Month: May 2023

The higher education chattering class was abuzz last week when it appeared that the University of Idaho was about to purchase online behemoth University of Phoenix for $550 million (Chronicle of Higher Education, May 19th online).  

But then…

…three days ago, Mexico’s infamous Sinaloa drug cartel offered $770 million for the Arizona school, and Idaho dropped out of the running faster than a Russet potato tumbling from a carton of spuds in Kroger’s produce section during an earthquake. 

The cartel intends to use the University of Phoenix for money-laundering purposes.  According to a confidential Sinaloa source, “the core values of the University of Phoenix have always been much more closely aligned with ours than with those of the University of Idaho.  It’s a natural partnership.  And the number of cartel employees who’d love to earn an online dual degree in Substance Abuse Counseling and Supply Chain Management is in the THOUSANDS!  Hell, this is the sweetest deal between Mexico and the U. S. since NAFTA!”

Sinaloa leaders promise that, once the purchase is finalized, every University of Phoenix student in good academic standing will be eligible to sponsor at least one kidnapping per academic year for a nominal fee.  As the source put it, “you want someone disappeared?  We can do that!”

 

 

The Chronicle of Higher Education recently published a piece entitled, “How Do You Get Professors to Respond in the Summer?” (May 10th online).  As helpful as this essay is, it omits the most potent strategy for producing an immediate faculty response:  using a panic-inducing falsehood to get the recipient’s attention.

Along these lines, here are five email messages that experienced department chairs swear by:

Accusation — “Dear Todd:  I was visited yesterday by a female student who was in your Romantic Poetry seminar this spring, and she had quite a story to tell.  It included photos.  Could you contact me when you get a chance?  I’d like the two of us to chat before I turn the matter over to Campus Police.  Thanks.”

Pay Cut — “Hey there, Millie:  The Business Office informs me that your salary is going to be reduced by 14% for the 2023-24 academic year because you missed the deadline for submitting your annual report to the Dean.  Were you aware of this?  We should probably talk.  Stop by my office the next time you’re on campus.”

Misrepresentation — “Dear Ajani:  I received an anonymous letter yesterday claiming that you are not Nigerian but Portuguese.  A 23andMe report with your name on it was attached, and it appears to support the claim.  Given that you head our Ph.D. Program in African Studies, we could have a problem here.  Please make an appointment to see me as soon as possible, and bring a Q tip with you so we can do a DNA swab.  Hope you’re having a good summer.”

Course Load — “Hello Tanya:  It looks like your senior seminar on Hemingway’s cats only has 3 students registered for the fall, so we’re going to have to cancel it.  In its place you’ll be teaching a Core Curriculum course on lust as a metaphor in the novels of Nora Roberts.  Its current enrollment is 175 and counting, so there’s no chance of this one tanking.  Let me know if you have any questions.  I’m working on getting you a teaching assistant, but no guarantees.”

Plagiarism — “Hi Glen:  Hope your first year as an Assistant Professor was a rewarding one!  Quick question:  I just got a note from Neil deGrasse Tyson saying that a chapter of your dissertation was copied, virtually word-for-word, from an article he published in 2015.  Your thoughts?  Let’s talk before he goes public.”

The Takeaway:  When you meet with them, your faculty will be so relieved to find out that you were simply engaging in harmless “fake news” that they will be more than happy to accommodate your actual summer request.  And they’ll appreciate your sense of humor. 

Okay, it’s time to go sit on your deck and have a tall glass of lemonade.  Don’t forget sunscreen. 

Do you have a microcredential?  Why the hell not? 

Microcredentials are carpet-bombing the higher-education landscape with the force of a Level 5 tornado flattening an Oklahoma trailer park on a late summer afternoon.  

In a nutshell, microcredentials are short, non-credit programs (i.e., a few courses) that are intended to enhance a student’s knowledge and/or skills in a narrow area.  Of course, obtaining a microcredential gets you a digital badge or certificate of some sort.  The latter can be easily attached to your car’s sun visor in the event you are stopped by a state trooper who demands evidence of your proficiencies. 

Intrigued?  Here are a few examples:

University of Tennessee College of Medicine

Microcredential in Appendectomy Preparation:  Learn how to get an individual ready to have his/her/their appendix removed.  Course modules include “Informing the Patient,” “Calming the Patient,” and “Making the Initial Incision.”

This credential is especially useful for students who anticipate backpacking in a national park with a friend or relative who is at risk of developing acute appendicitis.  A follow-up microcredential, Appendix Removal: Incisions 2 through 5, is highly recommended but not required.  

Claremont School of Theology

Microcredential in the Book of Genesis, Chapter 1, Verses 1-20:  This program covers everything in the Bible up to, and including, the creation of fish and fowl.  (“Let the waters bring forth the creeping creature having life, and the fowl that may fly over the earth under the firmament of heaven.”)

Students possessing this Book of Genesis credential are qualified to establish a small church of their own in any rural setting having a population under 750.  They can also engage in sidewalk preaching on secondary streets in urban areas.

Rutgers Law School  

Microcredential in Traffic Citations:  Become an expert on the range of fines in your county for offenses such as street racing, ignoring stop signs and red lights, driving while intoxicated, and speeding through work zones.  Familiarize yourself with the special challenges associated with defending hit-and-run drivers.  

This credential does not entitle you to practice law, but it does give you the right to file friend-of-the-court briefs and purchase billboard space on any state highway that features a Waffle House restaurant.    

For the locations of colleges and universities near you that offer microcredentials, simply Google “the end of higher education.”