Teller’s Toes

Teller had (a little over a year ago now) moved on from all that Cascadia nonsense. He had paid attention to: those dreams, the Morse code in his head, his common sense, his failing health, and, most of all, his Higher Self. After expending most all his available life energy to escape that soul-sucking spot on the globe, he finally found another little college and a new life…in a land that millions called “golden.”

Teller had been here in this garden of the rich and beautiful for awhile now, and he often found himself wondering if his existence was now going to be forever defined by these new environs: a place known far and wide for its wealthy residents, outrageous real-estate prices, and seductive proximity to The City. A rather strange place, this: with a small town look-and-feel; self-obsessed; hosting a populace preoccupied with their hugely-inflated senses of privilege and entitlement.

For Teller, the past was past. With the unhealthiness of Cascadia behind him, a semblance of personal well-being had returned. Some robust color was actually, at times, evident in his cheeks…with little evidence remaining of that sickly, ashen hue he had once frequently exhibited.

His life had changed immensely, though, and he missed his home state, his adopted family: almost everything (and everybody) that was comfortable and familiar. And, in the week leading up to today, the day he would mark as the beginning of his sixty-second year, he had been having some rather disturbing thoughts. He had had a history of troubled times in August, in the days surrounding the anniversary of his birth, and this year was somewhat reminiscent of earlier periods.

Just last night, for example, after sleeping for a couple of hours, he awoke. For some reason he was acutely aware of his left foot…the body part that had, for over three years now, been afflicted with peripheral neuropathy. But, tonight, something felt uncomfortably, markedly different. It was about midnight, and he turned on the bedroom lamp to examine his foot.

Teller gasped. With a sharp intake of breath that led to profound dizziness, he saw that he had a really serious problem. For, now, he had just four toes — as the little one had apparently fallen off. The remaining digits were all as black as charcoal. They looked like shaved pieces of charcoal. His big toe was missing the nail, and appeared as if it had been whittled (or, perhaps, chewed) to a point; it was now only about half as long as the second toe. The second toe was twisted at a ninety-degree angle and oozing some kind of greenish, purplish, pussy-looking substance. Toes three and four were merely black and bleeding — from what looked like a series of long, razor-made cuts.

In shock, Teller slowly glanced at his other foot. It seemed mostly normal, but the toes had a distinct grayish cast, as if, perhaps, they were making their way toward the charcoal-like character of the left foot. They were definitely more tingly than they usually were.

His hands. He wondered. He looked. Yes, his fingers, all of them, were numb and turning color as well.

He stumbled into the bathroom, dragging his left foot, leaving a bloody, pussy trail on the carpet, and turned on the light. And immediately noticed his eyes. The circles under them were nothing short of a death look. Truly. How could anyone with this appearance still be alive?

This time his gasp turned into a SCREAM, not caring if the neighbors were awakened…and, at that point, Teller, himself, woke up.

Sweating. Scared. Relieved: this was just a dream!

Teller spent the rest of the night blessedly dream-free. But when he got up early to watch the sunrise on his birthday, it was with an enhanced sense of age and aging. Questions about what he had made of his life predominated. Mostly, Teller’s thoughts turned to those he had loved, and those who had loved him.

Teller, though he had loved, and loved dearly and deeply, was mostly a loner, and found himself, again on this birthday, still alone. And lonely: afflicted with a presumably chronic, and life-long, state of solitude. Not a condition as serious, or as ugly, as those blackened, decaying extremities, but a state of being that overwhelmed him just the same.

He reflected on his dream of bodily decomposition. A body that was living, but not quite all alive. Teller meditated on his desire to share body and soul with the soulmate he still believes is out there. Somewhere.

Teller embarked on his the rest of his birthday day asking himself, still: where do I fit? With whom do I fit? Will I ever fit?

Soundtrack Suggestion

night time slows, raindrops splash rainbows
perhaps someone you know, could sparkle and shine
as daydreams slide to colour from shadow
picture the moonglow, that dazzles my eyes
and i love you…

(“Pure” – Lightning Seeds)

A Sobering Thought

It hasn’t exactly been the blink-of-an-eye, but, as of today, August 13, it has been a quarter of a century of sobriety for me. Read the full story here.

Snippets from a Life

I am here at the UCLA campus early on a Sunday morning. Conference registration starts at 9:00 a.m., but it’s just now 8:00 and I’ve already eaten breakfast and am ready to go. I dig my camera out of my backpack and decide to go for a walk. About three blocks from my residence hall, I discover an athletic field filled with young women attending a cheerleading camp. I keep a respectful distance yet take a couple of shots. I climb the bleachers to get a different angle. A person with the group comes up to the top to talk to me…to ask me what I’m doing. “Just taking pictures,” I reply. He indicates that that is not allowed here, and could I please leave? Which, of course, I do.

I’m sitting on a bench at a local park here in Marin. Reading. Getting a few minutes of sunshine. I’m wearing khaki-colored shorts and a grey t-shirt that says “Oregon State University” in big letters. A man and a woman slowly go by while walking their dog, giving me just a little glance. They finally get past me, but the gentlemen eventually turns around and asks, “are you an old Beaver?” I sigh and reply, “yes, I’m an old Beaver.” Then, stealing a Michael Douglas line from The American President, I add, “but I’m not all that comfortable with the old part.”

I’m sitting at a table outside a neighborhood Starbucks. Again: reading. The same novel (Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk) as before, as a matter of fact. I have on the table beside me: a cup of tea (hot tea), a partially-eaten toffee-almond cookie (a newly-discovered weakness), a couple of napkins, and my cell phone. A woman and her (big) dog walk by. (I think it’s a Golden Lab.) She’s blabbering away on her cell phone. The leash is very loose, and the dog wanders over to me. I start to pet him/her and it jumps up on my lap. Then, right away, it’s on the table (front legs only) and gobbles down my cookie. The cup of tea goes flying and I try to catch it. I do, and spill hot liquid all over my right arm and cell phone. The woman sees what’s happening and gives a firm tug on the leash. While I start to mop up, she and the dog walk away. She’s still talking on her phone.

Go Bruins

Royce Hall, University of California Los Angeles

I have opinions. Lots of them. And, as you are aware, I’m rather critical of some things now and then. You know, like the last entry where I complained about the utter senselessness of the workshop (seminar? training? conference? er…none of the above…) I attended last week. And, on these pages, I have shared negative views about such topics as our misguided U. S. foreign policy, rude cell phone users, loud neighbors, dysfunctional organizations, and inept health-care providers. Yes folks, with TechnoMonk, it’s whine, whine, whine. All the time. Or so it seems.

When will I have something positive to say?

Well, perhaps, today.

Because, other than the event I went to Los Angeles for, the actual campus experience wasn’t all that bad. Wonder of wonders, I have nothing but praises to sing for the UCLA staff and students I met.

The SuperShuttle van dropped me off right outside the residence hall main door, and when I approached the desk to announce that I was there to check in, I was greeted with a big smile by a delightful (and totally lovely) undergraduate female student who gave me every indication that I was the most important person in her world right then. She patiently checked me in, gave me a lot of the information I’d need to have to navigate the residence-hall world I was about to enter and, when I became confused with the (rather involved) directions to my room, offered to escort me through the maze this first time. And she did just that. When I expressed to her my reservations about how I would even endure a residence-hall stay, fearing that I would be the oldest in the building, even among those in my own group, she assured me that they try to keep everybody happy, and expressed genuine (it seemed) skepticism that I was the most senior. (Oh, she was sweet.)

The room, course, did not match the Hilton. But, as long as it stayed quiet, my first impression was that it just might be OK. (Also: there are private bathrooms in residence halls these days…thank god.) As I was settling in, I had difficulty connecting to their wireless network. And while there was an Ethernet connection in the room, guests were responsible for furnishing their own cable. I didn’t have one, and the office that sold them was closed (I arrived on a Saturday night). Sarah, the residence hall manager, loaned me the sole extra cable that she had.

Sarah. What a dedicated and talented one she is. She coach me through my initial wireless network issues, loaned me that cable (for my entire stay), took care of my room immediately when the air conditioner sprang a leak, and was just generally available anytime I asked for her. (I believe I was one of the more needy guests that week…maybe any week. She handled me superbly.)

Next up were the staff at the Covel Business Center (CBC) on campus. The technical issues I ended up having with my network connections (both wired and wireless) for my laptop were considerable. Within an hour of when the CBC folks helped me figure out the details of finally making my network connections “functional,” (not really), my computer started crashing. (This was during my second day on campus.) Some of you may be familiar with the ol’ Blue Screen of Death that can scare the bejesus out of Windows users. That’s what started happening to me whenever I was connected to the UCLA network. I had one long conversation over the phone with a CBC technician and then more personal help when I walked my machine over there for them to look at. We could not replicate the problem in the presence of a technician (of course!), but he was totally focused on my problem, and even offered to keep my machine for awhile to run a series of diagnostics on it to try and figure out the problem. I didn’t want to leave my machine there for an entire day, but the offer was very thoughtful (and unexpected). I ended up going to the Westwood Starbucks for a reliable internet connection, having determined that whenever my machine was not connected to the campus network, it was happy and well-behaved. CBC also helped me get my course materials shipped back home (as their sheer bulk made it impossible to pack them in my luggage or carry on board).

On Tuesday afternoon we had some time off. It was a warm and sunny afternoon in LA, and I took the opportunity to walk around campus with my camera. First off, I was soooo impressed with the beauty of this place. I had not visited here since 1981, and then only for a short part of one day (Bid Day group pictures for the Tri Delts, as I recall.) I had forgotten what a great-looking place this was. It made me wish I was back working on a university campus. Maybe even this one.

Although this was a “quiet” summer day, there was a lot of activity going on. There were several signs around announcing orientation activities, and I discovered several groups of new freshmen undergoing this formal introduction to their lives as college students. One group, in particular, was on the lawn down the hill from the library, and I eavesdropped for a few minutes. There were two group leaders (upperclassmen, I’m assuming) who were both incredible. They were great speakers and displayed considerable expertise and knowledge about the UCLA general-education requirements – patiently fielding questions from group members. I was in particular awe of the depth of one of the group-leader’s abilities in this area.

Finally, there were several, maybe dozens, of campus tour groups. Undergraduate guides were leading prospective students (and parents) all over the place. Again, I was totally impressed with their professionalism, the depth of their knowledge of the campus, and their ability to focus their remarks in order to start the initial indoctrination process about what it is to “be a Bruin.” One young-lady tour guide I stopped to listen in on was explaining to the group the fierce nature of the UCLA – USC (“University of Second Choice,” “University of Spoiled Children”) rivalry, and the practice of freshmen students being “baptized” (my term) at the Inverted Fountain (where we were at the time). She told the story much as it is related on the website of the UCLA History Project. She indicated that, “during orientation, freshmen are commonly ‘initiated’ by being told to wade in or touch the water, and then forewarned that doing so again before graduation will tack on an extra quarter to their academic career.”

She was an engaging speaker, enthusiastic, and a true Bruin-believer. She made sure that the group knew: “once a Bruin, always a Bruin.”

I was ready to enroll. Where do I sign up?!

At any rate, the UCLA campus experience was a delightful one. I was well-treated, totally taken care of, and very impressed by the professionalism, enthusiasm, and customer-service orientation of both students and staff.

Thanks, UCLA!

Death by PowerPoint

Here I am in another city, in yet one more Starbucks. As I begin this entry (and, now, finish it off), I’m in the Westwood neighborhood of Los Angeles, right near the UCLA campus.

Why am I here in LaLa Land? Well, to participate in a training session for a select group of California Community College administrators. This event began on Sunday morning and goes until Thursday (tomorrow) afternoon. It is long (endless, actually) and very intense.

And, yesterday, just for a little extra local flavor, we were treated to a 5.4 earthquake. The campus building I was in swayed for several seconds. Great state, this California. During the quake, I quickly started packing up my computer. The guy sitting next to me (a native Californian) calmly pulled his laptop out of his backpack and called up the USGS site to find out the magnitude.

But, I digress.

Regarding this training: leave it to a bunch of educators to come up with an educational experience that absolutely ignores everything we know, or think we do, about teaching and learning.

We have 72 participants, coming from all around the state, and we all are confined to one large classroom here at the UCLA Conference Center, all day, every day. Our “training” consists of one mind-numbing PowerPoint presentation after another. (I call it Slow, Painful Death by PowerPoint.) It would seem that the organizers of this event actually believe that total information saturation leads to learning. So far, this has been, more or less, one massive data dump … which has left me dazed, confused, aghast … and, mostly, just plain fatigued.

What are these people thinking?!

Some of our presenters have been more interesting than others, of course. A couple of them have even been rather insightful and/or entertaining. However, the philosophy of the program seems to be to throw as much minute detail at the group as possible: and to call that “education.”

We’re all staying in the dorms here at UCLA. What fun. The days start at 8:00 a.m. with a half-hour set aside for small groups (we’re divided up into twelve groups of six for that half-hour) to report out on our “ah-ha moments” from the day before. Mostly, all we can come up with are simple regurgitations of small pieces of information presented the preceding day. (During which time other participants tend to ignore the speaker and talk amongst themselves. Very adult.)

Actually, what else is there can we do (other than mere summaries)? When information is coming at you (us) a zillion miles an hour, there is no time for processing or reflection. Where is the opportunity for learning, assimilation or an “ah-ha”?

HA!

And, then, to compound this weirdness, there is the expectation that each participant will complete a “scrapbook page” about our experience. We have construction paper and colored pens and other kindergarten-type tools to assist us with this project. What the heck is this about?!

I have some questions for my curriculum-developing colleagues. What ever happened to our focus on learning? Where did our attention to process (not just content) go? How about group discussion and collaboration? (Even though some presenters have attempted to engage everyone, a “small-group discussion” or a meaningful “dialogue” is just not gonna happen with 72 students in the room.) What about this experience could possibly foster critical thinking? And, dear ones, what happened to student learning outcomes (SLOs)?

As you may or may not be aware, SLOs are a huge deal in the community college world (as accrediting bodies are increasingly insisting we have clearly defined outcomes to shoot for at the course, program and institutional levels). In terms of course outcomes, we are obligated to explicitly state what students will come away with: what they will know or be able to do as a result of a particular classroom experience.

Learning outcomes were apparently completely ignored in the development of this training. Totally and utterly. And, honest to god, I don’t know what the goals or objectives are, either. We never even used that kind of language in terms of defining what it is we’re doing here. We have paid our money, shown up, and been put in a dark room for several hours a day while they perform a data dump.

I say again: this ain’t education.

And, if I had it to do it all over again, believe me: I’d pass.