thoughts on trying to be an academic

Yesterday would have been a lovely day to drive down to Athens (Ohio, that is), yet unfortunately I was stuck at home doing laundry, writing an exam and generally vegging out.  Today is a gray day, and being at work in Zanesville would have prevented me from such a road trip anyway.  I'm thinking about Athens because I was invited (with every other faculty and staff member, I'm nothing special), to a brown-bag meeting of sorts at Alden Library.  The topic was "Using Principles of Design to Rethink Powerpoint," which I figured would be interesting, even if I don't teach long-term.

With today's lovely technology, I was able to watch the talk online.  And inevitably, everything the speaker said made me think in my head, "Yes, but for an art history lecture..."  The presenter is a professor of communications, and he extended his points to other subjects such as biology, business and chemistry, but nothing was mentioned about art history.  If I were brave (and if my computer were equipped with a microphone) perhaps I would have chimed in. 

Some things did make sense for all subjects; such as, using properties of narrative and compare/contrast to tie the information together.  I do that all the time, naturally I think.  Especially when I obliterate the order in which images are printed in the book.  And one rule I go by every week:  if your students could print out your Powerpoint and have all the information without your spoken words, you're doing something wrong. 

However, a lot of things said and presented are the exact opposite of what I do, and I'm hesitant to make those changes.  For example, he mocked the concept of black backgrounds, calling it his "Dark Period."  Now I use black not to be "artsy" but to give a better view of the details and colors in each image.  White just messes it all up.  And I don't have a lot of graphics and charts and captions and text...that's just part and parcel of an art history lecture.  It's all about the image.  Period.  I try to mix things up with video and real artist's tools and supplies, but really, it's all about those slides.  I just don't have the luxury of turning off the projector like I'm sure some other professors do.

I'm not a graphic designer, and neither is the presenter.  He did gave a line that cracked me up, though:  "I'm not an expert in graphic design, but I know enough to be dangerous."  If I were able, I'd be happy to use the Rule of Thirds, etc.  But when my slides are paintings, sculpture and views of architecture, I see no harm in exact centering.  Sometimes I'd like to use different fonts and effects, but that takes away from the art, which is not only a visual aid, but the topic of discussion itself...

I guess art history is really that unique.

autumn

Most consider autumn the season of decline...leaves start to turn and fall, grass browns and temperatures drop.  Yet for me, autumn, this one in particular, is all about a new start.  It's my spring.  Instead of lamenting my under-employment, I will be chronicling the whirlwind that is holding two jobs: one in academia and one in the non-profit sector.  Right up my alley.

Now, I can't exactly blog about the non-profit...if I choose to identify it, I'd have to follow a law that bans me from "proselytizing" or making political statements.  And although I don't consider myself much of an activist, I think I should allow myself the ease of anonymity where that is concerned.  Suffice it to say that it's a brand new chapter in the book of me, a challenge that will hopefully develop my management skills and make me irresistible to future employers.

The temperatures are still summer-like...jeez it was hot Monday during the 9/11 Day of Remembrance service project.  I prefer cool weather when I can wear scarves and cardigans and other layers.  Speaking of scarves,  the least complicated issue of the academic job is whether I should go full Manhattan mode with the wardrobe. It's what pops into my head when I think "art history professor," but then again, I'm teaching in Ohio, and I need to be accessible to the students, not aloof.  I already feel like the bad guy, expecting them to do incredible things like show up for class.  And I'm already on the path of disappointment, heading toward the realization that despite my words and images and best efforts, they won't love art like I do.

When I told the awesome people at the store about the class, they were surprised.  "You have a Masters?"  "Wait, how old are you?"  Seems I can still pass for a teenager in some people's eyes.  Well, gone are the days of shop-girl-dom.  Now my brain is fighting shifting into overdrive to get into this new mode of employment...a mode which requires and invites me to think.  It's what I wanted, but getting what we want can be scary too.  Come on, autumn.  And bring it on, winter.  Except for a lot of snow...a snow day or snow emergency would seriously wreck my course schedule.

shop talk

There are days when I do not get so bitter about working at a department store.  Granted, these days are rare.  And numbered, since I will be embarking on a more idealist-friendly quest to teach art history at a local university branch and wiggle my way back into the non-profit sector.  These are the kinds of things that I find more substantial and beneficial to society than soliciting credit card applications.

Don't get me wrong.  A lot of great people work in department stores.  The kind of people who make anything and everything a fun experience, make you feel welcome, and have a knack for socializing (that's key to customer service, and the reason I sometimes get frustrated with it).  I wanted to rant about somebody who is not one of these fun people, then Sunday happened, and I once again saw the bright side.  Even when comparing notes on dealing with less-than-cooperative customers, the fun people really lighten the retail burden.  Even when I have not suckered any poor souls into an application, they treat me as one of them and even tell a customer "We're lucky to have her."  Now, of course I know that no manager would share their real opinions about an employee to a customer, but I enjoyed the moment (so don't take that from me!)

Now I am trying to squeeze in thinking time for lecture-planning between working hours...I had the hardest time turning my brain off Tuesday night in preparation for a super-early morning.  Then, of course, once the monotonous under-employment commenced, I felt acutely less energized and enthusiastic about the future.  But I have a few good ideas for alternative learning modes.  One is sending the students to local churches to compare what they find with the Italian Baroque.  (I have yet to visit some of these churches myself to even determine if there is anything for them to analyze.)  And I want to assign some sort of internet activity to engage them long-distance in some of the heavy-hitters of the museum world:  the Prado, Musee d'Orsay, even the Vatican.

Before I set anything in stone, though, I need to figure out how to cram four centuries into nine lectures.  Yes, Veterans Day will be cheating me out of my ten-week quarter.  Compared to nasty shoppers, though, this is a good problem.

I'm trying to take the advice of a museum blog on this site, as well as fulfill that idealist nagging inside of me, to branch out beyond the sorts of jobs you find on an employment website.  I'm trying to live spherically, as the phrase from Under the Tuscan Sun goes.  I have grand plans to infiltrate a local gallery, perhaps, and volunteer.  I'd also love to blog about my non-profit work coming up, but I'm unsure whether that is ethical, considering I also use this thing to rant politically, sometimes.  We'll see about that soon.  We'll see if I can be the sort of inspiring and "different" teacher that I have in my mind's eye.  Wish me luck.

formless function follows

I got all excited remembering a Get Fuzzy comic strip that touched upon architecture, yesterday.  I had a copy of it printed out and tacked to the outside of my cubicle in Columbus, where it befuddled many an IT guy.  Confronted with the drawing of a scraggly cat named Stank Lloyd Wrong (LOL, right?), one guy scratched his head and told me he didn't get it.  To which my inner dialogue replied, "Of course you don't."

Now the end to this story is sad...because I can't find that printed copy, and when I found the archives online, it was strangely underwhelming.  I don't like it when things that used to amuse me so much are no longer amusing.  It makes me feel like I've lost something important.

The amusement can only be momentary, I suppose, when it comes from a cartoon cat shouting "Skidmore, Owings and Merrill!"  I thought it was so neat, that a comic about a spoiled cat (my favorite animal) would include architectural tidbits, like an homage to those first quarters at Ohio State.  Like the strip was drawn for me.

I don't think that way about anything, not these days.  Nothing seems particularly symbolic or mystical, like so many things that made me feel I was in the right place at the right time.  I do not feel like I am in the right place.  I do not feel like I belong.  The loss of seeing signs in everything might be good for me (in the sense that I'm officially not delusional), but it takes a little romance out of living.  I guess this is just something else I'll have to "get over."  Is that what my life is about now?  "Getting over" all the disappointment?  I thought that wasn't until I turned at least 40.

Where I am right now, both literally and figuratively, seems to be both the cause and the effect.  I couldn't find fabulous work in the arts, so I moved here.  Now, because I am here, I most likely will not find fabulous work in the arts.

Some guy in New York once asked me, about growing up on a farm, "Are you proud?"  I thought to myself, what a strange question!  Unless I, in my socially awkward glory, have once again failed to follow the conversation carefully enough and I just don't get it...but if memory serves, it was a strange thing to ask.  I answered, "Yeah, I guess."  But if being proud of living on a farm means being satisfied with all the life provides, the answer is no.  If being proud of living on a farm means I have to conform to all the rural stereotypes a New Yorker can dream up, the answer is also no.

Just now I used the same sentence structure (or close to it) as Zimbabwean dictator Robert Mugabe, as quoted in the documentary Mugabe and the White African.  It makes me a little squeamish, but at least I've not been compared to Hitler.

How's that for stream-of-consciousness writing?

profiting from poverty

For all my ideals, I might not be considered "Liberal" on fiscal issues.  Which seems about right to me, since I think I'm a centrist, staring in horrified amazement at the wackos on both sides of the spectrum.

I think it's a step in the right direction to require drug-testing for welfare recipients.  And although we already have social workers who look out for the kids, I'm fairly certain that there are parents out there who don't put their checks to good use...you know, food and school supplies and clothing and such.  I'm reminded of the film Precious, in which the mother, played to disturbing effect by Mo'Nique, tells Precious to "get down to the welfare" instead of continuing her education.  Why shouldn't the government make sure that it's money is being used for good instead of "subsidizing people's addictions."  The problem is...basically every state is in a budget crisis (maybe except for the Dakotas?) and drug-testing could cost millions (according to a labor union).  Not to mention the pesky 4th Amendment, which prohibits search and seizure without probable cause.  Applying for welfare is, as of yet, not probable cause for a drug test.  Read more about the issue in this very informative blog here.  So I say "right direction," knowing that there are people out there who will do anything for a fix and that the government might not be able to do anything about it.

Here's the issue that hits home for me though:  banks have been lacking "confidence" lately, not loaning and guarding their capital like medieval dragons hoarding treasure.  The smallest (and in my opinion, most nefarious) result of the nervous bankers is new fees...and old fees.  I've been hit lately with a low minimum balance fee.  And I was kicked out of the points-earning program.  For not earning enough money.  And is that really my fault?  Many who figure out what I studied and what I want to do with my life would say "yes."  To study the arts and be an idealist is to deserve poverty.  And the fees that come with it.

As I said before, though, I'm a centrist, so I don't think the government should (or, let's be honest, could) step in and stop the fees.  Banks want to make money...and they found a way to do it that relies on widespread unemployment and under-employment.  You gotta keep an eye on those trends.  Yet from the individual perspective, looking at a depressing bank statement, these fees and restrictions seem to say "you are not worthy of holding a bank account."  As a friend of mine said, it's like the banks just want us to bury our cash in a jar.

And maybe that would be best.  I've also started a new part-time job lately, and until Direct Deposit goes into effect (perhaps 2 weeks), I'm supposed to use this strange little debit card.  I have yet to figure out how to use this card without a fee.  There's an ATM fee (three, really, counting international), balance-check fee, heck there's a monthly service charge!  Why can't they just mail me or give me a check?  I can cash that for free (so far) at my fee-loving bank.  My cynicism is whipped into a frenzy solely by the fact that I did not choose to use this card.  I did not elect for this third-party company to profit off my measly paycheck.  Why are they doing this?  Because there are millions of us vulnerable under-employed who need the "convenience" of yet another debit card to use instead of cash.

While we're lamenting the sore lack of money in our accounts, private corporations are seeing nothing but dollar signs.  And that thought ruins my afternoon.

selling oneself, again

While I feel an unfamiliar sense of relief for actually having an interview today, I am a little ambivalent.  Because I know that a job won't solve all my problems.  But it would solve quite a few, if I am hired.  Aside from the need for consistent and meaningful employment, I felt it was a pleasant conversation.  People put a lot of stock in stuffy professionalism, but in my humble and socially awkward opinion, a conversation is preferable to an interrogation.

I did have to answer the strength and weakness question, but I did what I usually do...I was honest.  I wasn't out to "sell" myself in the sense of trumping myself up and making me look better than reality.  Some might say I shot myself in the foot with that.  We'll see.

The best part about this morning was that the two ladies with whom I was conversing really seemed to understand me.  No blank stares a la store manager from yesterday.  One even told me I should be a writer because of how I answered the application questions.  I better be good at it by now...I've been writing a lot of cover letters and such lately.  Maybe I should try to make money blogging!  She said she understood my "heart," which is good.  The job is in a non-profit, working with people.  That's all I'll say so as not to jinx anything.

Honesty and a willingness to help people.  Is that not rare these days?  Or am I falling into the "sell myself" trap and latching on to a trait that I think could be marketable?  I have no idea, not yet...but I do know that helping people whether in the arts, education or another type of service feels a whole lot better than soliciting store credit card applications.  Asking people to add a credit card to their wallet seems like part of the problem, not the solution.  Yes, you save a certain percentage that day--and every month onward, if you really want to buy that often--but many people are concerned about their credit scores, identity theft and the temptation to spend more than you have earned just yet.

I'd rather help than hinder.  Not all customers are jerks who didn't pay attention in math class.  The one extreme example I have is a lady who declined to apply for credit, then got a little annoyed when I continued to converse with her about non-credit things.  It takes a lot of effort for me to talk to people in a comfortable manner...part of me still thinks I'd better keep my mouth shut.  But I thought I might make her day by treating her like a person.  Problem was, she had problems weighing on her mind, and blurted out "I'm homeless if you must know, and my husband is in jail for murder."  I told her she didn't have to tell me that as I handed over her change.  I'm not sorry for speaking to her (it's part of my job) but it was not my intention to make her feel bad about her situation.  She's the sort of person whom I might help in the new job.  Maybe in that context I'd win her over.  But some people do have chips on their shoulder, and I blame society and all its pressures for that.

Yesterday my dad told me I wasn't really part of the workforce.  Because of my liberal arts degree.  He said I "took it the wrong way" but how else should I take it when my father calls my chosen pursuit a "problem"?  He assures me I'll get a museum job when the economy gets better.  So for the moment I need to starve?  I do hope that teaching this fall doesn't disqualify me from the non-profit job...I told them this morning--and I think they feel me on this--that I want to keep at least a toe in the arts.  A whole foot, really.  I refuse to sell my soul.

I'm not a grown-up because I don't have a 401k

Originally I had planned a rant about HGTV, but after talking about it a little, the rant energy kinda fizzled.  It is somewhat relevant to my new train of thought, though.  In the sense that I am also bitter that I am not currently in the market for a vacation home in Costa Rica.

I've been hiding from a lot of social situations lately, all to avoid talking about my life.  I fear that people I know will make something of the fact that I haven't achieved what many other women my age have already got:  marriage, house, children, SUV...retirement plans.  It's one thing for my then-8 year old niece to proclaim that I am not a grown-up because I am not married.  It's another for one of my peers to think that.  And, worst of all, say it.

The problem is, I can't control what people think.  I'm again reminded of a book character.  I know, it's becoming a theme that will probably not yield any good insight, but this is what I do to escape the despair of underemployment.  I read a lot.  In the WoT books, especially early on, Perrin always pondered how people saw him as slow-witted.  He was deliberate, choosing words carefully, not speaking until he thought it through.  Perrin isn't sophisticated, but he turns out to be a hero.

Sometimes I feel like Perrin, not a hero, but judged unfairly because I act differently.  A lady once "caught" me drawing on a chalkboard at Sunday School and whispered to my mother "she's always drawing."  The horror.  Now, I could be misinterpreting, but...should I have been doing something else?  Then there were the teachers concerned about my reticence.  Did they really want me to talk in class?  Say anything without thinking about it?

Maybe half the time, I am deliberately silent, simply because I prefer to think, mull things over and observe instead of blurting things out.  The other half, well, I guess I really have been slow-witted...it's like, the conversation and my inner dialogue have become misaligned.  It can happen at the most inopportune moments, such as speaking another language or trying to discuss something in architecture studio.  Where I lose control is that split second when I decide whether to pause and ask for clarification, or simply shut down.

My biggest disappointment about adulthood is that I still get embarrassed.  It's just no longer about jeans.  I can't tell whether fear of embarrassment leads to a "misalignment" or if it's the other way around.  Being older, I feel I should have some measure of control, like I should be able to prove that I am not unintelligent or incapable or any negative term someone might apply.  But why would I bother trying to prove it?  I can't sway your opinion if you're using a completely different set of criteria.  I say adulthood is a state of mind, you say it's a healthy bottom line.  Your idea of intelligence is always having something to say, well...

On My So-Called Life, Angela mused about having a button she could push to make her stop talking.  Well, I sort of have one of those, and it's overused.  I guess that makes me appear slow-witted.  I myself feel worse when I don't push the button.  But I perceive the judgment of others when I do.  Quiet gives me time to reboot and catch up, if I can.

Isn't it more adult to share a well-thought idea than to spew whatever pops into my head?  Or is quantity really better than quality?

Once again, I'm confronted with the realization that grown-ups aren't who I thought they were.  And this isn't counting the wackos and criminals out there.  I'm talking about average Americans who are just trying to make a living.  We're too often distracted by whomever talks the loudest or has the most provocative factoid.  Take education, or unemployment...do statistics really matter?  This percentage of children might have passed some state test, but did they really learn?  That many thousands of people might have been hired this month, but are they getting good hours and earning good money?  How often do we blurt things out just to have something to say?  I wouldn't mind if CNN went silent for an hour or two just to let things happen and think about them.  That makes me sound weird, doesn't it?