Monday, January 13, 2014

ARSE (anual report & self evaluation

Thoughts Like Blackbirds
Flying in While I fill out

I’’ll teach thru my current  tenure allotment—couple of years
left, where,  unless seduced and falling off into  moral  turpitude,
I reckon I’m  enabled to  ply my  pedagogical stalwart pioneering
even as it loses  credibility with an upcoming fully tech-savvy
generation longing  for old-school lectures, leadership,  regulation
and  rectitude to help make sense of  the whelm of facts, data,
mixed-media laptop varieties of mobile always- at-hand  information;
& my seeming self-reliant educing anarchy & chaos falling out of
supplementary favor with  my palsied hands, old age, limp, bluster
&  appropriately diminishing  authority. 

No country for old men.

I will fade away and you won’t have me trying to  pinch, pique, &
provoke my virtual service project  always for the  sake of argument
&  the practice of communal liberal art any more.   Nothing but aims,
goals, rubric- assessment and measurable objectives,  signs & symbols
of professional growth and local food—let me count the ways:
conference papers  published, conference panels chaired,
conferences  attended, other invited lectures or talks,
 refereed articles published,  book reviews published. articles
on books submitted for publication,  websites, blogs  maintained 
(relevant to profession), performances, exhibition, and  ther work
completed, performances and other creative work worked,
grants written and received, work on research projects,  
academic seminars or colloquia attended, seminars
colloquia that you participated in as an invited participant
workshops attended, guest  lectures for other WWC courses, any
paid work as a professional in  your field (consulting etc.) unpaid
professional profession service (reviewing manuscripts,
 serving  as an external evaluatior. etc),  community
engaged  scholarship (combining  professional scholarship
and community issues.)  and other indicators of professional passion,
excellence, disciplinary compulsion & obsession of the University
Kind trippingly off the tongue.

An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick,
unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every
tatter in its mortal dress,

Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own

And therefore I guess I might could sail the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
                                    (Yeats somewhat  reconfigured to fit screed)

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