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The New Technology
- University Press of New England
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p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p p thenewtechnology There he sat, lecture after lecture, dutifully tapping away on his laptop with the intensity and devotion of a scribe. But there was one thing I couldn’t figure out: if Justin was so assiduous about taking notes, why was he doing so poorly on his tests? The scales fell from my eyes one day, in the middle of my lecture on the biochemistry of cellular respiration, a rough topic for non-majors. “If there’s one lecture you can’t afford to miss,” I had warned my students the previous week, “it’s the next one. Please be sure to attend.” Justin’s laptop was open before him, his hands hovering over thefuture isnow 190 p t h e f u t u r e i s n o w the keyboard as if he were about to play a Mozart sonata. His girlfriend sat close by his side, gazing at him with stars in her eyes. “All cells have a need for energy,” I intoned, and Justin’s fingers began to dance. On I went, describing cytoplasmic and mitochondrial events with practiced fluency as Justin clicked away in swift counterpoint. But I feared that, once again, he would do poorly come test time. Why was this? Were typing and comprehending two discrete events, the one performed to the exclusion of the other? I reached for one of my overhead transparencies, but it wasn’t there. “Excuse me,” I said to the class, “I forgot something in my office.” I left the room, retrieved the transparency, and returned through the back door. As I passed Justin from behind, I stopped short. There, on his screen, was a lovely blonde posing on a tropical beach, wearing little besides a smile. The thing was, Justin didn’t even see me standing over him. But his girlfriend did. She tapped—no, slugged—him on the arm, breaking his trance. He shrugged helplessly and threw me a sheepish smile. I leaned down to him. “Look,” I said. “I was in the Navy, so I appreciate fine art. But it’s inappropriate here.” Then I pushed his laptop closed. “Get a pen,” I said. “And as for you,” I continued , turning to his girlfriend, “good choice.” I have always thought of myself as a pretty savvy teacher. I knew where it was at, I knew how to talk to my students, and I felt that they couldn’t put anything over on me. I wasn’t the new kid on the block. I was widely traveled; I had served on a fighting ship for three years; I was from Jersey. But despite this, I think I had finally been had. The other day I was chatting with a colleague who has a generous ear. “I’ve never considered myself naïve,” I told her, “but all this time I thought my students were using their laptops to take notes.” She looked at me, threw up her hands and said, “Surprise!” I now know that students live neither by bread alone nor by every word that comes from the mouth of their biology professor . I find myself competing with Facebook, MySpace, Google, [44.197.251.102] Project MUSE (2024-03-19 07:06 GMT) The New Technology p 191 Hotmail, iPods and text messaging (so that’s why so many of my students keep their hands under their desks. I had thought they were just cold). When I appeal to my colleagues for advice or commiseration, they tell me, well, you just have to regulate it, that’s all. But that’s not all. The thing is, I don’t want to be burdened with yet something else to regulate. I have a twelve-year-old at home, and regulating the use of his GameBoy is like having a second job. I lay down the law, but then find him, long past bedtime , holed up under the covers, clicking away with eyes as wide as a tarsier’s. I realize that the path of least resistance is to just let it go, do my job, recite my lectures and hope for the best. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I’d feel as if I were not just giving in, but giving up. When I look at my class and see the text messaging and putative use of laptops for taking notes (although why...