Wednesday, August 29, 2007

The DunSTIR Defined

I'm back to fulfill my obligation to this blog, though I'm oh-so-busy these days with my fiduciary interests; I'll soon be out-earning The Professor.

I actually adore the word DunSTIR because it's so precise and explains perfectly the kind of student I have often observed in The Professor's classes. Each syllable, a word in itself, offers a facet to this student's personality. "Dun," of course, refers to a type of behavior in which a person (often a bill collector) incessantly dogs another person for a specific purpose. "STIR" refers to mixing things up, always in a very distracting manner.

As you may have surmised, the DunSTIR is the exact opposite of the DUHster; where DUHster is passive, clueless, and droopy, the DunSTIR is noisy, scheming, and sucks all the energy out of a room. She (and DunSTIR is usually a female, though not always) is like a persistent insect that buzzes around your head and refuses to go away, and you can't swat her because she's one buzz ahead of you.

DunSTIR comes to class with an entourage, usually her sorority sisters, who all wear the same satin jacket (think "The Pink Ladies" in Grease), a set of quintuplets in a unified block who sit in the middle left of the classroom. DunSTIR stands out only because she's loud and effusive and sometimes answers her cellphone in class. The other four feed off DunSTIR, and class time is spent in various stages of girl talk and giggling.

The other students just roll their eyes; if The Professor fails to head off the annoying behavior early in the semester, she will hear about it through various pleading e-mails. Her department chair will also get an earful. The other students despise DunSTIR anyway, because she represents everything putrid about high school, the kind of nightmare memories of snooty cliques sending us into expensive long-term psychotherapy.

DunSTIR has an exaggerated sense of self worth; in her mind, the syllabus and due dates do not pertain to her. When The Professor reminds her that she doesn't enjoy special dispensation from her class responsibilities, she assumes a petulant little girl persona. If that doesn't work (and it never does), DunSTIR offers an odd sort of logic: the extra-curricular argument--as if it were understood that DunSTIR's main occupation in college is to raise pom-pom money for The Cheerleaders and Drill Team; she's thoroughly shocked and surprised that The Professor isn't buying into any of it.

DunSTIR will then resort to threats, such as, "My Daddy's a big-name lawyer, and he'll sue you and the college if you don't extend my paper deadline another five weeks."

Once the DunSTIR understands that The Professor has assumed the role of an unmoving block of resistance, DunSTIR sinks into a fuming funk--for about a week--before beginning yet another campaign of asserting the Selfish Self. Meanwhile, in class she mutters snide remarks, just loud enough for The Professor to hear. In other words, she does everything in her power to distract The Professor from her goal of teaching 35 freshmen.

Sometimes, The Professor will stop the class and suggest that Miss DunSTIR might want to take her taut posterior elsewhere.

DunSTIR may end up dropping the class, but if she remains, she may, for a time, settle down and start acting like a young adult college student--that is, until the last month or so, when the call of the social reasserts its siren song, and DunSTIR starts blowing off her work again.

With nothing to lose, DunSTIR cranks up her onslaught of begging, whining, wheedling, threatening, and crying. She, more than anyone else, sends The Professor into end-of-the-semester hiding.

In the end, DunSTIR loses the battle and receives the grade she, no dummy, has actually earned, usually a "C."

A male DunSTIR is less social, his campaign tending to be a solitary effort, but he is almost as annoying as his female counterpart, although he usually disappears mid-semester--much to The Professor's relief.

The Cunster, The DUHster, and The DunSTIR are the kind of students that keep The Professor's medicine cabinet well-stocked in stomach and headache medicine.

In fact, The Professor is now out and about, shopping for giant bottles of various over-the-counter remedies.

Best,

Ms. Snark

2007-2008: A Shiny New Academic Year


The Professor has met all of her classes and is happy to report that the campus looks spiffy and fresh and that the new faces appear younger every year.
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So far, she has not identified any potential trouble spots, at least not yet. But it's still early.
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The Professor's inner-cynic runs deep.
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We have officially entered The Honeymoon Period, where, on both sides of the classroom, hopes run high and excitement is palpable. This is a great time to establish yourself as the serious student you may be (or pretend to be--from your standpoint, it doesn't matter, at least for now). Two weeks from now, it will be too late, for you will already be categorized as a type (more about this later) and, in your prof's mind, placed firmly into a stereotypical slot. Even if you later change your modus operandi, it will be difficult to change your professor's view of you.
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Don't believe your profs if they give the yadda, yadda, yadda speech about how everyone is created equally and, thus, will be treated the same.
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Bullocks! Absolutely and categorically untrue. The Professor has stopped giving out that nonsensical carp.
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The good news: for the most part, you control how your profs see you--of course you can't do much if you happen to look like the prof's late wicked Auntie Witch from Oz or if he/she harbors a secret prejudice against your ethnic group and/or gender. Sooner or later, you will encounter an icky prof who allows his/her own personal biases permeate the classroom.
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But all other things being equal, you, to your profs, are a roomful of blank sheets. Often, on that first day, you will hear your prof say, "Today, in my mind, you are all 'B' students and will remain so until you give me a reason to change my mind, one way or another." That, to a certain extent, is true, because professors carry certain assumptions, based on admissions data, about incoming freshmen.
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So here is The Professor's tip for the day: after the first or even second or third class, stop to chat with your new professor; most profs will feel flattered. Introduce yourself and say something positive about that day's class and how you look forward to Trig (even though you're a History major and Trig is just another hoop). Let the Professor know some of your interests, and, perhaps, some of your future plans.
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By investing 5-10 minutes after class, you have planted a seed in your prof's head that, perhaps, you are an "A" student. You have just paved the way to a smoother semester because you have drawn your professor to your side.
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And you're no longer a blank sheet. One of The Professor's greatest fears is not being able to match faces with names, especially late in the semester.
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Caveats: Never announce that you are an "A" student. The Professor cultivates an inner imp who will spend the rest of the semester trying to debunk your assertion.
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Also, don't hang around too long after class. Your professor may have another class or engagement; if she/he seems rushed (gathering books, papers, etc), don't take it personally, and just make a graceful exit with a polite "goodbye."
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Your five minutes will still help set the positive tone for you; it doesn't take long to schmooze.
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Until next time!
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The Professor

Monday, August 20, 2007

The Meaning of DUHster


On June 24, the Professor explained the meaning of her semi-coined word Cunster; now as colleges and universities all over the country open their ivied doors, The Professor would like to introduce you to a charming new word as it pertains to the witless and clueless.

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DUHster

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Is no coined word scared? It seems as though some young upstart had the audacity to sign up as "Duhster" on MySpace. He may want to reconsider...Never mind. He shall never own the dot-com, though, I'm sure, the dot-net, dot-org etc., etc., may be available.

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Ms. Snark was supposed to define this term for you, but she is off working on another project and cannot be bothered posting here, at least for the time being.
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Sigh.

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"DUHster" should be fairly fairly self-explanatory, but it is extremely important that the first three letters be capitalized and, thus, emphasized; otherwise it will sound like "duster," a mere cleaning implement.

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(You will be tested on this later.)

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DUHster pertains to a very annoying kind of student, usually a young man, though this is not a hard-fast rule; occasionally, young women will fall into this category. However, DUHster women seem to be less obvious about their clueless state, quite possibly directing their stupid questions to their peers instead of The Professor, thus saving themselves significant grief.
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Yes, Malcolm, there IS such a thing as a stupid question, and DUHsters seem to specialize in them. Your Professors will assure you that no question is a stupid question, but once the Faculty Lounge Door slams shut, your professors will slap their foreheads and twitter among themselves; if you don't want to be a hot topic among the frumpy and the tenured, you might want to engage in some judicious self-censoring and get cracking on reading that syllabus you have been ignoring since the first day of class.
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By the way, the most stupid question of all time (and one that you must NEVER ask your professors, even if you have to bite or swallow your tongue):
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"Did we do anything important in class?"
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If The Professor has to explain why your professors bristle at this question, then you are truly hopeless and probably should refrain from attending college, perhaps, even from inflicting yourself on the workforce: just go into hibernation until you hit 30.
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However, if an explanation is necessary, The Professor refers to poet Tom Wayman, who answers a variation of The Stupid Question in his poem "Did I Miss Anything":
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Question frequently asked by
students after missing a class
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Nothing. When we realized you weren't here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours
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Before stepping into to Literature 101, get to know the definitions and variations of academic humor and satire.
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Back to the DUHster. He is often a very pleasant soul, never overtly disruptive, but he lives in a perpetual fog; he never seems to know what assignments are due, let alone when.
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Five seconds after The Professor has lectured on a fine point, given instructions for an in-class exercise, or explained an assignment, the DUHster raises his hand and asks, "What's the assignment?"
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He's like an echo in The Professor's head:
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The Professor
"Exam 2 will emphasize the sea imagery in 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.'"
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(Five seconds later, DUHster's hand goes up)
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"Yes, DUHster?"
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DUHster
"Will we be responsible for 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock'?"
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The Professor never fails to be shocked.
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Often, he does not even show up for the exam. If he does, he is totally clueless that there IS an exam, and, of course, hasn't studied for it (even though he sat through last class as The Professor went over the exam material and instructions).
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Best case scenario: he forgets the one item his professor has required him to bring: a writing instrument. He wastes precious time asking his peers for a pen or pencil (he evens asks The Professor, who, at this point, would rather send him home to his mommy Marge back in Springfield.)
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He is perpetually disorganized, leaving behind a trail of papers, pencils, books, even money and wallets.
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The Professor has become his personal Lost & Found Department, often returning various vital items, such as his dorm room key. "Oh, yeah," he'll say, yawning, his eyelids drooping and his voice flat. "I wondering where they got to." Then in an even flatter voice, he reveals that for the past week he has been accessing his room by climbing through his second-story window.
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In closing, the DUHster makes The Professor very tired; she wonders how he ever made through his childhood without being smothered by his parents.
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And then she thanks some higher power that her responsibility for him ends after 16 weeks, but then realizes that the cycle never really seems to end: another DUHster will soon be signing up for next semester's Whatever 101 class.
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Sigh.
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The Professor

Sunday, August 5, 2007

The Syllabus: Getting Ready for the Semester

As you prepare for your Big Campus Adventure, packing up all that computer and iPhone technology and other creature comforts, The Professor is busy slapping together her syllabus for and getting it online for students who are not likely to read it--ever.

That is an exaggeration, of course; some will read it and then jump online and transfer out of The Professor's class.

Not really; The Professor's classes fill okay, and most young people will remain, though some eventually wished they hadn't.

The syllabus, an interesting college document requiring on your part a careful deconstruction, is, in many ways, a vital key to your college life. You must pay special attention to your syllabi; to ignore them could send you spiraling home and dropping out of college, possibly within the first five weeks (a time of great peril for college freshmen).

The Syllabus is not a cookie cutter document; each prof has his/her unique style, but they all seem to have one characteristic in common: a very loud bark and a stern tone, the shalt nots the must dos.

Be careful here; while most profs eventually back off a bit, many do not, and you will not know who is likely to be the pussycat or the panther, not until you are well into the semester, though you might find some tidbits on Rate My Professors.

The Professor is going to give you a quick overview of the likely syllabi you will encounter during your first week:

1. The non-syllabus. This prof will blow it off, insisting that his policies and assignments will become clear as the semester progresses and that the syllabus will be forthcoming. Right! The only clear avenue for you: DITCH THIS CLASS and find a prof who distributes a syllabus. Leaving your first class without a syllabus or a link to one indicates that the prof is an arrogant so-and-so tenured professor who cares little about your class.

2. The one- or two-page syllabus. This document will offer you the bare minimum, so be prepared to ask lots of questions. The basic information will be in this document, but it may be missing point counts and percentages. It may also be deceptively easy; a short syllabus does not necessarily mean an easy class. The jury is out on this prof; some profs simply approach life in a terse manner.

3. The four- to ten-page syllabus. This document will probably contain most of what you need and shows that the prof has put some thought into the course. A well-prepared prof will help you navigate the course better. You'll probably be okay with this prof.

4. The Legal Book. This prof tends to go overboard and spells out everything. He/she attempts to cover every contingency: objectives, methods, grading protocols and policies, policies on plagiarism, behavior, writing competency, etc. This syllabus will be difficult to circumvent, so read carefully. In this document, the prof works hard at covering his/her a**, so you had better pay close attention to this one.

Actually, it is in your best interest to read all your syllabi with a discerning eye; make sure you understand every due and test date and every assignment direction, and if something is not clear, ask questions. If you feel intimidated, e-mail your prof (in a respectful, formal manner, of course).

Worst case scenario if you fail to read the syllabus: you could inadvertently miss a test or assignment, and The Professor must tell you: "I forgot" has to be one of the lamest excuses ever, and you will be pegged as a "DUHster" (Ms. Snark will define this word later, though you probably already have the right idea).

Best case scenario if you fail to read the syllabus: You will look like a complete doofus if you raise your hand in class and ask a question that has been clearly covered in the syllabus; your peers will have you pegged as a complete moron who wastes class time on stupid questions (yes, Malcolm, contrary to popular belief, there are stupid questions), and your prof will roll her eyes and sigh wearily.

Not good. You will be wanting to cultivate that positive mask for class time and meetings with your prof, not tripping over your silly freshman tongue.

TIP: The Professor admits that she's a sucker for suck ups, even when in her heart she knows that it is high performance and totally insincere.

But that is okay; she understands the academic game.

Until next time,

The Professor.