It looks like Ralph Nader isn’t our only third-party alternative…

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!

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.

Vacation is over. The traveling portion of my time away from work entailed six nights in Eugene. And I’ve been back in Marin for four nights now. As a follow-up to my last entry, I can now report that I successfully did find that place of safety and security I was seeking while away, if only for a little while. And the chatter in my mind, well, it quieted down some too. This happened gradually over my time in Oregon, and seemed to have snuck up on me while I was doing, simply, nothing special.

This trip was not about going to an exotic place or seeing wonderful new things. I sought, and found, a blessed zone of comfort and familiarity. Some of the mundane yet meaningful portions of the trip included:

• A monstrous hug from two-year-old Kaleb. (He’s is the younger child of the daughter I never had; C’s second grandchild.) His warm and loving greeting was entirely unexpected, and the gesture tugged fiercely at my heart.
• Lunch with two former colleagues from my time with the Oregon University System, including lots of stories and laughter.
• A hike to the top of Mt. Pisgah on a 90-degree afternoon. This is the most strenuous workout I’ve had in over three years, and I survived it. In great shape.
• A long walk around Corvallis and the Oregon State University campus, including time to sit quietly on a bench at the MU quad.
• Two entire days at the Oregon Country Fair. The photos I took at this year’s event were probably about the best I’ve ever done there. Laura Kemp was, of course, spectacular. And the chat I had with Jill was delightful.
• Revisiting Café Yumm, Café Sienna, the Glenwood Café, and the Dairy Queen on Coburg Road. (Even after a year away, the folks at Café Sienna remembered my “usual.”)
• Going to two movies.
• Shopping without paying California sales tax. (Though I had to UPS a package back to myself before I left Eugene…so I probably paid the tax anyway!)

That’s mostly it. I guess this little essay on “what I did on my summer vacation” is really uninteresting. I suppose I am lucky this will not be graded!

Here I am: on vacation. In Oregon. Haunting my old haunts.

This is a vacation?

Yes, actually, the best one I could think of.

Now, I suppose you’re asking: what in the world makes this a good choice for a getaway (rather than someplace new and, perhaps, slightly-more exotic)?

I’ve been mulling this over, and I think that it’s not only my desire, but my compulsion, to find someplace safe for a few days. Now, that may sound a little strange, given my recent observations about the lack of security and support I enjoyed here before I left the state…but I believe that simple familiarity (and the accompanying feeling of) safety is what it comes down to.

I went to the Oregon Country Fair for a few hours yesterday. And I’ll be there for awhile again tomorrow. I seek out this venue despite the fact that I am not (and never have been) an organizer, vendor, helper, or any kind of active participant of the event. I am not part of the Fair’s insider culture. All that I’ve ever done, off and on over the course of nearly thirty years, is look at the public part of the Fair through my lens and record selected microseconds here and there. During nearly all my visits, I have gone alone; I rarely interact for anyone for more than a few seconds or minutes. I am not known, and no one knows me. (I only rarely even see anyone familiar there.) In terms of the life of the Oregon Country Fair, I’m about as anonymous as anyone possibly can be. Yet, the event is part of my life, and carrying around a camera and wandering these now well-known grounds in rural Veneta, Oregon is part of who I am.

Today, right now, I’m in Corvallis. At the downtown Starbucks. For what it’s worth, amazingly, I see no one else with a laptop.

Yes, Corvallis. The city I lived in from 1970 to 1990. I moved here immediately after my graduation from college…a few weeks after the Kent State tragedy, oh those many years ago. I have lived no where longer than the twenty years I spent here. By the time I left (for graduate school in Indiana), I thought there would never be a place I’d call home other than Corvallis. However, the time I spent in Eugene from 1995 to 2004 was highly significant, and it is that place that I now call “home”…having now lived in Portland, Roseburg and Larkspur since.

While Eugene enjoys that place in my heart, Corvallis is very special, and is particularly effective in providing me a sense of safety and security. Largely, these positive feelings are ones I associate with the Oregon State University campus. During the time I lived here in Corvallis, and also during the years when I lived elsewhere in Oregon, whenever I was feeling confused, lost, depressed, or desperate (and I think I’ve had more than my share of those times), it was to the OSU campus I came.

And when I got here: I walked. I sat. I read. I slept on the couches in the MU lounge. For some reason, here, I was able to just be. Like nowhere else on earth.

So today I went to campus again. I finished off a novel I’ve been reading the last few days. I sat on one of the benches at the edge of the quad. I watched a few young people walk by (on a Saturday in the summer, the campus is very quiet).

I tried to still my mind.

My mind needs stilling because this visit has produced a huge, and unexpected, emotional reaction on my part. For, while I have a good job, and people that support me, in my current place in California, I have a long way to go before I’ll be assimilated there. In fact, I’m not sure that going native will ever happen for me in Marin County. I’m not one of them. And, often, I think that I’m not sure I want to be.

It’s Oregon where I belong. It’s here where I’m home. If there’s anywhere in the universe where I “fit” – with the culture and the geography – this would be the place.

My mind needs to be stilled, needing a respite from this longing…a longing that has only been brought more to the surface by this trip.

I look out the window at downtown Corvallis… preparing, as I finish this, to head back to Eugene. And wonder…about the winding path this is that we call life.

What could possibly be next?

Soundtrack Suggestion

I say high, you say low
You say why, and I say I don't know
Oh, no
You say goodbye and I say hello
Hello, hello
I don't know why you say goodbye
I say hello
Hello, hello
I don't know why you say goodbye
I say hello…

(“Hello Goodbye” – The Beatles)