August and I had been out of our weekly movie rhythm of late, particularly with new releases. We usually go to something every weekend, preferably new, no matter whose house he ends up spending most of the weekend at. However, with conferences, holidays, and lotsa homework, our November-December take had been lean. We did 2012 opening weekend (just ... crazy), and we took in Fantastic Mr. Fox (enjoyed it thoroughly; exactly the sort of film my dad would have taken me to see at an arthouse in the 70s) in Adrian three weekends ago, which was a couple of weeks later than we had intended to see it. And that's it. So, naturally, both of us were anxious for some father-son movie time by Sunday night this past weekend ... which just happened to coincide with the release of Avatar, 2009's much-anticipated apotheosis of science fiction movie making. Unfortunately, the early evening show was sold out, but we were on time for The Princess and the Frog, 2009's much-anticipated return of the hand-drawn 2D animated musical. We enjoyed it a lot, me for the animation and smart (almost meta) reworking of princess movie tropes, August for the great New Orleans jazz score, crack vocal work and slapstick. Tonight, however, we would not be denied our original goal; we showed up an hour early and got prime seats in the center of the theater for Avatar.
My mention of The Princess and the Frog isn't just to establish context or to squeeze in some commentary on one more recent movie into this post. Rather, it's to point out that after decades of increasing photorealism in top-tier animated films, the coincident release of The Princess and the Frog and Avatar in December 2009 (and the return of old school stop-motion animation in November's Fantastic Mr. Fox) means that digital technology has finally done for mainstream animation what the photograph did for painting - namely, liberated it to become a purer, more expressive art form instead of one that moves with each technological advance toward photorealism for photorealism's sake. This theory of art evolution is not my invention; it's a core tenet of Andre Bazin's film theory, as detailed throughout What Is Cinema? Volume 1 (my well-annotated copy of which has been sitting on the bookshelf of a nameless colleague and Facebook friend for seven years running now; ahem). Bazin's basic thesis is that people create art as a result of a mummy complex, attempting to preserve for eternity some fragment of life. Photographs, then moving pictures - in color and with sound, too - relieved painting from the burden of trying to preserve life as visually accurately as possible. Painting could then strive for other goals, like capturing emotions or expressing abstract and intangible concepts. Yeah, there are flaws in Bazin's selective interpretation of art history, and he didn't live to see the rise of pop art and photorealism. Nevertheless, it's an interesting theory, and every time I see an animated movie that raises the bar on trompe l'oeil effects, I wonder, "What would Andre Bazin say?" Some notable occasions: the computer generated clock gears in Great Mouse Detective, the ballroom scene in Beauty and the Beast, pretty much all of Toy Story, Wall*E, and Beowulf, and now, Avatar, particularly when contrasted with Fox and Frog.
To be fair, Avatar isn't technically an animated film, but like the three most recent Star Wars movies, more of what's on screen in any given scene is computer generated than not. Where Avatar pushes the envelope is by embracing 3D, not for comin' at ya' emergence effects, but to immerse the audience in a deeply rendered, fully realized world. The title is a pun - avatar means both graphical representation of oneself in a computerized environment and the incarnation of a god - which, respectively, is what protagonist Jake Sully's alien alter ego is and is perceived to be by some the Na'Vi he infiltrates. If nothing else, the film sets a new high water mark for computer generated visual splendor. There is soooo much to look at, so beautifully and convincingly rendered, that after a while, my visual cortex accepted as real all sorts of fantastical things, like floating mountains, hammerhead rhinos, city-sized trees, and iridescent forest floors that glow brighter with each step the characters take. The integration of cgi and live action is as seamless as I've ever witnessed, to the point that I decided not to bother trying to separate it. This is especially remarkable, as back when Attack of the Clones came out, I preferred seeing it on film instead of digitally projected, as the digital image made those seams more noticeable than did film (it all has to do with pixels versus chemicals; if you want the technical explanation, ask me sometime). The pleasure of seeing things you've never seen before - and swearing that they might as well be real - is the fulfillment of Bazin's ideas on the mummy complex, and the return of recent widely released animated movies to deliberately non-photorealistic styles (Fox's hand crafted stop-motion effects; Frog's impressionistic "Almost There" and trippy "Friends on the Other Side" sequences) confirms Bazin's prediction of an art form going back to its roots.
My invocation of Star Wars is deliberate, as I've heard some call Avatar "this generation's Star Wars," and I've wondered, what exactly do they mean? At a surface level, like Star Wars, Avatar is a science fiction adventure showcasing state of the art technology, but there are a lot of movies like that that aren't Star Wars. Both films create complex, generative universes with their own internal logic and deep backstory. However, where Star Wars reveled in myth and Jungian archetypes, Avatar offers a more specific, timebound narrative. A number of hackneyed political buzzwords from the past decade awkwardly appear in the dialogue, the humans' insatiable quest for the fuel mineral "unobtanium" invokes current energy/natural resource controversies, and, as one of my Facebook friends noted, it takes its narrative shape more from Dances with Wolves than, say, Gilgamesh. I would also say that the military versus scientists conflict parallels any number of science fiction B-movies from across the decades (ex. Planet Terror, The Day the Earth Stood Still). Whereas Star Wars was conceived as a full saga before the first frame was ever shot, James Cameron seems to have no more of a grand plan for possible sequels than noting that the big planet around which Pandora orbits has other moons to explore in future movies, at least according to his responses in a recent EW interview.
However, when I looked into August's eyes at the end of Avatar, I saw a miraculous sense of wonder that I recognized in myself after seeing Star Wars for the first time. A whole new world had been opened up to him, inspiring thoughts of further stories that could be told in this universe and with this technology. If that's what "this generation's Star Wars" means, then we just may have a winner, although personally, I think "this generation's Star Wars" is still Star Wars.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Friday, December 11, 2009
The Empire Strikes Back
This past summer, I blogged about a proposed alternative route to teacher certification that the Michigan Department of Education had offered for public comment. The MDE hasn't discussed what happened to this proposal publicly, but it was quietly withdrawn from consideration earlier this fall as the Race to the Top grant criteria neared finalization. While the MNRTC was designed only to address an alleged shortage in math, science and special education at the secondary level, and specified that existing teacher preparation institutions would be the first entities allowed to create such programs, the Race to the Top eligibility criteria call for alternative certification at both elementary and secondary levels, and in all content areas. Further, these programs are to be offered by entities outside of established teacher preparation institutions.
So, in pursuit of a cool half billion dollars in one-time federal aid, the debate over alternative certification in Michigan has moved from the executive to the legislative branch, and both the Senate and House have introduced bills to empower the State Superintendent to develop procedures to introduce alternative certification programs from outside of Michigan into our state. When there's this much money at stake, things move surprisingly fast through the legislature, and before I knew it, the Senate bill had been passed unanimously. It restricts alternative certification to the secondary level, and calls for a 12 credit minimum program on top of a Bachelor's degree in any subject with at least a 2.75 GPA.
I took the initiative to write to all of the members of the House, urging them to vote no on HB 5596 and using the exact same arguments that I put forward in this blog regarding the MNRTC, namely, that we already have a surplus of highly qualified teachers without jobs, we already have a number of quality post-Bachelor's certification programs across the state, and introducing another level of certification outside the requirements for national accreditation and documentation of adherence to state standards would potentially cheapen the value of a certificate that is recognized nationwide for its high quality.
The House voted 79 to 27 to pass the bill yesterday, and it now goes for reconciliation with the Senate bill. It does not exclude elementary education, as does the Senate bill, but rather does exclude special education. I heard back from a few legislators who shared my concerns, as well as a few conservatives who were concerned that chasing after Race to the Top funds represented an erosion of state autonomy to federal control (although a couple of them ultimately voted for it).
The Race to the Top grant program is designed to do two things: recognize successful reform efforts and spur further innovation. The point system for evaluating states' applications for the grant is weighted so that it slightly favors existing conditions over future plans (52% to 48%, respectively). What bothers me about this flurry of legislation to establish conditions for grant eligibility (and it's not just in the area of alternative certification; there are a lot of other pieces that Michigan has to put into place before it qualifies to compete for RTTT) is that it's all so last minute. It seems a sham to say that we meet the conditions for the grant when they've been put through right after the grant criteria were announced. What happens if we don't win any money in this process? We'll have new layers of bureaucracy to fund, and no new money to pay for it. We'll give more people teacher certificates but not have any jobs for them, so instead of better educating Michigan's workforce, we'll give more people tickets to other states where the jobs are plentiful. I was rather offended by the cynicism of some of the responses I got from legislators who argued that the bill doesn't obligate districts to hire alternatively certified teachers, so I shouldn't be worried about underprepared teachers entering our classrooms. Offering a bill with the argument that you're creating opportunities for talented Michiganders, then telling its critics that no one's being forced to hire those same Michiganders once they're certified is appalling.
It's entirely symptomatic of Michigan's political leadership to be chasing after external money instead of hammering out long-range economic policies to make our state's educational system sustainable. We need to stop, get our house in order, demonstrate that we can work smoothly with what we have, then think about ways we could expand and improve with additional funding. When everything's in crisis mode and we can't guarantee baseline funding for our schools, we're like a junkie looking for that one, last big fix that will make everything alright.
So, in pursuit of a cool half billion dollars in one-time federal aid, the debate over alternative certification in Michigan has moved from the executive to the legislative branch, and both the Senate and House have introduced bills to empower the State Superintendent to develop procedures to introduce alternative certification programs from outside of Michigan into our state. When there's this much money at stake, things move surprisingly fast through the legislature, and before I knew it, the Senate bill had been passed unanimously. It restricts alternative certification to the secondary level, and calls for a 12 credit minimum program on top of a Bachelor's degree in any subject with at least a 2.75 GPA.
I took the initiative to write to all of the members of the House, urging them to vote no on HB 5596 and using the exact same arguments that I put forward in this blog regarding the MNRTC, namely, that we already have a surplus of highly qualified teachers without jobs, we already have a number of quality post-Bachelor's certification programs across the state, and introducing another level of certification outside the requirements for national accreditation and documentation of adherence to state standards would potentially cheapen the value of a certificate that is recognized nationwide for its high quality.
The House voted 79 to 27 to pass the bill yesterday, and it now goes for reconciliation with the Senate bill. It does not exclude elementary education, as does the Senate bill, but rather does exclude special education. I heard back from a few legislators who shared my concerns, as well as a few conservatives who were concerned that chasing after Race to the Top funds represented an erosion of state autonomy to federal control (although a couple of them ultimately voted for it).
The Race to the Top grant program is designed to do two things: recognize successful reform efforts and spur further innovation. The point system for evaluating states' applications for the grant is weighted so that it slightly favors existing conditions over future plans (52% to 48%, respectively). What bothers me about this flurry of legislation to establish conditions for grant eligibility (and it's not just in the area of alternative certification; there are a lot of other pieces that Michigan has to put into place before it qualifies to compete for RTTT) is that it's all so last minute. It seems a sham to say that we meet the conditions for the grant when they've been put through right after the grant criteria were announced. What happens if we don't win any money in this process? We'll have new layers of bureaucracy to fund, and no new money to pay for it. We'll give more people teacher certificates but not have any jobs for them, so instead of better educating Michigan's workforce, we'll give more people tickets to other states where the jobs are plentiful. I was rather offended by the cynicism of some of the responses I got from legislators who argued that the bill doesn't obligate districts to hire alternatively certified teachers, so I shouldn't be worried about underprepared teachers entering our classrooms. Offering a bill with the argument that you're creating opportunities for talented Michiganders, then telling its critics that no one's being forced to hire those same Michiganders once they're certified is appalling.
It's entirely symptomatic of Michigan's political leadership to be chasing after external money instead of hammering out long-range economic policies to make our state's educational system sustainable. We need to stop, get our house in order, demonstrate that we can work smoothly with what we have, then think about ways we could expand and improve with additional funding. When everything's in crisis mode and we can't guarantee baseline funding for our schools, we're like a junkie looking for that one, last big fix that will make everything alright.
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
In the Chair
I had my semi-annual dental appointment this afternoon, and one of the things I really like about my current dentist's office is that they have TVs on movable boom harnesses that you can watch while getting your teeth cleaned. When the hygienist asked me what channel I wanted, I opted for Headline News. I was treated to extensive coverage of the Salahis, Tiger Woods, Anthony Sowell, Nidal Hasan, the Seattle police officer killings and iReports on the President's Afghanistan policy, all of which my hygienist (who resembled an angry Sandy Duncan with an unambiguously Michigan accent) had very strong opinions about. Her rants increased in intensity as the news dragged on and she started talking about how wonderful it would be to be able torture those who are guilty of violent crime in the manner of the recent movie Law Abiding Citizen, all the while smiling, laughing and manipulating sharp metal objects in my mouth. I suggested that it might be safer if we switched the channel to cartoons, which elicited a cute anecdote about a three year old who had been in the chair the previous week ... and then back to the rants. To her credit, her hands kept focused on cleaning my teeth, with no slippage or increasing pressure, but man, that was harrowing.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Marcelo in the Real World, by Francisco X. Stork
The narrator of Francisco Stork's third novel is Marcelo Sandoval, a young man at the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum who hears music in his head and has a seemingly eidetic memory for the Bible. Although he has thrived at Paterson, a school for children with special needs, his parents would like him to spend his senior year at Oak Ridge, a regular public high school. Needless to say, Marcelo is not thrilled with this decision, and so his father, a high-profile corporate attorney, offers him a deal: spend a summer working in the mail room at the law firm (and thus learn to deal with life in "the real world"), and Marcelo can attend Paterson for his senior year. Marcelo agrees, and what follows is one of the best written, most humanely sensitive novels I read in 2009. Like Rob Thomas' Rats Saw God, Marcelo in the Real World subtly evokes Shakespeare's Henry plays in its presentation of a young man with hidden talents, torn between multiple worlds, attempting to measure up to the standards of a distant father while simultaneously coming to terms with unpleasant truths that surround him. In his ALAN Workshop presentation today, Stork noted that his "joy and delight is in seeing the same old titles coming up" on the summer reading tables at Barnes & Noble, because such books address "universal concerns" that persist generation after generation. He said what he aimed for in pursuing a career as a writer was not to be prolific or of-the-moment, but to craft just one book that would be worthy of being on such a table. Only time will tell if Marcelo in the Real World proves to be such a book, but what separates it from much contemporary fiction - YA or otherwise - is that it sets it sights on some very big questions with great sensitivity. I shared the book with Alexis, who is her own brand of square peg, and she felt a tremendous connection with Marcelo (and not just because he tends to Haflinger horses at Paterson). She texted me a number of messages to pass on to the author (whom she calls "Mr. Stork" in all her texts), which I did at the signing. I was first in line, in fact. I did feel a heavy lump in my throat as I told him how much my daughter and I connected with the book, and how much I looked forward to sharing it with my father. I even asked him to sign it to both Alexis and my dad. He was warm, gracious, and everything you hope the author of a book that has touched you deeply would be. I received an ARC of his next book, The Last Summer of the Death Warriors, which will be released next March and which was inspired by Don Quixote. I can't wait to dig into and savor it, and have requested that The ALAN Review let me write a "Clip and Save" review for it.What really sold me on Marcelo in the Real World was Chapter 26, from which I will now share an extended excerpt to close out this review. In fact, I specifically asked Francisco Stork to mention this in writing the dedication to my father. To set the scene, Marcelo has learned some things about his father and his law practice that he finds distressing, and he visits his spiritual mentor, Rabbi Heschel. In this excerpt, Marcelo is the first to speak:
"I know why Aurora [Marcelo's mother] does not like to talk about religion."
"Tell me then."
"There was a little girl at St. Elizabeth's once who died because her parents refused to consent to a blood transfusion. Their religion prohibited it."
"Yes. I remember."
"Aurora was very angry."
"And sad."
"The parents of that little girl believed they were following God's commands."
"Their religion told them that, yes."
"Were they wrong? The parents? I know Aurora thinks they were wrong. What does the rabbi think?"
Rabbi Heschel takes off her sunglasses and dangles them by the side of the chair. "I think we, and I mean all of us, every single one of us who's in the religion business, have messed things up royally."
"It is not possible to know what God wants us to do."
"Let's just say that because we are human, there is an element of uncertainty in interpreting His will."
"People kill other people and they think God asked them to do it."
"That is correct. ... The day after Lucy died - the little girl whose parents refused her a blood transfusion - Aurora got up in the morning and went to work. She had tried very hard to get the hospital to fight the parents' decision. A judge ultimately ruled in favor of the hospital, but by then it was too late. ... Do you think God cares one white whether Aurora believes in Him? She doesn't need to believe in God or even remember Him to do His work. Her belief is in her deeds, which is okay."
"God is with her like the morning dew."
"Thoughts about Him are not what He wants. He wants deeds. But that doesn't mean she thinks that's the only way for everyone. I'm her best friend and my head spins with God-talk day and night. I believe that the Holy One, Blessed be He, helps us to know his will through the words of His holy men and women and through the events of history, because He knows we need all the help we can get. And we need to remember the holy words and the events in history as much as we can because it's in our nature to forget. That's part of my tradition. ... Have I ever told you how I ended up as a rabbi?"
"No."
"My Hebrew brain squirmed over the decision. ... Was it the Holy One that was calling me, or was it me just wanting to thumb my nose at the males, including those in my closest family, who believed the Lord's business was not a woman's business? My father wanted me to be a lawyer of all things. ... I never knew for sure that going to seminary was what God wanted me to do. 'Sure,' I used to complain, 'to Moses you appear as a burning bush, but to me you come as a burning hemorrhoid.' I knew that going to seminary was what the Lord wanted only afterward, when the burning - not stopped - but at least got bearable. ... God's love descends on some like dew on a flower, blessed be He, but sometimes we trudge along our comfortable lives and bam, He descends on us like a splash of gasoline ... and then He strikes a match. Why do I think that you have been soaking in gasoline all these years and He just set you on fire? ... How I found out what God wanted me to do is that the urge to do it got too painful to ignore. I ended up going to seminary just so I could finally get some sleep."
"The urge. Urge."
"Great word, isn't it? Sounds like when a piece of gefilte fish gets stuck in your throat and you try to dislodge it by coughing and gagging. Uurrrch. Uuurguh."
"The urge the rabbit had ... has ... still has ... is a longing, 'like a hart longs for flowing streams.'" ...
... "Only our longing for Him, the big longing, the one with a capital L, sometimes gets confused with a hundred little longings, some of them okay, some of them not. For most of us the big longing lies buried under a mountain of silliness and selfishness. ... He's urging you to do something that may be painful, isn't He? ... The urges that you feel are to do His work - you're getting the signals all mixed up. You think He's asking you to be a big success in whatever it is you're ambitious about, and that's not what He wants from you at all. ... If I told you that God speaks to us through our urges so long as these are safe and proper and totally civilized and don't hurt anyone, what would I be saying? If I told you longing is okay as long as it is within the bounds of what our world considers normal, I would be going counter to my whole tradition. My people discovered divine urges, for goodness' sake. Not namby-pamby urges either. It was loincloth-tearing, harlot-marrying, sacrificing, succumbing, and surrendering kinds of urges. Not without bickering and haggling, I'll grant you, but ultimately urges of the worst kind, the kind that demanded everything. ... Do I think that the people who let children die or who blow themselves up for the sake of God are wrong? Yes, I do. They start out right and turn wrong. They begin holy and end up evil. Is the desire to do justice the same kind of inner fire that makes people deny transfusions to their dying child or blow themselves up or seek revenge? What can I tell you? I have to say that in essence it is. It is the same sap that comes from the ground, travels up the roots, and then clambers up the trunk until it reaches the branches. Then it chooses. If the sap goes up one branch it is good and it bears fruit. Good, beautiful, nourishing fruit. And if it goes up another branch it is evil and there is no fruit except maybe a dried-up useless fig. But the sap, the sap is the same, only the fruits are different. ... Your fire. The fire you're in. You have to make sure it goes up the right branch. It's up to you."
"The fire hurts."
"It does. There's no getting around it."
"And there is anger and revenge in the fire. The fire wants to hurt those who are deceitful and those who inflict suffering."
"Yes. But His urges are always toward life and more life and forgiveness and more forgiveness. And what comes from Him are like these juicy pomegranates I saw in Israel; they are plain on the outside, but inside they are loaded with light-giving rubies that are sweet and precious, and quench and fill. Like those outwardly simple but incredibly rich words of Micah: 'What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?' ... Marcelo, before you go, let me play the part of the rabbi for a change and say this: It is a messy business, this trying to figure out what His will is. It is messy and painful and certainly never clear. But deep at the bottom of our conflicting desires and confusions there is the sense of what is right and what is wrong. What else can we do but trust and hope in this sense? What else can we do but trust that He is at the source of what we feel and hope He is at the end of what we want to do? Trust the sense you have that you are traveling in the right direction because, when it comes down to it, that and the ability to tell the difference between a dried-up fig and a pomegranate is all you have." ...
..."What if doing God's will hurts the people we love?"
I'll leave it at that, and I hope that I haven't reproduced so much text that I'll receive a cease-and-desist order from the publisher! I've cut some bits out, but this comes from pages 270 to 279. I originally encountered Marcelo in the Real World via the unabridged audio version, which I checked out from the library. I was driving around town for CARE when I listened to this section, and I had to pull over and meditate for several minutes before continuing with the book and my journey. I like this sort of knotty, theological discussion, the kind that acknowledges that there are often no simplistic or rational solutions to our crises, that there is great mystery in the divine - and that it's not always comforting to recognize one's calling. I received a complimentary copy of the novel from Scholastic in the NCTE exhibit hall on Sunday, which is how I was able to reproduce this quotation. ALAN awarded the first ever Amelia Elizabeth Walden Award for young adult fiction this year to Steve Kluger's My Most Excellent Year: A Novel of Love, Mary Poppins and Fenway Park. It will probably disqualify me from being able to participate in the selection for 2010 by saying this here, but I sincerely hope that Marcel in the Real World gets a shot at it.
Reporting from NCTE, Days 3 though 6
After the whirlwind of activity that was my Friday, I arose early on Saturday for a pair of morning sessions on reflective practice in teacher education (featuring colleagues from Kennesaw State University in Georgia) and informal structures for teacher renewal, professional development and activism - including book clubs and wikis - hosted by fellow Spartan alum Jory and a trio of Cincinnati area teachers. I then opted for some sight-seeing: Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, Christ Church Burial Ground (final resting place of Ben Franklin), the Free Methodist Meeting House and a terrific mural tour of West Philadelphia with my friend and colleague Bill Tucker and his wife Kathy. The day ended with the annual M.R. Robinson Dinner, which is a free cocktail reception and full Thanksgiving dinner, sponsored by an "anonymous" organization that is actually quite well known by all teachers, parents and school children. If you ever go to NCTE, just ask me where you go to RSVP, and you'll know exactly who's footing the bill! I had considered going to a movie afterward, but the timing wasn't quite right (and yes gals, I skipped a speech given by Nicholas Sparks).
On Sunday, I didn't attend any sessions, but did spend a fair amount of time in the exhibit hall, snagging free stuff, bargaining for discounts, and meeting a few authors. I hung out with Bill for much of the early afternoon, catching up on the state of YA, teacher ed and education policy in Michigan. The Assembly on Literature for Adolescents of NCTE (ALAN) held an early evening cocktail reception for ALAN members and all of the YA authors appearing at the conference. Laurie Halse Anderson was unfortunately not in attendance (I think I actually spied her walking down the sidewalk in the other direction on my way to the reception), but another of my favorites, David Klass, was. I was able to spend a good amount of time chatting with him about California Blue, his short story "Baseball Camp" and his recent screenwriting experiences. In a nice coincidence, it turns out he's been writing for Law and Order: Criminal Intent, which I don't regularly watch, but which did make a prominent appearance in my "[Discipline] of [Pop Culture]" presentation. As it turns out, the producers make a concerted effort to keep the show very grounded in psychology, which makes it the perfect vehicle for the kind of intertextual analysis that Kerri advocated for in her culminating project for Content Area Literacy. Note to self: expound upon this anecdote in a future article based on this presentation! I caught up with a few colleagues I hadn't seen in a while, and even pulled aside ALAN's membership secretary to suggest that Lauren Conrad be invited next year ... seriously! I've got a few long-overdue things to say in this column about L.A. Candy (mostly in defense of it), and with the second book in the series due early next year, this would have seemed a perfect time to bring a little show biz to the proceedings. If the publication schedule continues to run like this, the third book may be due around the time of next year's NCTE, which will be in Orlando ... and since Conrad's publisher just happens to be Disney/Hyperion, maybe she can be coaxed to make an appearance. BRAINSTORM ALERT: The theme for next year's ALAN Workshop is "Looking for the Real Me: The Search for Self in YA Literature." A major theme of L.A. Candy is the discrepancy between the "true" identities of the girls on the eponymous reality show and their televised personae. I'm totally going to propose a session around this!!!
Anyway, after several glasses of wine at the reception, I had a mostly unmemorable dinner at Hard Rock Cafe (ahem), followed by a cab ride to the movie theater to catch New Moon. Yes, the dialogue was corny as all get out (I blame Stephenie Meyer for that), and there were some major plot points that weren't really developed very well (I blame the fact that it's been a while since I read Twilight for that, plus the fact that they probably had to hack out a lot of stuff to make the movie fit), but on the whole, I was pleasantly entertained. I didn't get bored, and as is often the case, the fact that I was in the middle of an audience that was really into the movie enhanced the experience greatly. I know it's been talked about everywhere how vampirism is metaphoric of being sexually active in this series (as is often the case with vampire narratives), but New Moon is really unsubtle about it. Bella wants to be turned, and Edward wants to turn her, but Edward demands marriage first. Hmmm ... wonder what that's about, kids. Anyway, I realize that that's a very late and totally unoriginal musing on my part, but give me some slack; I stopped reading the "saga" after Book One. Some of this stuff is new to me. Final thought on New Moon: I've said it before, and I'll say it again, but Kristen Stewart continues to pull girlfriend archetypes out of my subconscious in her performances, making Bella on-screen a much more appealing character for me than Bella on-the-page. 'Nuff said.
Monday and Tuesday were the ALAN Workshop. To make a long story short, this was two solid days of veteran and new YA authors speaking about their craft and giving book signings. I picked up at least 50 new books here (on top of the 20 to 30 I picked up earlier in the conference), and got most of them signed. Some I'm holding onto for my own reading, some I'm giving to my family, some I'll offer up to students, and many others I'd like to donate to the YA collection at the college. We shall see ... A few of the notable authors I listened to and/or chatted with over the course of the two days: David Klass (see above!), Francisco X. Stork (Marcelo in the Real World), Chris Crutcher (Angry Management is his newest), Lauren Myracle (Peace, Love and Baby Ducks), Gareth Hinds (Beowulf and King Lear graphic novel adaptations), Gregory Maguire (Wicked, et al.), Steve Kluger (winner of ALAN's first annual Amelia Elizabeth Walden Award for My Most Excellent Year: A Novel of Love, Mary Poppins and Fenway Park), Jo Knowles (Jumping Off Swings), Elizabeth Scott (Living Dead Girl), Allen Zadoff (Food, Girls and Other Things I Can't Have), Matt Phelan (The Storm in the Barn), E. Lockhart (The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks), and Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower). There were many, many more, but these were the ones that come most immediately to mind, chiefly because they either wrote books that have floated to the top of my to-read pile and/or they brought me to tears in some way, shape or form. Yes readers, I am more than capable of shedding a tear when I hear, read or see something of great beauty and/or poignancy, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. This tends to happen when I've been away from the kids for a significant chunk of time, particularly when I spend that time talking and thinking about adolescents and their literacy practices! Anyway, this was another terrific year, and I'm more than inspired to get some things rolling for next year!
With the bit of daylight that was left after ALAN adjourned, I took a tour of the U.S. Mint (rather disappointing, I must say), the National Constitution Center and the Reading Market (again) to pick up souvenirs. It is now dinner time, and I'm thinking something low-key, like Chili's, after last night's rainy excursion into Chinatown. We'll see where my feet take me!
On Sunday, I didn't attend any sessions, but did spend a fair amount of time in the exhibit hall, snagging free stuff, bargaining for discounts, and meeting a few authors. I hung out with Bill for much of the early afternoon, catching up on the state of YA, teacher ed and education policy in Michigan. The Assembly on Literature for Adolescents of NCTE (ALAN) held an early evening cocktail reception for ALAN members and all of the YA authors appearing at the conference. Laurie Halse Anderson was unfortunately not in attendance (I think I actually spied her walking down the sidewalk in the other direction on my way to the reception), but another of my favorites, David Klass, was. I was able to spend a good amount of time chatting with him about California Blue, his short story "Baseball Camp" and his recent screenwriting experiences. In a nice coincidence, it turns out he's been writing for Law and Order: Criminal Intent, which I don't regularly watch, but which did make a prominent appearance in my "[Discipline] of [Pop Culture]" presentation. As it turns out, the producers make a concerted effort to keep the show very grounded in psychology, which makes it the perfect vehicle for the kind of intertextual analysis that Kerri advocated for in her culminating project for Content Area Literacy. Note to self: expound upon this anecdote in a future article based on this presentation! I caught up with a few colleagues I hadn't seen in a while, and even pulled aside ALAN's membership secretary to suggest that Lauren Conrad be invited next year ... seriously! I've got a few long-overdue things to say in this column about L.A. Candy (mostly in defense of it), and with the second book in the series due early next year, this would have seemed a perfect time to bring a little show biz to the proceedings. If the publication schedule continues to run like this, the third book may be due around the time of next year's NCTE, which will be in Orlando ... and since Conrad's publisher just happens to be Disney/Hyperion, maybe she can be coaxed to make an appearance. BRAINSTORM ALERT: The theme for next year's ALAN Workshop is "Looking for the Real Me: The Search for Self in YA Literature." A major theme of L.A. Candy is the discrepancy between the "true" identities of the girls on the eponymous reality show and their televised personae. I'm totally going to propose a session around this!!!
Anyway, after several glasses of wine at the reception, I had a mostly unmemorable dinner at Hard Rock Cafe (ahem), followed by a cab ride to the movie theater to catch New Moon. Yes, the dialogue was corny as all get out (I blame Stephenie Meyer for that), and there were some major plot points that weren't really developed very well (I blame the fact that it's been a while since I read Twilight for that, plus the fact that they probably had to hack out a lot of stuff to make the movie fit), but on the whole, I was pleasantly entertained. I didn't get bored, and as is often the case, the fact that I was in the middle of an audience that was really into the movie enhanced the experience greatly. I know it's been talked about everywhere how vampirism is metaphoric of being sexually active in this series (as is often the case with vampire narratives), but New Moon is really unsubtle about it. Bella wants to be turned, and Edward wants to turn her, but Edward demands marriage first. Hmmm ... wonder what that's about, kids. Anyway, I realize that that's a very late and totally unoriginal musing on my part, but give me some slack; I stopped reading the "saga" after Book One. Some of this stuff is new to me. Final thought on New Moon: I've said it before, and I'll say it again, but Kristen Stewart continues to pull girlfriend archetypes out of my subconscious in her performances, making Bella on-screen a much more appealing character for me than Bella on-the-page. 'Nuff said.
Monday and Tuesday were the ALAN Workshop. To make a long story short, this was two solid days of veteran and new YA authors speaking about their craft and giving book signings. I picked up at least 50 new books here (on top of the 20 to 30 I picked up earlier in the conference), and got most of them signed. Some I'm holding onto for my own reading, some I'm giving to my family, some I'll offer up to students, and many others I'd like to donate to the YA collection at the college. We shall see ... A few of the notable authors I listened to and/or chatted with over the course of the two days: David Klass (see above!), Francisco X. Stork (Marcelo in the Real World), Chris Crutcher (Angry Management is his newest), Lauren Myracle (Peace, Love and Baby Ducks), Gareth Hinds (Beowulf and King Lear graphic novel adaptations), Gregory Maguire (Wicked, et al.), Steve Kluger (winner of ALAN's first annual Amelia Elizabeth Walden Award for My Most Excellent Year: A Novel of Love, Mary Poppins and Fenway Park), Jo Knowles (Jumping Off Swings), Elizabeth Scott (Living Dead Girl), Allen Zadoff (Food, Girls and Other Things I Can't Have), Matt Phelan (The Storm in the Barn), E. Lockhart (The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks), and Stephen Chbosky (The Perks of Being a Wallflower). There were many, many more, but these were the ones that come most immediately to mind, chiefly because they either wrote books that have floated to the top of my to-read pile and/or they brought me to tears in some way, shape or form. Yes readers, I am more than capable of shedding a tear when I hear, read or see something of great beauty and/or poignancy, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. This tends to happen when I've been away from the kids for a significant chunk of time, particularly when I spend that time talking and thinking about adolescents and their literacy practices! Anyway, this was another terrific year, and I'm more than inspired to get some things rolling for next year!
With the bit of daylight that was left after ALAN adjourned, I took a tour of the U.S. Mint (rather disappointing, I must say), the National Constitution Center and the Reading Market (again) to pick up souvenirs. It is now dinner time, and I'm thinking something low-key, like Chili's, after last night's rainy excursion into Chinatown. We'll see where my feet take me!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Reporting from NCTE, Days 1 and 2
My non-work life (and a significant chunk of that time too) since my last post has been devoted to preparing for this year's NCTE, and I think it's paid off nicely. I'm at the mid-point right now; the regular NCTE portion of the convention is over, and ALAN events are gearing up to start in just under two hours. I arrived on Thursday and had the wonderful luck to run into Bucky at the registration desk. We took a nice long walk down Market Street from the Convention Center all the way to the Liberty Bell in search of a place to eat, only to end up at the Hard Rock (which is connected to the Convention Center). Where else other than NCTE do I get a great meal, hours of engaging conversation on a whole host of topics with a friend and colleague, and a workout at the same time? Nowhere else, that's where!
Friday began with a pleasant little keynote address from none other than Mary Poppins herself, Julie Andrews! I had one of the coveted 200 tickets to get a copy of her newest collection of songs, poems and lullabies signed in person, yet the line to buy the book was long enough that I feared my place in the autograph line would be pretty far back. I had a presentation to give immediately afterward and did not want to be late, so I performed a random act of kindness: the person at the head of the line to buy a book also happened to be wearing a First Time Attendee ribbon, but did not have a pink Golden Ticket for the book signing ... until I handed over mine. Make someone's first NCTE magical, and they'll come back for life.
Onward to my first presentation, a roundtable discussion I provocatively titled "How to Teach with Books You Haven't Read: The Promises and Perils of Student Choice." The Chair for this round of roundtable discussions recommended that since there weren't a huge number of attendees for the overall session, it might make better use of our time for each roundtable leader to say a few words about his/her talk to the whole group and then leave time for attendees to circulate and ask questions afterward. Since I hadn't planned a formal spiel, I was happy that I was the fourth leader to speak, so I could whip together some remarks. I put together a quick "Top Ten Things an English Teacher Should Know About Student Choice," added some brief introductory remarks that basically reviewed the gist of my article "Tuned Out But Turned On," and then it was my turn to go. Lots of laughs, lots of energy, and lots of people attracted to my table for some engaging conversations about giving students more freedom to choose their own reading materials. That conversation spilled out from the session and all through the break, right up to the start of the next session. I decided to attend a session on innovations in teaching YA literature to college students, which just happened to feature the editor of a journal to which I have submitted one of my comic books for possible publication. I pulled him aside afterward and we had a terrific discussion about his thoughts (and those of the reviewers) on my work, the upshot of which is that I should soon be expecting an enthusiastic invitation to revise and resubmit it for publication sometime next summer. I absolutely cannot wait! I think the process of shepherding that comic from cool conference handout to actual publication is going to provide enough fodder for its own article, and I really look forward to pushing the boundaries of what counts as scholarly discourse.
After that excitement (funny how I can call the prospect of some intense revising and rewriting in the near future exciting, but that's the writing process for you, kids), I hit the exhibition hall in search of free stuff and networking opportunities. I did a little of both, had a less than glorious cheesesteak sandwich, then headed off for my second session. This one was the biggie, a formal 20-minute presentation with other scholars. The overarching theme for the session was on using science fiction and graphic novels in the college curriculum, and my portion was entitled "The [Discipline] of [Pop Culture]: Content Area Reading Beyond the Textbook." I spoke about a project I had my Content Area Literacy students engage with last Spring, analyzing essays from pop culture studies books like The Simpsons and Philosophy, The Science of CSI, The Psychology of Harry Potter and The Physics of Superheroes and writing their own essays connecting content area subjects of their choosing with their favorite pop culture enterprises. Unfortunately, our room did not have a data projector for our session, so I was unable to show off my mad PowerPoint skillz, but my portion of the program went off extremely well. We had a pretty sizable audience (at least 50), I had enough handouts, and the audience had plenty of nods, laughs and applause for my ideas. Several attendees came up afterward to express their enthusiasm for the ideas I was promoting, a key element of which is my contention that teachers should not feel ashamed of their pop cultural indulgences, but rather should see them as potential avenues for generating metaphors for teaching. This session was so well received that I was able to snag a free copy of Twilight and Philosophy from Wiley-Blackwell (publishers of some of the most notable titles in the [Discipline] of [Pop Culture] genre), get inspired to spin an article out of my remarks, and share a couple of hours of engaging conversation with one of the attendees whom I ran into later in the evening in the hotel lounge.
After that session, I had to hightail it to the other side of the convention space to introduce a pair of speakers in a session that I had been asked by NCTE to chair. My introductions went smoothly, and the presenters had some very engaging ideas about rethinking the ways we contextualize literacy practices from socially situated to individually cross-contextual. Unfortunately, there were only two attendees! Oh well. Everyone gets a CV credit for it, no matter who's there.
Rather exhausted from all the running around and speaking, I headed back to the hotel, dropped off my bags, and caught a taxi to the Wachovia Center to watch the 76ers play the Grizzlies, continuing my little tradition of attending a pro sports event at each conference I attend. I took the subway back to the hotel, then hung out in the lounge until they turned up the lights, chatting away with fellow conference attendees and the bartender. Best single day at NCTE ever? Maybe so ...
Friday began with a pleasant little keynote address from none other than Mary Poppins herself, Julie Andrews! I had one of the coveted 200 tickets to get a copy of her newest collection of songs, poems and lullabies signed in person, yet the line to buy the book was long enough that I feared my place in the autograph line would be pretty far back. I had a presentation to give immediately afterward and did not want to be late, so I performed a random act of kindness: the person at the head of the line to buy a book also happened to be wearing a First Time Attendee ribbon, but did not have a pink Golden Ticket for the book signing ... until I handed over mine. Make someone's first NCTE magical, and they'll come back for life.
Onward to my first presentation, a roundtable discussion I provocatively titled "How to Teach with Books You Haven't Read: The Promises and Perils of Student Choice." The Chair for this round of roundtable discussions recommended that since there weren't a huge number of attendees for the overall session, it might make better use of our time for each roundtable leader to say a few words about his/her talk to the whole group and then leave time for attendees to circulate and ask questions afterward. Since I hadn't planned a formal spiel, I was happy that I was the fourth leader to speak, so I could whip together some remarks. I put together a quick "Top Ten Things an English Teacher Should Know About Student Choice," added some brief introductory remarks that basically reviewed the gist of my article "Tuned Out But Turned On," and then it was my turn to go. Lots of laughs, lots of energy, and lots of people attracted to my table for some engaging conversations about giving students more freedom to choose their own reading materials. That conversation spilled out from the session and all through the break, right up to the start of the next session. I decided to attend a session on innovations in teaching YA literature to college students, which just happened to feature the editor of a journal to which I have submitted one of my comic books for possible publication. I pulled him aside afterward and we had a terrific discussion about his thoughts (and those of the reviewers) on my work, the upshot of which is that I should soon be expecting an enthusiastic invitation to revise and resubmit it for publication sometime next summer. I absolutely cannot wait! I think the process of shepherding that comic from cool conference handout to actual publication is going to provide enough fodder for its own article, and I really look forward to pushing the boundaries of what counts as scholarly discourse.
After that excitement (funny how I can call the prospect of some intense revising and rewriting in the near future exciting, but that's the writing process for you, kids), I hit the exhibition hall in search of free stuff and networking opportunities. I did a little of both, had a less than glorious cheesesteak sandwich, then headed off for my second session. This one was the biggie, a formal 20-minute presentation with other scholars. The overarching theme for the session was on using science fiction and graphic novels in the college curriculum, and my portion was entitled "The [Discipline] of [Pop Culture]: Content Area Reading Beyond the Textbook." I spoke about a project I had my Content Area Literacy students engage with last Spring, analyzing essays from pop culture studies books like The Simpsons and Philosophy, The Science of CSI, The Psychology of Harry Potter and The Physics of Superheroes and writing their own essays connecting content area subjects of their choosing with their favorite pop culture enterprises. Unfortunately, our room did not have a data projector for our session, so I was unable to show off my mad PowerPoint skillz, but my portion of the program went off extremely well. We had a pretty sizable audience (at least 50), I had enough handouts, and the audience had plenty of nods, laughs and applause for my ideas. Several attendees came up afterward to express their enthusiasm for the ideas I was promoting, a key element of which is my contention that teachers should not feel ashamed of their pop cultural indulgences, but rather should see them as potential avenues for generating metaphors for teaching. This session was so well received that I was able to snag a free copy of Twilight and Philosophy from Wiley-Blackwell (publishers of some of the most notable titles in the [Discipline] of [Pop Culture] genre), get inspired to spin an article out of my remarks, and share a couple of hours of engaging conversation with one of the attendees whom I ran into later in the evening in the hotel lounge.
After that session, I had to hightail it to the other side of the convention space to introduce a pair of speakers in a session that I had been asked by NCTE to chair. My introductions went smoothly, and the presenters had some very engaging ideas about rethinking the ways we contextualize literacy practices from socially situated to individually cross-contextual. Unfortunately, there were only two attendees! Oh well. Everyone gets a CV credit for it, no matter who's there.
Rather exhausted from all the running around and speaking, I headed back to the hotel, dropped off my bags, and caught a taxi to the Wachovia Center to watch the 76ers play the Grizzlies, continuing my little tradition of attending a pro sports event at each conference I attend. I took the subway back to the hotel, then hung out in the lounge until they turned up the lights, chatting away with fellow conference attendees and the bartender. Best single day at NCTE ever? Maybe so ...
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Bright Spots in Mid-Michigan
At the State Board of Education meeting Monday, there was a series of three speakers, each representing a different point on the political spectrum, addressing the current fiscal crisis that has resulted in, among other things, an immediate cut in state funds to local school districts to the tune of nearly $300 per pupil. And that's just in the current school year; the cuts will likely be more than twice that next year, barring any changes to the school funding formula, tax system or tax base. All three speakers presented a broad consensus view that the old ways will no longer work for Michigan, that certain taxes need to be expanded and/or raised, and that the future of Michigan depends heavily on identifying and investing in durable, key competitive assets. It was an alternately bleak and hopeful meeting: bleak because the situation has been so grim for so long (news flash to out-of-staters: Michigan never recovered from the 2001 recession like the rest of the nation did) and is likely to get even worse before it gets better, especially without radical change; yet hopeful, because there are a lot of durable assets here (particularly in education) and many thoughtful visionaries in a position to influence public opinion toward radical change.
Anyway, while riding the bus back home after the meeting, I realized that I was partaking of one of those assets. Americans everywhere seem to complain about the lack of quality, reliable public transportation in their communities, at least when compared to other countries and certain cities like New York and DC (whose residents of course have their own gripes, but man, I love their subways!). This seems to be especially true in the Midwest, and doubly so in the state whose economic prosperity in the 20th century depended on Americans embracing the personal automobile over public, mass transit. However, the Capital Area Transportation Authority (CATA) is an exception that proves the rule. It has well-planned routes all across the city with easy transfers and articulation with transit systems to the outlying counties, highly reliable timetables, alternative fuel buses, and relatively low fares. It's been twice awarded the Outstanding Public Transportation System Achievement Award for efficiency and effectiveness by the American Public Transportation Association, most recently in 2007. I know that riding the bus isn't everyone's cup of tea, but as for me, I am proud of CATA's achievements and always look forward to opportunities to utilize it.
At one stop, an elderly woman in an electric scooter boarded. Now, I have a mild prejudice against those increasingly ubiquitous machines, which I call "WALL*E Carts," and which I won't go into here. However, I really like the fact that CATA buses are able to accommodate them, giving all of our citizens access to quality, reliable public transportation, even if the bus' slow transformation into a scooter-swallowing robot and back to bus again does add a few minutes to the journey. Once the woman and her scooter were safely aboard and belted in, the search for bus fare began. At first, she produced a bus pass that had unfortunately expired four days earlier. She swore she had a more up to date card, and rummaged through a fanny pack, a purse, some pockets and her scooter's basket. Failing to find one, she told the driver she'd be happy to pay cash instead, and again went through the same rummaging routine, which was greeted by much eye-rolling by her fellow commuters (including, I confess, me; I mean, it was taking forever).
However, one patient middle-aged passenger identifying herself as Sarah raised her hand politely and called out to the driver, offering her own bus pass to pay for the fare of the new rider. And she didn't stop there; she told the driver to give the pass, which had two or three more fares' worth of credit on it, to the woman in the scooter. "Just trying to help out," she said, humbly.
As bleak as the picture can get in Lansing (and boy, has it been bleak in recent years), it's comforting to know that that "see a need, fill a need" spirit survives in its people. People ask me why I don't move closer to work and save both time and money by not having to commute everyday. My answer is always simple, I like living in Lansing. I happen to think that, for all its faults, it's a great town that suits my mood, which usually elicits a raised eyebrow or two. Now I can back up my assertion with a little anecdote :)
Anyway, while riding the bus back home after the meeting, I realized that I was partaking of one of those assets. Americans everywhere seem to complain about the lack of quality, reliable public transportation in their communities, at least when compared to other countries and certain cities like New York and DC (whose residents of course have their own gripes, but man, I love their subways!). This seems to be especially true in the Midwest, and doubly so in the state whose economic prosperity in the 20th century depended on Americans embracing the personal automobile over public, mass transit. However, the Capital Area Transportation Authority (CATA) is an exception that proves the rule. It has well-planned routes all across the city with easy transfers and articulation with transit systems to the outlying counties, highly reliable timetables, alternative fuel buses, and relatively low fares. It's been twice awarded the Outstanding Public Transportation System Achievement Award for efficiency and effectiveness by the American Public Transportation Association, most recently in 2007. I know that riding the bus isn't everyone's cup of tea, but as for me, I am proud of CATA's achievements and always look forward to opportunities to utilize it.
At one stop, an elderly woman in an electric scooter boarded. Now, I have a mild prejudice against those increasingly ubiquitous machines, which I call "WALL*E Carts," and which I won't go into here. However, I really like the fact that CATA buses are able to accommodate them, giving all of our citizens access to quality, reliable public transportation, even if the bus' slow transformation into a scooter-swallowing robot and back to bus again does add a few minutes to the journey. Once the woman and her scooter were safely aboard and belted in, the search for bus fare began. At first, she produced a bus pass that had unfortunately expired four days earlier. She swore she had a more up to date card, and rummaged through a fanny pack, a purse, some pockets and her scooter's basket. Failing to find one, she told the driver she'd be happy to pay cash instead, and again went through the same rummaging routine, which was greeted by much eye-rolling by her fellow commuters (including, I confess, me; I mean, it was taking forever).
However, one patient middle-aged passenger identifying herself as Sarah raised her hand politely and called out to the driver, offering her own bus pass to pay for the fare of the new rider. And she didn't stop there; she told the driver to give the pass, which had two or three more fares' worth of credit on it, to the woman in the scooter. "Just trying to help out," she said, humbly.
As bleak as the picture can get in Lansing (and boy, has it been bleak in recent years), it's comforting to know that that "see a need, fill a need" spirit survives in its people. People ask me why I don't move closer to work and save both time and money by not having to commute everyday. My answer is always simple, I like living in Lansing. I happen to think that, for all its faults, it's a great town that suits my mood, which usually elicits a raised eyebrow or two. Now I can back up my assertion with a little anecdote :)
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Where the Wild Things Are
During the tail end of my freshman year in high school, I joined a ragtag troupe of musical theater enthusiasts to put on a production of The Mikado for one of Lafayette's annual downtown summer festivals. This was just after having been a part of my high school's production of HMS Pinafore, and a small band of us had not had our fill of Gilbert and Sullivan or backstage drama. Our fearless leader Peg, who sources tell me remains a fixture of the arts scene in Lafayette, was quite the impresario, a one-woman pit orchestra, choreographer, stage manager and unstoppable raconteur. My schoolmates and I were the youngest members of the company, which was as collectively eccentric a community as I have yet been privileged to participate in (and that includes two years of living in East Quad at UM). There was Peg, her parents (both of whom sang with me in the men's chorus), and her sister (either in-blood or in-law, I can't remember which), as well as a handful of Hoosiers with an infectious groove for Gilbert and Sullivan topsy-turviness. So very, very Waiting for Guffman. Rehearsals were often comically anarchic clashes and syntheses of creative personalities, and sometimes frighteningly magnified demonstrations of a host of neuroses, psychoses and mood disorders. I'm not exaggerating when I say that lithium was the least powerful of prescriptions shared by several members of the cast. The show itself remains one of my favorites, and I learned a lot about the depth and complexity of the human psyche from spending a couple of months in this crucible of humanity in extremis. Much of my perspective-taking ability, interpersonal patience and appreciation for the diversity of the human community has its roots in that period.
Why do I bring this up now? Because watching Where the Wild Things Are brought it all back to me. The irrationality and volatility of the beasts that populate Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers' take on this story paradoxically make them more human than the relatively simple creatures of Maurice Sendak's original picture book. What on the page had been a tale about the misunderstood id of the preadolescent child finding a special place to rock out on the screen becomes a meditation on the hard work of love, patience and sensitivity to the "messiness of other minds" (to borrow a term from Ian McEwan) that weaves individuals together into a community, whether manifest in a family, neighborhood, kingdom or sleeping pile. Early on, when "big kids" crush Max's proudly constructed igloo in a bit of Max-instigated rambunctiousness, he is understandably upset, but what hurts him the most is that his sister doesn't "do anything" about it. While some argue that hell is other people, Where the Wild Things Are (and I, for that matter) would disagree; it's the disconnection from others that is the true hell, even if maintaining those connections proves taxing. Atlas Shrugged this ain't. Alternately joyful and bleak, Where the Wild Things Are is certainly one of the headiest family-oriented entertainments ever to make it to the big screen. It's also provides one of the best dramatizations of boys' emotional complexity I've seen in quite some time. In Fred Claus, the eponymous character played by Vince Vaughn observes that good boys may do bad things, but it doesn't make them bad boys. This is a cornerstone of my personal philosophy, and Where the Wild Things Are does a masterful job of demonstrating it. I've spent years studying (and, frankly, living through) boys' social and emotional development, and I must say that this film delivers as fine a case study of what's on a boy's mind and in his heart as anything described on the page by Michael Gurian or William Pollack. I will admit that I was not breathlessly awaiting a film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are, primarily because the book did not play as big a role in my literacy life as it did in that of many other readers. However, when filtered through the minds of Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers, two artists with an established track record for successfully melding post-modern anarchy with sincere poignancy, Where the Wild Things Are becomes essential viewing not just for children, but more critically for the grown-ups who shepherd them.
Why do I bring this up now? Because watching Where the Wild Things Are brought it all back to me. The irrationality and volatility of the beasts that populate Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers' take on this story paradoxically make them more human than the relatively simple creatures of Maurice Sendak's original picture book. What on the page had been a tale about the misunderstood id of the preadolescent child finding a special place to rock out on the screen becomes a meditation on the hard work of love, patience and sensitivity to the "messiness of other minds" (to borrow a term from Ian McEwan) that weaves individuals together into a community, whether manifest in a family, neighborhood, kingdom or sleeping pile. Early on, when "big kids" crush Max's proudly constructed igloo in a bit of Max-instigated rambunctiousness, he is understandably upset, but what hurts him the most is that his sister doesn't "do anything" about it. While some argue that hell is other people, Where the Wild Things Are (and I, for that matter) would disagree; it's the disconnection from others that is the true hell, even if maintaining those connections proves taxing. Atlas Shrugged this ain't. Alternately joyful and bleak, Where the Wild Things Are is certainly one of the headiest family-oriented entertainments ever to make it to the big screen. It's also provides one of the best dramatizations of boys' emotional complexity I've seen in quite some time. In Fred Claus, the eponymous character played by Vince Vaughn observes that good boys may do bad things, but it doesn't make them bad boys. This is a cornerstone of my personal philosophy, and Where the Wild Things Are does a masterful job of demonstrating it. I've spent years studying (and, frankly, living through) boys' social and emotional development, and I must say that this film delivers as fine a case study of what's on a boy's mind and in his heart as anything described on the page by Michael Gurian or William Pollack. I will admit that I was not breathlessly awaiting a film adaptation of Where the Wild Things Are, primarily because the book did not play as big a role in my literacy life as it did in that of many other readers. However, when filtered through the minds of Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers, two artists with an established track record for successfully melding post-modern anarchy with sincere poignancy, Where the Wild Things Are becomes essential viewing not just for children, but more critically for the grown-ups who shepherd them.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Around the World in Eight Questions
OK, I started this entry well over a month ago, which was already quite a long time after the events described. Life intervenes at every corner! Think of this as a long-delayed rebroadcast of an episode that you didn't get to see the first time around because it was preempted by the news. So let's go back to those care-free days of early July 2009 ...My favorite park at DisneyWorld is EPCOT, and my favorite part of EPCOT is World Showcase, so it's no surprise that the most fun I had on our summer vacation was there, even if the whims of my children meant that I didn't get to spend nearly as much time as I would have liked hanging out there.
Not that I particularly like fulfilling the stereotype of the obnoxious American abroad, but I really enjoy initiating conversation with the workers in each pavilion with offbeat questions about their countries. I am genuinely curious about other cultures and nations, but, let's be honest, I think it's fun to flirt with the workers and, to a somewhat lesser extent, lightly embarrass my children.
I started my international goodwill junket in Canada, where I first asked the attendant at a snack stand if she could name all of the winners of Canadian Idol. She was stumped, and I explained that I was curious because I really liked the rerecording of the song in the Circlevision 360 movie inside the Canada pavilion. They said that it was sung by one of the winners of Canadian Idol, but I had forgotten the name. "Oh," the attendant said, "that's Eva Avila. But I don't really watch the show." I then asked her if she liked the Canadian health care system, because, as you may recall, George Bush #41 had once said if we thought government run health care was a good idea, we should ask a Canadian. The attendant was unequivocal: she didn't appreciate it until she had to pay $200 for a prescription here. She liked working at Disney, but prayed she wouldn't get sick or injured again until she could get back home.
Next stop was the UK. I was curious to see if they had any Doctor Who, Torchwood or other BBC-related merchandise in their stores. Alas, no; they had plenty of Winnie the Pooh, British Invasion and Manchester United things, but no TV tie-ins (not even Jelly Babies!). I asked two or three workers, who politely said no and went about their business without further comment. I got my revenge by pointing out a punctuation error on a hand-made trivia quiz in one of their shops. Probably not the best way to endear myself to the Brits, but whatever. I asked the server at the chip shop if new episodes of Torchwood had aired back home in the UK (not realizing that Children of Earth was set to air over there the very next week), but he confessed that while his brother was a fan, he didn't watch it himself. Onward to France ...
The kids didn't follow me into France, where I went in search of some madeleines. I asked a couple of workers if they sold madeleines anywhere in the pavilion, particularly those magical kinds that make you recover lost memories. Politely yet humorlessly, they both pointed me in the direction of the pâtisserie. Sensing that they didn't get the allusion, I pressed further. "You know, like in Proust?" The first worker gave me a confused stare. "Proust? You know, Marcel Proust?" I prompted. "Don't you study him in school in France?" "Ah, yes. Le madeleiene," she said, before going about her business again. However, the other worker I spoke with got it after my initial prompting, blushed and told me I'd have to try it myself with a little tea. I then asked her if she knew any good jokes that would be funny to French people but not necessarily to people from other countries. She recommended I ask the busboys, since she didn't have much of a memory for jokes herself. However, she did know that the French like to tell jokes about Belgians and blondes, which are the equivalent of American jokes about the Polish ... and blondes. I did end up buying a bag of madeleines and a cup of tea from the pâtisserie, which I shared with August (see picture above). We got a little rush of sugar, but no great flood of memories. Of course, as Proust would no doubt observe, since madeleines play no part in my own childhood memories, there's no reason to expect that they would conjure up anything for me (Alain de Botton makes this same point in How Proust Can Change Your Life). However, give me a bag of chocolate Munchkins from Dunkin' Donuts, or the smell of the Oven Fresh bakery first thing in the morning, and we might have something ...
I had hoped to continue my line of joke questioning in the other nations, perhaps backtracking into Canada and the UK to get their perspective on national humor, but my children's hunger and general lack of patience pushed us forward past Morocco (which has always been one of my favorite spots in the World Showcase, so I'm sad to have not had a chance to spend any time there) and into Japan for a meal. While they ate, I went into the store and bought a few snacks. I headed over to their book and DVD section and had a brief conversation with one kimono-clad salesperson about Kurosawa and Tale of Genji. The upshot is that they had nothing for sale by or about Kurosawa and no copies of Genji. To add insult to injury, the salesperson admitted to never having seen anything by Kurosawa, because "those are very old films." Ouch ...
We continued around the lagoon to the American Adventure, an extravaganza that I told the kids always brings a tear to my eye. They thought I was exaggerating, then afterward took my hand in concern when they saw that I meant exactly what I said. I always start to lose it when the song starts in the end, then the bottom falls out for me during the JFK clips. They've updated that portion of the show now to showcase a slew of American masters and iconic moments from all fields, so it just knocked me out. What can I say ... even liberals can get weepy patriotic.
Time to complete a tour of the Axis nations, with Italy and Germany. While reliable sources tell me these are two fine nations to visit, I've always found their pavilions at EPCOT somewhat lacking. Yes, they each feature a great restaurant, entertaining street performers, boutique shopping and pretty architecture ... but so do all the other pavilions. No movies, rides, art exhibits or twisty pathways to explore and lose yourself in the ambiance. However, one of these pavilions features the some of the friendliest workers who were the only ones in the World Showcase to share a joke from their home country with me.
Ironically, it wasn't the Italians. There, I posed my question about native humor to a clerk in the Italian food shop (where I bought some fancy liqueur candies for myself and other chocolates for the kids), only to elicit a polite smile and small headshake. I pushed further, insisting that she must have a joke or two about the Prime Minister. The clerk gave me a puzzled look, to which I replied, "you know - Berlusconi, your Prime Minister. Don't you tell jokes about him?" Ah! That was the ticket; she smiled broadly, nodded and said "yes, yes! We have those." "Could you share one?" I asked. The smile faded, and she shook her head quickly. "No." "Ah, I see," I replied. "Too many kids around?" "Yes," she said, and that was that.
No, the really fun workers to chat with were the Germans, believe it or not, and in contrast to all the other pavilions, they cheerfully approached us as soon as we entered the German toy store. I started out by telling workers Sandra and Uta that in America, Germans have a reputation for humorlessness, and that it would be wonderful if they could dispel that stereotype by telling me a uniquely German joke. They picked up on the challenge with relish. Sandra said that her father was a big joker, while Uta offered the following without hesitation: "Why are blonde jokes so short?" "So blonde guys can enjoy them, too." Then she turned the tables on me and asked for a joke in return. Now, I know a fair share of German jokes, but wasn't sure they would be appropriate (e.g., Nazi jokes) or comprehensible (e.g., one in Spanish - "¿Cómo se dice ‘está lloviendo' en alemán?" "Gotas caen." - which translates to "How do you say 'it's raining' in German?" "Drops fall." See, you really need to speak Spanish and have a feel for how German sounds to the Spanish ear to get it.) Anyway, because there were kids around, I opted for a simple kids' pun - "What do you call a fish with no eyes?" "A fsh" - and I was pleased that they both found it funny. We then had a nice chat about differences between life in Germany and the United States, and the kids and I were sold on the idea of moving Berlin to the top of our list of international cities to visit.
Heading next to China, we were amused to discover that the workers there seemed highly focused on their tasks of closing up the shops, even though EPCOT would still be open for another 20 minutes. August joked that we should ask them if they had any fireworks (clever boy), but the lack of eye contact and silent industriousness led us to conclude that we weren't likely to learn much about world humor here.
And so we passed on to Norway, where we zipped through the empty queue to the ride. I posed my native joke question to the attendant at the boat loading area, prefacing it with the observation that in some parts of the United States, Norwegians are as likely to be the butt of jokes about dim-witted immigrants as are Poles. I asked her if Norwegians told any jokes about Americans. While the attendant was briefly taken aback to learn that her countrymen were so lampooned, she immediately came back with the cross-cultural insight that "those are the kinds of jokes we tell about Swedes." She didn't know of any about Americans, so I challenged her to then tell me one about Swedes, emphasizing that I wasn't a Disney spy trying to bait workers into saying inappropriate things, but she couldn't come up with one before it was time for the boat to be sent on its journey.
The final stop on the World Showcase tour is the one nation where I really didn't need to inquire about native humor because I already knew the kinds of jokes they told amongst themselves and about Americans - Mexico. Nevertheless, we made a beeline for the boat ride, and afterward struck up another nice conversation with a couple of workers from Cuernavaca. They were kind enough not to hustle us out of the pavilion, even after EPCOT's official closing time had passed, and we ended our evening on a high note of international goodwill and cultural exchange.
As we left the park, I spoke with August about coming back and taking a more systematic approach to the Q&A, possibly videotaping the interactions. We settled on a few additional questions that we could ask, most notably, what kinds of jokes do you tell about Americans in your country? I know at least one joke that Americans tell about each of the peoples represented in of EPCOT's World Showcase pavilion, and even if they wouldn't be appropriate to retell in a family vacation resort, they could be great fun to get the conversation rolling. Unfortunately, we didn't get back to the World Showcase on this trip, so my documentary dreams will have to wait for another day. In the meantime, the fine memories from this, perhaps the best Disney vacation I've ever taken, will keep me warm in the coming months (there was snow today on my way to and from work). So many other cool, fun things from this trip, but I'll save those for later (and probably shorter!) posts.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
CV Updates
Due to a combination of hectic publication schedules, the start of school and my own personal writing habits, I have two Brief Reviews appearing in the same column this month at Education Review. The first, of Michael Bitz's Manga High, is what you might expect from my pen/word processor. The book is a terrific case study of a project that scaffolds mastery of academic literacy practices on students' pop culture passions, and I do due diligence to connect it with the giants on whose shoulders my own scholarly work humbly stands.
The second, of Tara Star Johnson's From Teacher to Lover, is a horse of a decidedly different color. The book is a fascinating case study of two female teachers who crossed the line with older adolescent male students, with comparisons to two similar cases that received heavy media publicity. It requires a healthy amount of methodological belief to follow the arguments and evidence through to the final chapter, which is frankly the most stunning discussion section of a qualitative study I've ever read. Given its subject matter and a back-cover blurb from Bill Ayres, the book invites controversy, yet it raises provocative questions about the very nature of what it means to teach and the reciprocal effects of classroom interactions on students and teachers, which are largely ignored in heavily behaviorist-driven classroom management discussions.
The second, of Tara Star Johnson's From Teacher to Lover, is a horse of a decidedly different color. The book is a fascinating case study of two female teachers who crossed the line with older adolescent male students, with comparisons to two similar cases that received heavy media publicity. It requires a healthy amount of methodological belief to follow the arguments and evidence through to the final chapter, which is frankly the most stunning discussion section of a qualitative study I've ever read. Given its subject matter and a back-cover blurb from Bill Ayres, the book invites controversy, yet it raises provocative questions about the very nature of what it means to teach and the reciprocal effects of classroom interactions on students and teachers, which are largely ignored in heavily behaviorist-driven classroom management discussions.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
