#but i literally opened up my school account to review what the lecture today was about & to prep for lab tomorrow

[orcelito]

my toxic trait is work taking up so much of my mind that i think i should just be paid for every bit of work i do. unfortunately this does not translate well to schoolwork and housework

[teddy06writes]

A Day In The Life

requesred by this genius anon: “Aight imma hit you with a good one: Literally everything as platonic, but a day in the life of reader in high school with the minor gang (too my, tubbo, ranboo) and all the faculty at the school are dreamsmp members”

Platonic! Minors gang (tommy, tubbo, ranboo and purpled) x reader

trigger warnings: none

premise: a day in the life of a student at the DSMP public high school 

{with all the shit that goes on the smp there's no way it could be anything but a public school}

{also if I do things slightly off or something its cause my high school is weird, we only have four blocks a day, but I think most have seven, so we’re going with that}

{also the dream/george thing, is based on two of the sciences teachers at my school being suspected of having an affiar}

{Full teacher list:

English: Mr. NotFound

Drama: Mr. Soot

Spanish: Mr. Dream (its mexican dream lol)

Gym: Coach Sapnap and Coach Punz

Home ec: Miss Nihachu

Music: Mr. Quackity

Chemistry: Mr. Halo}

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Home room: Mr. Callahan

You sighed, trudging toward the school entrance, god it was way to early for this. 

The halls were already crowded with people heading to there home rooms, and Mr. Minecraft, the principal, was standing outside the admin offices, greeting everyone with a smile. 

“Good morning, (y/n).” 

“Good morning Mr. Minecraft.” You grumbled as you passed. 

You hurried through the foyer and up the stairs, toward Mr. Callahan’s room. 

“Hey!” Tubbo called, hurrying down the hallway, “(y/n)!”

“Hey Tubbo.” you yawned.

He fell into step with you, “You think Callahan will actually show today?” 

The one good thing about your home room teacher is that none of the kids ever seemed to have seen him. It meant that some days, while other home rooms had lectures of bullying or something, your class got to hang out for 30 minutes. 

“I don’t think he even exists.” Purpled said, falling in on your other side. 

“He definitely doesn’t.” You agreed. 

~~

History: Mr. Blade

“Hey (y/n)!” Ranboo called from his seat at the front of the room as you came in. 

He was lucky enough to have moved homerooms and ended up getting the same room as his first block. 

“Hello Ranboo.” you sighed, sitting down in your seat next to him. 

Tommy came in and plopped down behind you, “Well you sound like shit.”

“No swearing in my classroom, Tommy.” Mr. Blade chided, hardly looking up from the book on his desk. 

You turned to look at Tommy, “It’s too early for this.” 

“You say that everyday!” He laughed. 

“Yeah! Cause this class starts at 7:45 in the god damn morning!” You half exclaimed. 

“Bloody hell you’d think you’d get used to it-” 

“Tommy, what did I say about swearing?” Mr. Blade cut Tommy off. 

“But you didn’t yell at (y/n)!” Tommy yelled, “That’s not fair Tech!” 

Me. Blade glared at his brother, “Do you want me to send you down to Phil’s office Tommy?” 

“I didn’t even do anything!”

After a moment under Mr. Blades glare, Tommy sighed, “Please don’t send me down to Phil.” 

The teacher didn’t respond, instead standing up and moving to stand in front of the board, queuing up the intro slides for the day, “All right everyone, settle down. Today in our ‘tour of the ancient world’ or whatever, we’re going to start our mini unit on Greece.”

~~

Statistics/Math: Mr. Was Taken

After a class that ended mostly in a rant about the myth of Heracles, you said goodbye to Ranboo and Tommy and met up with Purpled to head to math. 

Mr. Wastaken was already passing out the notes when you two got there, sliding into your seats at the back of the classroom just as the bell rang. 

“You’re late.” He chided, dropping the papers onto your desk, then Purpleds. 

“Purp needed to refill his water bottle.” You explained. 

“Seriously?” Mr. Wastaken questioned, “Dude, it’s second block, why the hell was your water already empty?” 

Purpled shrugged, “P.E?” 

“Ehh, wrong, Sapnap doesn’t have you till sixth period.” 

“Stairs... are murder man.” He fumbled. 

You nodded, “First floor to the fourth floor is tough Mr. Wastaken.” 

Rolling his eyes, the teacher moved back to the front of the room, “Alright, last nights homework was a bit of a flop so we’ll be more review for the quiz tomorrow.” 

You groaned internally, pulling out your pencil. 

Purpled nodded, “I fuckin hate review days.” 

“I can hear you, you know!” Mr. WasTaken half yelled. 

~~

Chemistry: Mr. Halo

After Math you and Purpled headed down to the science hall to meet back up with Tubbo to head to Chem. 

“Welcome back everybody!” Mr. Halo greeted cheerily, “Good to see smiling faces for chemistry!” 

How he managed to stay so upbeat, no one would ever know.

You sat down at your lab table with Tubbo, “You think we actually make it to doing the lab today before he starts talking about Mr. Skeppy again?” 

“Oh no chance.” 

You chuckled, pulling out your notebook as Mr. Halo pulled up the opening review before the lab. 

Twenty minutes later found you elbow deep in the lab, quite literally. 

“It was supposed to just be a small scale elephants toothpaste!” Mr. Halo cried. 

Purpled grinned, “You should’ve taken my wildcard factor into account sir.” 

You laughed, wiping the foam off your apron (thank god for lab aprons), “That was brilliant!” 

A few minutes earlier, Tubbo had helped him do out the math to scale up the experiment by 20%, and you had willingly given up your own materials to help.

Now most of the classroom was covered in the foam, and Purpled and the girl who had been unfortunate enough to be partnered with him were knee deep in it. 

“I sent the video to the groupchat.” Tubbo whispered.

“Good.” You chuckled again. 

Mr. Halo groaned, “You three start cleaning this up, Elizabeth, dear, why don’t you join a different group.”

“I volunteer to switch with her!” Drista yelled, “they look like fun!” 

Mr. Halo sighed, “No- no absolutely not- I can’t deal with you added to the mix.” 

Drista pouted, the rest of the class went back to there work, and you, Tubbo and Purpled began to clean up the foam. 

~~

Drama: Mr. Soot

As Purpled left for his history class, you and tubbo headed twoard the music/performing arts suit, where you met up with Ranboo. 

“Tommy said he wished he could’ve been there to see the foam.” Ranboo reported as Tubbo peeled off into the band room, and you both continued on to the green room. 

“Hello, Hello, Hello!” Mr. Soot greeted in an aussie accent (you know the one). 

“Oh god please say were not doing accents today.” Ranboo muttered. 

Mr. Soot laughed, “Nah, we’re going to do some more rounds of improv.” 

“Oh thank god.” You said as you moved to take a seat at one of the side tables. 

“That would have been hell.” Ranboo agreed. 

More people poured into the room, take seats all around as Mr. Soot began to dig through on of the closets. 

As the bell rang he let out a triumphant cheer, turning around and brandishing a very large bowl of paper slips, “I found the prompts!” 

“Oh dear lord.” Ranboo muttered.

“Mr. Soot can we please do like, anything else?” You asked, “Like scenes, or hell I’d even take monologues, you know we’re all shit at improv!” 

The teacher sighed, “I suppose we could do something else. I guess we can begin our next topic, you’re all going to be assigned scenes and given time to practice them, we’ll present on Friday!” 

The entire class breathed a sigh of relief that you had managed to change his mind. 

~~ English: Mr. NotFound 

After a very chaotic lunch full of Tubbo retelling a bunch of jokes Mr. Quackity had told during music,  you trudged off to the one class that didn’t have any of your main group of friends in. 

The one good thing about having Mr. NotFound as a teacher was that he had no clue what he was doing. 

More often then not you would be left to do essays or read the required books, and then watch the movies that went along with them.

And, just your luck, your English block happened to take place during Mr. Wastaken’s prep period. 

“Right, everyone, today’s a work day, finish up anything you need to for this class, or another, and I’ll put on a movie.” Mr. NotFound said as soon as everyone was seated. 

Ten minutes into the movie the teacher had left, and you pulled up the group chat.

(y/n): Mr. NotFound has yet again suspiciously left during class. 

Purp: sus

Purp: just went by WasTaken’s room

Purp: he’s not there

BooBoy: I saw him down in the science hall ten minutes ago

BeEs: Science hall is oposite to English isn’t it

(y/n): yeah it is

BooBoy: very sus

Purp: I swear their having an affair

BeEs: defintly a lesbian

BeEs: *leassion

BeEs: lesion

BeEs: le-a-zon

BeEs: you know what I mean!

BooBoy: take your time Tubbo

You chuckled quietly, putting your phone down to look back up at the movie on the screen. 

~~

Spanish: Mr. Dream (its mexican dream lol)

“AYYYY kids!”

You groaned as your Spanish teacher burst into the room.

“What is with this guy?” Tommy muttered. 

“ayy man not cool.” Mr. Dream said. 

“Mr. Dream your ten minutes late!” Someone pointed out. 

“SHut up man. And I told you just call me Mexican Dream!” The teacher said. 

You frowned, “That doesn’t make sense, theres no way your first name is ‘mexican’.” 

“Well its not,” He explained, “But its cause I’m the Mexican version of that math teacher!” 

“Why couldn’t I have taken French like Boo and Purp?” Tommy asked the ceiling quietly.

~~ Home ec: Miss Nihachu

The last block of the day was always the best, but not just because school would be over soon. 

There were three main reasons why everyone agreed it was the best. 

1. Miss Nihachu was the nicest teacher in school

2. baking was done often, and everyone always got to take some home

3. it was the one class you, Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo and Purpled all had together. 

Soon your found yourself crowded into one of the tiny kitchen areas with all your friends, as Miss Nihachu gave instructions. 

“Now, if you make a mess you will be cleaning it up! I’m looking at your kitchen a!” She said, half threateningly.

Ranboo pushed away from the group, “I’m not with them I swear!” 

Miss Nihachu rolled her eyes playfully, “Sure your not.” 

Surprisingly, a mess was not fully made. 

Somehow between Tommy wanting to taste the cookie dough at every step from butter to flour, Tubbo trying to add as many chocolate chips as he could, and Purpled all but refusing to move from where he was sitting on the counter, you and Ranboo managed to get the cookies into the oven with no real disasters. 

As you wiped down the empty counter space you sighed, “That wasn’t too bad.” 

“Yeah.” Tubbo agreed. 

Tommy only nodded, still eating the large glob of cookie dough he’d stolen. 

Ten minutes before the bell rang and when everyone was supposed to be finishing cleaning up you sniffed the air suspiciously, “Why do I smell burning?” 

Tubbo took a deep breath, “I smell it too.”

“Oh yeah, something is definitly burning.” Ranboo agreed. 

You whirled to face Purpled, who was absently scrolling through his phone, “Purp you did set a timer right?” 

[hermannsthumb]

I’m stuck in bed w tonsillitis, can I pls pls pls have a bored and sick Newt fic because I am also bored and sick?

OF COURSE.... sending all my love!!!! here are some pen pal era boys and newt with tonsillitis just for u

Hermann would never reveal this to Newton, but one of the reasons he saved up and sprung for a smartphone in the first place--or perhaps the only reason--was so that he could properly keep up daily correspondence with Newton. His ancient flip phone, with its tiny three-letter-a-number keyboard, simply wasn’t up to task when it came to matching Newton’s constant stream of texts. Nor were the international rates remotely affordable. He can send Newton pictures now, those funny emoticons Newton loves, text him over wifi, and, even better, they can video chat whenever either of them want.

Unfortunately, Newton appears to want to video chat right no, right in the middle of Hermann’s afternoon Calculus lecture, and Hermann’s made the grave mistake of leaving his ringer on and his phone buried in the very bottom of his tote bag with no way he can possibly subtly switch it off. He talks through the first two times, certain that Newton will recall the five hour time difference and the fact that Hermann has a job and stop any second now, but after three more times he admits defeat. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” he tells his students, with forced calmness and gritted teeth, and then begins digging through his bag.

He finds his phone on ring number six and declines the video call, only to discover that Newton’s blown up his phone with dozens of text messages as well, all some variant of either begging Hermann to pick up his phone or telling him that it’s an emergency!

Hermann immediately feels a pang of guilt for ignoring his friend for so long. “We’ll end early today,” he announces, scrolling down, and down, and down through Newton’s texts. “I’ve got a bit of an emergency, I’m afraid.”

There are murmurs of pleased surprise, and Hermann’s students begin quickly packing up their laptops and bags, but Hermann beats them all out the door. He answers Newton’s next video call on the first ring. “What is it?” he half-shouts at the screen, preparing himself for the worst. The video feed on Newton’s end finishes loading, and he’s face-to-face with Newton--

--at home, in bed.

“Hi,” Newton says, sounding as if he has a bad cold.

“What’s the matter?” Hermann pushes, though he slows to a halt, half-out the front doors of the university building. “What’s the emergency?”

“Oh,” Newton says, looking moderately surprised. “Right. I forgot I texted that. I’m just bored.”

Hermann hangs up.

Newton rings again, and Hermann picks it up very begrudgingly. “I cancelled my lecture for you,” he announces. He does not tell Newton that he’d been halfway to purchasing a one-way flight to Boston, nor that the webpage is currently still open in his phone’s browser. 

“You did?” Newton says, sounding incredibly pleased. “That’s so sweet. Thanks, Hermann.”

“That wasn’t meant--” Hermann begins to hiss, furious, but a small group of his first-years scurry by him and he shuts his mouth. (He already unintentionally terrifies them enough. Best not to give them any more reason.) He tries again, mildly calmer. “I was under the impression you were in the hospital. Or dying. Or both.”

“I mean, technically,” Newton says, “I’m dying of boredom. And I was in the hospital.”

Hermann startles in surprise. “You were?” he says. He supposed it would explain Newton’s radio silence over the last few days.

“Tonsillitis, baby,” Newton says, which would also explain why his voice sounds--like that. “I can’t eat jackshit. Or leave bed. It sucks.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to--”

“Literally anything,” Newton says. “You could read me the phone book and it would be more exciting than this. Do you know how many episodes of House Hunters I’ve watched?”

“You could change the channel,” Hermann suggests.

“Hermann,” Newton whines.

It’s not even four in the afternoon. Hermann’s bus home isn’t due to arrive for at least another half hour. He sighs and finishes the walk to the bus stop bench, then sits down. “Oh, fine,” he says. “What would you like me to talk about?”

Newton beams at him and wriggles into a sitting position, and Hermann is struck by how strangely endearing he looks, with his baggy t-shirt and messy bedhead. (Damn Newton and his infuriating ability to distract and beguile Hermann at every turn.) “I don’t know,” he says. “I kinda expected you to hang up.” Hermann feels another pang of guilt. “Uh, what’s the weather like there?”

Hermann squints at the gloomy grey sky. “Overcast.” He recalls the report he heard over the bus radio that morning. “We’re meant to expect rain.”

“What’d you do today?”

“I ate breakfast,” Hermann says. “I taught, but I left early, on account of an annoying colleague--”

“Jackass,” Newton says affectionately. Hermann smiles. 

“You ought to get some sleep,” Hermann says, moderately softer. When Hermann had his tonsils removed when he was ten years old, he remembers doing nothing but drinking sugary tea, assembling small models in bed, and sleeping. Mostly sleeping. (He also remembers being wildly displeased with the amount of school he had to miss.) Besides, Newton does look quite exhausted.

“Will you keep talking to me if I do?” Newton says. Hermann’s got twenty-five minutes to his bus. He can spare the time. He nods, and Newton looks pleased once more. “Talk about your latest research or something.”

Hermann snorts. “You must think so highly of my work if it puts you to sleep that quickly,” he says, and--to his surprise--embarrassment instantly clouds Newton’s features.

“’S not that,” he says, averting his eyes from the camera. “Your voice is...nice. I just like it.”

“Oh,” Hermann says, and hopes Newton cannot see his blush. “Er. Thank you, Newton.”

Newton says nothing else, so Hermann launches into a brief summary of his latest, and yet-to-be-published, research, research he’ll undoubtedly be sending off to Newton to peer-edit and peer-review in less than a weeks’ time. As he speaks, he watches Newton settle back down into bed, his eyes drift shut, his lips curl into a little smile, and by the time Hermann’s bus comes--by the time Hermann hangs up with an identical smile on his face--Newton’s sound asleep.

Feel better, Hermann texts him, and, after a moment’s consideration, adds a small heart emoticon.

[rosinapowrie-blog]

The Teacher Dichotomy: the problem with hero teachers.

“The only thing I know for sure is that I know nothing at all, for sure” – Socrates

Learning isn't just about passing exams.  Since starting a career in teaching four years ago, I have struggled to remember this myself, let alone show pupils what they could be missing out on.  In response, I set up a school society mimicking TEDx Talks, giving kids the chance to listen to in interesting lecture at lunchtime with no hidden agenda: simply to try to show them that academia goes beyond mark schemes and box ticks.  This was my opening address entitled 'The Teacher Dichotomy: the problem with hero teachers.'

_______________________________________________________________________In my first fortnight of teaching at a prestigious new school, once we got over that slightly awkward unsure phase of ‘nu teacher who dis,’ a student asked me where I’d been to university and what I’d studied...

‘St Andrews, in Scotland... where Prince William went’ (I added after only a minuscule pause which I have become accustomed to when speaking of the tiny town on the East Fife coast). ‘I read English Literature, but did loads of modules in Philosophy, Classics, Art History... it was good.’ ‘Wow’ the student replied, ‘that’s like really good isn’t it? You must be... like... really clever..!’ And then the student said the 10 words that have shocked me the most in my haggering career as an educator... ‘So why did you end up as a teacher then?’ Now I am not so naive as to think that this is simply one view held by one teenager in that particular moment... What this delightful girl had uttered was probably the ultimate Freudian slip of today’s youth... you lot just don’t see the value in education for its own sake... you think that school is just something you have to get through, preferably do well at, then you can start living your best life. But this must be challenged: if we know and accept that gaining knowledge is a vital crevasse to conquer whilst mountaineering the Range of Success, why do we see it merely as a means to an end? Why can we not enjoy the ride, live in the moment, and value our opportunity to learn new stuff? Why is it that, still in 2018, when teaching is known to be one of the most draining and stringently trained professions, requiring the skill and discipline of an artist, athlete and jail warden simultaneously all before 9am 5 days a week, do our very target audience view our profession as a sort of embarrassing accident that losers happen to fall into? Perhaps you are already outraged by my cynicism. I am aware I am currently preaching to the converted - you guys have chosen to spend your lunch time in this room pursuing knowledge and discussion. But I vehemently believe that this modern apathy to education is due largely to the portrayal of teachers in the media and popular culture. I don’t solely mean the ludicrous click bait that floods your newsfeeds every day (I’m thinking headlines such as ‘boy of 1 wins Nobel peace prize for finding cure to cancer despite failing all GCSEs - who needs em anyway’ or even just the multitude of distracting cat videos you’d much rather be watching), I mean those subliminal messages in books, TV and film that have been drip fed to my generation and yours in our formative years. I’m talking about The Teacher Dichotomy: heroes vs villains. By this, I mean that teachers are firmly type cast into two roles: the sickening sycophant who inspires their flock with their unconventional quirks and flagrant disregard for any sort of teaching standard... that one who really gets down to da youf’s level. Or, worse, the maniacal villain who struts around with a cape and cane doling out detentions and appearing entirely inhumane. The inability to portray teachers as warm blooded mammals with the same instincts, desires and fears as the rest of the world has not only devalued the joy of education, it actually undermines the incredible passion and hard work that goes into just the average, unmemorable bog standard Mr or Mrs Bloggs’ daily job as a teacher. On demand, could anyone name an example of just a regular teacher that a) exists in a book/film etc and b) fulfils meaningful purpose in the plot purely in his or her role as educator and not for any other reason? Three examples analysed... Firstly, our heroes: I’ll start with that that ever hilarious, ever chaotic excuse for a school teacher portrayed by loveable comedian Jack Whitehall in popular BBC3 series ‘Bad Education.’ Alfie Wickers, the History NQT at Abbey Grove School, prefers to befriend students rather than enable them responsibly to achieve their potential. His typical pedagogy includes such escapades as practical re-enactments of battles, or ‘Class Wars’, where any Ofsted inspector would literally have a fit at the flagrant violation for safeguarding an 'ealf and safety. Yet Mr Wickers is respected by Form K – they even like him and learn from him – but do we see any assessment, formative or summative? Do we see him planning or marking? Do we see him tracking progress and planning interventions? While it may be a TV show, and art does not need to imitate life, the point is that Mr Wickers is seen as a fun, likeable teacher.  If he did anything that he was actually supposed to, he would be seen as boring.  And what sort of message is that sending a young audience – that the people who dedicate their lives to ensuring their progress in a conventional way are not heroes.  Only those who offer them fun and entertainment, and no actual learning, are.

At the other end of the positive spectrum, there are those sorts of hero teachers who move students emotionally, yet still wouldn’t actually pass an observation. The epitome is John Keating – the maverick English master portrayed by Robin Williams in the classic ‘80s film, ‘Dead Poets Society.’  Keating encourages his vulnerable student, Anderson, to come out of his shell by joining the eponymous banned extracurricular club.  Here, he forges friendships with unlikely characters and experiences true life and love by looking at poetry differently and forgetting the pressures and requirements of school.  Professor Keating is eventually called out for his disregard for school standards and duly sacked, leaving the boys chanting a heart-wrenching chorus of Whitman’s ‘O Captain, my Captain’ whilst standing on desks.  It’s the ultimate bildungsroman: the boys have come of age, and Keating helped them get there.  Yet again, his inspiring nature is not at all borne of his skill in traditional education methods, but rather the fact that he ignores them completely.  Yet another example of the hero teacher, shaming regular teachers into the background of mediocrity.

And now the other end of the spectrum – the villains.  Who better to analyse than Rowling’s malevolent Professor Umbridge, who swans into Hogwarts in The Order of the Phoenix with the sole aim of making monumental, ‘Ministry approved’ changes to the school curriculum and generally shaking the status quo.  Fans of the series, let’s forget the reasons behind our negative view of Umbridge’s changes for now (the government’s refusal to believe that Voldemort has returned, etc) and read this simply as a teacher trying to raise standards by reviewing current practice and attempting to embed systemic change.  We see this when she addresses the school for the first time: ‘some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited." This sounds rather like a forward-thinking teacher, school leader or governor wanting to make improvements, yet she is completely slated and seen as evil.  For example, what are her actual crimes: conducting lesson observations of fellow staff?  Holding staff accountable for their performance and the progress of pupils, and removing them from post if they are not up to scratch? Ensuring that the curriculum is standardized? Essentially, all things that normal teachers do in normal schools to meet the teachers’ standards and provide robust education systems.  However, she is utterly vilified for doing so: so much so that Rowling chooses to portray her as committing the ultimate teacher-sin – failing to safeguard students and actually physically assaulting them in her detentions.  This is a choice the author has made: to show traditional schooling and education standards as petty compared to the great, heroic things that the rest of the Hogwarts teachers inspire the heard with.  The irony is that Umbridge is certainly the only member of staff who would even pass a PGCE, let alone be promoted to senior leadership, in real life.  Yet again, we see the dichotomy in action, reinforcing that subliminal message that traditional education is nasty, negative and pointless.

The glass ceiling must be broken and education needs to be esteemed once more.  The conditioning we’ve been subjected to through popular culture has not helped, but now we have been enlightened to our ignorance. The great irony is that if we enjoy the ride, stop seeing education as a means to end, but rather an end in itself, then you will get further in life if you have become a fully rounded person with a broad cultural capital.  Take umbrage with Umbridge: value your current opportunities and enjoy learning your subjects even if you never need to use that information again.

[thepapermixtape]

Silicon Beach (Part 2): Jumpcut’s Kel Livson

By: Connie Lu

Kel Livson (UCLA ‘14) is the Head of Content at Jumpcut Inc., a startup known as the “Netflix of Education” that creates captivating online courses for aspiring content creators and startup founders.  

I reached out to Kel to discuss her journey with Jumpcut and what she sees in the overlap between entertainment and innovation.

P E R S O N A L

How did you first hear about Jumpcut?

I was already working with some of the founders--Kong and Jesse--first as a graphic designer and later as lead copywriter for Simple Pickup, their Youtube channel when they pitched Jumpcut to me. Kong actually wrote a letter and taped it to the door of my room to persuade me to join!

Wow. What finally convinced you?

It was a mixture of believing in Jumpcut’s mission and taking a personal risk. Simple Pickup is targeted to help men gain confidence, make friends, talk to women, and be happy. I’m all about this! And while it felt very fulfilling to help these men, making the transition to Jumpcut allowed me to impact a greater audience that I related to - especially those seeking a nontraditional career path but unsure of where to start.

The personal risk was my own career trajectory. I graduated from UCLA totally ready to work that 9 to 5, low-salary job in a marketing agency or for a corporate brand. I didn’t mind it at all. But in Kong’s letter he said:  “Look, you’re gonna be able to grow at a startup than any other job. Trust me for 1 year.”

And one year later?

I took the risk and it was so worthwhile. I learned so much. In the beginning at Simple Pickup, I was ordering people’s lunches - I would literally ask: “Do you want fries with that?” But 4 years later, I’m not just designing, but also managing market campaigns, emailing 3,000+ people, and writing courses with Youtubers. There is no way I could have imagined doing all this if I had stuck with a regular job as a designer.

People emphasize how much you learn in start-ups, but it’s true. The environment allows you to be constantly evolving and adapting.

J U M P C U T

Sounds like Kong knew what he was talking about! Did he or Jesse have any prior entrepreneurship experience?

Kong and Jesse were both business majors in college. But they felt their classes weren’t teaching them anything they could learn in real life. I remember Jesse telling me that he was enrolled in an entrepreneurship class teaching him how to write emails with good manners. So from the start, the two already had a lot of side projects going - mostly selling textbooks and sassy sport apparel about another college team. Simple Pickup was the first real company that they started that gained traction. They grew to a couple million subscribers all by themselves actually! Once the money was rolling in, Kong and Jesse dropped out of school with 6 or 7 months until graduation. A lot of people would have stuck in to get that degree certified on paper, but Kong’s philosophy was: instead of getting a degree that doesn’t mean anything to me, we’re gonna focus on the company and be 6 or 7 months ahead of everyone else. But ultimately, there is no way to really prepare for running your first company until you just do it.

And how did Jumpcut evolve?

It was a constant iteration process. A lot of people think working for a start-up means focusing on one mission, but it’s really about testing a bunch of things and finding that one idea that changes the world the way you want it to. When Kong and Jesse saw the results in Simple Pickup, the initial idea was: “what if we made viral videos for other Youtube channels?” So we started working with six other Youtube channels in the LA area. But then the idea grew to: “what if we made viral videos for not just other YouTubers, but for anyone, anywhere?”. There were a lot of pivots, but the success comes from Jesse and Kong knowing the target audience--people who don’t want to work that corporate job, who want to be their own boss--because Jesse and Kong were those people. Today, our mission is to be the best education platform in the world by enhancing the learning experience for students who aspire to be content creators or startup execs.

How are you creating that learning experience?

There’s lots of factors! First and foremost, all our courses are taught by real experts. A class on growing your Youtube audience, for example, is always taught by actual Youtube influencers with the stats to back it up. Our bonus classes on vlogging, comedy, and even Youtube legalities are taught by names you might recognize such as David So from DavidsoComedy, Joe Jo and Bart Kwan from JKFilms, and much more. For the course on how to found your own startup, we have Justin Kan, the founder of Twitch--a company almost worth one billion right now--teaching it, along with lessons from over 25 startup founders in Silicon Valley!

Second, our videos stand out visually. I’m currently leading the production process and I can tell you we take the “Netflix for Education” motto seriously. Our lectures have stories, characters, beautiful footage and editing -- it feels like watching a documentary. And our startup series is going to have cinematography that’s 10x better than anything we’ve done before. Jumpcut really believes in improving quality to make learning a more entertaining experience.

Lastly, we focus on student-course interaction. It’s not hard for self-starters to learn; those are the 1% who don’t need Jumpcut. But for the 99% of people who aren’t motivated by a boring lecture--like Jesse and Kong--we’ve developed features to engage our students so they can apply what they’ve learned. I’m particularly proud of our Peer Review system, which guarantees ratings and reviews for students when they submit a Youtube video assignment for review.  Posting to Facebook or Reddit for feedback isn’t as immediate or qualified, since you don’t have that forum of like-minded individuals. One of our sayings here is, “In life if you want to get value, you have to give value,” and I think that’s so true, whether in your job or relationships. Our bootcamps also let students give and receive, since the course incorporates daily challenges that hold a group of team members accountable for completing assignments. Working together not only connects the learning experience, but also gives them a set network in their niche to help each other out as they continue their trajectory.

T E C H  &  E N T E R T A I N M E N T

Jumpcut’s roots in Youtube make it a real gamechanger. What makes the company so unique from other traditional start-ups in Silicon Valley?

I like to think Jesse and Kong’s success in Youtube helped us show our credibility in getting results. Instead of theoretical graphs and charts, we had an actual, profiting company to show to incubators and investors. And now we’re backed by Y Combinator!

With the advent of new tech like VR/AR/360, the applications to film are endless. What do you see in the future of Jumpcut?

I’m mind-blown at the rate at which our tech has advanced! It’s crazy and I’ve had the awesome opportunity to experience VR at this year’s VRLA convention. However, I believe

you should only leverage new tech if the tech has a purpose, no matter how cool it sounds. For instance, VR in a classroom doesn’t really enhance the learning experience compared to watching it already. So currently, AR/VR hasn’t found a space at Jumpcut yet. But I do hope that we eventually find that space.

On the topic of tech though, I do believe that we’ll be seeing more opportunities opening up. Social media wasn’t present 20 years ago; today, there are new Influencers on new platforms creating new jobs. Creating your own job - even that concept is relatively new. And 10 years from now, there will be careers and ways to make money that don’t exist today. Jumpcut is all about helping you create your own path, so I’m excited to see how far we expand.

To give you an example, there’s a guy on Youtube who makes puppets. Fucking puppets! And no one who would normally give him the time of the day maybe a decade ago are binge watching his channel. This is what the internet gives us. A place to share our craftsmanship, however silly and unmarketable it may seem. If this guy can make a living, I’m sure you can turn your hobby into something career-wise too.

C U L T U R E

So anyone can make money doing anything. What might this mean for us as a society?

For better or worse, our standards are going to be higher. 10 years ago, I would watch a TV show and think it’s great. Now I have an unlimited number of shows on Netflix or an unlimited number of influencers to follow. Choosing between them refines your taste so we might be becoming more spoiled. But it also forces the creators to be constantly aware of their market and up the content quality.

Your work at Jumpcut means interacting with a lot of different people from different backgrounds. What have been some highlights?

I am lucky to interview our teachers and testimonials. One woman who founded Scale.api told me: “You should always make sure you’re the dumbest person in the room.” This really struck with me because it’s a spin off of “You’re the average of the 5 people you hang out with.” It made me realize that maybe I’m not the dumbest person in certain situations and that I can try hanging out with different people.

Another highlight has been our Jumpcut meetups, which we host in L.A.  It’s incredible to see our users show up and be excited about what they’re pursuing. Seeing the impact on their lives is what gets me going at work, knowing that their entire career paths might be changed because of one thing I did.

What advice do you have to current and post-grad Bruins?

For current students, I would say spend more time on projects and meeting people. I regret being so focused on school; not one employer so far has asked for my GPA. Even if you’re an engineer, many companies like Google and Facebook are now prioritizing your GitHub over your resume. I was a DESMA (Design and Media Arts) major, so everyone around me was talented, creative, and motivated. It’s a rare environment that you take for granted until you’ve graduated. Nowhere else, except maybe at a startup, are you surrounded by that much ambition. The reality is that many people in the world do not give a shit about their lives.

For the post-grads, seriously evaluate the career trajectory you’re on. Ask yourself: “Is this what I really want to do? Is this something I feel fulfilled by?” It might be cliche but life is short. It’s a disservice to yourself to come to work--that’s 8 hours everyday for your life!--doing something that you don’t care about.

I think the fear is: “the things that do make me happy are silly and I can’t make a career out of it”. But the possibility is out there - you’re just scared because it’ll be hard to earn it. What we teach at Jumpcut is that you only need one thousand true fans to make a good amount of money. 1,000 really isn’t a lot of people, but it’s enough to take that chance. A lot of people will say the alternative is living safe, but it’s really living in fear. Which isn’t how anyone should live. And I know, because it took me more than Kong’s letter to be convinced; I had several personal conversations and a whole lot of doubt to sort through before I made the jump. In short, let happiness--not fear--dictate your life.

All photos courtesy of Jumpcut

For more information on Jumpcut or on Kel, check out: http://www.jumpcut.com/ https://app.jumpcut.com/course/viral-entrepreneur-academy https://www.facebook.com/jumpcuthq/ https://www.facebook.com/kel.livson https://www.instagram.com/jumpcuthq/

[jwillia1961]

Best-Teacher Awards Are Bunk

They distract us from colleges’ systemic failures.

By Jacques Berlinerblau AUGUST 21, 2017  Chronicle of Higher Education PREMIUM

Each year, the journal The Literary Review bestows the Bad Sex in Fiction Award upon an author who produces coital-themed prose of exceptionally poor quality. I’d like to rejigger the prize for the professoriate and honor the Most Unrealistic Depiction of a College Class in American Cinema. My nomination, hands down, goes to the 2003 film Mona Lisa Smile, starring Julia Roberts. The actress plays Professor Katherine Ann Watson, an art-history instructor teaching on a one-year contract at Wellesley College in 1953.

There is so much askew in Mona Lisa Smile’s classroom scenes that I don’t even know where to start. How do we account for students who have memorized the entire textbook by the first day of class? How could a bunch of 20-year-olds know enough about scholarly mores to throw shade at Ms. Watson for not yet having her doctorate? I’m also confused as to why, by semester’s end, each student presents the professor with a well-executed painting of flowers. I mean, I get the allusion to their burgeoning, agentive, feminist consciousness and all. But when did "History of Art 100" become a studio class?

Not everyone at Wellesley offers heartfelt gifts to the freewheelin’ Professor Watson. The administration renews her contract only on the condition that she tone down all the liberal stuff in her lectures (and personal life). Professor Watson refuses to compromise her integrity. Upon her bittersweet departure, crestfallen students escort her taxi past the campus gate on their bicycles. As they complete their rolling salute to pedagogical greatness, they tear up over the loss of an Instructor Who Makes Us Think. And Love.

The question for me is not why a Hollywood depiction of college life is so off the mark. We humanists — who’d struggle to properly position and align our pipe cleaners in a shoebox diorama — ought not cast aspersions on the artists who produced a movie as pretty as Mona Lisa Smile. No, the question for me is why narratives about great teachers abound in hype and sentimentality.

Students have a lot going on in their lives -- and not much of it has to do with us.

This tendency is certainly not restricted to cinema. Even serious academic studies of pedagogy traffic in this sort of hyperbole. I think of Ken Bain’s 2004 book, What the Best College Teachers Do (Harvard University Press). This thorough and well-intentioned study set out "to capture the collective scholarship of some of the best teachers in the United States, to record not just what they do but also how they think, and most of all, to begin to conceptualize their practices."

Bain admirably deploys multiple metrics to identify his best teachers. His research abides by rules of rigorous scholarly inquiry. Yet even this trained academic can’t avoid excessive praise. "How does Ann Woodworth, a professor of theater at Northwestern University," he asks, "lift her acting students to heights of thespian brilliance?"

The Harvard professor Michael Sandel, teaching a class of 700 students (!), is commended extensively. According to Bain, Sandel helps undergraduates become "good political philosophers" by asking them to imagine "fundamental issues of justice and understand their own thinking." Bain is equally unconcerned about massified classes when he lauds another best teacher for asking pre-class questions of his 200 registered students.

Although Bain concedes that even the best instructors have bad days, his analysis loses sight of that truth. The educators he writes about appear to consistently elicit epiphanies in their young charges. The scholars are rarely shown to stumble during lectures. They never arrive late for class or lose their tempers with insolent seniors. Grade disputes, a fact of life for any college teacher doing his or her own marking, are nonexistent. The students themselves play but a supporting role in Bain’s analysis. They exist as fans. An audience. Reaction shots.

This sentimentalization of Best College Teachers strikes me as misguided and even a bit sinister. It fails to take into consideration how undergraduates today typically interact with their professors — just as it turns our attention away from those obvious structural factors that make it so hard for scholars to actually focus on their students.

Abook that helps us pump the brakes on over-the-top depictions of inspired college teaching is the 2005 My Freshman Year: What a Professor Learned by Becoming a Student (Cornell University Press). This eye-opening study was published by an anthropologist, Cathy A. Small, a professor at Northern Arizona University, writing under the pen name Rebekah Nathan. For any scholar, the premise of My Freshman Year is the stuff of night terrors. The author, a tenured ethnographer, matriculates (undercover) at the age of 52 as a student in the college at which she teaches. She even takes up residence in the dorms. This feat of derring-do reminds us that anthropologists are the professoriate’s last remaining daredevils, stuntpersons who will launch themselves off a 13,000-foot cliff in a wingsuit in quest of knowledge(s).

Small provides a sobering counterpoint to the treacly narrative of inspirational college teachers. "Most professors and administrators," she writes, "overestimate the role that academics plays in student culture, and as a result they magnify the impact of teachers and classes on student life and decisions." One reason undergraduates are impervious to our influence is that they’re incredibly busy. They are cross-pressured by jobs, club activities, internships, romance, social obligations, and other classes. Put simply, students have a lot going on in their lives — and not much of it has to do with us.

A recent analysis obliquely buttresses this point. It argues that college students spend significantly less time studying than do high-school students (10.9 fewer hours per week). They show roughly equal commitment to educational and work-related activities. If we look at 50-year trends, full-time students are spending less and less of their day preparing for class.

Reflecting on her own discoveries in the field, Small raises a concern that speaks to the reality of contemporary scholar/undergraduate relations. "As an anthropologist," she laments, "I was humbled to see how little I, as a professor, knew of my students’ academic world." I think the converse of Small’s observation is equally true: Students have no idea who we are. They have no clear sense of how or why we became professors. They know little of what our job entails outside of the sessions we spend with them. They couldn’t distinguish a provost from a postdoc.

Prizes draw attention away from the fact that educating an undergraduate is a collective, not an individual, enterprise.

The bitter and undeniable truth is that most professors and students in 21st-century America are cordially estranged. The two groups lead parallel lives on campus, their only point of intersection being the occasional classroom spaces they happen to inhabit concurrently. As far as a professor is concerned, the students arrayed in front of him or her could just as well be a flash mob that assembles twice a week and takes notes as part of its performance. Professors and students do not necessarily think ill of each other. The truth is that they hardly think of each other at all.

The developments that resulted in this cordial estrangement are complex, and I certainly can’t expound upon them here. My best guess is that things started shifting in the 1980s. Maybe it was the increased emphasis on research that drove scholars away from the more avuncular relations they may have maintained with students in earlier generations. Maybe housing prices rose and it became more difficult for professors to purchase properties near campus. Maybe the spread of contingency made it hard for underpaid and undervalued academics to concentrate on mentoring. Maybe it was the expansion of the administrative class that inserted itself as a firewall between professors and students. Maybe economic trends forced more kids out of their study carrels and into low-paying jobs. Or maybe a growing awareness of sexual harassment in the 1980s had the positive effect of neutralizing campus predators, and the negative one of giving nonpredatory professors reason to distance themselves from undergrads — all the better to focus on research!

No matter what the reasons, the consequences are dismal. What has been lost, in both theory and practice, is the idea of meaningful and sustained relations between faculty members and those they teach. The student-professor encounter has become increasingly transactional. Office hours are perfunctory; students who do attend come only to discuss finals or to offer excuses for late papers. Mentoring has become a lost art, like the mid-range jump shot or album-cover design. That some schools advertise their "experiential learning" or "student-professor research initiatives" as perks and selling points indicates how rare these types of interactions have become.

Finding exemplary instructors in this context is at once hard and easy. Hard because we care so little about training and cultivating skilled teachers. Easy because the field is not exceedingly competitive; few scholars are actually vying for this honor.

Can I be perfectly frank with you? The whole discourse of Best College Teachers strikes me as bunk. Whether it’s Baylor University’s Robert Foster Cherry Award for Great Teaching (with a cash prize of $250,000), or those "Faculty of the Year" honors that are dispensed at every college according to a body of work that is, literally, inscrutable — it all seems off to me. I don’t doubt that there are some truly phenomenal instructors out there who have deserved these accolades (just as I don’t doubt that some duds have received them as well). Yet this system of tribute undermines a lot of what we aim for as educators.

Let me first say a word about inscrutability. How does any professor, let alone a panel of judges, really know what goes on in another professor’s class? Longstanding academic convention dictates that we rarely cross the threshold of a colleague’s classroom. We are seldom invited to one another’s lectures and seminars. It goes without saying that an unannounced "pop in" is strictly out of the question.

The door to a lecture hall could just as well be a police sawhorse — if that sawhorse stood behind a moat and was outfitted with a gun turret. Herein lies an unrecognized truth about American higher education: The inner workings of college teaching spaces are more or less unknown. Outside of that 60-minute theatrical set piece known as a "peer observation," and the metric anarchy of a SET, or "student evaluation of teaching," how does any nonregistered citizen know anything about what transpires in any college class? What goes on in there? Line dancing? Capoeira? Face painting? With the exception of a matriculated undergrad, nobody is in a good position to witness the commitment, or excellence, or inspiration of a college teacher.

Then again, even if we possessed high-def video of every college lecture ever given since the foundation of the University of Heidelberg, how would we achieve any consensus about what constitutes teaching excellence? Ronald Berk, in his inimitable Thirteen Strategies to Measure College Teaching (Stylus, 2006), identified, yes, 13 rather distinct instruments currently used to draw conclusions about a professor’s effectiveness. What I find fascinating about the tools that Berk elucidates for us is how so many of these indices are likely to yield radically different conclusions about who excels. One measurement is based on a professor’s self-assessment of his/her work in a class. One relies on student evaluations. Still others turn to external evaluators. Those could be very different from a metric that looks at, say, how much students learn across a semester or perhaps through the length of their college stay.

Which brings us to another problem with Best Teacher rhetoric: These types of prizes draw attention away from the fact that educating an undergraduate is a collective, not an individual, enterprise. The type of knowledge we impart in college is sequential. It is pointless to take a specialized course on "The Sociology of Pierre Bourdieu" before you’ve taken "Introduction to Sociology," "Social Theory," "Stratification," and maybe "Cultural Sociology." The concept of an academic major implies the existence of a reasonably well-ordered curriculum. One great teacher cannot teach an entire curriculum. That takes a team.

I once had a colleague who taught a 200-level class. She loathed the fellow who taught the 100-level that was a prerequisite for her own. The latter was a campus legend. He was a flamboyant character who gyrated and twerked as he lectured. By the time his students cycled into her class, they knew exceedingly little about the subject matter. Her 200 regressed into a 100, because the guy in the 100 was teaching — well, she had no idea what he was teaching. He did win many Faculty of the Year awards, though.

The team metaphor reminds me of another thing that irks me about Best Teacher banter. Individuals on teams have different skills and strengths. Yet conversations about great instructors never seem to recognize that professors are better at some things than others. It’s as if great college teachers are always exemplary on all levels. You just rush them into any auditorium on a palanquin, press the start button, and they’ll start dishing wisdom around the class like an NBA point guard.

I sincerely doubt this is the case. Not all schools, classes, and learning contexts are the same. I don’t know if a popular professor at Yale would necessarily be a hit at quirky Marlboro College, in Vermont, or vice versa. I am a capable undergraduate teacher, but graduate students don’t dig the cut of my jib. Some professors have a knack for working with freshmen. Some don’t. This is actually a really important thing for a college to know about its faculty, because first-year students are at higher risk for adversity, like depression and dropping out.

Best Teacher awards ask us to gawk at those who somehow overcame immense, and correctable, structural obstacles.

If we thought seriously about teaching, we’d pay more attention to putting scholars in positions where they excel. We’d assess who was good at what. We’d know who works well with at-risk students or kids with learning disabilities, and we’d staff our departments accordingly. We are, I regret to say, a million, billion eons away from even starting a conversation of this nature.

But the most insidious thing about Best Teacher talk is that it conveniently distracts us from what truly ails American higher education: We have a lot of scholars who are too poorly prepared, poorly motivated, and/or poorly paid to properly educate undergraduates. This is a structural problem. Graduate schools fail to provide the necessary training in pedagogy. Administrations subject tenure-line faculty members to promotion criteria that render undergraduates an afterthought. Exploited, overworked contingent professors are forced to teach ginormous classes.

The likelihood of great college teaching actually happening on your campus is infinitely lower than the likelihood of great research being produced. This has much to do with the fact that administrations won’t make the financial investments required to facilitate good teaching. A report by Steven Shulman, of Colorado State University’s Center for the Study of Academic Labor, echoes those sentiments, arguing that universities "do not seem to care about anything other than driving faculty costs to the lowest possible level."

Seen in this light, Best Teacher chatter assumes a more sinister countenance. It asks us to gawk at those who somehow overcame immense, and correctable, structural obstacles. It turns our attention away from the manner in which contingent instructors are treated. A Faculty of the Year award is a laurel wreath that a college places on its own flaxen hair. Christening a Best Teacher is like a lily-white company congratulating itself on its diversity after hiring one African-American executive VP. It’s like a catastrophe-inducing oil conglomerate releasing an ad about how it installed a dozen wind turbines in the name of sustainability.

Tributes to Best College Teachers do to professors what high fashion does to women — enslaves them to preposterous and unhealthy expectations of what constitutes the beautiful in pedagogy. I still don’t have an answer as to why conversations about best teachers trigger exaggeration and confetti drops. That sort of hyperbole, in any case, is inimical to the type of balanced analysis that educators value and impart. I, for my part, could just as well do away with the entire vainglorious discourse. Less noise about best teachers might let us finally concentrate on the challenge of producing lots of good ones.

But let me be clear about something: On every campus in America, you will find good teachers. These are contingent or tenure-line professors who are skilled, inspired, and committed educators. What is my metric for gauging their quality? First and foremost, I look for scholars who actually want to be in a classroom with undergraduates. That noble impulse is mercilessly assailed, and usually ruthlessly expunged, after a decade of graduate school. I’m always intrigued by a scholar who could endure that experience — which does everything it can to assassinate one’s passion to educate — and emerge with their love of pedagogy intact.

Good teaching, however, is not like religion; it takes more than faith. Solid instructors are individuals who (somehow) develop real pedagogical skills. And I’m talking about banal stuff: crafting a smart, challenging, ideologically balanced syllabus; sticking to that syllabus; always being on time (a perennial challenge); pacing a class session properly; developing that weird teacherly inner siren that starts blaring when your students (1) have no idea what you’re talking about and/or (2) have not really done the reading.

The teachers I admire render really complex ideas with clarity — that right there is the heavy lift of college instruction. They find pedagogically sound ways to piss off their students. And one other thing: They inspire thoughtfulness. They actually manage to get otherwise distracted 18- to 24-year-olds to think about matters they’d never have thought about otherwise. Good teachers aggressively infiltrate young minds. The trespass extends for years, and not necessarily in ways that those infiltrated minds find pleasant. That’s my preferred "learning outcome."

I’m sure I could conjure up a dozen other attributes, but then I’d end up mimicking the florid cadences of the folks I am criticizing. So let me just add that good college teachers endure semesters in which everything inexplicably and catastrophically goes wrong. Having stuff go up in flames — all good college teachers experience, and even solicit, conflagration.

In any case, for now I’ll repeat that scholars such as the ones I am describing may be in the minority, but they really do exist. They exist in spite of the absurdities of the tenure system. They exist in spite of the collapsed job market. They exist in spite of thoughtless and frugal college administrations. These people share one psychosocial characteristic: They exist in a tensile relationship with their own profession. They do not share the priorities of their research-obsessed colleagues and managers. Good college teachers, then, don’t necessarily do what is in their own professional interest. They do what’s in the interest of their students. That, at least, is something Mona Lisa Smile intuited accurately.

Jacques Berlinerblau directs the Center for Jewish Civilization at Georgetown University’s Edmund A. Walsh School of Foreign Service. This essay is adapted from his new book, Campus Confidential: How College Works, or Doesn’t, for Professors, Parents, and Students (Melville House).