On learning

I came to Uni with the devout hope of just one thing: money.

That is, I hoped to succeed. And thereby win increased job security, a dependable income and more downtime.

Along the way to success, I failed. Which is to say my first academic essay was a brilliantly written disaster.

Finally, I achieved the true end of all university programmes: I learned.


COOKING WITH GAS: A TYPICAL TUTORIAL

I learnt that learning how to navigate Blackboard is no small feat. That creating user profiles takes skill. That communicating asynchronously in an online chat requires patience and tact, and that along the way you will laugh at loud for what seems to casual observers no reason at all.

I learnt about research: this was indeed one of the most enjoyable discoveries… that there is reliable knowledge… out there.

I learnt about (shudder) teamwork (and I had already believed I was a team player).

I learnt that sickness, job stress, depression, young children, medication and no end of personal pressure makes not one bit of difference to a team deadline. If you screw up, you are a cad.

I learnt that understanding takes more time to blossom perhaps than fourteen short weeks.

At the same time, I saw that empathy, intelligence and understanding can be communicated most audibly through online communication: in chat, in email, in blog, in lectures.

In all, I learnt much. And for this, I am thankful.

Not a team

Alarmingly, I am not a team player. I am arrogant, despicable, conceited and very probably in receipt of laundered funds from the Dutch Antilles. In short, I am altogether evil.

Such is the verdict delivered by my erstwhile partners in wikidom, the SSK13 gang of two.

After weeks of stress and will-we-won’t-we-fire-you games with my new boss, it is becoming increasingly apparent that the new job at Abigroup will not be smooth sailing, or at least… not yet.

This, a raging mortgage, my best-friend’s neighbour’s twice-removed half-sister’s cousin's redundancy and my none-too-happy bride, have conspired to put my back out.

After three visits to the physio, I can at least walk upright: whether I will have a job to return to next week is less certain.

But, no. Plainly, I am the scum of the earth. Satan incarnate (or does Linda Blair have that sewn up?).

My parents, doubtless, will be shattered, poor lambs.


ONE OF THESE THINGS IS NOT LIKE THE OTHER ONES: BACK-STABBING, SYCOPHANCY AND CHARACTER ASSASSINATION, WIKI STYLE.

It is true. I helped my colleagues. Singular arrogance.

I changed the layout of their pages. The audacity.

I failed to correct the layout of all of their pages: heinous pride.

Note to self: Next time, get in early, design a template for the group to use, and retreat to your own page.

Somehow, I suspect this is not the conclusion the lecturers had hoped I might reach, and perhaps they will have luck if they re-examine me in six months.

By then, no doubt, I will have reflected on my behaviour, considered the impropriety of assisting my colleagues in the eleventh hour, and decided that it would have been better to have left them to their fate.

(Of course, the real learning is… get in earlier, communicate, get buy-in, and bask in the glow of team love. But my back went out, see? Perhaps I should have taken up the physio's offer of a letter).

wiki’s are like handing dynamite to a three year old: easy to deploy, most difficult to repair. Without a good working knowledge of html, things would have dire for me indeed.

Except, of course, for my writing skills. But then again, some of the claims the team made were so wildly insubstantial that I blanched at how to suggest they could be in error.

The first organised sports were run by the IOC, indeed. Before that, presumably, no-one played sport?

Wiki 1

What the… wiki is complex!!!

I attended a tute with Debbi, and… finally… created a… page.

Neat wysiwyg editor. Wicked control panel. I'm really excited about this. And—thankfully—they're devoting quite a bit of time to it during tutes. Good. 'Cause I'm a bit overwhelmed, and I do this stuff for a living.

Craig

I was very excited about my new job in Gordon. I thought I could use all my commuting time to listen to Craig's lectures. What I didn't realise was that the lectures don't download, they stream. So when I go through a deadspot, the lecture stops.

Note to OUA: Use PODCASTS!!!

I just am not finding time to listen to Craig at home. Shit. I really want to catchup.

O to read

I *must* read the reading on oral presentation.

Still reading

I really must.

Wiki, wiki, wiki

So, they're off. They are. The rest of the team. Good thing.

Except one of them thinks they can't talk about education within the topic of globalisation. What the…?

I printed out the oral presentation reading. It's… enormous!!


WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE, MORE IS READ THAN SAID.

She loves me… some

Hmmm. Well. Damn. OK.

I passed. Actually, I credited. Wait a minute… I (calculates) distinguished.

My paper is still off the wall: it makes unsubstantiated references to reverse apartheid in Malaysia. I see the point.

The problem with visiting Malaysia repeatedly, marrying a native and chatting with the locals is you get a very good idea of how the system works, but no idea at all who to quote when you write an essay.

On reflection, this is not me being smart… this is me failing to find someone else who knows it.

Zorro

He cuts. He subs.

Trash the footnotes. Throws out some (verrrrry well-written) paragraphs. Oh, well. It's only Arial.

I resubmitted my essay. Can't be bothered spending Sunday on it as well.

Back at it

After 24 hours I have managed to dust myself off, read my tutor's notes, and really—she's bloody bright.

I don't feel so devastated. Perhaps I might be able to get a pass after all.

At least they're talking resubmits. I don't think I ever heard of such a thing in the 80's?

This is the end

I will definitely quit this course.

Bummer.

She's back

Oh, fuck.

What would Judith Wright say?

O.

F.

I have (expletives) failed my essay! I'm crushed!

I can't really hate my tutor for it: "I have never loved a failed essay more." Well, hard to be anything other than flattered.

Shit.

Bloody heartbroken.

She's away

My tutor, it seems, has had a death. A funeral. A travel. An absence.

Someone else in my class had one too. I know this for a few reasons, but not the right ones.

I know it first because someone told me in my tute. Which is bad, because I should have heard it from my catchall email. Why isn't that working?

Anyway, I am at ease now. Other people have got their marks, and I had begun to wonder why I hadn't. There is a reason: all is well.

Our wiki team—formed so long ago—is starting to make organising-type noises, which is heartening.

A new end

Snore.

Rumble.

Snooze.

I am overwhelmed by lethargy. The wondrous feeling of having completed my brilliant piece of writing has filled me with a sense of peace. I can't be bothered to read. I think I attended the tute this week (I forget).

Who cares?

I have laid forever to rest (OK, once, but that's one more than it was before) the spectre that I cannot write for university.

I'm checking Blackboard thrice daily for a mark.

It's really the end

I have submitted said essay!

It's the end of the world

Or possibly, the beginning of it. I have finished the draft of my first essay.

Muah, ha, ha.

Back in love

Oh.

Wow.

Or, as Judith Wright says…

O.

I have discovered online journals. Searchable libraries. Academic (tingles) journals. Literary critiques. Verbalostic ruminations.

Having been warned at the risk of excommunication of fraternising with the brazen hussy who is Wikipedia (and I thought she look rather chaste) I have been introduced instead to my soul's desire. My one fate. The pieces I was… missing.

Some of this writing is really good.

What I particularly like is no-one seems to be making things up. It's all… true.

Refreshing.

At the same time, I'm perplexed to discover that newspaper articles are included in the canon of good works. No fanfare, they're just… there.

This is actually a big surprise for me. I had truly believed that journalists were trained liars with consciences seared and in search merely of their dinner. The more ambitious one, perhaps, of a mortgage.

But no. Their words are law. Immutable. Canute in stone. I may quote them.

I am uncomfortable with this new power. Heady freedom, indeed: it makes me challenge my prejudices.

And yet, quotable means fewer other words I need find for my essay.

Prejudice be buggered.

Honeymoon

Why is the moon made of honey?

Why is it only made of honey for a short time?

Why does the moon change "substance" for not only love, but work, commuting and university?

Whatever, my honeymoon is over. I'm keeping on top of my reading (just) by a massive effort, but what is globalisation, and—more importantly—do I even care?

My first academic essay since mandatory Arts is looming since 1990 and I am terrified. Back in my Aero Eng days they weren't called Arts subjects. It was… General Studies? Something about producing engineers with social skills.

Forsooth.

I'm flying!

Week 3.

I've attended my first online tute, amazed myself (and it seems, my fellow students) by not only knowing the tute questions, but having prepared my answers offline and just pasted them online in the tute.

Surely I'm not the only one who… prepares?

Getting organised

It's week 2 of my first subject—SSK13 (where do they get these names?) and I'm impressing myself with my own self-organisation by printing all my course PDFs.

The trees be damned… this is my education we're talking about.

Back on the chain gang

December 2008. After an eighteen year break, I return to Uni.

Exciting. Eager. Disciplined.

Over-bloody-whelmed.