12.2007. Inspection teams denied access to facilities.
1.2008. Rounds of informal talks fail; facilities remain closed to inspectors.
2.26.2008. Pre-emptive strike: sternly-worded note delivered to head of state.
2.27.2008. Access to facilities granted. No material found.
Meanwhile, satellite reconnaissance indicated movement of material and personnel across borders.
3.4.2008. Limerick Tomahawk missiles launched in shock-and-awe campaign.
3.5.2008. Return fire proves existence of material and rapid accessibility thereof. Detente reached as parties await presentation of enriched, weapons-grade material for inspection.
Leaders advised that further resistance to sanction compliance shall be considered an act of escalation. Allied forces poised to exercise all means necessary, including - but not limited to - further assault from limerick stockpile.
Showing posts with label letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label letters. Show all posts
05 March 2008
04 March 2008
A Limerick Intervention
There once was a man from Nantucket
who, regarding his posting, said ...
Eschewing the grid for Thoreau,
to the wind his blog he did throw;
is he reading How Full is Your Bucket?
who, regarding his posting, said ...
Eschewing the grid for Thoreau,
to the wind his blog he did throw;
is he reading How Full is Your Bucket?
06 November 2007
To Whom It May Concern
The Teacher Recommendation Letter.
It's an... odd thing. One of the curious artifacts of my career. Over the past few years, I've had the pleasure of writing letters of recommendation for several students, including some students to whom I am quite close. Those letters are both the easiest and the hardest to write. What can you convey to a college admissions officer to convince them that the person on whose behalf you are writing should be accepted? How much does my opinion really matter? I mean, how many letters do college admissions offices receive that aren't full of gloriously high praise for the applicants?
I wonder whether I take my letter-writing more seriously than the students take their application. Probably not, but when a student gets waitlisted or rejected, I can't help but feel like I've been rejected, too. Last year, I wrote some (well, I thought) particularly well-crafted letters; I poured a lot of myself into them. I'd write, set them aside, revisit, revise, edit, rewrite, even sending follow-up letters once I got to know a student better. The average letter took me over a week to complete.
How can the essence of a student be distilled into a letter? (no more easy a task than their own application essays, certainly) I'm currently writing this year's crop of letters, mindful of the decisions that will be made as a result of them that will set the course of these students' lives. And the hardest part is getting started. Well, no, that's not true. Because I follow a basic format for all my letters and fill in the details; it's deciding what, exactly, to present about a student that is the tough work. Sometimes it's easy - there is one singular trait that stands out. They have fantastic artistic ability. Their analytical capability stands out among their peers. They're exceptionally teachable. Their elegance belies their age. Then, there are those who are more difficult to describe. The ones who evoke something more ephemeral to a teacher. These are harder to write than the shopping list of talents: work ethic, check; intellectual ability, check; leadership roles; check. The students who, deep down, you know are destined for great things, even though they make Bs in my classes. It's hard to write that and come off as sincere, though. I used to panic over how well I really know my audience. I would think, how do I know what the reader of my letter on any given day at any given university is looking for? That's the wrong approach. The goal of the letter, after all, is to paint a fuller portrait of the candidate, so any details are good details.
Because they are so much of myself, I keep my letters private. I require students to sign the waiver so my letters won't become part of a their record. I send them straight to the university myself or hand them over to our college counselor in sealed envelopes with my signature across the seal. Part of me doesn't want a student to be critical of my letter and think, "well, this piece of trash is the reason I didn't get in!" - however unlikely that may be. Part of me doesn't want students to know that I think so highly of them. That's an interesting conundrum - we all crave praise, but I'd hate for a student to grow arrogant as a result. Call it maintenance of the balance of classroom power, if you like.
So, Class of 2008. Good luck, and know that you'll end up where you're meant to be. But I'll still agonize over your letters.
It's an... odd thing. One of the curious artifacts of my career. Over the past few years, I've had the pleasure of writing letters of recommendation for several students, including some students to whom I am quite close. Those letters are both the easiest and the hardest to write. What can you convey to a college admissions officer to convince them that the person on whose behalf you are writing should be accepted? How much does my opinion really matter? I mean, how many letters do college admissions offices receive that aren't full of gloriously high praise for the applicants?
I wonder whether I take my letter-writing more seriously than the students take their application. Probably not, but when a student gets waitlisted or rejected, I can't help but feel like I've been rejected, too. Last year, I wrote some (well, I thought) particularly well-crafted letters; I poured a lot of myself into them. I'd write, set them aside, revisit, revise, edit, rewrite, even sending follow-up letters once I got to know a student better. The average letter took me over a week to complete.
How can the essence of a student be distilled into a letter? (no more easy a task than their own application essays, certainly) I'm currently writing this year's crop of letters, mindful of the decisions that will be made as a result of them that will set the course of these students' lives. And the hardest part is getting started. Well, no, that's not true. Because I follow a basic format for all my letters and fill in the details; it's deciding what, exactly, to present about a student that is the tough work. Sometimes it's easy - there is one singular trait that stands out. They have fantastic artistic ability. Their analytical capability stands out among their peers. They're exceptionally teachable. Their elegance belies their age. Then, there are those who are more difficult to describe. The ones who evoke something more ephemeral to a teacher. These are harder to write than the shopping list of talents: work ethic, check; intellectual ability, check; leadership roles; check. The students who, deep down, you know are destined for great things, even though they make Bs in my classes. It's hard to write that and come off as sincere, though. I used to panic over how well I really know my audience. I would think, how do I know what the reader of my letter on any given day at any given university is looking for? That's the wrong approach. The goal of the letter, after all, is to paint a fuller portrait of the candidate, so any details are good details.
Because they are so much of myself, I keep my letters private. I require students to sign the waiver so my letters won't become part of a their record. I send them straight to the university myself or hand them over to our college counselor in sealed envelopes with my signature across the seal. Part of me doesn't want a student to be critical of my letter and think, "well, this piece of trash is the reason I didn't get in!" - however unlikely that may be. Part of me doesn't want students to know that I think so highly of them. That's an interesting conundrum - we all crave praise, but I'd hate for a student to grow arrogant as a result. Call it maintenance of the balance of classroom power, if you like.
So, Class of 2008. Good luck, and know that you'll end up where you're meant to be. But I'll still agonize over your letters.
04 September 2007
Know Thyself
Dearest Future Self:
Next time you're up past 100a on a school night, just go ahead and take your shower before going to bed. Because every time you think, "oh, I'll just set my alarm a little early and do it in the morning," your brain will convince you otherwise and cause your hand to repeatedly smack the snooze button in the morning. You just don't have the requisite willpower once you're nestled comfortably into bed, no matter what you may think at night. I don't know how many times it takes for you to be convinced of this. I mean, seriously - you haven't figured this out yet?
Sincerely,
Jennifer
Next time you're up past 100a on a school night, just go ahead and take your shower before going to bed. Because every time you think, "oh, I'll just set my alarm a little early and do it in the morning," your brain will convince you otherwise and cause your hand to repeatedly smack the snooze button in the morning. You just don't have the requisite willpower once you're nestled comfortably into bed, no matter what you may think at night. I don't know how many times it takes for you to be convinced of this. I mean, seriously - you haven't figured this out yet?
Sincerely,
Jennifer
11 June 2007
Letter to a Volcano
Dear Kilauea Volcano,
It would be incredibly swell to hike to a surface flow of lava while I'm on vacation. If you could kindly arrange this, that would be super keen.
Sincerely,
Jennifer
It would be incredibly swell to hike to a surface flow of lava while I'm on vacation. If you could kindly arrange this, that would be super keen.
Sincerely,
Jennifer
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