Somewhere Over the Rainbow(s) End, Part 2

I'm going to continue my post, but this time taking a more cynical and different approach.

As I was reading, I kept noticing that there are no class differences among the people who use technology. Even the students at Fairmont, though they may be in the vocational track, have full access to the technological advances of the times. If the characters aren't "white" --though it's hard to tell their race from Vinge's descriptions --they're certainly "whitened," in terms of technology and the values that "whiteness" prescribes on being a savvy user thereof. Furthermore, when distinctions are made among characters or people, it's between the wearers, and the non-wearers; i.e. the "haves" and "have nots." However, this distinction is not seen as a matter of access, but rather one of agency. Robert, for example, chooses not to wear in the beginning, and when the other characters notice that he's not wearing, they think of it as a personal choice, or a matter of stubbornness, not something for which society has not prepared them.

It might be that Vinge imagines a utopian society where everyone has access to the internet -- as Alyssa mentions -- and this is truly a great thing (in some sense). But here, it has eliminated many distinctions between class and race -- again, also a good thing in many cases. However, I'm wondering if Vinge comments on the utopia of widespread technological access as a good thing, or whether he imagines this future for us to critique it. What might widespread access do for the world? Does it really eliminate racial, ethnic, and class distinctions? And if it does, what are the consequences of that?

Finally, and I think most importantly here, none of his characters interact with people of other "races," though some mention is made of Jin and Miri's relationship. I wonder if this is because he is only writing about the "haves", and the have nots are left out of the situation entirely, and thus have no place in the digital world. However, it could also be that technology has pervaded, and eliminated, the class/race/ethnic boundaries that distinguish access or opportunity.

All in all, I think Vinge opens up the possibility for examining the assumptions of widespread access in his novel, especially given the ideas I stated before about reading ironically. This brings me to the question of, how realistic is this scenario? That is, could it really happen like this, especially by 2025? I don't think so, because even if we do get "smart" contact lenses or things like that, it'll be too expensive even for the middle-class. Look at the iPhone. Though it's come down significantly, it's still a whopping $350.00, which most people I know can't afford (and these are people with "real" jobs). So, my point is, that Vinge's book glosses over the economic issues about access and makes the fantasy only possible for those with 1) the economic means; and 2) the desire to adopt the "white"/bourgeois/etc values that this economic status requires. Now, it may be that this is what will happen, especially at the rate we seem to be going anyway. But I, for one, hope it doesn't, since things keep getting more and more expensive, and less and less personal, at the "benefit" of ease and convenience. In the long run, what do we gain?

I wonder if Vinge is asking this question himself. I hope so.

"Somewhere, Over the Rainbow"(s End)...

I don't even need all the fingers of one hand to count the science fiction I have read. The last true sci-fi book I read, Ursula Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness, I had to read in a summer class between years of high school. Before that, it had been at least 5-6 years, and even then it was mostly fantasy I had had to read for school. So, going into Vinge's book, I had no idea what to expect, either about the genre or the development of ideas. I guess this was a good thing, since I was not swayed either way.

I admit I'm not a big fan of the novel, but it does do some interesting things, particularly in the beginning when Vinge calls into question ideas of what we lose by having everything digital. That is, as you may have guessed from my earlier post about what I'll remember, I'm fascinated by the way that the materiality of books and texts presuppose, and prescribe, a particular relationship. I'm also interested in how our experience changes when we're holding a book in our hands, pen poised to write in the margins, versus when we're staring at a screen. You can't smell facebook, I've said before.

While we might read Vinge's book as a coming of age novel as Deedee says (and I think she's right), I'd argue that he's actually critiquing the notion of strictly technological and digital texts, and not just through the (ironic) discussions of Vaz, the Pseudomimivirus(es), and the ability to see almost anything anyone thinks. Not even the battle that's going on, or Robert's lamentations about no "real" books in the house. For me, the key lies very early on, when Vinge writes, "The bidding on physical tour slots to the Sagrada Familia was closed for the day, but there was still a queue of people near the cathedral entrance, people hoping for no-shows. It proved once again that the most important things were those you could touch"(10).

I read this as Vinge's instructions about how to read his novel; he places it early on so that we're constantly reminded of how superficial his characters are, why their lives seem empty to us, and why we simultaneously sympathize with, and detest, Robert. In some sense, I liked him, because his struggle to understand mirrors our own, and though he embraces the full digital lifestyle in the end, at the same time I, too, lament the (increasing) ability for "just" words to move us. (Recall Juan Orozco's poignant experience listening to Robert's poem).

I have more to say, which I'll put in a second post.

I'm old hat at the first day of class. I haven't taken a break from school, ever; which means that for the last 20 years I have had a constant stream of "first days." And three years ago, I started teaching, giving me a new type of "first day of class." So I had a pretty good idea about what was going to happen on the first day of our class.

My expectations were mostly fulfilled, except for the fact that I've not had to really think about things on the first day of class for awhile. If I've had to think, it's been about the work of the course specifically, and not on larger issues like the interconnectedness of every item, action, or idea. So this is what I want to remember from our first class. It's not that I was unaware of the (somewhat hidden) systems or journeys of things we use everyday; it's that articulating them so specifically and precisely makes them more evident, and gives them a new weight. That is, at least for me, when I articulated the things I'd have to know to use a glue stick, for example, it changes my relationship to objects and the world around me, since it puts these knowledges and behaviors I --- and I'm sure most of us -- take for granted. To me, it makes these knowledges, behaviors, and actions obviously and blatantly discursive, embedded in an ideology that lets us have these realizations but enforces their implicitness. Since I'm interested in the everyday, and how our everyday behaviors, etc, influence, and are influenced by, writing, this activity gave me something to grab on to in terms of the work we'll be doing in class. (And, I must confess, I'm probably going to "steal" this exercise for use in my 101 class).

Another thing I want to remember from class is the wonderful insight about how books and digitality assume two different relationships/positions of the reader/viewer. Anne explained how books, by their very materiality, assume solitary, quiet contemplation and require a certain expectation: time. Even the parts of books are named according to the relationship with the body: spine, exterior, interior, earmark, etc. Further, they structure a taste for simplicity, regularity, uniformity. Digitality, on the other hand, wreaks havoc on many, if not all, of these notions, since it requires an entirely different relationship to the media. No, we cannot pick up a text on the computer screen and write all over it (at least not yet), but we can play with how it looks and in so doing delivers its message. We can revise our relationship to information and the ways in which this information becomes a part of us. Maybe we do not need, after all, to be able to write on books (though, as I say this, my already curly hair is starting to curl even tighter, for I haven't been able to read without a pen/pencil in hand for years); maybe we need, instead, to learn to make sense of texts without the 1-to-1 conversation that writing in the margins presupposes and proscribes.

Finally, I want to keep reminding myself of the reasons why I'm here. Why am I teaching, exactly, and why am I spending so much time, energy, and money (relatively speaking) to sit and contemplate questions that I'm positive a lot of people already think/know about, without having had to come to class? What kind of world is out there, and how do I want to change it? Most importantly, since I'm devoting my life to reading and writing (and teaching those things), how is writing going to make anything different, let alone better? These are questions for which there are no "real" answers, and the answers that are there change often. But I guess this is a textbook case of how what we tell our students comes back to haunt us: If you keep asking questions, you'll get there eventually. I just want my students to learn to always ask questions, and that's something I often forget to do.

Ah, teachable moments. This is what's it's all about, I think.

Strange Dreams: A Manifesto for Dada and Surrealism in Composition

For ENG 782 (Visual Narrative), we're reading a lot about Dada and Surrealism at the moment, and I'm fascinated -- though I admit those subjects are not my main line of interest. I have done some work on photomontage (in relationship to the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band), but for the most part I'm flying blind here.

I do, however, have a lot to say about this stuff, particularly the ideas presented in David Hopkins' Dada and Surrealism. Basically, his main idea is that Surrealism and Dada both tried to resist conventions of the status quo, particularly against the backdrop of the years between the World Wars. Despite their similar critiques of the "traditional" views of art -- specifically "art for art's sake"-- Hopkins holds that Dada and Surrealism did so differently. That is, according to Hopkins, Dada was much more "politically engaged" in that it resisted the status quo by incorporating mass-produced images, objects, and the like, to expose the realities of existence. Surrealism, on the other hand, largely remained true to the bourgeois values and understandings of art; it did not turn to the popular in order to demonstrate the shortcomings of the traditional values embedded in art. Instead, it used these conventions in order to make other things evident, to explore the possibilities therein.

My interest lies in how we can use these ideas in our writing classrooms. How come no one in the field --at least as far as I know-- has turned to Dada and Surrealism in their own right, as potential theories for understanding, and teaching, composition? Scholars have adopted offshoots of Dada and Surrealism by exploring "automatic writing" or "collaging" techniques (and even these are not as serious as they could be). Still others have explored the potential possibilities of popular culture and or "everyday life" in theories about critical composition pedagogy, but I am still wondering why no one has engaged in serious explorations of the relationship among the everyday (a la Dada/ Surrealism, which, I argue, must have influenced de Certeau), Dada, Surrealism, and the writing classroom. I see tons of possibilities here, both in terms of content -- getting students to read this stuff -- as well as engaging in these kinds of activities themselves. Perhaps asking our students to do some sustained critical analysis of montaged images, for example, or asking them to adopt a particular set of conventions in order to critique/expose them, might enhance the field of composition pedagogy for the better.
Note: As renegade/radical/just plain silly as I might be, I'm not suggesting that students should produce collages as final products. I'm merely saying that these kinds of activities --with sustained, careful analysis of them as processes (in a classroom for a few days)-- would be highly beneficial in developing the kind of skills we're looking for in their essays, and would also better illuminate their (critical) relationship to the world (another goal). I'm also not suggesting that the values on clear and eloquent communication, and or the ability to write a paper, should be ignored (though I do recognize the potentially problematic ideological assumptions attached to those values as well. Since we're in the university, we should prepare our students for life in it. That doesn't mean we shouldn't engage what they already know, do, and critique outside the university's walls.

Really, at stake here is the ways we go about teaching and thinking about composition. The everyday must play much more of a part in the ways we teach, write, and discuss composition. Underlying my argument here is the fact that the everyday activities in which we all participate constitute a much larger role in formulating our ideas, beliefs, and discursive understandings than we give them credit; that is, our students in particular too rarely asked to think about, and reflect upon, those things that truly define them. Thus, the everyday, and the ways in which it can work to uphold, critique, resist, or anything in-between, the discourses and ideologies of our existence, need to come to the fore in composition studies... otherwise, what's the point?

I love my job

I just had my first Eng 101 class, and boy, was it awesome! When I was walking back from AUP I was reminded of why I love teaching: the ideas that get put out there. Every time I teach it only reaffirms that we must not, ever, underestimate our students. Ever. I had students today who articulated -- much more eloquently and "smartly" that I would do -- how identity, and identification, works. They discussed how it necessarily always involves something seen (which presupposes a social component), and this "seen" thing is usually different than what is "real." Whooo boy. Deep, eh? Even critics don't usually deal with that question, because it's too big. For them: no problem!

Overall, my class has good karma! I mean, it's been said in the past that I generally have a great rapport with the students in my classes, and I always try to catalyze the energy in the classroom, but boy, we really connected today! I think their energy is going to be great! Maybe it's because a lot of them have already had Eng 101 before. Maybe it's just the time, or the day, or some other unknown factor. It's early to tell. But boy, I had so much fun... and I hope they did, too! :) And we even learned a new word today (well, they did): "loquacious." I hope this is a harbinger of what's to come!

People ask me all the time what I plan to do when I'm done with my PhD, and I always tell them that I'm already doing it. We're always reminded of our "dream job" in our culture; I've got mine and I thank God for it almost every day. I may be crazy, but my "dream job" is literally doing exactly this: teaching writing to first-year (and older!) students. Perhaps I'm a sadomasochist, or enjoy martyring myself; it's a thankless job in many respects, and an extremely difficult one, but God, do I love it!

Enough hackneyed gushing about my job. (As I look over what I've said, I realize that this post is an exercise in overusing the exclamation point. I'm sorry, guys. But I can't guarantee that it won't happen again).

Cell-Outs?

Upon reading the article from the NYT, I must confess that my initial reaction was something along the lines of, "Yet another example of how the world is declining rapidly." My personal biases and values notwithstanding, I have somewhat revised this reaction in response to 1) reading the rest of the article; and 2) sustained contemplation on said article.

First, let me explain my initial negative reaction. Composing on cell phones just seems absurd to me; this might be because I hate my cell phone and the ever-exponentially-increasing dependence and value our society places on them. I'm also at a loss on how one could compose on a cell phone, though the article does a decent job of explaining that. To me, the issue has a lot to do with the relationship to the medium, I guess; that is, I view my phone as strictly utilitarian at best, which precludes any inspirational or creative endeavor emerging from this annoying piece of technology.

Another reason for my negative reaction has more to do with the ways this affects writing and reading habits rather than the sheer ubiquity of the phone. As a composition teacher, I find myself constantly lamenting that my students don't read; even more often, I lament that students today have little familiarity with the act of composing/writing itself. Their access is limited, and their desire to remedy these limitations remains that much more limited. I realize here that I am sounding like a snarky, conservative grandmother, who wants grammar to be taught in writing classrooms in lieu of more liberal pursuits. This is not my intent; and this brings me to the next point I wish to make, which relates to the reasons why we should consider cell phone novels as legitimate writing.

The pivotal moment in the article for me was when the author explained that budding cell-phone novelists were compelled to write because of the phone. That is, they weren't looking for a medium to express themselves; the cell phone itself -- with the text messaging and email -- inspired them to write "novels" on the phone, adopting the conventions of text messaging. The reason this struck me is because I have such a different relationship to writing. For me, the desire to write came first, then I searched for media. More significantly, it forced me to re-think my relationship to texts, the composing process, and what we consider "legitimate" writing, particularly in the context of a program such as UWM's First-Year writing.

My qualms have not entirely disappeared, however. While I do recognize that it is "better" for students (?) to be reading something --even what I might consider shoddily written and melodramatic novels -- instead of reading nothing at all; at the same time I wonder what it's doing to their ability to read more challenging texts. On the one hand, this statement presupposes a value on texts and intellectual knowledge that is highly problematic and elitist (at best). On the other hand, however, my own biases still win out, as I am approaching this from a cognitive and developmental perspective. If students get used to composing cell-phone novels, for example, they become accustomed to reading novels that respond to their writing habits -- as the article recounts. I'm concerned with the way that writing in this way inhibits their ability to compose more understandable, developed writing and thoughts.

These novels should be considered a viable genre of reading and writing, undoubtedly, but for me the real issue is just that: genre. That is, if students are exposed to other forms and genres of writing as genres and or possibilities for writing, they can then see how their thinking is informed by their daily (writing) habits. Just as is stated at the close of the article, the cell-phone novelist who turned to computer composing was writing longer, more complex sentences (and thus expressing more complex ideas as well), this kind of experience is necessary for students to gain access and ownership of various genres. This, in turn, permits them to have greater flexibility in how they communicate as well as think about the world.

Perhaps I'm spinning my rhetorical and pedagogical wheels here, in the sense that this article has nothing to do with students at all, or their intellectual development. But, I confess that my reading of the very end of the article suggests that something is largely amiss when social and cultural phenomena like novels composed on cell phones dominate intellectual and critical development.

Will the real assigned post please stand up?

All right, all right. The "real" post is nigh. I promise! Thus, without further adieu:

Blogs and I have a rather fractious relationship. It's not because I don't like them; quite the contrary. It's just because I have little time to read them, and I find that it often takes awhile to get to the real "meat" on the proverbial (blog) bone. However, I have been fans of the academic blogs belonging to Collin Brooke (collinvsblog.com) and Rebecca Moore Howard (Schenectady Synecdoche). I also read my boyfriend's professional blog that he maintains for work. There may be others I read from time to time, but again, given the demands of a Newly Crowned PhD student, I have little time to read anything other than what's assigned. In short: I read with a vengeance, though perhaps not the kind you think?

Setting up this blog was quite easy! I was not so exacting and meticulous as Marla; I did not even go to "Wordpress" to create the template (probably because I'd read all the other posts about setting up this blog). It was also much easier than myspace, which I (fairly) recently got but stopped paying attention to. Despite the relative simplicity of setting up this blog (which, I think, is easy because it has a very user-friendly and intuitive interface), I'm not very good with technology. Someone tried to teach me HTML once -- a basic, basic format -- and my head exploded. So this is about all I can handle, for now. That said, I am eager to learn to use Photoshop and iMovie, since they're so cool looking! (Note: I LOVED "paint" when I was a kid).

I chose the template I did because I like polka dots and purple (and green). It also seems to "look like me" -- whatever that means. It's easy to read and navigate (I think). I did, however, pay attention to some basic graphic design principles: dark colors (like blues, purples, and greens) with a sans-serifed font (as the text will be read on-screen), and contrast coming from the layout/colors instead of the type (bold, italic, etc) of the font. I felt this was necessary, considering this is a Rhetoric and Writing class, and that others will be reading this quite often.

This brings me to the final "bullet" that I'm supposed to answer. As many others have already written before me, my writing is different in this context because I am hyper-aware of the audience. Not only that, but this audience needs brevity, clarity, and intellectual stimulation (we're all academics here). I've noticed from the minimal posting I've done on this blog, though, that my writing here appears different from the writing I do in other contexts; I find I am wittier, more "informal," and more "like myself." I'd never write something like "Newly Crowned PhD Student" in a "formal" paper. I would also not qualify myself and my statements quite so often.
However, I also find that I share more of "myself" when I'm writing in this context. Take a look at my profile/"About Me" section, for example. I mention that I'm a PhD student in Rhetoric and Composition, but I don't say anything else academic after that. In fact, I list things that define me outside of academia. I did this without even thinking; it's the m.o. of internet writing, I assume. Writing for facebook and myspace have obviously rubbed off on me, with their categories and assumptions about what readers/viewers "need to know." Thus, I automatically delivered that information to you without blinking, though I am sure that you're interested in my academic pursuits. It's funny how our roles in communities really define us and construct (restrict? deconstruct?) our perceptions of others. I know this sounds like a 101-style revelation; it IS. That doesn't mean it's not just as "deep" or important for us to think about, especially as we engage in writing for communities of "academic" readers.

In short (in long, perhaps?, since this post has gone on much longer than I wanted), my writing is different because I have a different relationship to this writing. That is, my writing just "flows" and I edit minimally, though I do feel heightened self-awareness about who's going to be reading what I'm writing. I'm beginning to wonder if the very fact that this is "informal" writing is actually helping me get to the ideas in my head than the more "formal," "academic" writing that I'm used to doing to varying degrees of success. I love writing on this blog, and I must confess I don't love my writing in papers, though I do love writing papers.

Maybe these paradoxes will work themselves out. Maybe not.