How we interpret what grades mean is at the heart of most (or all?) approaches to alternative grading.

There’s no one way.

There’s a plague on, and we’ve lost our bodily autonomy. This is some nineteenth-century bullshit.

I imagined, for a moment, what kind of place the world could be if we all had time for rest. The simple humanity of it.

If Ungrading, Understanding, and Justice were the three circles of a Venn diagram, Love would be at the center.

Students are the only ones who know for certain what we’re doing when it comes to their agency. What a glorious irony.

At the end of last year, a student said to me: “If you’re not expected to respond, you can really listen.” I can’t stop thinking about it.

We are all somewhere in our process of becoming. We don’t acknowledge that enough.

I’m not worried about those of us who roll our eyes and snort at these destructive depictions of pedagogy. I’m worried about those of us who don’t.

A tar-and-feathering of our subordinates in the town square during a plague. Not a good look.

Who do you become, artistically, in the face of limitation?

In my virtual body I am both more and less human, and all at the same time.

Grades cause endless harm for no discernible benefit even in the best of times, and these times are… in an understatement… not the best.

Decisions have become nearly impossible, if we’re fortunate enough to have the autonomy to make them.

Where is our humanity?

Lately it feels like I’m wearing my body inside out.

I don’t go searching for silver linings.

This is a hell of a time to start blogging.