I have long advocated for an increase use of working papers in the field of Mediterranean archaeology. Circulating pre-publication drafts of articles is already a common practice and the presentation of sites and finds in an efficient and prompt way has long stood as an ethical obligation for archaeologists.
In that spirit, I am presenting as a working paper my preliminary analysis of the fortifications from the site of Vigla on Cyprus. This is a working draft so the research, analysis, and interpretation should be regarded as provisional. The basic description of the fortification on the hill of Vigla is accurate and should not undergo significant modification.
This past week, I’ve been preparing to teach P. Novick’s That Noble Dream (Cambridge 1988) and P. Menand’s The Marketplace of Ideas (New York 2010). Both these books foreground the process of professionalization in a university context. In a recent spat over the character of academic offices, I argued that we ought to model our offices on the creative space of highly flexible technology start up companies rather than the antiseptic space of anonymous, highly bureaucratized companies (some of which are now faltering). This idea did not meet with much acceptance especially as the link between university culture and corporate culture is well-known.
This brings me to what academics should wear. Over my time as teacher I’ve found myself increasingly adopting a more and more professional dress code especially on the days that I teach in the classroom. When I am writing in my office, I tend to dress more casually and comfortably. In this way, I publicly divide creative time (writing) from corporate time (teaching). (This is not to suggest that these two do not overlap).
I also have another professional persona and that is as a field archaeologist. In the media, at least, archaeologists are known for distinctive clothing, but even Indiana Jones dressed in a more professional “corporate” way when in the classroom (bow tie and the requisite tweed). C. Holtorf has written on this very topic in some interesting ways here and here.
I prefer to “rock the neck beard” in the field to mark out my departure from “corporate” world of classroom. I typically imagine my rather unkempt appearance as an reference to the archaeologist as artisan. The neck beard represents the both a layer of additional protection against the sun, the unpleasant nature of shaving and then sweating, and distracted air of someone deeply engaged in their work.
The boundaries between my various professional identities or avatars (casual creative writer, stuffy company man teacher, and archaeologist as artisan) can be fairly rigid. I will occasionally wear a NASCAR hat while walking across campus in my teaching attire, but never in the classroom. I will also sometimes wear my teaching clothes on days when I have a series of “important” committee meetings or other responsibilities. The one thing that I almost always wear (at least from October to April) are my boots.
Boots are the most vital component of an archaeologist wardrobe. Without a rugged pair of boots, an archaeologist is, at best, another weekend warrior whose engagement with the realities of the out-of-doors stops at the well-groomed trail or the end of a manicured lawn. Boots make the archaeology.
My wife introduced my to Blundstone boots almost 10 years ago and since then, I have never been without a pair. I wear them on campus, in teaching clothes, in my creative clothes, while walking home and while doing anything outdoors. (Ironically, I don’t always wear them while doing actual archaeology. I prefer low-top boots and nylon to the traditional Blundstone, hightop, leather.) I have found that my boots last about 3 years, but I don’t care for them properly. The walks home through the freezing snow and the super dry environment in campus buildings tend to make the leather dry out. I shuffle my feet and walk incautiously scuffing the tips on obstacles. I have a pronation in one of my feet and that stretches the leather in an unnatural way usually resulting in it pulling a bit away from the sole. A few times a year, after considerable harassment, I will polish the boots and put some leather treatment on them. If I pass through the Minneapolis airport, I’ll stop at the shoe shine place, but that’s mostly to banter about the Timberwolves and, as they say, to pass the time. (The men at the shoeshine stand can always identify the Blundstone’s and usually chide me for not taking better care of them!).
This past week, I got my new pair of Blundstone’s! They replace my old pair as the link between my professional avatar as a teacher and my professional avatar as an archaeologist. The old boots get retired into more rugged duty and less high profile tasks (shoveling snow, mowing the lawn, et c.) and the new boots make their debut this morning on a casual writing day. The old boots are inscribed with three years of activities from long walks with the wife through our small town to cold winter mornings spent shoveling out the car. They also preserve the marks of innumerable professional lectures, classroom successes and failures, and afternoons in the library, archives, or hunched over my lap top. Coats of water, snow, polish, and conditioner have changed their color. My idiosyncratic stride has etched deep wrinkles across the soft leather.
The new boots are stiff and unforgiving at present undoubtedly aware of the fate of their predecessors and hoping to hold off the inevitable.
As we wait for the snow to arrive, a little gaggle of quick hits and varia to keep you entertained for the weekend:
- My friend and colleague Elizabeth Harris’s translation of part of her friend and colleague Marco Candida’s Dream Diary. Allusions to dreams and excavations.
- A great new post on Teaching Thursday.
- A play by ply of the Mercury 6 mission.
- Two great blog posts from Duke University’s HASTAC (Humanities, Arts, Science, and Technology Advanced Collaboratory) website: Why Doesn’t Anyone Pay Attention Anymore? and Your Brain on Computers: Some Notes on Twitter as an Open Research Community.
- Kanye West’s creative process.
- The text of Alfie Kohn’s “The Costs of Overemphasizing Achievement”.
- The Hand Drawn Map Association (via Kostis Kourelis). This group must be an affiliate of the Village Green Preservation Society.
- Did learning to read really mess us up?
- A “conversation” between Dorothy King and David Gill.
- Your graduate students should learn to Skype.
- Two more blogs from Kostis: Dry Light (and this post on Washing Clothes in the Kastalian Spring at Delphi) and Field Notes from the Preservation Alliance for Greater Philadelphia.
- This is a pretty interesting idea for story telling. I wonder how it would translate to an academic work?
- How important is the name of your Twitter feed? Just ask TheAshes!
- Two nice arguments for liberal arts eduction: One here (which might be expected) and one here (which might not be).
- Transcripts from the UND Writers Conference Virtual Reading Room.
- Mass of material chart.
- What I am reading: G. Hall, Digitize This Book! (Minneapolis 2008) and A. Bowman and A. Wilson, Quantifying the Roman Economy. (Oxford 2009).
- What I am listening to: Kanye West, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and The Go Team, Thunder, Lightening, Strike.
A series of Parisian park-bench, NoDak hipster, propositions for the study of history. These were prepared for an introduction to my Graduate Historiography class next semester. They are meant to be points of departure for broader discussions into the links between historical epistemology, social responsibility, method, and practice.
Propositions for the Study of History
1. History is a form of social activism.
2. Reading, writing, presenting, and teaching history requires thought.
3. Historical thinking is both the product of the texts (of various kinds) and how we read texts (of various kinds).
4. Texts (sources) are socially constructed.
5. The historian uses various tools to interpret sources.
6. These tools are socially constructed. Some would say that they have a kind of agency. Most would say that tools exert an influence on the work that they do.
7. One of the historians’ tools is method (which we sometimes call theory).
8. Theory is not a single thing: it is a blanket term for method, methodology, epistemology, historiography, ideology, and even procedure that makes historical thinking possible.
9. Many theoretical positions require a historian to make clear how they approach a text or a historical problem.
10. By making obvious the relationship between texts and the act of “doing history” we make our work as historians visible and open to critique.
11. To many people, the more that history is critiqued (as a method), the more it appears to be either common sense or wrong headed.
12. Skepticism of the historical methods undermines the basic disciplinary structure of the field.
13. Most people in the world do not value the work of historians even though they should. This is our fault.
14. Skepticism toward the historical method may lead to the end of history as a discipline.
15. People will continue to study the past.
For the real Teaching Thursday post, go here.
As the end of the semester approaches, I forced myself to find time to peruse the new (2009) volume entitled Byzantine Trade, 4th-12th centuries edited by M. Mundell Mango. It is a pretty neat and diverse collection of papers that touch on trade from the beginning of Late Antiquity to 4th Crusade. The papers range from discussions of amphoras, shipwrecks, and pottery to studies on the location and organization of manufacturing. I’ll admit upfront that I did not read all the papers in the volume so I hardly feel qualified to give a comprehensive review, but the articles that I did read were good.
Perhaps the most interesting part of the volume is the editors effort to locate the papers in relation to other recent scholarly works on trade and the economy in the Late Antique and Byzantine Mediterranean. She takes particular aim at the recent A. Laiou edited Economic History of Byzantium which Mundell Mango points out continued problematic periodization schemes by beginning its analysis at the 7th century and thereby “failing to analyze at the same level the preceding period of formation that links Byzantium to the ancient world.” (4).
More importantly, perhaps, she noted that this volume sought to separate trade from discussions of the economy. When I first read this, it blew my mind, but as I thought more carefully about it, I began to understand her point. On some level, our theorizing about the ancient economy has dictated the kinds of questions that we have asked from our material and the kinds of analyses that we have conducted. For example, most rural survey projects take as a point of departure M. Finley’s ideas of the relationship between the (consumer) city and the (producer) countryside. Our work at Pyla-Koutsopetria, for example, is explicitly informed by the ideas advanced in Horden and Purcell’s Corrupting Sea and their idea that the ancient Mediterranean economy was dominated by semi-autonomous micro-regions. By separating trade from larger economic theorizing, there is a chance that we can produce a far less structured body of data that has the potential to reveal new patterns or organization that do more than challenge or confirm the growing body of economic theorizing. In fact, Sean Kingsley’s unstructured datasets (that is to say, a data set made of individual records without any methodological relationship to one another) of Late Antique and Byzantine shipwrecks could present just the kind of evidence necessary to create new models of how trade actually occurred in the ancient and Medieval Mediterranean (31-36). Of course, this kind of optimistic empiricism is difficult to come by in practice (and even more difficult to fund!), although one can imagine a time soon when the results of the various survey projects in the Eastern Mediterranean could offer a similar kind of unstructured data for analysis. It is interesting to observe, however, that most of the papers in this volume fall quickly back on longstanding
P. Armstrong’s article, “Trade in the east Mediterranean in the 8th century”, for example, continues the work of pushing the date of Cypriot Red Slip pottery later demonstrating that trade in this common Eastern Mediterranean table ware continued into the 8th century (157-178). (Moreover, she reminds us that despite its name, CRS (or perhaps better Late Roman D Ware) may not all originate on the island of Cyprus!). Armstrong’s article complements a shorter piece by I. Dimopoulos which looks at the trade in Byzantine red wares in the 11th and 13th century. Both of these articles provide (as well as O. Karagiorgou’s short offering on “Mapping trade by the amphora” (37-58)) continue the discussion of the relationship between the Late Roman and Byzantine economy on archaeological grounds. To my mind, these discussions are rooted in certain basic expectations regarding the economy, specifically, the notion that the Late Roman economy faltered over the course of the 7th-9th century. This basic assumption suggests that the economy is tied to administrative structures and practices like the annona trade and the political control of the Mediterranean basin. Demonstrating the certain kinds of trade continued even as the political power of the Roman state abated does little to separate the idea of trade from larger questions of economic integration or administrative and political control.
I was drawn to this book while thinking about my own venture into the study of Byzantine archaeology and it struck me that the approach advocated here is explicitly anti-theoretical (if one understands the economy as a more intensively theorized version of the practice of trade). The results are interesting and useful, but it barely scratches the surface of what Byzantine archaeologists are currently doing in the field.
Over the past month or so, I’ve decided to shutter this blog. I don’t think that I’ll stop blogging, but I’ll probably move to another platform or try to find better way to integrate social media into my daily observations. My reasons for shuttering this blog are not entirely clear to me, but I guess they reflect a combination of things:
1. Now that my tenure portfolio is in the pipeline, I’ve lost the visceral feeling of risk that comes with blogging while an untenured, assistant professor.
2. This blog is unattractive and I do not have the energy to redesign it.
3. I have this vague feeling that a blog should have a life span. I feel like blogs should come to an end at some point or to have some form of organization dictated by time. After all, a blog is a time driven genre or medium. Posts are organized chronologically like its early predecessor “the log”. One of my favorite blogs on the web, Digital History Hacks sits on the web in archive form.
4. I want a new challenge. I think my readership on this blog has pretty much leveled off at a bit more than 100 page views a day. I run close to 1000 page views a week. This far exceeded my original goals for my blog and now that I have reached these goals, I just have this feeling that I should change up what I’m doing, go somewhere new.
5. My other blogs run on WordPress. As dedicated readers of this blog know, I have a few other online projects that generally run on WordPress (Teaching Thursday, Punk Archaeology) and I have come to like the WordPress interface. So maybe I’ll start up this blog again in some fashion on WordPress.
This is not to say that I’m going to stop blogging today or that this is some kind of dramatic farewell post. I’ll keep blogging here until the end of the year.
The bigger issue is what to do with the content here. This blog runs on Typepad. I chose this years ago without much critical thought. It’s a paid blogging service and the service and uptime has been great. The downside is that, when I stop paying, they stop hosting. I am not sure that it’s viable to pull everything on this blog down (images, links, text) and even if I did do this, I am sure that there are dead links throughout that would do very little good. Moreover, I was pretty careless with regard to organizing where supporting files live scattering them over a range of locations on the web with different lifespans and maintenance parameters.
Another alternative is just to grab all the text and put it into a single text file. Typepad does this more or less automatically. With all the mark up, this file runs to about 900 pages of text with full mark up. While this text based archive would obviously lose the actual hyperlinks between posts and to the wider web, it would preserve the mark up for these links making it possible for someone to reconstruct parts of the blog. We have an excellent University Archive here on campus. I think I’ll offer them the text of my blog for their collection. The Internet Archive has captured several snap shots of my blog (January 13, 2008; December 12, 2007; November 10, 2007; October 28, 2007). It’s pretty cool to know that some of my work is in the Internet Archive. Just to be clear, it’s not that I think that my blog is so revolutionary or brilliant that it deserves a place in the history of the internet, but I am enough of a historian to realize that preservation of historical artifacts of all kinds is a voluntary process.
I guess I could also make an effort to import relevant posts to WordPress or whatever service I plan to use in the future, but this seems like a time consuming and painful process.
So, I have a month to figure out what to do. As per usual, any tips, insights, advice, suggestions, and insults are welcome in the comments.
My wife works in marketing and external relations at The Graduate School here at the University of North Dakota, and we regularly discuss the ways that universities sell themselves both to a local and global community. This happens to coincide with some of my own research interests which explore the tension between institutions with universalizing aspirations (the emperor or, better still, the church) and local practices and traditions. A local saint for example represents a hyper local manifestation of the power of the universal church. For a university, a local class or tradition is the manifestation of global expectations of what a "university" education means. Schools have always sought to maintain an identity that made them both access to longstanding "stakeholders" and, at the same time, appealing to people who will only acquire familiarity with the place and its traditions when they arrive there.
With the expansion of online and distance teaching the relationship between local (and spatial) sense of community and the wider world becomes even more attenuated. A recent group of University of Phoenix commercials, for example, students show students in the most generic of locations (non-spaces, in fact) airports, on trains, at home, or in commuter traffic rather than surrounded by iconic buildings (the intensely local and ubiquitous "old main"), the stadium or other campus scenes.
All this is a long introduction of a billboard that I walk by almost every day on my way home:
The billboard advertises Park University, which has a "campus" at the Grand Forks Air Force Base. From what I can gather Park has an agreement with the Air Force to provide college courses on base which they also open to the wider community. Other than Park being competition for local tuition dollars, I don't know of anything wrong with them and they certainly do not have the reputation of a for-profit university like the University of Phoenix. In fact, I am pretty sure that Park is non-profit university.
Back to local knowledge, Park clearly endeavored to show its "local" nature by featuring in a prominent way what would appear to be a local phone number on its billboard. The number looks local because it does not have an area code or the dreaded 1-800 in front of it (which every American knows to be the area code for "outsourced to India"). Unfortunately, local numbers here in the Grand Cities (like other major metropolitan areas (e.g. New York City)) always feature an area code. Since we are on the North Dakota – Minnesota border local numbers typically are typically proceeded by a 701 or 218 area code. A "local" will almost always starts their number with their area code.
Non-local universities are not a particularly jarring feature of the American higher education landscape these days, they only become jarring when they try to be local and fail.
UPDATE: By the way, I corresponded a bit with the Park University folks and one of them kindly pointed out that John Gillette of our Gillette Hall (and widely regarded as one of the founders of rural sociology) was a Park University graduate in 1895.
Two green ceramic baking dishes.
One white ceramic backing dish with handles.
Two metal “baking pans”.
Ceramic leaf-shaped serving dish with ceramic, acorn-shaped, bowl with lid.
One silver salad bowl.
One pie pan.
One small, ceramic bowl with lid.
3 stainless steel and 2 silver serving spoons. Two brass candle stick holders. 1 bottle glass Prosecco bottle.
Two ceramic plates. 4 forks, 2 knives, 2 spoons. 2 inexpensive glass champagne flutes. 2 glass drinking “glasses”.
Four chairs and table (probably pine). White fabric table cloth.
Despite the inclement weather the University of North Dakota is scheduled to unveil a strange kind of monument today: a bust of George Walsh (here’s the genuinely bizarre press release). Walsh is one of the “founding fathers” of eastern North Dakota and was responsible for the siting of the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks. His interest in the locating of the University was largely economic, and he used his political power (and audacity) in the provincial legislature to beat out Jamestown and other competing sites for the location of the school. Walsh was a relative of Captian Alexander Griggs who ran the local steamboat line and himself owned the local paper, the Plainsdealer, and served as the president of the town council when Grand Forks was founded in 1878. Walsh county is named in his honor.
Once the university was founded, Walsh ensured that the school continued to receive appropriations from the state legislature throughout the late 19th century. Moreover, he served as the first secretary of the board of regents for UND. (It is fun to imagine that he recorded the minutes of the first meetings in his elegant hand). More importantly, perhaps, he penned the first history of the founding of the University which President Webster Merrifield incorporated into the first “Founder’s Day” celebration at the University’s 21st birthday in 1904 (Geiger, 178).
From a historical standpoint, then, Walsh followed the tradition of writing himself into the history of the university at the moment where the young school was most intent on creating new “invented traditions”. This is not to discredit Walsh’s contribution to the founding of the university, but to place the creating myth of the school within its proper context.
“… Walsh was deeply involved in the complicated intrigues and politics of the crucial legislative session of 1883 at Yankton where so much of the present educational and institutional pattern of both Dakotas was set. Ordway had fired the opening gun in his annual message, in which he recommended the establishment of territorial institutions in the north. The next step, which had been prearranged, was to split the southern dedication, which was in overwhelming majoring in both houses – ten to three in the Council. With the approval of Ordway and the northern crowd, J.O.B. Scobey of Brookings was quickly elected president of the Council. The South Dakota break was further exploited when Walsh after some talk of removing the capital to an entirely new town site on the open prairie, introduced a bill to move it from Yankton to Huron, also in the south.
In late January, while Walsh was held up by a blizzard in St. Paul, where he had gone on a short business trip, the South Dakota group attempted to re-form their lines by making overturns to S. G. Roberts and Jonston Nickeus, the representative from Fargo and Jamestown, who were not satisfied with the plans for the north. They introduced their own set of bills appropriating a half a million dollars for institutions, most of them in the south. Walsh hastily returned and pulled together his wavering northern colleagues, apparently by accepting a proposal that they draw lots for the university, agricultural college, and the insane asylum and penitentiary. (He wrote years later: “I took the University, Jamestown the insane asylum and Fargo took the agricultural college. The penitentiary went to Bismarck.”). He then counterattacked by promising the north’s support for establishment of an agricultural college at Brookings, Scobey’s town, and for appropriations to launch the Dakota University established at Vermillion in 1862 and the normals established by the 1881 Assembly at Spearfish and Madison.
With his lines partially re-formed, Walsh managed to bury the South Dakota institutional bills in the appropriations committee, of which he was chairman. Fearing that his still restive northern colleagues might yet walk off with the prize, he hastily introduced into the legislative hopper some blank sheets of paper inscribed “a bill for an Act Locating the University of North Dakota at Grand Forks, N.D., and Providing Government thereto.” In the two days required for first and second readings, which were by title only, Walsh prepared the bill modeled on the University of Wisconsin act and substituted it for the dummy when it was routinely referred to his appropriations committee. As he put it: “No one would be any wiser, and no harm would be done by anyone, and I would get my bill ahead of Fargo or Jamestown, which I succeeded in doing. The Jamestown member was very much disappointed.”
What is interesting to me is that Walsh’s bust – situated outside of the administrative building – will be one of the few monuments to a specific individual on campus here (aside from names on buildings). On historical grounds, it is curious that he’d be chosen. While there is no doubt that his energies helped the university survive its formative years, one could easily argue that personalities like President’s Webster Merrifield or Frank McVey or even John C. West had a more transformative influence on the institution as a place of higher learning.
In contrast, Walsh’s unique contribution seems to have been acts of arguably rather self-serving political cunning, and the opportunity to write himself into the history of a university at the moment when it was looking to establish a set of traditions around which to forge an identity. It is perhaps not coincidental that Walsh’s lonely bust is being dedicated at a time when the University continues to seek an identity and forge distinct traditions in the competitive world of higher education. In fact, it’s hard not to think that the decision to commemorate this little known founder of the University suggests a gentle touch of irony from that least ironic of institutions: the University administration.
Readers of this blog know that I’ve been experimenting with Twitter in the classroom both online and as live backchannel while I am lecturing live. The Journal of Computer Assisted Learning has recently published one of the first academic articles on using Twitter in the classroom: R. Junco, G. Heiberger, and E. Loken “The effect of Twitter on college engagement and grades”. The article argues basically, that Twitter improves student engagement (following the definition for engagement developed by the National Survey of Student Engagement) and, in turn, improves grades. Their data comes from a large (125 student) group of students enrolled in seven sections of a introductory level seminar for a pre-health professional program. The class met one day a week for an hour, focused in part on T. Kidder’s Mountains beyond Mountains, and centered, apparently, on discussion. They also established a control group who did not use Twitter but the customizable social network service Ning to communicate. Twitter used in a number of ways including prompting students to consider discussion questions before class, organizing study groups, and engaging a panel of upperclassmen, public health majors. It appears that the faculty leaders prompted all uses of Twitter, although they do say that subsequent use of Twitter occurred without prompting.
They gird their argument with relatively careful controls and statistics. They also record qualitative data including several sample conversations between the faculty moderator of the Twitter feed and the students. These examples demonstrated how the faculty member prompted participation in Twitter discussion. The article shows that students not only were significantly (from a statistical viewpoint) more engaged (and there were no pre-existing variations in engagement between the groups). They also showed that the semester GPA for students who used Twitter was significantly higher (.5!!) than among those in the control group. Even accounting for the relatively small size of the sample, these differences are remarkable.
While the experiments did attempt to control for basic variables and appear to have a sufficient degree of internal rigor, one variable did not appear in their discussion. Nowhere do they discuss how the students access Twitter. In my (completely unscientific) experience, students require a significant level of technological engagement in their everyday life (smart phones, laptops, active engagement in existing social media and online communities) to grasp the potential benefits of a service like Twitter. While the authors do cite a recent report that 94% of students use social networking site and, at one school, as many as 85% use Facebook, they offer little in the way of explanation for how students use these services. My expectation would be that students do not see all social media in the same way (and this tends to be backed up by the work of social media researchers like danah boyd), and have markedly different patterns of engagement with a service like Twitter when compared to Facebook, email, or the informal networks produced through sms messages.
While I do not have quantitative (or even systematic qualitative) data to back my point, I can offer some informal observations derived from experiences. I made an effort to use Twitter in a class that met one a week similar to the class studied in the survey. My class was a lecture class with 140+ students rather than the more intimate discussion sections, but I actually think this would be a more fertile environment for a social media service like Twitter to produce functioning sub-communities within the larger and relatively impersonal lecture. I reckoned that this class would require students to check their Twitter account and participate in various activities at least twice a week. To do this, since Twitter is a stand alone site, it would require the student to log into Twitter as a separate place from Facebook, Blackboard, or other course management software. This is something that many of us do as part of our daily routine at our desks, on our laptops, or on our smart phones, but for many of my students, the deep and regular engagement with technology is not really part of their world. Moreover, there was a significant investment in becoming comfortable with the technical language of Twitter, which, while not difficult, is unfamiliar and intimidating to students who only follow well-trod paths on the internet (from Facebook to email to Blackboard and to content driven sites like ESPN, CNN, or (for most students) Wikipedia). In other words, Twitter is unfamiliar in part because most of the web is unfamiliar to students whose use of the internet is largely passive or limited. As a result, many students simply lurked on Twitter; those who participated regularly only engaged when explicitly prompted with points (and then only in a very superficial way). In short, students struggled to understand the advantages to Twitter for keeping them in touch with their classmates and faculty when not in class.
The notion of students are digital natives and that Twitter provides a familiar way to extend the classroom into the space occupied by students in their everyday lives rests upon problematic assumptions. Students’ engagement with the internet and with technology tends to occur in a much more limited or particular way than many of these studies imagine. The assumption that “social media” represents a cohesive body of technology and applications for most students appears to me to be problematic. Twitter for an undergraduate is foreign while Facebook is familiar.
Despite these difficulties, this study provides a good foundation for future study on how to leverage common technology to improve student engagement.