Friday, November 21, 2003
CHRISTMAS!?- I FART IN YOUR GENERAL DIRECTION!*
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You truly cannot fathom
How I despise and reject thee
In diabolical fashion.
You make me sick beyond belief
Where can I run? There’s no relief
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You make me feel despondent.
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You know I hate this holiday
We celebrate our Lord and Christ
And sing him Happy Birthday…
We sing of peace the whole day long
But flock the malls in shameless throngs
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You make me want to vomit.
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You’ve completely lost your meaning
Hedonism has become your theme-
It is the “reason for the season”
That portly Santa hugs the kids
While fondling and caressing them
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Donate your boughs to beat him...
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
How dare you be so unctuous
You promise things that can never be
You represent false notions
And though this song may shock and shame
I care naught – you protest in vain
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
I’m off to slice my wrists with rusty razor blades.
(The last line doesn’t rhyme, I know…leave me alone.)
*Monty Python Reference
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You truly cannot fathom
How I despise and reject thee
In diabolical fashion.
You make me sick beyond belief
Where can I run? There’s no relief
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You make me feel despondent.
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You know I hate this holiday
We celebrate our Lord and Christ
And sing him Happy Birthday…
We sing of peace the whole day long
But flock the malls in shameless throngs
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You make me want to vomit.
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
You’ve completely lost your meaning
Hedonism has become your theme-
It is the “reason for the season”
That portly Santa hugs the kids
While fondling and caressing them
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
Donate your boughs to beat him...
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
How dare you be so unctuous
You promise things that can never be
You represent false notions
And though this song may shock and shame
I care naught – you protest in vain
O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree
I’m off to slice my wrists with rusty razor blades.
(The last line doesn’t rhyme, I know…leave me alone.)
*Monty Python Reference
Thursday, November 20, 2003
BLOOM'S TAXONOMY: I HAVE CONQUERED YOU THIS DAY
Another happy highlight of my teaching career occurred this week. We have been studying Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica"- a somewhat confusing poem that depicts, in his opinion, all the things that make good poetry. The students have been struggling with wrapping their brains around somewhat complex concepts shrouded in ambiguous poetic stanzas- each clouded with what appears to be contradictions. Anyone who has ever read "Ars Poetica" will no doubt agree that it is not easy on the brain, the first two-three times through.
For example, the first few lines of the poem read as follows:
" A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit.
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb."
I explained to my students that MacLeish is saying that good poetry is classic, ageless and will evoke familiar images and feelings in anyone who reads it(them). We discussed that same theme in lines # 7 + 8 of the poem:
"A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds"
I explained how we have all seen a flight of birds- it doesn't matter if you've lived your whole life in China, or Australia- we have all witnessed this event. Then I asked the class to tell me what kinds of things came to mind when trying to describe a flight of birds. Everyone said relatively the same thing: it's graceful, it's synchronized, it's awe-inspiring. After we discussed this, I brought them back to the purpose of the poem and reminded them of what MacLeish says: good poetry is so classic (motionless in time)that you don't need a lot of words to make your point (as a flight of birds), or speak your mind. Good poetry (think Shakespeare)- allows imagery, metaphors, similes and other poetic devices to do the talking for you. People from different walks of life, with differing life experiences will connect with it- if you stick to using vivid and effective poetic devices.
To that end, a poem is dumb- it needs no words (although we have to use words - see, I told you the poem was kinda contradictory). In addition, the poem is also familiar. Think of the Olympic athlete, who, having won a very important race or event touches his/her medal(s) fondly("dumb, as old medallions to the thumb"), recollecting that priceless moment of victory. Years later, that Olympian will be able to recall the exact feel of the medallion when placed about his neck and shoulders, the exact emotion he/she experienced winning it. This is how good poetry should be- like an event or item or smell or sound or picture that brings about a feeling of familiarity. A Polariod snapshot of evocative experience.
A few days later, after I had quizzed them on the poem (24 lines!) we turned to another poem: "Silver" by Walter de la Mare. In the poem, the moon is personified as a woman, who walks silently and slowly around the earth, gazing on life below her, turning all things living and inanimate into silver (the moonlight). I asked the class: "why did de la Mare choose the color for the moon? Would gold have worked in the poem?" We all agreed that, "no", gold would not suffice.
On the board, we wrote two columns to prove why the color "gold" would not have been fitting for the poem. One column we used to describe what we think of when we think of the word "gold" and "golden". The other column we used to describe what we think of when we think of the world "silver." The class responded by saying (in summation) that the word "gold" evokes thoughts of warmth and sunlight. And they even went so far as to say they ascribe masculinity to the sun. They contrasted this with the word "silver", saying that the word "silver" conjured up images of ice, winter, frozen, and that the moon had a feminine quality to it.
WOW! I was floored. Am I really teaching 9th grade?
Then I asked them to go back to "Ars Poetica" and to tell me if the poem "Silver" could be considered good poetry in light of MacLeish's guidelines. We agreed that, indeed, the poem "Silver" was classic.
Why? Because we all (most students in the class) felt the same things about the sun, the moon, and the words "gold" and "silver." I pointed out that we had probably never discussed with ANYONE our thoughts about these words or spherical objects, but we all still had the same feelings about them. Is that cool or what? ("Dumb - As old medallions to the thumb")
The zenith of my teaching career occurred when I looked around the class, each period of the day and saw smiles on their faces. They get it. They see the connections between a very complex piece of poetry, and understand how to interpret it's meaning. Not only that- they can compare it to another poem and analyze each poem's effective use of poetic devices....
Agh! It's just too much! I can barely type this out- my excitement knows no end.
Bloom's Taxonomy: I have conquered you this day!
Another happy highlight of my teaching career occurred this week. We have been studying Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica"- a somewhat confusing poem that depicts, in his opinion, all the things that make good poetry. The students have been struggling with wrapping their brains around somewhat complex concepts shrouded in ambiguous poetic stanzas- each clouded with what appears to be contradictions. Anyone who has ever read "Ars Poetica" will no doubt agree that it is not easy on the brain, the first two-three times through.
For example, the first few lines of the poem read as follows:
" A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit.
Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb."
I explained to my students that MacLeish is saying that good poetry is classic, ageless and will evoke familiar images and feelings in anyone who reads it(them). We discussed that same theme in lines # 7 + 8 of the poem:
"A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds"
I explained how we have all seen a flight of birds- it doesn't matter if you've lived your whole life in China, or Australia- we have all witnessed this event. Then I asked the class to tell me what kinds of things came to mind when trying to describe a flight of birds. Everyone said relatively the same thing: it's graceful, it's synchronized, it's awe-inspiring. After we discussed this, I brought them back to the purpose of the poem and reminded them of what MacLeish says: good poetry is so classic (motionless in time)that you don't need a lot of words to make your point (as a flight of birds), or speak your mind. Good poetry (think Shakespeare)- allows imagery, metaphors, similes and other poetic devices to do the talking for you. People from different walks of life, with differing life experiences will connect with it- if you stick to using vivid and effective poetic devices.
To that end, a poem is dumb- it needs no words (although we have to use words - see, I told you the poem was kinda contradictory). In addition, the poem is also familiar. Think of the Olympic athlete, who, having won a very important race or event touches his/her medal(s) fondly("dumb, as old medallions to the thumb"), recollecting that priceless moment of victory. Years later, that Olympian will be able to recall the exact feel of the medallion when placed about his neck and shoulders, the exact emotion he/she experienced winning it. This is how good poetry should be- like an event or item or smell or sound or picture that brings about a feeling of familiarity. A Polariod snapshot of evocative experience.
A few days later, after I had quizzed them on the poem (24 lines!) we turned to another poem: "Silver" by Walter de la Mare. In the poem, the moon is personified as a woman, who walks silently and slowly around the earth, gazing on life below her, turning all things living and inanimate into silver (the moonlight). I asked the class: "why did de la Mare choose the color for the moon? Would gold have worked in the poem?" We all agreed that, "no", gold would not suffice.
On the board, we wrote two columns to prove why the color "gold" would not have been fitting for the poem. One column we used to describe what we think of when we think of the word "gold" and "golden". The other column we used to describe what we think of when we think of the world "silver." The class responded by saying (in summation) that the word "gold" evokes thoughts of warmth and sunlight. And they even went so far as to say they ascribe masculinity to the sun. They contrasted this with the word "silver", saying that the word "silver" conjured up images of ice, winter, frozen, and that the moon had a feminine quality to it.
WOW! I was floored. Am I really teaching 9th grade?
Then I asked them to go back to "Ars Poetica" and to tell me if the poem "Silver" could be considered good poetry in light of MacLeish's guidelines. We agreed that, indeed, the poem "Silver" was classic.
Why? Because we all (most students in the class) felt the same things about the sun, the moon, and the words "gold" and "silver." I pointed out that we had probably never discussed with ANYONE our thoughts about these words or spherical objects, but we all still had the same feelings about them. Is that cool or what? ("Dumb - As old medallions to the thumb")
The zenith of my teaching career occurred when I looked around the class, each period of the day and saw smiles on their faces. They get it. They see the connections between a very complex piece of poetry, and understand how to interpret it's meaning. Not only that- they can compare it to another poem and analyze each poem's effective use of poetic devices....
Agh! It's just too much! I can barely type this out- my excitement knows no end.
Bloom's Taxonomy: I have conquered you this day!
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
MY DATE
Our first official "date" ended with me having ambiguous feelings about him but I decided that I would accept a second invitation if it was proffered. Ostensibly, he had also been thinking about things because the next day he sent word via email explaining that although he had wanted to kiss me outside the coffee house, he dared not, as he didn't receive what he so aptly described as "a vibe" from me. I quickly emailed him back and said in no uncertain terms that he was correct to assume so- I had not given any. I thanked him for having the ability to discern that I would not have accepted a kiss if he had offered it. I added that this didn't necessarily mean that I wouldn't send out vibes at a later time; it just so happened that I was still "feeling things out", as it were, and a kiss would not have been in accordance with what I thought was "perfect timing."
A few more days passed and we continued to email. We have emailed for at least a year or two now as acquaintances, but it's strange how our emails of late - since he expressed an interest in me- have tapered in their witty and sarcastic banter to a more tapered and supressed jocundity. I consider it a shame, and altogether not a particularly good sign.
Eventually, the second invitation for a "date"/get-together came. We arranged to have dinner and a movie at his house. After comparing schedules, dinner turned into lunch instead, and ended up being a very casual affair, for which I was grateful. It consisted of pizza from a pizzeria I had never heard of and the movie Reservoir Dogsdirected by Tarantino. The latter was picked because I had forgotten to stop by Blockbuster to rent the movie of my choice as I had initially promised. Reservoir Dogs was the default. It is necessary to point out that Reservoir Dogs is certainly not a movie to watch with a prospective lover seated on the other end of the couch. Blood, profanity, racial slurs, and scenes of unnecessary torture contribute very little to an intimate mood or romantic efforts.
As we sat on the couch- several inches away from each other- eating pizza, drinking Pepsi, keeping the pizza away from the dog and the cat, watching the anti-intimate mood movie, I peformed "The Test." The test is a process that takes but a minute and is done by casually talking to a man who has potential to become the object of my affection. I pretend to look attentively at him while making conversation and quickly examine his lips. Are they too thick? Too thin? Or are they just right for puckering? Can they go the distance? What, exactly, do his lips have to offer? The test must be done clandestinely and a pass/fail grade given accordingly. (Of course, MY lips would pass anyone's test! duh...)
He just barely passed the test. He just squeezed by. His lips were a little thin, but I was sure there was enough top lip to make up for the bottom one. Satisfied with his score, I went back to eating my pizza, watching the movie, and intermittently talking to him, convinced that, should he try to make a move, I might not resist too much.
Our first official "date" ended with me having ambiguous feelings about him but I decided that I would accept a second invitation if it was proffered. Ostensibly, he had also been thinking about things because the next day he sent word via email explaining that although he had wanted to kiss me outside the coffee house, he dared not, as he didn't receive what he so aptly described as "a vibe" from me. I quickly emailed him back and said in no uncertain terms that he was correct to assume so- I had not given any. I thanked him for having the ability to discern that I would not have accepted a kiss if he had offered it. I added that this didn't necessarily mean that I wouldn't send out vibes at a later time; it just so happened that I was still "feeling things out", as it were, and a kiss would not have been in accordance with what I thought was "perfect timing."
A few more days passed and we continued to email. We have emailed for at least a year or two now as acquaintances, but it's strange how our emails of late - since he expressed an interest in me- have tapered in their witty and sarcastic banter to a more tapered and supressed jocundity. I consider it a shame, and altogether not a particularly good sign.
Eventually, the second invitation for a "date"/get-together came. We arranged to have dinner and a movie at his house. After comparing schedules, dinner turned into lunch instead, and ended up being a very casual affair, for which I was grateful. It consisted of pizza from a pizzeria I had never heard of and the movie Reservoir Dogsdirected by Tarantino. The latter was picked because I had forgotten to stop by Blockbuster to rent the movie of my choice as I had initially promised. Reservoir Dogs was the default. It is necessary to point out that Reservoir Dogs is certainly not a movie to watch with a prospective lover seated on the other end of the couch. Blood, profanity, racial slurs, and scenes of unnecessary torture contribute very little to an intimate mood or romantic efforts.
As we sat on the couch- several inches away from each other- eating pizza, drinking Pepsi, keeping the pizza away from the dog and the cat, watching the anti-intimate mood movie, I peformed "The Test." The test is a process that takes but a minute and is done by casually talking to a man who has potential to become the object of my affection. I pretend to look attentively at him while making conversation and quickly examine his lips. Are they too thick? Too thin? Or are they just right for puckering? Can they go the distance? What, exactly, do his lips have to offer? The test must be done clandestinely and a pass/fail grade given accordingly. (Of course, MY lips would pass anyone's test! duh...)
He just barely passed the test. He just squeezed by. His lips were a little thin, but I was sure there was enough top lip to make up for the bottom one. Satisfied with his score, I went back to eating my pizza, watching the movie, and intermittently talking to him, convinced that, should he try to make a move, I might not resist too much.
Tuesday, November 04, 2003
THE MONKEY'S PAW
Last Saturday night, the culmination of ½ a year's worth of event planning drew to a close. Since May of last year, I - the speech teacher- have been planning a large speech competition that would feature groups of students competing before parents, administration, teachers and students' peers. The event also included a panel of judges who were to give scores in various categories, thus awarding various groups/acts who would claim stunningly shiny trophies before we called it a night.
The weeks leading up to this event were harrowing, and there were many days when I found myself running solely on adrenaline, supplied by frequents swigs of a popular energy drink that promises to bestow one with "wings." Most mornings, by the time I got on campus, indeed, my heart would be racing, blood bubbling in my veins, and my mind would seemingly be alert. Dutifully, I would ready myself to teach 6 classes, and then stay late into the night running errands, buying trophies, or working on the stage set. More often than naught, 8 pm would find me working at my desk or computer, flushing out the behind-the-scenes details that would put my name in "lights". I suppose I was searching for my "piece de resistance"- the one thing that would help to place my name permanently in the "Who's Who" of speech teachers across the country were such a thing to exist. If it was my goal to establish myself as a quality teacher, with a renowned reputation and a flair for excellence, I did indeed achieve this task. However, much to my chagrin, this goal was obtained at an alarming price.
Allow me to explain.
On the morning of the event, my students and I gathered together to prepare the place. This included inflating a myriad of balloons with helium, using power drills and the like to firmly plant the backdrop on stage, setting up signs, a ticket booth, organizing the judges' scoreboards, photocopying the programs and folding them, and of course- dress rehearsals with the sound tech. It was a good thing that I had taken the time to flush out the minor details- the hours leading up to the event seemed easy and stress free- a place I like to be (90% preparation, %10 execution). Soon, 7 pm rolled around, the audience was seated, the opening music began, and the magic that I had so carefully orchestrated began. I took my seat like a proud momma bear admiring her little cubs as they danced and sang in simian-like fashion on stage.
Everything was going smoothly until the M.C.s (the school president and vice president) introduced a "guest" in the audience and invited said "guest" to the stage. This was, of course, supposed to have been cleared by me, but had been added to the program in the most beguiling and conniving way! As I looked in the direction of where the MCs were pointing my entire being cringed as I recognized the face of an old student who also happens to be the son of a famous country western, guitar swinging, cowboy belt buckling musician. Words such as "diabolical" "incorrigible" "deviant" "ruthless"and "SATAN" immediately came to mind, as I struggled to bring my panic attack under control. I took a deep breath and crossed my fingers; I could only hope that he wouldn't do anything stupid, which he is famous for doing. He is the kind of boy that every teacher and principal dreads, but can't kick out of the school because he's... well-he's a celebrity (by default)!
My worst fears were realized when the little shit- that uninvited guest- got on stage and began a dialogue with the M..C.s. As God is my witness, before the Lord our Savior, the parents, the students, the teachers, the adminstration, and little innocents, this goblin of a teenager -without skipping a beat- and without shame- answered the M.C.s questions while caressing and tweaking his nipples in true pornographic format! As if this was not horrific enough, he then proceeded to answer a question with the word "Yes" repeated in orgasmic fashion (as in "Yes! Oh Yes! Yeeeessssss! Oh! Oh!" repeat). Images of the superintendent and his wife seated in the back row dying of mortification engulfed me; all around me there was an air of tension and I sank low into my seat praying the principal had taken a bathroom break. Thankfully, the episode was brief and he was whisked off stage- just before I made the decision to go on stage and drag him off myself.
Over the weekend I wrote a self-deprecating letter to the principal and superintendent, in which I took total blame for the pornographic display of insolence. They emailed me Monday morning and informed me that although they had received a few complaints from parents, they would handle the situation and inform the student that he was to never darken the doorstep of this institution again.
May I make a reference to a literary work titled "The Monkey's Paw"? A story in which a small family is granted the power to wish for anything, and when they do, receive what they wish for in less than favorable circumstances. May I never again be so vain as to ask the Powers of the Universe to exalt me above my fellow teachers, lest I be humbled in a way more excruciating than what took place on Saturday!
Last Saturday night, the culmination of ½ a year's worth of event planning drew to a close. Since May of last year, I - the speech teacher- have been planning a large speech competition that would feature groups of students competing before parents, administration, teachers and students' peers. The event also included a panel of judges who were to give scores in various categories, thus awarding various groups/acts who would claim stunningly shiny trophies before we called it a night.
The weeks leading up to this event were harrowing, and there were many days when I found myself running solely on adrenaline, supplied by frequents swigs of a popular energy drink that promises to bestow one with "wings." Most mornings, by the time I got on campus, indeed, my heart would be racing, blood bubbling in my veins, and my mind would seemingly be alert. Dutifully, I would ready myself to teach 6 classes, and then stay late into the night running errands, buying trophies, or working on the stage set. More often than naught, 8 pm would find me working at my desk or computer, flushing out the behind-the-scenes details that would put my name in "lights". I suppose I was searching for my "piece de resistance"- the one thing that would help to place my name permanently in the "Who's Who" of speech teachers across the country were such a thing to exist. If it was my goal to establish myself as a quality teacher, with a renowned reputation and a flair for excellence, I did indeed achieve this task. However, much to my chagrin, this goal was obtained at an alarming price.
Allow me to explain.
On the morning of the event, my students and I gathered together to prepare the place. This included inflating a myriad of balloons with helium, using power drills and the like to firmly plant the backdrop on stage, setting up signs, a ticket booth, organizing the judges' scoreboards, photocopying the programs and folding them, and of course- dress rehearsals with the sound tech. It was a good thing that I had taken the time to flush out the minor details- the hours leading up to the event seemed easy and stress free- a place I like to be (90% preparation, %10 execution). Soon, 7 pm rolled around, the audience was seated, the opening music began, and the magic that I had so carefully orchestrated began. I took my seat like a proud momma bear admiring her little cubs as they danced and sang in simian-like fashion on stage.
Everything was going smoothly until the M.C.s (the school president and vice president) introduced a "guest" in the audience and invited said "guest" to the stage. This was, of course, supposed to have been cleared by me, but had been added to the program in the most beguiling and conniving way! As I looked in the direction of where the MCs were pointing my entire being cringed as I recognized the face of an old student who also happens to be the son of a famous country western, guitar swinging, cowboy belt buckling musician. Words such as "diabolical" "incorrigible" "deviant" "ruthless"and "SATAN" immediately came to mind, as I struggled to bring my panic attack under control. I took a deep breath and crossed my fingers; I could only hope that he wouldn't do anything stupid, which he is famous for doing. He is the kind of boy that every teacher and principal dreads, but can't kick out of the school because he's... well-he's a celebrity (by default)!
My worst fears were realized when the little shit- that uninvited guest- got on stage and began a dialogue with the M..C.s. As God is my witness, before the Lord our Savior, the parents, the students, the teachers, the adminstration, and little innocents, this goblin of a teenager -without skipping a beat- and without shame- answered the M.C.s questions while caressing and tweaking his nipples in true pornographic format! As if this was not horrific enough, he then proceeded to answer a question with the word "Yes" repeated in orgasmic fashion (as in "Yes! Oh Yes! Yeeeessssss! Oh! Oh!" repeat). Images of the superintendent and his wife seated in the back row dying of mortification engulfed me; all around me there was an air of tension and I sank low into my seat praying the principal had taken a bathroom break. Thankfully, the episode was brief and he was whisked off stage- just before I made the decision to go on stage and drag him off myself.
Over the weekend I wrote a self-deprecating letter to the principal and superintendent, in which I took total blame for the pornographic display of insolence. They emailed me Monday morning and informed me that although they had received a few complaints from parents, they would handle the situation and inform the student that he was to never darken the doorstep of this institution again.
May I make a reference to a literary work titled "The Monkey's Paw"? A story in which a small family is granted the power to wish for anything, and when they do, receive what they wish for in less than favorable circumstances. May I never again be so vain as to ask the Powers of the Universe to exalt me above my fellow teachers, lest I be humbled in a way more excruciating than what took place on Saturday!
