to English to make sure that we did. He taught the language. He made me care enough that I wanted to not just pass his class, but to do so with excellence. Professor Graham pointed to the books, told us to teach ourselves, and went back to checking his phone for whatever updates he was getting. And for that I paid tuition, tax dollars, and mental health.
I just hope that over the summer I regain my motivation and love of learning. DD just about put me on the "I'm dropping out" path again. And, there were parts to it that were helpful, but I'm not really sure I learned as much as I could have, and again, why I had to learn about 300 pages of typography. This class can easily be an elective. Instead, it is required. There are no substitutions, only one offering a year, and only one teacher who teaches it. When I think of what should be the core class of this degree (professional/technical writing) graphic arts is not what comes to mind. I'm pretty sure I will pass the class, probably with a B if I had to guess as this point. I don't know what I got on my last test and our major project (35%) of the grade is not due yet. But I have a B+ or maybe even an A- at this point, so it should be ok. I just can't, I just can't take this class again. And with that, I need to work on the major project, get a fantastic grade, and leave this class in the rear-view mirror. And that, my friends, is non-traditional student winning.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Expectations and disappointments
Yesterday, I went to Sheboygan to drop off the volunteer poster I had made in Eng 439 to my Eng 449 internship's Director. I'm not going to name the place, but anyone who knows me will know the placement I'm talking about. This semester, I was signed up to do a one credit placement, which is about five hours or less per week. He was happy with the poster, and delighted to have something for recruitment fairs. In the course of talking with him, however, this sentence came from him: "yeah, she didn't really work out, either." The context of the sentence is this. I had asked him if he would be interested in keeping me on for the summer, at a two credit level. That would have been five to 10 hours a week. He declined, saying he wasn't sure he had enough work, and that he wasn't sure he'd take on another intern. I asked about a project that he had wanted written at the beginning of the semester, and he stated that the other intern working on the research found some good research, but not enough for the study. Then, he made that comment.
I asked him what he meant by that, the word "either." He looked a bit shocked that I had picked up on that, and he said that he thought if he ever did this again, he'd make sure the intern came to the office once a week to "rub shoulders." Now, I offered to the point of almost being obnoxious about meeting once a week at the beginning just because of this very situation. He INSISTED that we didn't need to do that, this could all be done online, and that there was no need for me to come up to Sheboygan once a week. I told him repeatedly that I didn't mind doing that, it was part of the class, and I usually run to Sheboygan for errands anyway. But, nope, he said it wasn't necessary.
Well, apparently I am a disappointment. This is what I did in the way of projects: I wrote a goal and background statement for an Economic Impact Study. I combined, revised, reformatted, and made a table of contents for their Employee Handbook. I made two, large-format posters (22"x28") on recruitment, and I wrote the rough drafts of two grants. For the last project for them I will design two flyers, a postcard sized hand-out, and a door hanger for advertisement of their retail store. Through this whole semester, never did they say, "we want more, or we want it this way..." I had to pester them at times for things to do, and did most of the suggestions when they weren't sure what they needed done. But, I'm the disappointment.
His disappointment with the other intern (English is not her first language, so research was almost non-existent) is spilling over to me. I'm irritated at that because I worked my ass off this semester to include this internship in with my other two classes. I'm not used to being a disappointment to people because if I'm going to agree to something, I give it my all. I don't do stuff "half-way". If I don't want to do something, I will tell you. Now I know it could be said I didn't want to do the internship or document design, but in knowing I need these classes for graduation, I still gave both of them my full commitment, attention, and my "best." But, that makes me a disappointment. I'm not sure why he didn't have the guts to change the assignments and have me do the research. I'm guessing that if one of your interns is not doing what they are supposed to do, there needs to be a change.
So, I'm looking for placement for the summer. That will be two credits, and I need to find a place that will let me do a few hours after work for a couple of days per week, or one day on the weekend. Anyone need an English intern?
I asked him what he meant by that, the word "either." He looked a bit shocked that I had picked up on that, and he said that he thought if he ever did this again, he'd make sure the intern came to the office once a week to "rub shoulders." Now, I offered to the point of almost being obnoxious about meeting once a week at the beginning just because of this very situation. He INSISTED that we didn't need to do that, this could all be done online, and that there was no need for me to come up to Sheboygan once a week. I told him repeatedly that I didn't mind doing that, it was part of the class, and I usually run to Sheboygan for errands anyway. But, nope, he said it wasn't necessary.
Well, apparently I am a disappointment. This is what I did in the way of projects: I wrote a goal and background statement for an Economic Impact Study. I combined, revised, reformatted, and made a table of contents for their Employee Handbook. I made two, large-format posters (22"x28") on recruitment, and I wrote the rough drafts of two grants. For the last project for them I will design two flyers, a postcard sized hand-out, and a door hanger for advertisement of their retail store. Through this whole semester, never did they say, "we want more, or we want it this way..." I had to pester them at times for things to do, and did most of the suggestions when they weren't sure what they needed done. But, I'm the disappointment.
His disappointment with the other intern (English is not her first language, so research was almost non-existent) is spilling over to me. I'm irritated at that because I worked my ass off this semester to include this internship in with my other two classes. I'm not used to being a disappointment to people because if I'm going to agree to something, I give it my all. I don't do stuff "half-way". If I don't want to do something, I will tell you. Now I know it could be said I didn't want to do the internship or document design, but in knowing I need these classes for graduation, I still gave both of them my full commitment, attention, and my "best." But, that makes me a disappointment. I'm not sure why he didn't have the guts to change the assignments and have me do the research. I'm guessing that if one of your interns is not doing what they are supposed to do, there needs to be a change.
So, I'm looking for placement for the summer. That will be two credits, and I need to find a place that will let me do a few hours after work for a couple of days per week, or one day on the weekend. Anyone need an English intern?
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
KMG-365
When I was a kid in the 70’s, my favorite TV show was
Emergency. Every Saturday night, I’d
settle in with my parents and for the next hour be transfixed by the fire
department, and more importantly, the hospital.
It was then that I realized I wanted to work in a hospital. I didn’t know what, I assumed nursing,
because who wouldn’t want to be Dixie?
She was bossing those doctors around like nobody’s business. For some reason, I didn’t dream about being a
paramedic. I just wanted to be in the
hospital.
Fast forward many years and here I am. Working in a hospital. Even though my path ended up being in
pharmacy, and not nursing, I’m not sad by that. I was originally accepted at UW Madison for the nursing program,
but events beyond my control steered me in a path more local than distant. I went to UW Washington County, and we all
know how that turned out. Looking back
on it now, I’m glad I didn’t become a nurse.
I have grown more squeamish over vomiting and cutting into the
body. I’m ok with blood, that doesn’t
bother me in the least. So in a way,
there was a reason why I didn’t pursue the nursing path. I’m very happy with the pharmacy path, and if
I do have a regret, it’s that I didn’t become a pharmacist. I enjoy being a pharmacy technician
and I especially like to compound medications.
I love it. Like people love
cooking. If I was a pharmacist, I
wouldn’t really do that type of work. I
guess what I’m saying is that I’ve found what I want to do and I’m already
doing it.
I have been able to watch some reruns of Emergency in the
past few months, and as an adult, I realize this was quite the breakthrough
show for the 1970’s. It dealt with drug
use, domestic abuse, inter-racial relations, the importance of learning CPR, and
the premise of the show, paramedics in the field. There were only a handful of paramedics
across the country when this show premiered and ran for several years. It single-handedly brought to the forefront
the importance and dire need for early intervention in emergency medical care. It’s also neat, and a little sad to see, all
the businesses that have either gone by the wayside, closed, or merged into
other companies. And the vehicles. It’s definitely a walk down memory lane. But one thing that hasn’t changed and is
still universal: coffee.
As I walked to the coffee maker this morning at 6:20am,
this thought popped into my head. They
were always getting a cup of coffee on that show. Everyone.
They even had a pot at the nurse’s station that Johnny and Roy were
always getting a cup, taking one sip, and then getting a call. They dropped those cups down and took
off. We never see who cleans up after
them, but I’m guessing it wasn’t Dixie.
Same with the doctors. One sip,
and off they go. There was even a brief
segment in which Dr. Early comments to Dr. Brackett that over the course of the
day, he figures he gets one full cup of coffee in multiple sips. A new cup each time. Who is doing the dishes?
It is said that a business runs on its people. If that’s true, then the people run on
coffee. Or maybe caffeine in
general. All I know is that without my
two cups in the morning, it’s a pretty miserable start. On my days off, or when I’m not at work I
don’t really need it, but then again I don’t get up at 4am on my days off. Yeah, no one told me that working in a
hospital means there is no concept of time.
I think in military time, not “real people” time, and there are no
holidays or weekends. And even though I
have spent the last several years in college, I now know that I probably won’t
pursue a job in writing. I will stay in
pharmacy, probably where I’m at now, and be happy that I finished college, and
happy that I have a job I enjoy and actually kind of like. Not the billing part, no, but the pharmacy
part. I can see myself going back to the
in-house department full-time if the combo job I’m currently doing
changes.
I’m not sure there are that many people that can say
that, and I’ve even had a few say to me that I probably could have figured that
out without going to college. Somehow
the equating of college with a job instead of personal knowledge and
satisfaction in accomplishing something is not “worthy” to these people. They are also the ones that seek no knowledge
unless they have to. They don’t learn
for the sheer pleasure at learning something, anything.
I cannot see myself in any other field than the medical
field. I know that now. I knew this as a kid, forgot it somewhere
along the line, and realized it again by watching reruns of a 70’s TV
show. In a year, I’ll be done with school,
glad for it, and more secure in my place in life. It may have taken me seven years to get
through school at part-time, but I learned more than book smarts. I learned that liking and even loving a job
is just as important to learn and understand as getting an A in my classes and
finishing what I start or started. I may
have been able to figure that out eventually, but I really credit going to
school and facing a career change to bring the thought to the forefront of my
thinking and realization before I left the medical field and realized I had
made a mistake. I belong here. I’ve always known that and, God-willing, I
will retire from here. Just let me get a
cup of coffee before I go.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Possessed ceilings and other paint questions?
I decided to paint the bedroom while on spring break this year. I've painted the interior of my house and I'm not some newbie that doesn't have a clue. However, after three days of dealing with my ceiling and the awful streaking, I've come to accept Kathie's explanation: "it's possessed." WTH ceiling? It's not like you are abused. There's no smoking, no water stains, no kids with crayons, no holes, no real problem other than needing a fresh coat of paint. We are also getting a new bed, which prompted the whole paint the bedroom fiasco.
I have put TWO GALLONS of paint on a ceiling for a 12 foot by 15 foot room. TWO GALLONS. It's not a heavily textured ceiling, normal drywall that has been primed and painted already. Yes, I know it is a dry time of year and I expected to use a bit more paint that normal, but TWO GALLONS??! Today I'm going to the local home despot to buy a different brand of paint with the primer in for the ceiling. If this doesn't work, I am going to call it an artistic choice and be done with it. I don't know what else to do with it.
I'm scared to start the walls. I have the no prep/no prime, primer already in the paint for the walls, but at this point, I'm ready to just live with the way they are. Heck, we've had them this way for some time now, so why mess with success? Heck, maybe that will be an artistic choice, too.
I had really hoped that spring break would prove a satisfying experience of getting something done without the hassle of what my life has become. School is just unbearably frustrating and turning into such a time suckage that my home life is also starting to suffer. I am irritated all the time and am having a hard time just relaxing. I have lost the "I want to be in school and learn things" feeling that even at my worst in Spanish class I never lost. I still, at the bottom of my heart, knew I wanted to be there. But this? Deep, deep breath. I'm so close to being done. I just have to find something to focus on, hunker down, and hope I make it through this with my family, friends, and dignity intact.
I had thought that a successful home project would restore me to a happier level. At least I hope the new mattress will because my back is killing me from the old one. There are eight weeks left in this semester. Eight weeks. Eight weeks. Deep breath, and I can get through this. I am tired of having to say that, though. It seems like I've been saying that a lot. And, on top of all of this, is that is could be worse. Deep breath. Deep breath.
I have put TWO GALLONS of paint on a ceiling for a 12 foot by 15 foot room. TWO GALLONS. It's not a heavily textured ceiling, normal drywall that has been primed and painted already. Yes, I know it is a dry time of year and I expected to use a bit more paint that normal, but TWO GALLONS??! Today I'm going to the local home despot to buy a different brand of paint with the primer in for the ceiling. If this doesn't work, I am going to call it an artistic choice and be done with it. I don't know what else to do with it.
I'm scared to start the walls. I have the no prep/no prime, primer already in the paint for the walls, but at this point, I'm ready to just live with the way they are. Heck, we've had them this way for some time now, so why mess with success? Heck, maybe that will be an artistic choice, too.
I had really hoped that spring break would prove a satisfying experience of getting something done without the hassle of what my life has become. School is just unbearably frustrating and turning into such a time suckage that my home life is also starting to suffer. I am irritated all the time and am having a hard time just relaxing. I have lost the "I want to be in school and learn things" feeling that even at my worst in Spanish class I never lost. I still, at the bottom of my heart, knew I wanted to be there. But this? Deep, deep breath. I'm so close to being done. I just have to find something to focus on, hunker down, and hope I make it through this with my family, friends, and dignity intact.
I had thought that a successful home project would restore me to a happier level. At least I hope the new mattress will because my back is killing me from the old one. There are eight weeks left in this semester. Eight weeks. Eight weeks. Deep breath, and I can get through this. I am tired of having to say that, though. It seems like I've been saying that a lot. And, on top of all of this, is that is could be worse. Deep breath. Deep breath.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)