Hmmm . . . what’s behind that door?

Ummm . . . is that a chain?

WTF, UC Davis, why is there a weird closet with a bed and a chain in the ladies room?!?

Once again, D’Lana Pearce weighs in on teaching.

My ideal class is as follows: PowerPoints uploaded before class so that I can follow along, podcasts of lectures, no mandatory attendance, no group projects, no class participation, a clear syllabus with all due dates listed in categories, a detailed breakdown of what will be covered in each class, and all assignments prompts posted on the first day of class. In short – I want some of my work done for me.

My favorite professors at UC Davis have all required attendance, group projects in some form, and class participation. None of them have uploaded PowerPoints before class and none of them have done podcasts.

In my opinion, the best professor in my major (Sociology) is the professor that taught me about social problems and is currently teaching me about political sociology. This professor does not teach easy classes. The readings are long, and they are complicated. Many of the topics are graduate level. You will not pass any class they teach if you slack on the readings. Participation is worth enough to change your grade by an entire letter. Most of the class is lecture based with some writing on the chalkboard and the occasional graph on a PowerPoint. You must work for your grade. In theory I should hate it, but I don’t. I first took this professor in Fall 2017 when I was readmitted to UC Davis. I liked them so much that I am currently taking three upper division Sociology classes, which are all writing based, along with a writing internship and a seminar that requires a term paper. I could have avoided this by taking one of my classes with a different professor, but I know that I will learn more with this professor.

The best writing professor I have ever had made me work for my grade (it was a B and I have never worked so hard for a B in my life). The required writings took me out of my comfort zone. Even after I edited them they still found mistakes. To be completely honest, I didn’t even realize how much I had learned until I looked at my first and last papers from that class. Their class made me want to minor in writing. Up until then I absolutely HATED writing. I’ve since then discovered I like the various ways I can express myself through writing.

These two professors are two different people. They teach different topics, they have different backgrounds, and they have different personalities. Their organization is one of their only similarities. Both put everything they expect from their students in the syllabus. There are clear deadlines and expectations. As a student, I have found, there is nothing I appreciate more. The readings they assigned are related to each lecture and the information gathered from those readings helps stimulate class conversation, and learning. The material for the midterm and final is from these readings. Additionally, they are applicable outside of the class.

Both professors have mixed reviews on ratemyprofessor. The negative reviews all say the same thing. They are too hard. They make you work for your grade and there is a lot of work required. College professors that make you work for your grade? Shocking.

I don’t think there is such thing as a perfect educator. I do think that some genuinely care about their students success and those are the ones who leave an impression.

(I asked a graduating UCD student I’m working with, D’Lana Pearce, to write about bad teachers for the blog.)

I love school and I love learning. When I came to college I was excited for all the new material I would learn. This is why I have found it particularly disappointing that *some* of the professors at UC Davis are absolutely awful.

Many of my professors have simply not cared. We, the students, understand this is a research-based university. We get that many of our professors have a bigger passion for research than teaching. Yet these professors are still conducting research at a college. Why bother teaching a class if it is not enjoyable? I have had professors state that they do not care about teaching and that all questions need to go to the TA. I have had professors that are grad students and are better at teaching than the tenured professors who are “experts” on the topic.

When I was a sophomore, I was struggling with anxiety (I still do to this day), and I did horrible on a midterm. My conversation with the math professor went like this:

Me: I did not perform well on the most recent exam and I was wondering if we could schedule a time to meet. I’d like to see what mistakes I’m making so that I can work to improve my grade in this class. I love math and I really want to do well in your class.

Professor: Sure, you can come to office hours.

Me: Unfortunately, I have a class during office hours and attendance is mandatory. Is there any other time that works for you before the next exam?

Professor: My office hours are for students. I’m too busy with my research to open more time. Skip your other class.

Situations like this are common and infuriating. Helping students succeed is not a burden. I know that there are not enough hours in the week for a professor to plan one-on-one meetings with every student, but I clearly needed help and I was trying to be responsible by reaching out and attempting to learn more. It makes me, and many of my peers, wonder why we even chose this school.

Good professors may outnumber poor professors but the discouragement from a professor who simply does not care is not something I can forget.

Papers given: 1

Excellent papers heard: 5

Panelists on my animation panel who seemed genuinely surprised that adult cartoons are not just stupid shows for children (and who thus didn’t seem to understand the rhetorical situation of their own presentation): 2

Friends from grad school seen: 5

Times I’ve gotten to see Vanessa this year: 3

Amazing blueberry steak at Acqua al 2: 1

Unnecessary and dangerous staircases in the airbnb: 2

Times I fell: 1

Places on my body I hit when I fell: 4

Giant dark bruises that are bigger and purple-r every day, so dark I’ve googled “when do I see a doctor about a bruise”: 1

Best crabcakes ever (The Old Ebbitt Grill): 1

Glasses of a dry rose while eating the best crabcake ever: 3

Glasses of dry rose I was charged for after eating the best crabcake ever: 1

Best fried yucca ever (at the same restaurant, on two different nights): 2

Times Melissa, Margaret, and I were called “gentlemen” while having the best fried yucca ever: 11

Adorable Peruvian waiters who took great pleasure in serving us gentlemen the best yucca ever and pisco sours he made himself: 1

Grouper servings: 3!

(for context, average grouper servings per year: sadly, 0)

Barry episodes watched with Melissa: 5

Lesbian bars that wouldn’t let Melissa’s bag in and thus that we didn’t go to: 1

Lesbian bars that didn’t have ridiculous bag rules: 1

Games of knock-off Jenga that I didn’t lose: 1

Monuments visited: 2

Museums visited: 3

Museums visited just for the sake of having a great lunch (bison!), though: 1

Grammar problems I saw in Smith-fucking-sonian museum placards: 4

“Stellar” Sea Cow skeletons observed: 1

By definition, unstellar sea cow skeletons observed: 1

Exhibits that accidentally look like threesomes: 1

Restaurants/bars where we were the only white people: 2

Books the McFarland table at the conference had by me: 1 (of 2)

References to Bill Cosby and Michael Jackson at the National Museum of African American History and Culture that made me uncomfortable: 3

Exhibits that downplayed Clarence Thomas’s assholery: 1

Exhibits of Emmett Till’s coffin, which made me cry: 1

Placards explaining that the turpentine camps of Florida were awful: 1

Discussions in which I had to explain to Margaret that Florbama has so much of the coastline that Alabama probably wants because the Spanish weren’t gonna give up those white sand beaches: 1

Maps at the museum proving my point: 1

Months until Melissa’s baby is born: 1.5

Conferences that Karlissa gets to attend this year: 1

Conferences in our future: many, many more

I’ve spent a great deal of my life trying to avoid migraines in all their forms. A particularly nasty one I can get is a menstrual migraine, signalling the start of my period; it used to ruin 2-3 days of each month.

Once I had insurance (and thus a PCP), we tried a lot of different types of birth control pills, usually with a very low hormone dose to try to have the line between non-period hormone levels and period hormone levels be close (it’s the change in hormone levels that triggers the migraine).

And then a female pharmacist found a solution:

“Why do you keep changing your pills?”

“We’re trying to find one that won’t give me a menstrual migraine.”

“Then why don’t you just take your pills straight through and not have menses?”

And that worked. For years.

For many glorious years.

Several months ago, however, I started having menstrual migraines and some bleeding.

I thought it might be menopause, even though I’m young.

(Why not? My body breaks in all the other ways despite my youth.)

I made a note to bring it up to my PCP and decided to embrace it, if that’s what it was. Naturally, I embrace things by bringing them up to the cats all the time.

“Graymalkin! Stop scratching the couch! I have menopause!”

My PCP, though, said I was too young for menopause and that I probably had a uterine fibroid instead.

A vaginal ultrasound* showed a fibroid.

Mystery solved, I thought.

I was then referred to a gynecologist; I hadn’t had one because I make my poor PCP do the annual exams.

She said a) the fibroid wasn’t causing my migraines and b) I had to change my birth control pill because of my stroke risk.

I let her have her way with the pill change, but I told her I wanted one that would keep me migraine-free.

She said that wouldn’t be an issue, because she was sure I hadn’t been having menstrual migraines again anyway.

???

She said I was having regular migraines that happened to coincide with breakthrough bleeding.

“Except menstrual migraines feel different from regular ones,” I said.

I started the new pill several months ago. My boobs hurt now. All the time.

And once a month, I’ve had a menstrual migraine, followed by bleeding that lasts for several days.

Having established a pretty clear pattern, I emailed my gyno.

Don’t worry, everyone. She said I’m not having periods. I’m just having breakthrough bleeding at regular intervals and coincidental migraines.

“How do I stop the migraines and bleeding that so effectively mimics menstrual migraines and menstruation?”

She said I could try an implant, but that I would definitely have breakthrough-bleeding-that-is-totally-not-a-period.

So I’m waiting it out, hoping that my body will get used to this new medicine. Menstrual migraines used to be my most controlled pain.

I know menopause can be awful, but I look forward to a time when I can at least know for certain what’s going on.

*For those who don’t know, they have to stick an ultrasound wand in your pussy and take a look around; at one point, they have to do the shocker; since I had had this procedure before, I wasn’t surprised at the shocker, which pleased the poor technician who has to break the news to people all day long (and then put her finger in their unhappy asses).

This quarter, I’m teaching 104J: Writing in Social Justice.

The first assignment is an autobiography to share with the class–it can be in any genre but must be no more than 500 words.

I decided to write one too.

What came out, as I noted, wasn’t what I wanted or expected.

My brain is still processing some core issues–my relationship with Daddy & what I’ve learned about my mind/body connection.

I’m going to write one of these every time I teach this class, to see how it changes.

Without further ado:

31 True Things

1. Karma is my given name.
2. (Dr. is my earned one.)
3. Someone once said I was in chronic pain because my name was not Christian—God was punishing me for my father’s choices.
4. My father died when I was very young.
5. My faith in God died much later.
6. My faith was in “Daddy,” my grandfather who raised me when I was little.
7. My faith in him got stronger when my mother, an emotionally abusive alcoholic, took me back.
8. I lost my Daddy two years ago next month.
9. His disapproval lacerates me.
10. And remembering I disapproved of his politics, his racism, his disapproval, doesn’t even anything out.
11. I argue with him and others in my head constantly.
12. That’s part of being a chronic worrier.
13. Chronic worrying and chronic pain are both tied to high ACE (childhood trauma) scores and PTSD.
14. We think that if we keep worrying, keep thinking, keep spinning, we’ll find a way out of chaos.
15. The “unexplainable” spasms are the same—every muscle tense and ready—but ironically too tense to physically run away from whatever they’re afraid of, if I had to.
16. I’m also a workaholic.
17. People say I work harder than anyone they know.
18. The tone is awe, with overtones of worry & pity.
19. I’m in a trap, working hard to pay down student loans and medical debt.
20. Then my doctors tell me to work less, because I’m killing myself.
21. Sometimes I think I keep trying to do everything at once—publishing, traveling, teaching—because I might not have much time left.
22. This isn’t how I wanted this list to go.
23. I wanted images of geekery, theatre, writing, cats, books, friends, family, cooking, pop culture, teaching, . . .
24. Maybe I would open up about my fears & how I’m insecure about my body, and vain about my hair, and how I’ve loved and lost but sometimes not loved at all.
25. I wanted this to be a list to show I’ve survived.
26. And if multiple degrees and (a)vocations I love and a great chosen family and putting my son through his first quarter century are the criteria, how I’ve thrived.
27. He was born to a teenage mother, but his ACE score is a hell of a lot lower than mine.
28. That might be my greatest accomplishment.
29. No—it’s that he’s smart & funny, and we genuinely like each other.
30. I make jokes about all of these things in my stand-up.
31. Lord Byron said, “And if I laugh at any mortal thing, ‘tis that I may not weep.”

I haven’t done as well with trying new recipes last month, but I did manage a few:

Coconut Shrimp Curry with Red Pepper and Spinach, from Stuck on Sweet. A+ This was delicious. I just took some leftovers out of the freezer for work tomorrow.

Cambodian Chicken and Rice Stew with Shrimp from Food & Wine. A. This was delightful–and good for the end of Winter/early Spring crappy weather.

Okay, so there were only two experiments last month, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t cooking. Here are some not-new recipes we love at the Waltonen house.

Creamy Tomato Soup from Taste of Home. A+ I always double the recipe, since the boy loves it so much (also, because my freezer must always be full). I add basil.

Fish PoBoys. A+ Recipe: You can use fresh white fish or frozen (I get frozen Swai from Safeway or Target; they can be cooked thawed or frozen). Spray the fillets with pam on both sides. Sprinkle with cajun or blackened seasoning on both sides. Cook according to directions. (In the last few minutes, I throw the french bread buns in so they can be toasted.) We then liberally apply Remoulade from Simply Recipes.

St. Urho’s Day Cookies A+

I adapted this recipe when I was a teenager. Finnish cookies use ginger quite a lot, but spices are traditionally used sparsely there; they were off the spice routes for a long time. My cookies are Finnish-America, meaning there’s way more spice. They became our de facto way of celebrating the Finnish-American holiday, St. Urho’s Day. Since they were also my Finnish-American Daddy’s favorite, I made them for him on all of the other important days too.

Ingredients: 3/4 c. butter, softened; 1 c. sugar; 1 egg; 3 T molasses; 2 tsp. baking soda; 2 tsp. cinnamon; 2 tsp. ginger; 1/4 tsp. cloves; 1/4 tsp. salt; 2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips; additional sugar for rolling.

Preheat the oven to 375.

Cream butter and sugar. Add the egg and the molasses–mix. Add the baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and salt to the bowl–mix. Add the flour in batches–mix. Stir in the chocolate chips.

Grab a T of cookie dough. Roll into a ball. Roll in the additional sugar. Place on a greased/pamed cookie sheet, 1 inch apart. Flatten the tops of the cookies slightly. Bake for 8-10 minutes.

(If you’re feeling lazy, you can do bar cookies. Spread into a greased/pamed 8 x 8 pan and cook for 20-25 minutes.)

Eat, while thinking of me.

“How did the presentations go?” I asked my class this afternoon.

They all started talking at once, not about the presentations, but about the substitute teacher.

I have two conferences this month, so I scheduled student presentations for the two days I’d be gone–something that’s easy for a sub to supervise. I didn’t get to choose my sub–it’s someone I’ve never met, actually, a full-timer at SCC, who usually teaches on the Sacramento campus.

Their complaints were numerous–she started roll before class started and then “tardy-shamed” people who weren’t actually late. She cut off their presentations and was strict with questions. She criticized how I wrote the presentation instructions (I was surprised she did something like that in front of them). She made a student take his baseball cap off.

“Well, you’ll see her on Thursday, for the next group of students to do presentations while I’m gone.”

They groaned.

“Are you going to wear your hat?” I asked the student who always wears a hat.

Another student: “Maybe we should all wear hats.”

They got really excited.

“Could we?”

“I can’t condemn peaceful protest. . . but please make sure you actually get to do your presentations.”

Tune in next week . . .

I am always astounded when my students tell me former teachers have told them they’re bad writers.

This quarter, someone implied I had.

We were at a writing workshop with Douglas Abrams, co-author of The Book of Joy. My student said her confidence was shattered–she had thought she was a great writer, but now she knew she was a bad one.

“Who told you that?”

She looked right at me.

I got defensive, immediately.

“I never said that–I would never say that.”

“But I got a bad grade on the punctuation quiz.”

“That was an automated quiz–I haven’t even seen it. And I certainly haven’t told you you’re a bad writer.”

The student seemed to think my distinction wasn’t important.

(Abrams tried to get us back on track by telling her to just put a comma wherever she would pause, which caused ALL of my students to swivel their heads to me, since I had told them that only people who don’t know the formal rules (and who aren’t professional editors) say that.)

My student’s feelings were hurt by the quiz results, though. She had been in AP English. She had been an editor for her school’s yearbook. My assuring the class that I go over punctuation with my graduate students hadn’t mollified her.

I tell my students that we all need more practice–that’s why writing classes, from remedial to graduate level, exist. I also tell them that I am usually their first and last hope at getting an actual explanation of punctuation.

None of my teachers had really gone over it. Having a BA in English doesn’t necessarily prepare you for teaching writing, especially at the nuts and bolts level. I taught myself the rules (and the names of them) when I was becoming a professional writing teacher, a professional editor. In other words, I had to go out of my way to understand the difference between the restrictive and nonrestrictive clause, the cumulative and the coordinating adjective.

(This lack of formal training is what leads to so many people saying that commas and pauses are interchangeable.)

My student isn’t a bad writer–she did fine in my class, especially since grammar is one small part of writing and therefore of writing instruction. But she is a graduating senior who makes comma and semicolon mistakes. The latter is compounded by her inability to spot and fix her unintentional fragments.

But I’m worried that her assumption about what I was “saying” with a quiz grade will change her memory of what I did say–what I would say.