Not everything is a sign.*
Aug. 26th, 2009 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bending_sickleI had the dreaded meeting with my supervisor yesterday morning. Prior to it, I was feeling rather good at my progress (Introduction and Materials and Methods achieved) and wasn't at all worried about the meeting. This status, as they say, did not remain quo.
We exchanged pleasantries and he recounted his latest adventures in the field. He told me about our nomadic lion and how he seems to have taken over a pride**. (My boy's all grown up!) He extended greetings and well-wishes from people I worked with. So far, so good.
But then, of course, the usual happened. What I've realized about my supervisor is that he only ever focuses on what I've done wrong. Now, I'm not begging for a criticism sandwhich but a little reassurance after I've completely revamped my work plan based on our last meeting would've been nice.
When I told my mom about this, she mentioned a study she'd read, comparing French and American teachers. I've tracked it down, and while I disagree with the idea that caring about your student's feelings means you don't also care about whether they've learnt their material, t makes me feel a little better to know that this is, apparently, what he's doing. Have an excerpt:
What riles me about his criticism, though, is that often he'll criticise me for not doing things which I've either a) decided can't be included due to time or word count limits or b) planned to do in the near future. For example, I drastically cut down on my introduction and methods because the whole article had to be less than 3,500 words. Then he berates me for not including things which, had I done so (and actually, in a previous draft, did) for not including them.
This whole word count mess, by the way, comes because he'd told me to pick a scientific article and to carefully review their requirements. I was therefore under the impression that the article I had to write had to submit to these requirements. He encouraged this, apparently faulty, conclusion by stressing that the journal I'd chosen wouldn't allow for colour in my graphs.
Now, it turns out, that all I have to do is write in the style of said journal, so that I can show the examination committee that I know how to write an article. But, of course, I'm allowed to be a bit longer, include data that wouldn't normally be included, and to go wild with the appendices. So all my editing and word-count-reducing goes to pot and I get to redo my introduction and materials and methods, reverting them to what they once were, plus a little extra. Yay.
He also reiterated the concept of making a database for the pride lions (not, apparently, the subgroup lions, which is a) less lions and b) easier and less time-consuming, as I don't have to identify every single lion I saw unaccompanied by a collared lion to see who's membership card it's carrying). We've gone over this already and he's even told me to skip the whole damn bit about analyzing the pride composition (which would be peachy easy if I did the database, so one would assume I would also be able to skip that). And yet he's back again to the "Oh, it's not that much work, is it?" Argh. No, it isn't, if I were immortal.
I'd been so pleased that I was making so much progress! I'd finished two out of the four large sections of the article! Sure, I had a lot of analysis to do, but I was technically halfway done with the article, and hence the whole project. And now I'm backtracking. He asked me whether I had a sort of time-goal plan, dates when I wanted to be finished with certain aspects, and I told him I had a vague idea of being finished in two months. Of course, if everytime I speak to him I end up going backwards and adding a huge load more of work, I'll never be finished.
In sum, I was thoroughly dispirited after being told all the things I'd done wrong (even if I'd done them right before but had had to delete them and now would have to redo anyway). An hour of solid criticism is a bit much. I spent the rest of the day trying to work, jotting down where I could reinsert things in the introduction, but didn't manage very much and ended up whiling away long stretches downstairs in the cafeteria and going home a bit early.
Once home, I had a pathetic excuse for lunch, version 2 (the non-titchy snack kind) and watched True Blood. For all the action, I didn't feel all that much happened, although somewhere along the way Jason went to the Wizard of Oz and got himself a damn fine brain. D'aww. Also, emo looks good on Eric whilst vomit doesn't look so good on Bill.
I called mom for a bit and we talked about the meeting and about "improving my standard of living" by adding activities to it (e.g. joining another dance class, this time Axé) and by reaching out to friends and acquaintances so they don't forget I exist and hopefully hang out with me. I admit I cried quite a bit (which was a long-time coming, after the meeting, and continued to threaten with a repeat performance throughout the evening) but mom's been quite nice recently. She actually said she would always support me, which still brings me to near-tears. (Why, hello there.)
Then, sniffling, I went with a Google map in my hand to the swimming pool I'd walked to the previous Saturday. Ah, Google, how useless you are at times and Leiden, how utterly confusing your maze of canals is. Anyway, eventually I made it to the pool through the bike roads.
It was quite terrifying, for a pool. I didn't know where the pools or changing rooms were, and there were a number of signs pointing in opposite directions for these. I followed a couple, praying as I swiped my Sports Card (Yay! It worked!) into the dressing rooms. Now, these are some awesomely designed dressing rooms (and at the same time, really bad for fire safety). The stalls are lined up next to each other and have two doors: one to get in from the outside, and one to exit into the land of swimming pools. This means that people can come in from either end and everyone has to pass through the stall. I asked two people where the damn pool was, because obviously you can't see the pool, or any signs, on the wrong side of swimming pool land. The stalls were mainly full, although I finally got one, stealing it a bit from a woman who wanted to change out of her swimsuit (which meant I changed in a rush and panic, only to find upon exiting that she'd found another stall).
I found the pool, panicked at the showers-hallway, thinking the showers'd spring to life and drench all my things, and then found the lockers, deciphered the machine system (you enter a pin code, it gives you a locker number, you pay up some coin). Things safely stowed, I crossed the shower threshold and immediately got my brain blasted out through my ears by the most horrendous and loud techno music imaginable.
A woman in the Dutch garish orange approached me and thoroughly confused me by saying that there was a four-day event until 8:30, whereupon the participants would be asked to leave and the pool lines removed. It took a while before I could confirm that this would not affect me in the slightest, as I could swim now and on after the people were called out and the lines removed. I went through this song and dance number again with two other orange-clad people at the pool, until the woman confirmed that yes, I could swim. At one point I thought I might as well go home if I couldn't swim for another half hour and the techno was going to continue. Anyway, I finally managed to slip into the pleasantly warm water and do a half-hour's worth of swimming (or some 17 or so laps - I zone out and lose count lots of times).
I got home at nine-thirty, having made only one wrong turn, showered and crawled into bed with a vitamin water at 10 pm, feeling like my lung capacity had just grown by a couple litres. A little dose of Jon Stewart (March 11, I think) and then blissful sleep. The next morning involved half a dozen snooze-button slaps, but it's been going well so far. (Except, of course, for the long stretch were I wrote this.)
I called Willemijn today, and we exchanged undying love and affection, after which she promised to squeeze me in her busy schedule over the weekend and we talked about our respective boys. Turns out her mom donated her copious air miles so that Willy's beau could fly over in December, which is all rather sweet. (Six-hour-later update: Turns out she's too busy to see me this weekend. Just have to wait it out until she can, which sucks, because I really wanted to talk with her.]
I also spoke with Elisa over the weekend, and we've promised to go for Dim Sum and Thai sometime, although no concrete plans were made. *shrug* Have to try harder with this one. *promises to (force self) to call*
I've also neglected to report back on what I thought about Desperation. Frankly? Awesome. It was brilliant (with the exception of utterly fake battles with stuffed "I swear I'm a real live vicious vulture!" feather bags). Ron Perlman was perfect as the sheriff, and I absolutely adored Shane Haboucha as David Carver (which is such a biblically-appropriate name for a prayer-boy such as he). Every scene was taken straight from the book down to the last detail and it was wonderful recogniting and remembering it all. It wasn't all gore-gore-gore at all, just suspense for the most part. In all, very pleased. For other comments, I'll let this well-written review speak for me: For anyone who read the book before seeing the movie.
Right now, which is about six hours after I wrote all of the above, I've just finished copy-pasting some email correspondence to a document, so's I could have it all in one place and try to wrap my head around it. Things are a touch complicated at the moment.
Links of the Day:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blizzardcake's must watch for it's cuteness overload factor - 2PM has this show where they invite guests over and play a sort of match-making game
qthewetsprocket's i believe this is what you call a 'tag-team ukulele relay quadrille'
redscharlach's Fannish Top Fives meme
jemmalynette's Pretty Eyes Picspam
binsybaby's Mermaid Comic
kjcharmed's SPN Fanvid Crazy (Bloopers)
millylicious's SPN Fanvid No Heaven
ohnotheydidt's Harry Potter Fanfic Writer Gets Movie for City Of Bones/Ashes/Glass Series
extd_grb_injoke, of get_medieval fame
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
dollhousestills
New Scientist: Kenya's Lions Could Vanish Within 10 Years
Build Your Own 5 m Dome!
* Diane Schoemperlen, Our Lady of the Lost and Found
** Out of all the hundreds of things I could be missing from Amboseli, not being there to see this is the one thing that punches me in the gut.
We exchanged pleasantries and he recounted his latest adventures in the field. He told me about our nomadic lion and how he seems to have taken over a pride**. (My boy's all grown up!) He extended greetings and well-wishes from people I worked with. So far, so good.
But then, of course, the usual happened. What I've realized about my supervisor is that he only ever focuses on what I've done wrong. Now, I'm not begging for a criticism sandwhich but a little reassurance after I've completely revamped my work plan based on our last meeting would've been nice.
When I told my mom about this, she mentioned a study she'd read, comparing French and American teachers. I've tracked it down, and while I disagree with the idea that caring about your student's feelings means you don't also care about whether they've learnt their material, t makes me feel a little better to know that this is, apparently, what he's doing. Have an excerpt:
...French teachers have a stricter and more professional relationship with the child than most American teachers. For instance, Osbourn & Bradfoot (1992) found that “French teachers showed rather less sensitivity to pupils’ self-confidence and self-esteem than their English counterparts” (p. 9). In France, teachers focus more on making sure that students understand the material and get homework and tests correct rather than care about children’s' feelings of being told that they are not good enough. In the U.S., teachers focus on the child's self-esteem and feeling about themselves instead of how well they do on tests.
What riles me about his criticism, though, is that often he'll criticise me for not doing things which I've either a) decided can't be included due to time or word count limits or b) planned to do in the near future. For example, I drastically cut down on my introduction and methods because the whole article had to be less than 3,500 words. Then he berates me for not including things which, had I done so (and actually, in a previous draft, did) for not including them.
This whole word count mess, by the way, comes because he'd told me to pick a scientific article and to carefully review their requirements. I was therefore under the impression that the article I had to write had to submit to these requirements. He encouraged this, apparently faulty, conclusion by stressing that the journal I'd chosen wouldn't allow for colour in my graphs.
Now, it turns out, that all I have to do is write in the style of said journal, so that I can show the examination committee that I know how to write an article. But, of course, I'm allowed to be a bit longer, include data that wouldn't normally be included, and to go wild with the appendices. So all my editing and word-count-reducing goes to pot and I get to redo my introduction and materials and methods, reverting them to what they once were, plus a little extra. Yay.
He also reiterated the concept of making a database for the pride lions (not, apparently, the subgroup lions, which is a) less lions and b) easier and less time-consuming, as I don't have to identify every single lion I saw unaccompanied by a collared lion to see who's membership card it's carrying). We've gone over this already and he's even told me to skip the whole damn bit about analyzing the pride composition (which would be peachy easy if I did the database, so one would assume I would also be able to skip that). And yet he's back again to the "Oh, it's not that much work, is it?" Argh. No, it isn't, if I were immortal.
I'd been so pleased that I was making so much progress! I'd finished two out of the four large sections of the article! Sure, I had a lot of analysis to do, but I was technically halfway done with the article, and hence the whole project. And now I'm backtracking. He asked me whether I had a sort of time-goal plan, dates when I wanted to be finished with certain aspects, and I told him I had a vague idea of being finished in two months. Of course, if everytime I speak to him I end up going backwards and adding a huge load more of work, I'll never be finished.
In sum, I was thoroughly dispirited after being told all the things I'd done wrong (even if I'd done them right before but had had to delete them and now would have to redo anyway). An hour of solid criticism is a bit much. I spent the rest of the day trying to work, jotting down where I could reinsert things in the introduction, but didn't manage very much and ended up whiling away long stretches downstairs in the cafeteria and going home a bit early.
Once home, I had a pathetic excuse for lunch, version 2 (the non-titchy snack kind) and watched True Blood. For all the action, I didn't feel all that much happened, although somewhere along the way Jason went to the Wizard of Oz and got himself a damn fine brain. D'aww. Also, emo looks good on Eric whilst vomit doesn't look so good on Bill.
I called mom for a bit and we talked about the meeting and about "improving my standard of living" by adding activities to it (e.g. joining another dance class, this time Axé) and by reaching out to friends and acquaintances so they don't forget I exist and hopefully hang out with me. I admit I cried quite a bit (which was a long-time coming, after the meeting, and continued to threaten with a repeat performance throughout the evening) but mom's been quite nice recently. She actually said she would always support me, which still brings me to near-tears. (Why, hello there.)
Then, sniffling, I went with a Google map in my hand to the swimming pool I'd walked to the previous Saturday. Ah, Google, how useless you are at times and Leiden, how utterly confusing your maze of canals is. Anyway, eventually I made it to the pool through the bike roads.
It was quite terrifying, for a pool. I didn't know where the pools or changing rooms were, and there were a number of signs pointing in opposite directions for these. I followed a couple, praying as I swiped my Sports Card (Yay! It worked!) into the dressing rooms. Now, these are some awesomely designed dressing rooms (and at the same time, really bad for fire safety). The stalls are lined up next to each other and have two doors: one to get in from the outside, and one to exit into the land of swimming pools. This means that people can come in from either end and everyone has to pass through the stall. I asked two people where the damn pool was, because obviously you can't see the pool, or any signs, on the wrong side of swimming pool land. The stalls were mainly full, although I finally got one, stealing it a bit from a woman who wanted to change out of her swimsuit (which meant I changed in a rush and panic, only to find upon exiting that she'd found another stall).
I found the pool, panicked at the showers-hallway, thinking the showers'd spring to life and drench all my things, and then found the lockers, deciphered the machine system (you enter a pin code, it gives you a locker number, you pay up some coin). Things safely stowed, I crossed the shower threshold and immediately got my brain blasted out through my ears by the most horrendous and loud techno music imaginable.
A woman in the Dutch garish orange approached me and thoroughly confused me by saying that there was a four-day event until 8:30, whereupon the participants would be asked to leave and the pool lines removed. It took a while before I could confirm that this would not affect me in the slightest, as I could swim now and on after the people were called out and the lines removed. I went through this song and dance number again with two other orange-clad people at the pool, until the woman confirmed that yes, I could swim. At one point I thought I might as well go home if I couldn't swim for another half hour and the techno was going to continue. Anyway, I finally managed to slip into the pleasantly warm water and do a half-hour's worth of swimming (or some 17 or so laps - I zone out and lose count lots of times).
I got home at nine-thirty, having made only one wrong turn, showered and crawled into bed with a vitamin water at 10 pm, feeling like my lung capacity had just grown by a couple litres. A little dose of Jon Stewart (March 11, I think) and then blissful sleep. The next morning involved half a dozen snooze-button slaps, but it's been going well so far. (Except, of course, for the long stretch were I wrote this.)
I called Willemijn today, and we exchanged undying love and affection, after which she promised to squeeze me in her busy schedule over the weekend and we talked about our respective boys. Turns out her mom donated her copious air miles so that Willy's beau could fly over in December, which is all rather sweet. (Six-hour-later update: Turns out she's too busy to see me this weekend. Just have to wait it out until she can, which sucks, because I really wanted to talk with her.]
I also spoke with Elisa over the weekend, and we've promised to go for Dim Sum and Thai sometime, although no concrete plans were made. *shrug* Have to try harder with this one. *promises to (force self) to call*
I've also neglected to report back on what I thought about Desperation. Frankly? Awesome. It was brilliant (with the exception of utterly fake battles with stuffed "I swear I'm a real live vicious vulture!" feather bags). Ron Perlman was perfect as the sheriff, and I absolutely adored Shane Haboucha as David Carver (which is such a biblically-appropriate name for a prayer-boy such as he). Every scene was taken straight from the book down to the last detail and it was wonderful recogniting and remembering it all. It wasn't all gore-gore-gore at all, just suspense for the most part. In all, very pleased. For other comments, I'll let this well-written review speak for me: For anyone who read the book before seeing the movie.
Right now, which is about six hours after I wrote all of the above, I've just finished copy-pasting some email correspondence to a document, so's I could have it all in one place and try to wrap my head around it. Things are a touch complicated at the moment.
Links of the Day:
blizzardcake's must watch for it's cuteness overload factor - 2PM has this show where they invite guests over and play a sort of match-making gameqthewetsprocket's i believe this is what you call a 'tag-team ukulele relay quadrille'redscharlach's Fannish Top Fives memejemmalynette's Pretty Eyes Picspambinsybaby's Mermaid Comickjcharmed's SPN Fanvid Crazy (Bloopers)millylicious's SPN Fanvid No Heavenohnotheydidt's Harry Potter Fanfic Writer Gets Movie for City Of Bones/Ashes/Glass Seriesextd_grb_injoke, of get_medieval famedollhousestills New Scientist: Kenya's Lions Could Vanish Within 10 Years
Build Your Own 5 m Dome!
* Diane Schoemperlen, Our Lady of the Lost and Found
** Out of all the hundreds of things I could be missing from Amboseli, not being there to see this is the one thing that punches me in the gut.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-08-26 11:00 pm (UTC)I admire you for venturing to the pool... I put off going into the larger sports centre at the uni last year because of its filled-with-athletes-who-dont-want-to-share-pool-and-gym-space-with-othersness and the fact that it's just a confusing layout in general.
Oh, and w00t for cuteness clip being included in the links of the day! I've been watching it over and over (the beginning where 2pm is upset for getting the sh!t chocolate compared to SHINee's makes me smile). Things have been complicated over here lately too, so I'm in need of any smiles I can get:P
*HUGGS*