One summer, I visited some friends who were spending a few weeks in a farmhouse in rural Germany. What a neat and peculiar house it was! It had begun many years before as no more than a small cottage. As children were born and elderly parents needed care, a room was added here and a room was added there. If there was any particular plan to these additions, it was indiscernible.
The result? A fascinating maze of a house. Though it was a single story, it spread out all over the place. I’d actually get lost. And one of the most intriguing aspects—and sometimes an embarrassing one—was the fact you generally had to walk through one or two adjoing bedrooms to get someplace. Or else you just reached a dead-end and had to retrace your steps.
I thought of that house as I read recently “Researchers Hope to Scrap the Internet, Start Over Again.” The Internet of today has grown in much the same way as that German farmhouse. What was first a fairly straightforward network for communication among a trusted group of scientists and researchers has grown by accretion into a sprawling, global maze of digital synapses firing and misfiring millions of time per second. As one of the professors is quoted as saying, the Internet “was designed for completely different assumptions…It’s sort of a miracle that it continues to work well today.”
I don’t know about you, but every time I try to send a simple e-mail and get a message such as “591: your host is blacklisted by dynablock.njabl.org” or “relaying prohibited; you should authenticate first,” I think the clean-slate folks may be onto something.
You know we’re making some progress with technology when even a government bureaucracy can get it right. A couple weeks ago, one of the 67 reminders that popped up on my To Do List was “renew administrative credential.” I thought, “Oh crud.”
You don’t have to be that old to know this used to be quite a tedious process. First you had to get a special, oddly sized, multi-carbon form which was available only by mail or at your local county office of education. You had to fill it out on a typewriter. Then you had to go to the bank, to a real live human teller during banking hours, and get a certified check for the renewal fee. If you had a job as a school administrator, which presumably you did or you would not have to renew the darn credential in the first place, it could take weeks to get all those steps accomplished. Then, once you mailed your special form and special check to the Department of Education, it would take months before you would finally get your new credential in the mail, and you still weren’t done. You had to find the time to take the credential to your local county office of education to be duly “registered.” Fail to get all this done before the expiration date of your old credential and bad news: no paycheck this month.
Well, I had learned that teachers could renew their credentials on-line, so I decided to go look and see if maybe administrators could do the same. Sure enough. Divulge a bit of pertinent information and my record flashed on the screen. A few clicks to swear I was still a good person, a string of digits off my VISA card, and I was done. Amazing. And this is a government website.
I got an immediate confirmation e-mail. A few days later, I got the paper certificate in the mail. As I now work in a county office of education, I walked over to human resources to get the thing registered and was told, “Oh, we already got confirmation of your renewal.” As I said above, “Amazing!” Kudos to the Virtual Credential Officer.
And just in case you haven’t heard, as of January 1, on-line renewal will be the only way to renew.
To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, a technology department is a technology department is a technology department. Or is it? In many school districts, especially larger ones, “information technology (IT)” happens in a different part of the organization than “educational technology (ET).” The former is the province of people who know how to set up and administer secure networks, get e-mail from one place to another, keep spam at bay, warehouse data, and install and remove programs, among many other complicated and arcane tasks. The latter is home to people who know how to use all the tools the IT people provide in the service of learning—among many other complicated and arcane tasks.
Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for these two groups of people to work in isolation, and even at odds with one another.
Richard Quinones wants to do something about that. Richard is director of the Educational Technologies Network at the Los Angeles County Office of Education. He’s started a working group of California educators to take a look at this problem. For openers, the group seeks concrete examples of school districts that have done an effective job of articulating and coordinating the efforts of their information and educational technologists. Got a good example? Write to Richard at Quinones_Richard@lacoe.edu..
I just turned off the radio. I couldn’t concentrate. I’d been listening to NPR while reading my e-mail, and Open Source came on. Blogsday 2006 was the program, and it was timed to coincide with Bloomsday, which Wikipedia says (at least at this particular nanosecond in time) is “observed annually on June 16 to celebrate the life of Irish writer James Joyce and commemorate the events in his novel Ulysses.” (Geeze, I should have known that; I’ll never get on Jeopardy.)
The bottom line is: I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t multitask. The content of the program was too absorbing. It was a collection of excerpts from blogs all over the Internet, chosen with obvious care, and deftly read by two actors. It sucked me in. I couldn’t just let it happen in the background. Nor could I let my mind ping pong between it and my other attentions. Am I a digital immigrant? Perhaps.
I’m very interested in the concept of multitasking. I multitask all the time—I think. But I also know there are times when things demand 100% of my attention. In this case, I was so taken by the eloquent and moving things people wrote in their blogs, I couldn’t keep my concentration on anything else.
But then, I’m the idiot that sits in the movie theater after the film is over and watches all the credits. Go figure.
My age shows not just in the wrinkles, creaks, and need to turn the volume up on the television, but also in my disinclination to videoconferencing–especially the multi-site virtual meeting in which various people or groups of people participate from various locations. I know it’s way cheaper to get a bunch of people together virtually than to have them all travel to a common destination, but it just isn’t the same. First, there are the technical difficulties. As anyone who has attended a videoconference knows, these can range from not being able to hear or see people at remote sites to people disappearing altogether. Second, even when the technology goes smoothly (have you ever been in a videoconference when all the technology went smoothly?), a lot of the subtleties of communication are lost. You can look at the face on the screen, but you can’t lean over and whisper a comment in the monitor’s ear. Nor can you solve the world’s problems during a chat as you and a colleague walk up the hall for a restroom break.
All that said, I know I need to get over it. Videoconferencing is here to stay. Steve Vaughn, one of our TICAL cadre members, is working on a nice introduction to web-based videoconferencing for our site. I’ve already learned something just from seeing his draft. I also visited the K-12 HSN collection of Conferencing Resources. If you, like me, are ready to begin extinction therapy for your fear of videoconferencing, I highly recommend the The Videoconference Zone. It is a hilarious spoof of the classic television program The Twilight Zone (1959-64). In fact, even if you love videoconferencing, go watch the movie anyway. It’s less than seven minutes long so you won’t even need popcorn.