beancounters

8. Use in a sentence: beeyotchitude

Last night was the last evening of the Land Use course! Maya, Deann and I gave our presentation on West Sacramento. We rocked. There was something in there for everyone. Laughter, tears, a giant plaster horse ... I think the report made us all Better People.

The last ritual of the evening was the course evals. The instructor left us to it, with a few kind parting words about how refreshingly professional she found us grad students, how she enjoyed our writing, etc. Waay too little, too late, lady. I found that filling in dots on a scantron just didn't convey the depth of loathing I had for her instructional style, so I wrote a whole lot on the optional lines. Lest you think I was alone in my beeyotchitude, others stayed behind to write as well. Someone even included a typewritten letter, outlining all the misdemeanors.

And on the ride home, I yelled at nobody, stuff I wish I'd written down. But today? I am the embodiment of serenity. It's over. Aaaaaah.

Group: 1. Project: 0

One group project down, one to go.

Last night's presentation was a success, but I noted in myself again the real need for help with my public speaking. It always happens when I speak that I know what I want to say to the audience - and the tone I want to use to convey it - but once I get up there my confidence wavers wildly. I'll be in the middle of a thought, and I'll look out at the crowd, and I'll think geez, are they even listening to this? And then the sentence I am speaking, which started strongly enough, will taper off and wander away, embarrassed and looking for the exit.

Has anybody here been to Toastmasters? Is it a good organization to join for networking and public speaking experience, or is it a weird skull 'n' bones cult of some sort? The latter would not necessarily be a deterrant, if they were also good at delivering the former, if you know what I mean.

The group project was a prospectus about a state Senate bill. The bill offers a huge sum of funding - a total of $550 million! - to CA school districts that want to start or maintain after school programs. The catch is, the district has to start a community collaborative, made up of private sector people, members of the public, etc. And that collaborative has to write and maintain the program.

Reading the requirement literally, that's a tall order. And expensive, to run collaborative meetings for months or years while designing an after school program. And that's just to qualify for the funding. Staying together long enough to get the program off the ground? Hugely expensive. Who will foot the bill for all the coffee and doughnuts? Who will chain the community people to the table to keep them from dropping out?

Reading the requirement between the lines, sort of, we think any district with an ounce of sense will simply check the box on the app that says "Oh suuure, we have a collaborative," and then simply use their coalition of private-sector members for fund-raising, as before.

So we wrote about what it would take to make such a collaborative work in theory. It was a weird dynamic at work in the presentation. I was trying to throw in lots of caveats, as above, but the sentences I spoke kept wandering away. Meanwhile, the guy in our group had helped to write the bill in the first place, so he was very rah-rah about the need for after school programs.

Afterwards, the prof hinted broadly that such a prospectus might make someone a really good thesis, with the usual cautions and so forth. I assume he was speaking to me; I haven't asked the other two in my group if they're interested in taking this project forward.

Zzzzzzzo what

Maya! It's okay. Ze Frank says you're supposed to get some sleep this week. :-)

Work and more work

It's really getting down to the wire. Last night after Bunny's piano lesson, she and I went to the college to meet one of my group project teams and scarf down some pizza. Happily, Bunny is old enough to walk around the student union bldg by herself, so she was able to escape us and go exploring.

The group project is a prospectus for our collaborative studies course. I've enjoyed the course very much. If you ever need someone to facilitate your community's collaborative, I'm your woman. The course was run by our dept. chair. He doesn't usually teach this course, but he really did the thing justice. I'm sorry this will be my time around with him. But I guess three courses with the same professor is plenty.

I can't say I'll be sorry to leave our land use policy instructor, though. She finally decided that part of our final could be two take-home essays. But to guard against collusion and plagiarism, she is making us include a signed statement at the end of each, saying "As a mature student, I am aware of the University's policies on cheating. I certify this work is my own."

Dan, I think you're right, she must have gotten burned by cheating students some time in her career. Now she's gone way overboard to compensate. I sometimes daydream about the things I'll write on her evaluation.

When BB got home from choir tonight, he and I were talking about the upcoming holidays. He reminded me that he doesn't even want me to worry about ornaments or lights or cooking whatsoever, until after finals. Wasn't that sweet? He hadn't even seen yesterday's intimidating post or anything.

Gotchas and grades

Our Thursday night instructor does not trust her students a dime's worth. Have I already bitched mentioned? We've been with her for about 11 weeks now, but she still astounds me.

Part of our final will be essay questions. We will know these questions a week in advance so we may prepare awesome responses. But we will have to rewrite our essays from scratch during the exam. We may not turn in already-written essays - because she doesn't want work from us that we might have collaborated on with other students.

Please understand, every other prof in this program has simply told us not to collaborate on our take-home exams. So we're basically on the honor system. And believe it or not - we do as we're told. Even if we had written our essays together, I would think it would be obvious to any professor where collaboration had happened by the striking similarities.

Secondly, she announced that, for our final, we will need one or two large-sized blue books. That's fine, but here's the odd part: we must bring them to her a week ahead of time. She will initial and return them to us the evening of the final. This is (of course) so we cannot write out our essay answers (the ones we illegally collaborated on) and pretend like they were freshly-written on the day of the final.

(Imagine me hunched over an already-prepared blue book, shielding it with one arm, pretending to write for about an hour. I'm almost as old as the instructor. I do have some dignity.)

Given this level of paranoia oversight, you won't be surprised that the instructor has utterly balked at one student's request to bring her own laptop, so she can type instead of hand-write her essays. The student can't physically hold a pen for long, but can type. The two of them are locked in an intense e-mail exchange about accommodations right now. It's hard to say how it will all turn out.

Scooped

Talk about economies of scale! Woof!

Last night in policy class, it occurred to one of my classmates and me that the two of us are humor catalysts. Whatever group or panel or cohort we are sitting in, each of us usually manages to lighten the mood with, like, wonk levity.

It does get me into trouble sometimes. Like the time I would not cooperate 'Getting To Yes' with an opposing group, and treated our mock negotiations like I was trying to sell them a used car. I swear, I was only trying to make them laugh. But one woman on the opposing team still barely talks to me after a year.

That's the dark side of humor. I've really grown since then. :-)

Anyhow - providing we behave ourselves that way - we were wondering if we've stumbled on a niche market. What do you think? Get paid to sit in on collaboratives and other government-sponsored meetings, just to break the ice for them?  Professional humor catalysts? 

Putting something off

I hate this. I'm in the throes of a large procrastination jag this week. I can't set my mind to anything more consequential than feeding my Neopets.

The interesting thing (in a remote sort of way - can't spend too much time thinking on it), at first I think I'm putting off doing everything from schoolwork to voting to dishes. But in truth, when a cross-section is cut away and revealed, there's a task at the center that's to blame. I fear that one task; I am putting off doing that one task. And all other work must wait until that task is done, due to some subconscious prioritizing. So then nothing at all gets done.

But exactly which thing am I putting off? I won't tell myself. It's like I'm a kid, and I broke a vase, and now I'm trying to hide it from my parents by stuffing it into a box full of broken toys.

I need to write down everything that's due, and then just charge through the list. Even if this mysterious thing I'm putting off isn't done to perfection, it'll be done, and I can move on.

List after the jump. Be warned. Do not enter!

Partly kidding

How this grad program is driving me crazy, #262:

Bunny came home with a permission slip for me to sign. The district has authorized a survey to be taken at her little elementary school. Students may voluntarily answer questions about the school's multi-purpose building at lunchtime - how fun is it there, how safe, how clean, do they get enough time to eat, are the drug pushers keeping their prices nice and low, whatever whatever, etc.

Now, here's the part I zeroed in on: the survey is being conducted by a grad student in the Education Dept. at Sac State. And the one and only thing I could focus on when I skimmed the permission slip was, damn her, whoever she is - she's thought up a great graduate project and I haven't!

Breathe ... breathe ...

Do not disturb

This new cubicle is configured so that people practically have to walk into it to see if I'm here. This nets me lots of privacy. Lots and lots of privacy. So much so, I sometimes forget other people work here. If it weren't for the phones ringing, I'd feel completely alone here.

I love this cubicle.

Our supervisor's boss came by  this afternoon to bolster the troops - and in the process, he clued me that there are new assignments coming down the pike for the projects I'm working on. For instance, the carpel tunnel syndrome spreadsheet from earlier this week? OK, not a word of appreciation. Whatever. But I'll have to pull stats from the big matrix and make guesses of unusual size as to what the respondents meant when they gave the answers they did. Grandboss says my supervisor will explain more fully.

Tomorrow. Please don't let my supervisor come back until tomorrow. Instructions like this should only be faced with a full night's sleep behind you.

I've been studying for a quiz being given in tonight's land use policy class. Our professor gives a quiz every single week, did I tell you? As if this were 10th grade, and the teacher has to set all kinds of grade bombs to trick us into studying. Facing a weekly quiz changes the way you read. Instead of reading holistically, to get the jist of the policy issue and be ready to discuss the concepts in class, you have to read word for word and memorize things like dates and stats and agency names. Takes longer. Much longer. And guess when all this reading must take place? At night, after work and after parenting.

(BB, that's not a bag on you, I promise. More on my scheduling ability.)

The favour of your reply, pt. 2

I've been trying to imagine what it would be like, if the college did indeed surprise its grad students by automatically awarding diplomas after three years.

Our butler: [Carrying a silver tray] The afternoon post, sir.

BB: Look, sweetheart, an envelope made of beautiful antique paper stock came for you today.

Me: Jolly! Well, I never! Wonder who it's from!

Snick - snick - snick [the genteel sound of me, meticulously opening the envelope with a letter opener]

Me: Oh, look, darling, it's from school! 'Due to your exceptional intelligence and fortitude, and your valour in having endured three years as a part-time student, the University cordially invites you to graduate on May 25, 2007.' Well, isn't that special! Hmm, the 25th of May, though. That's a long way off. Hard to tell ... are we doing anything on that date?

BB: [Chuckling] Oh, let's pencil it in!

Me: You madcap!

[The telephone rings. It is Alexander Gonzalez, President of Sacramento State University.]

Alexander: Pamela! Did you get my invite? Do say you'll show, there's a good fellow!

The favour of a reply

I could always ask Santa for one of these ... because if I do things at my usual pace, I could be there a while.

Tonight I realized that the school doesn't just walk up and offer to let ya to graduate - you have to send in a petition. And get a move on about it, too. Typical Pam, waiting for an engraved invitation to life.

Bad student

I took the day off to work on the policy report that I didn't start on Sunday. It's quiet in the house. The dogs are napping. I'm sitting at my desk now. And we gotcher coffee mug. We gotcher side desk covered in relevant newspaper articles, all printed out and provocatively highlighted. We gotcher flash drive parked in the USB port. We gotcher outline and notes, scribbled yesterday at lunch.

But what's going on here? Am I working? No, I am not. What I am doing is, I am reading all your posts. You're too good to stay away from!

At this rate, I'm going to have to go find the laptop, wrench out the wifi card, and set up in a room far away from an internet cable. It's called cold turkey. Not pretty, but tough measures are called for.

Blogfolk, please stop writing interesting things the rest of this week, so I can get some work done, okay? Next week, you may go back to your scintillating selves. Thank you.

Narrate this, pal

Class last night: We talked about the importance of narratives in the world of policy. How stories stick with you because they are easy ways to understand very complex problems. Sometimes the narratives stick so well that the public remains convinced the story is accurate, despite all-new evidence to the contrary.

What's called for in that case is not to present the new information as a critique (which usually cannot compete with the stickiness of the original story), but to present a counternarrative - a new story that goes further to explain the new facts than the old story could.

I was reminded of Wag the Dog. You remember - shadow playmakers create a war narrative out of whole cloth, in an effort to replace a story that made the president look too dreadful to win a re-election.

Then we presented to the class our "elevator stories". An elevator story is a narrative about anything - a plan, an autobiography, a situation - that has a beginning, middle, and ending, and is appropriate for telling during the course of a normal elevator ride. Mine was on local educational foundations - it was more the length of a taxi ride instead of an elevator, but people liked it.

Takeaway quote from our prof: "All of you should write an elevator story about your thesis."

Hey guy - how about an idea for a thesis first?

Ouch

School's in

I've worked at the mother ship for the last few business days, where it was blackout conditions on the internet. And my weekend at home was too busy for much sitting at the computer. Now I'm trying to work up a post, but I'm too happy playing catch-up.

Boy, were we chatty last night, at the first class of the semester. There are eighteen of us in this elective course; my smallest class so far. Yet we were very loud and talky, with many in-jokes and much booming laughter. I can't think why. Relieved the semester has finally started, maybe. Happy to see our prof again. Or just thrilled to be be wonks together.

Four of my core group are back together for this course, and also the Thursday night class. As an added bonus to the semester, we plan to reformulate the Saturday study sessions. As Ken says, we're getting the band back together. I absolutely will not squeal with glee over this; I am a dignified 40-something policy analyst. .... !!! ....

Dude, hold my soda a sec'

RE: Potato Salad Man - I decided not to go to my supervisor.  That would be admitting defeat, and I'm not ready to do that. Instead, I have redoubled my efforts to convince him that he cannot wait to send me my printer. You know - e-mails, voice mails, flowers, candy, etc. After all, it's possible I pegged him wrong - that he's faithful to me, but bogged down in paperwork.

--><--

Tipping Point, so far, is an excellent book. He meanders a little while getting to his points, but in this case, that's all right - he's a good writer. I like the journey almost better than the destination.

--><--

Tonight, I head for the college. It's time for the annual back to school 'party' with my cohort and my professors. I use the quotes because logistically, the gathering will consist of a bunch of pizza and a cooler of bad-for-you sodas on a picnic table, with all of us sort of standing around, awkwardly eating pizza on paper plates, while holding our soda cans under our elbows. Snork! But on the plus side is, well, you know. The excellent company.

Must ... not ... hyperventilate ...

I must sign up for the fall semester by telephone, eight minutes from now. Not that I'm watching the clock here.

In other news, the department secretary just sent out the Application for Advancement to Candidacy form. People, I am gearing up to graduate in Spring 2007. That's, like, less than a year away.

And then what? What?

Snails and paper trails

I am greatly enjoying this graduate program, but one aspect that continues to frustrate me is how limited they insist on remaining, technologically. The department has many means to communicate and operate in the digital medium, yet they insist on sticking with paper. It's quaint, really, but slow!

For instance, the day one of the take-home final exams was issued, came the inevitable question, "Can we e-mail our test to you?" No, he replied, saying if he received 20 papers, the cost of printing them all out would be prohibitive. We were all thinking to ourselves, why the need to print them out at all? He writes his remarks separately on Word and includes a 1-2 page printout with our returned papers - what's keeping him from e-mailing his remarks and grade to each student? Or handing us the printout in class? All the profs are familiar enough with e-mail, even if they don't like using it.

But we can't yell at them too loudly. These profs come by their distrust honestly. When it comes to web-based technology, the whole college hamstrings itself that way. Try and look up your grades or financial aid info online, 24/7 - whups! Sorry! The automated system is closed, except during banker's hours. I don't know why. Maybe so that, in case of technical trouble, we can spend the rest of the day on the phone, attempting to get through to disinterested student assistants. Which, in turn, will keep them all gainfully employed.

Hmm. Actually, that makes a sort of diabolical sense. I may have stumbled onto a conspiracy.

Anyway, when I turned in my finals, I included a manilla envelope - self-addressed & stamped - with each. The profs looked at me strangely. Hey, if we're going to stay in the paper age, let's go all the way and support the snail mail industry as well.

Ciao bella!

DONE! I'll drive the political environment paper to school this morning, and that, as they say, will be that - at least for the summer.

And just in time. I arrived at the cliffside Italian restaurant in time to find all my blog friends stinking. drunk. and hitting on the waiters. Talk about awkward. What kind of tip do you leave after that? I don't even know the conversion rate. Finally, I wound up throwing down enough for a round of drinks, and I got those people outta there. I mean, I couldn't just leave them. Felt sort of responsible for them, as it was my imagination and all. Maybe they will reimburse me at Blogher in July? But not in lira, hopefully.