The Lion, the Alice, and the ePortfolio
“The Lion, the Alice, and the ePortfolio”
By Prof Lori Kanitz
Department of English
Oral Roberts University
Once upon a time there was an English Department with fourteen faculty members. This is the story of something that happened to one of them when he was sent to his office during the assessment raids to work on ePortfolio.
He was a not-so-old professor, Professor Mark Hall they called him, whose hair was not yet white and who lived in two offices, three floors apart, in a labyrinthine building on a university campus.
In one of the offices (the one on the third floor that was really the first floor, mind you) were stacks of papers, piles of books, and mounds of folders, but behind all of these was, what to you and me, would look like an ordinary computer. This computer was far from ordinary, however. It was the portal to another world.
One day, Professor Hall sat down at the computer to take care of an ordinary day’s work—three speeches before various university governing bodies, 15 spreadsheets for 10 committee meetings, strategic planning for door-to-door charity fundraising, blogging lectures notes for 3 classes, and brushing up on ancient Hebrew documents for a presentation to a church Sunday school class . . . and, of course, checking on the general health and well-being of Alice, the ePortfolio server.
This time, however, as Professor Hall gave Alice the secret password into her cyberworld, suddenly things became very strange. He found himself standing not in his office at all, but in a dense and snowy wood, shivering. Puzzled, he began to walk and as he did, he noticed that the trees all had labels with words like “Exemplary,” “Competent,” “Acceptable,” and “Not Attempted.” This was very strange, indeed. But before the Professor could begin to work out how he had gotten here, and furthermore, where he was, out from behind one of the trees bounded a faun.
“Oh, Mark!” exclaimed the faun, “Just in time! We’re in a terrible mess here, you know. You’re just the one to sort it out!”
“Me?!” stuttered the Professor. “But I don’t even know where I am . . . and who are you?”
“Why, I’m Will. Will Epperfaun. But you can call just call me ‘Bill’ for short.”
The name seemed vaguely familiar to Professor Hall, conjuring up strange images of kneeling before paintings, observing soup-stained suits, and listening to rambling narratives about dreams. . . .
“Anyway,” the faun interrupted, “come with me.” As they began walking, Will Epperfaun began telling the Professor the story of Oralia.
“It’s terrible, just terrible, you know. Oralia has been in a perpetual winter, with almost all the land’s inhabitants frozen motionless in obeisance to Alice (‘she who must be obeyed,’ he said, rolling his eyes), waiting for Alice’s circuits to thaw so we can get on with the work of assessment.”
“Assessment . . .,” Prof. Hall said quizzically. “So the labels on the trees . . .”
“Righty-o, clever lad,” said the faun with glee. “Everything we plant here in Oralia is supposed to grow and then be assessed. Of course, one can’t keep track of everything, so we stick labels on things.”
As the faun continued to explain the long and very complicated process of assessment in Oralia, the professor began thinking about the long winter, the frozen Oralians, and the trees growing with no notice taken of their progress . . . and suddenly he knew he had to do something. And just as suddenly, he knew what it was. (He wasn’t a full professor for nothing, you know.)
“I’ve got it!” shouted Prof. Hall.
The faun stopped in his tracks, a little startled at so rude an interruption to his monologue.
“Well, yes,” the faun said. “I should think after hearing such an excellent explanation by a faun of my expertise, you would have some notion of how all this works, but really, my boy, that’s no excuse for such an interruption . . .”
“No,” said the professor, more than a little exasperated. “I mean I know how to unfreeze Oralia. I know how to remove Alice’s curse.”
“Oh,” squealed the faun, flapping his hands excitedly. “I knew you would come up with something. What? What?!”
“Let’s go around Alice altogether. If you and the other Oralians can go on with your work without having to contact her directly, she can’t freeze you,” he said triumphantly. Then he told the faun the rest of his plans that would allow the Oralians to do their assessment without having to contact the fearsome cyber-ruler directly but once or twice a year.
The plan was implemented at once and immediately Oralia began to thaw. The Oralians, freed from Alice’s perpetual winter, hailed Professor Hall as their champion and hero. As he returned to the portal in the woods (now cool and mossy), he was given a triumphant goodbye from all the inhabitants of the land. He waved goodbye to Will Epperfaun and turned . . . to find himself sitting at his computer in his office on the third-but-really-first floor, among stacks of papers, piles of books, and mounds of folders.
That night, when he went home, he felt both more tired and more satisfied than usual. He decided it was a good night to take the family to see a movie . . . about a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe. The end.
By Prof Lori Kanitz
Department of English
Oral Roberts University
Once upon a time there was an English Department with fourteen faculty members. This is the story of something that happened to one of them when he was sent to his office during the assessment raids to work on ePortfolio.
He was a not-so-old professor, Professor Mark Hall they called him, whose hair was not yet white and who lived in two offices, three floors apart, in a labyrinthine building on a university campus.
In one of the offices (the one on the third floor that was really the first floor, mind you) were stacks of papers, piles of books, and mounds of folders, but behind all of these was, what to you and me, would look like an ordinary computer. This computer was far from ordinary, however. It was the portal to another world.
One day, Professor Hall sat down at the computer to take care of an ordinary day’s work—three speeches before various university governing bodies, 15 spreadsheets for 10 committee meetings, strategic planning for door-to-door charity fundraising, blogging lectures notes for 3 classes, and brushing up on ancient Hebrew documents for a presentation to a church Sunday school class . . . and, of course, checking on the general health and well-being of Alice, the ePortfolio server.
This time, however, as Professor Hall gave Alice the secret password into her cyberworld, suddenly things became very strange. He found himself standing not in his office at all, but in a dense and snowy wood, shivering. Puzzled, he began to walk and as he did, he noticed that the trees all had labels with words like “Exemplary,” “Competent,” “Acceptable,” and “Not Attempted.” This was very strange, indeed. But before the Professor could begin to work out how he had gotten here, and furthermore, where he was, out from behind one of the trees bounded a faun.
“Oh, Mark!” exclaimed the faun, “Just in time! We’re in a terrible mess here, you know. You’re just the one to sort it out!”
“Me?!” stuttered the Professor. “But I don’t even know where I am . . . and who are you?”
“Why, I’m Will. Will Epperfaun. But you can call just call me ‘Bill’ for short.”
The name seemed vaguely familiar to Professor Hall, conjuring up strange images of kneeling before paintings, observing soup-stained suits, and listening to rambling narratives about dreams. . . .
“Anyway,” the faun interrupted, “come with me.” As they began walking, Will Epperfaun began telling the Professor the story of Oralia.
“It’s terrible, just terrible, you know. Oralia has been in a perpetual winter, with almost all the land’s inhabitants frozen motionless in obeisance to Alice (‘she who must be obeyed,’ he said, rolling his eyes), waiting for Alice’s circuits to thaw so we can get on with the work of assessment.”
“Assessment . . .,” Prof. Hall said quizzically. “So the labels on the trees . . .”
“Righty-o, clever lad,” said the faun with glee. “Everything we plant here in Oralia is supposed to grow and then be assessed. Of course, one can’t keep track of everything, so we stick labels on things.”
As the faun continued to explain the long and very complicated process of assessment in Oralia, the professor began thinking about the long winter, the frozen Oralians, and the trees growing with no notice taken of their progress . . . and suddenly he knew he had to do something. And just as suddenly, he knew what it was. (He wasn’t a full professor for nothing, you know.)
“I’ve got it!” shouted Prof. Hall.
The faun stopped in his tracks, a little startled at so rude an interruption to his monologue.
“Well, yes,” the faun said. “I should think after hearing such an excellent explanation by a faun of my expertise, you would have some notion of how all this works, but really, my boy, that’s no excuse for such an interruption . . .”
“No,” said the professor, more than a little exasperated. “I mean I know how to unfreeze Oralia. I know how to remove Alice’s curse.”
“Oh,” squealed the faun, flapping his hands excitedly. “I knew you would come up with something. What? What?!”
“Let’s go around Alice altogether. If you and the other Oralians can go on with your work without having to contact her directly, she can’t freeze you,” he said triumphantly. Then he told the faun the rest of his plans that would allow the Oralians to do their assessment without having to contact the fearsome cyber-ruler directly but once or twice a year.
The plan was implemented at once and immediately Oralia began to thaw. The Oralians, freed from Alice’s perpetual winter, hailed Professor Hall as their champion and hero. As he returned to the portal in the woods (now cool and mossy), he was given a triumphant goodbye from all the inhabitants of the land. He waved goodbye to Will Epperfaun and turned . . . to find himself sitting at his computer in his office on the third-but-really-first floor, among stacks of papers, piles of books, and mounds of folders.
That night, when he went home, he felt both more tired and more satisfied than usual. He decided it was a good night to take the family to see a movie . . . about a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe. The end.
Comments