Soft Spirals

Sons of Lapetus

2011-04-25T19:44:00.000-07:00

Part one of the Atlas Shrugged film trilogy came out recently. Critically, it failed. But I bet it got some Tea Party people fired up.

When Alix and I first started dating, she suggested I read The Fountainhead and told me that I reminded her of Howard Roark, the protagonist. It was flattering. But for many years after that I would point out the comparison whenever someone mentioned the book, and sometimes even when they didn't. I'm glad I stopped doing that.

Jean Jacket

2011-04-15T07:46:00.000-07:00

I broke my collarbone when I was in kindergarten. It's not super clear, but you can see the difference between the right and left bones in the x-ray I got as part of my health exam to work in France. Apparently x-rays are the most efficient way for them to check for tuberculosis.

I was taking off my new jean jacket to put in my cubby. My dad had dropped me off at kindergarten that day, and was talking with the teacher on the other side of the room. I used the kid method of taking off a jacket - grab the collar and pull as you twist your body in weird ways until the jacket comes off - and I ended up with the jacket inside-out, off of me except at the hands where the cuffs were too tight to slip. It looked like a jean jacket jump rope attached to my hands.

My dad says he realized, at this point, what I was thinking and shook his head "no" to stop me. But I had already started to use the jacket as a jump rope. It was too short. It caught my legs and pulled them from under me. And, since my hands were stuck in the cuffs, it also yanked my hands back. My shoulder took all the force on the linoleum floor. I haven't had another jean jacket since then.

Off the Wall

2011-04-11T11:45:00.000-07:00

Pretty soon I'll be a teacher again. Only a long-term substitute, though, so I'm yet to have my own classroom. When I do, I'll need to get some morale and moral boosting posters for the walls.

Three posters stick in my mind from when I was a student. The first encouraged students in Ms. R's math class to stick through algebraic frustrations.

Next, I had a somewhat buddhist lesson in mindfulness.

Finally, my social studies teacher had a small quote above the chalkboard.

It seemed ironic given the emphasis on rote memorization of facts in the class, and the possibility that the quote didn't originate with Eleanor Roosevelt. But it stuck with me nonetheless.

SK8

2011-04-08T13:53:00.000-07:00

This video's five years old now, but I thought of it as I washed the dishes the other day and Sigh Your Children came on my ipod. I'm still impressed by the level of rollerblading my French friends had/have. I'm also still embarrassed by how poorly I represent skateboarding, as most of my stuff is me falling and then smiling at the camera. Good memories.

Z-Man

2011-04-04T15:30:00.000-07:00

I spend about 1/3 of my life asleep. If I make it to my normal life expectancy, then the amount of time I've lived so far - all 26 years of it - will go to sleep. Fortunately, I like to sleep. And so does my body. I recently defeated a flu that overtook me when my defenses were down from lack of rest (I played dodgeball until 2AM, then woke up early), and the recovery took hours and hours of extra sleep. Too much sleep. I decided in the haze of influenza that if I could have one superpower, it'd be to not need sleep.

On the day I felt the sickness take over, I got to see Donald Glover perform at William & Mary. It was worth the fever. Too bad this is the best video I could find:

Nine Years of Love, Today

2011-03-26T08:10:00.000-07:00

Jimmy Gatz

2011-03-21T11:30:00.000-07:00

Here's a list that Gatsby made as a boy, and which his father shows Nick, our narrator, in the final chapter of The Great Gatsby:

Rise from bed ................................................. 6.00 A.M.
Dumbbell exercise and wall-scaling ................... 6.15--6.30 "
Study electricity, etc. ....................................... 7.15--8.15 "
Work .............................................................. 8.30--4.30 P.M.
Baseball and sports ......................................... 4.30--5.00 "
Practice elocution, poise and how to attain it ...... 5.00--6.00 "
Study needed inventions .................................. 7.00--9.00 "

GENERAL RESOLVES

No wasting time at Shafters or [a name, indecipherable]
No more smokeing or chewing.
Bath every other day
Read one improving book or magazine per week
Save $5.00 [crossed out] $3.00 per week
Be better to parents

It reminded me of a list I made, less impressive or ambitious, when I was also a boy:

- Land kickflip over two boards
- Write three new songs for Conformity Crisis
- Talk more with [current crush]
- Unlock levels in Cool Boarders 2

I remember that I wrote this list in freshman English class, although I didn't end up reading The Great Gatsby while in high school. In fact, I first read it as I prepared to take the PRAXIS exam for my English teacher certification. I don't know why but I didn't get much from that first read. This time around, though, I found compelling characters and a rich plot. And now, years after the first go, I understand why it's included in the canon of great American novels.

Only the Strong

2011-03-18T12:14:00.000-07:00

Just like guns, capoeira can be a force for good or evil. Unlike guns, however, gang violence dealt in capoeira doesn't kill innocent bystanders. No drive-by cabecadas. If anything, it makes the onlookers cheer and applaud. Too bad all gangs can't settle things in a capoeira jogo.

Butterfly Twist

2011-03-14T08:51:00.000-07:00

I had my third tricking session last night, but still no b-twist. In fact, other than sharpening what I could already do, I haven't improved much. I learned the side flip, except my form is sloppy and I sort of just chuck my body into it. I felt discouraged, so I was happy take a break from tricking and instead play an obstacle course game in which you eliminate the other players by throwing frisbees at them. By the end of the game there were bloody knuckles and many frisbees to the face.

Then I got home and, after delicious brownies by Alix, saw this video:

As the man says, I guess I now have no excuse not to land it. Fortunately I also found this video to help me with my technique:

Reading Lolita in Tehran

2011-03-11T12:16:00.000-08:00

I'm not an Iranian woman. And as I finished Reading Lolita in Tehran, I decided that I'm glad to be an American man. Not because of the hardships that Azar Nafisi details for Iranian women during the time of her story, but because my absence of firsthand knowledge of their hardships and experience is the only thing that sustained me through Nafisi's "Memoir in Books."

This is the second book I've read this year that included a "Reading Group Guide." Both books left me unsatisfied, so maybe the idea is that a book group is necessary to make these books fulfilling. Or maybe I'm just not the writers' target audience.

In any case, Reading Lolita in Tehran isn't bad, but it's not good - same goes for the other "book club" novel I read. The subject captivated me, and I enjoyed how the works of Nabokov, Fitzgerald, James, and Austen played into the story. But the narrative and the narrator both made me want to put the book down at times.

Strange Fits of Passion

2011-03-07T10:20:00.000-08:00

Turns out you can't believe everything you learn in school. Today I realized that I had left out a stanza from William Wordsworth's "Strange fits of passion have I known" when I used it for my 9th grade English class four years ago. My students probably still haven't gotten over it.

I came across my mistake when I used the poem as part of a series of seven response poems, a project suggested by a great friend. This would have been the seventh and final poem too, although they're all still in their first drafts, but now I need to add a stanza. In the meantime, here's what I had (first, the original; then, my response):

Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the lover’s ear alone,
What once to me befell.

When she I loved looked every day
Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way,
Beneath an evening-moon.

Upon the moon I fixed my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew night
Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reached the orchard plot;
And, as we climbed the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy’s cot
Came near and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature’s gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse moved on; hoof after hoof
He raised, and never stopped:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, I the bright moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a lover’s head!
“O Mercy!” to myself I cried
“If Lucy should be dead!”

- William Wordsworth

…

Strange cases and conspiracies
Made up that daring show
Which kept my curiosity
Fixed on the TV’s glow.

Each episode she got hotter
In body and in mind,
Still Mulder seemed to look past her—
ET had made him blind.

The plot would waver here and there,
But my love never did;
Yet she worked for the FBI,
While I was just a kid.

She disappeared in Season Two,
Abducted on a hill;
Throughout her absence my love grew
And became stronger still.

[Missing Stanza!]

Her return came as no surprise,
I shouldn’t have been scared;
They still must deal with all those lies
The government prepared.

What fond and wayward thoughts will slide
Into a lover’s head!
“O Mercy!” to myself I cried
“If Scully should be dead!”

Muay Thai

2011-03-04T08:02:00.000-08:00

In my search for a documentary on muay thai, I came across two with the same title: Raised in the Ring. As the name suggests, both documentaries look at Thai kids who will often have a hundred fights by the time they turn sixteen. The documentaries show how muay thai offers kids a way to make money for their families who struggle with poverty. However, the perspective and message differs between the two documentaries.

They remind me of The Fighter's Heart, written by an American guy who makes some money after graduating from Harvard and decides to live in Thailand to train in muay thai. There, many Thai would ask him why he would voluntarily train at a camp, since he already had money and a degree from a prestigious American school. The majority of the book essentially focuses on this question - Why fight? - as the author travels and trains in major styles around the world.

Unfortunately, the 20/20 report - the second video - doesn't do much to ask why these little girls get in the ring. Instead of investigating the sources of poverty in Thailand, it focuses on a symptom of that poverty which makes for shocking television. Forcing kids to fight for money is monstrous and should be illegal. But outlawing boxing for children does not address the cause that drives many of them into the ring.

Trickster

2011-02-28T13:57:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I tried tricking. I met up with two friends at a gymnastics facility where they both work, and I'm glad we had mats to practice on because it's been a while since I've done any flips. After a couple of tumbles I got reacquainted with my old tricks. Now I'm looking to learn some new ones, so next time I'll start to try the corkscrew, butterfly twist, and double leg.

What I like most about tricking, more than any one move, is when guys flow things together and emphasize the capoeira and break dancing influences. Tricking uses elements from a bunch of styles that I like, so I'm excited to practice some more.

Sri Krishna

2011-02-25T13:07:00.000-08:00

I like kids, but they're exhausting to deal with in large groups. So hard to impose order. The only time I could calm them down was when I taught kung fu for an after-school program at an elementary school. It must have been all those cool moves they thought I could do.

The classes were part of the instructor program I did at my kung fu school. I didn't get paid, since the head instructor insisted that we volunteer, but I was in 12th grade and got to leave the high school early twice a week so I didn't mind. Besides, it felt good to volunteer.

I didn't think much of it when I mentioned the classes to an older instructor who taught tai chi. He said, "You don't get paid?" I shook my head yes. He smiled. "Well, somebody's getting the money." Even then, I tried not to think about it too much. My goal was to be more spiritual and rise above material worries.

There's a passage in the *Bhagavad-Gita, my new bathroom read, that stuck with me the other day. Sri Krishna tells Arjuna:

"You have the right to work, but for the work's sake only. You have no right to the fruits of work. Desire for the fruits of work must never be your motive in working. Never give way to laziness, either."

I know it's not an original idea, but damn if most religions don't make excellent tools for political power. All this talk of duty and surrender of one's ego - devotion to a greater good beyond the individual and this world; If I were a greedy dictator I'd love this stuff. Though I doubt it'd work on little kids.

* Translated by Swami Prabhavananda & Christopher Isherwood; Barnes & Noble, 1995. The quote is from page 13.

Metal: Adamantium and Nu

2011-02-21T11:46:00.000-08:00

I used to pretend to suit up as Wolverine during youth soccer games. First boots, then gloves, and finally the mask. Then I'd run at the incoming offensive attack and swing my arms out and down to imagine those adamantium claws shooting out. My memory of this, now, alternates between my point of view as my eight-year-old self and that of someone on the sideline, confused or amused by this kid putting on imaginary boots and mask, then sprinting forward with all seriousness.

Sort of embarrassing, but I was young and in love with X-Men. Less forgivable, or just more embarrassing, was my affair with Nu Metal. Two things recently brought this back to mind: 1) This incredible Map of Metal - I sacrificed two hours at that altar - and 2) Part 9 of the AV Club's series Whatever Happened to Alternative Nation? The writer despises Korn and Limp Bizkit; I was totally into them.

Still, I had some good influences in those darker days*. Skate videos and magazines, my primary cultural influence at the time, kept me on track with hip hop and punk. The two dominant cassettes in my walkman were Wu Tang's Forever* and a mix tape of Misfits and Dead Kennedys that a friend made me. That same friend once said to me, when I was deepest into Korn, that as the singer of my once-punk band, I shouldn't try to sound like Jonathan Davis.

I now see his advice as an informal intervention, and he did it with kindness and tact that transcended our early-teen maturity. He said I should try to stick with my own style. He put it in a way that encouraged me, especially since I looked up to him as a musician. I think he even went so far as to somewhat praise Jonathan Davis' voice, though I knew at the time that he didn't like it or that music one bit. But friends don't let friends try to sing like Jonathan Davis.

* Darkest Days is the name of the Stabbing Westward album I bought, featuring the single "Save Yourself", after I heard them on the Spawn soundtrack - my nu metal gateway drug and possible evidence that comic books encouraged me to do many silly things.

* Forever was a double-cassette, so technically that makes three dominant tapes in my rotation.

Grendel

2011-02-18T07:08:00.000-08:00

"All order, I've come to understand, is theoretical, unreal - a harmless, sensible, smiling mask men slide between the two great, dark realities, the self and the world - two snake-pits.

This comes near the end of John Gardner's Grendel. Reviews of the book claim that it will enter the canon of high school English classes, among Lord of the Flies and The Catcher in the Rye. And I can see how Grendel's reflection on order fits in with Ralph and Holden.

It does not, however, fit in with the prominent "Out of chaos comes order" banner stapled to the bulletin board in my 9th grade English classroom. The teacher told us that it came from the ancient Greeks. It has stayed with me, since then, as I have wrestled with this perennial idea.

Chaos vs. order is one of many questions that frustrates Grendel while he seeks meaning as a self-conscious creature - not the mechanical evil that Beowulf portrays. He eventually finds that his relationship with the humans, the Danes, defines them both. And in the end, he can't resist the urge to raid the mead hall where Beowulf waits.

Though 1,200 years apart, the reality of the two stories, Grendel and Beowulf, is the same. All order and chaos come from narration - perception - be it Ancient Greek, Middle Ages Anglo-Saxon, or Post-Modern American.

The Card Shop (Pt. 2)

2011-02-07T11:21:00.000-08:00

I sat at the table with two fellow fifth-graders and one adult player who also helped part-time at the card shop. He summoned a Shivan dragon.

"Eric, take the kids into the other room and close the door." The owner looked out the window, across the street, as he said this. I then remembered my older sister talking about a big fight between rival groups at the high school: the freaks vs the gangsters.

High schoolers were the ones who ripped the metal grates off the radiators when they walked through the halls in our school. Some had spikes, others had baggy clothes, and they all had mean looks. We picked up our cards and went into the side room. Once Eric closed the door, I could hear a bunch of high schoolers enter the shop.

"Hello Gordon. Here to buy something?"
"Eh."
"If you're not gonna buy something, you need to go."
"Whatever."
"Now, I don't want anything going on across the street coming into my shop, so if you guys aren't gonna get anything then it's time to go."

They went on for a while, as we pretended to focus on the game. Eric started to sweat.

"Alright, you guys can come out." The high schoolers had left, and they hadn't touched the radiator grates. Eric looked at the owner and Bob. They both stood behind their respective glass counters, and I'd never seen adults so alert. Bob looked back at Eric, and said, in that rising-to-shrill voice that usually came out as he would explain how he was gonna win the game, "I had a hand on my shotgun the whole time."

Sophie's World

2011-02-04T12:14:00.000-08:00

Through daily installments, I recently finished Sophie's World. It was satisfactory as a novel and worked well as a bathroom read. I liked the regular installments of philosophy, and that Jostein Gaarder presented them through a fictional narrative. Unfortunately, the narrative felt more contrived than many of the philosophies in the book.

That being said, I will now take issue with the plot in a spoiling way - though I argue that this is no real loss to the reader. It's a philosophical story about a girl who realizes that her world isn't really as it seems: not an original plot, nor is it necessarily trite. My issue is with Gaarder's execution of the story. Specifically, Hilde's reaction to Sophie's dilemma.

Hilde's father writes Sophie's World, the text-in-text, as a means of sharing the world of philosophy with his daughter. As such, the text focuses primarily on the lessons that Sophie receives. Characters and plot serve more as medium than substance. So why does Gaarder make Hilde care so much about her father's manipulation of Sophie, and make it a central issue in the book? I, the reader, certainly don't care about the manipulation, nor do I believe that Hilde would react that way. Then again, I only read it while sitting on the toilet

The Card Shop (Pt. 1)

2011-01-31T11:36:00.000-08:00

When I was ten I used to go to the local card shop as often as possible. I remember the owner as a somewhat crotchety but altogether benevolent old man with white hair, though I realize now that I've blended his figure in my memory with that of my first boss. As if their type overlapped enough that my mind consolidated them. The owner essentially ran an unofficial after-school program, since so many of us would gather at his shop to buy and trade cards to build up our decks. Of course, most of our time there was for battling those decks against each other.

I remember all of this through a child's view, when adults tower and have a default position of respect. Rebellion hadn't crossed my mind yet. But I did enjoy a chance to beat an adult opponent at the shop, especially because of their reaction to losing a game to some kid. I remember, probably selectively, defeating many adults.

Bob, an assistant at the shop who specialized in comic books, could not be beat. He had a ripe smell, and greasy hair that would touch the shoulders of the perennial flannel that strained on his round torso. I thought he was awesome. He'd make witty remarks during the game, and tell his opponents how he would beat them. You knew you were in trouble when his words got shrill and rapid in excitement. If he were a card, it'd be Wall of Flannel: "Target Thirtysomething Always Wins."

Event Horizon

2011-01-28T09:20:00.001-08:00

I used to look at the stars in the night sky and feel a romantic awe. Now I think of how cold and empty it is out there. Maybe the change came with the move from Disney movies to science fiction - Aladdin to Aliens; however, I don't think facehuggers were a necessary part of my shift in perspective. And though the transition sounds dreary, I don't find it melodramatic or symptomatic of some negative experience. Rather, I think it's scientific.

In The Irrational Man, William Barrett outlines our shift from religious reverence of nature to scientific observation (overlooking Wicca and black metal, of course). As a result, we no longer see in nature any symbolic representation of the universe's deeper meaning, specifically our place in that deeper meaning. Instead, we discover a complex system that is essentially indifferent to the human experience.

Now, I prefer the romantic, spiritual perspective because it makes me feel better. But I can no longer see through that lens as I used to. It's as though the scientific perspective constantly pulls at me, like a black hole. And once you cross the event horizon, you can never return to the other side. Just ask Sam Neill and Laurence Fishburne.

Last Geekend

2011-01-24T07:19:00.000-08:00

I played Dungeons & Dragons for the first time. The other players called it "fast and easy D&D" because, apparently, it wasn't the full-on version. It only took about two hours. I had some beginners luck: rolled a 1 for the monster, and a 20 for my hero. Twice.

Before D&D, we played Magic the Gathering. I hadn't had a game with four people since fourth grade. It took longer than D&D, and it made me wish I'd brought my own, old deck. They've come out with some new, unfamiliar cards since 1994.

So yesterday I broke into my old deck. Tightened up my mana-to-spell-to-creature ratio. It's a fast red deck, so I'm ready to do some damage as soon as the next gathering happens.

Pull the Rug from Under

2011-01-19T11:08:00.000-08:00

I recently read My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. There's a chance that I'll teach it as part of an ethics unit, so I wanted to give it a non-academic first read. The story compelled me enough to finish it in two days. I imagine that students will have plenty to say about its central issue, of a child conceived through genetic screening and artificial conception in order to provide as a medical donor to her sick sibling. But for now I'm thinking more about the story's title.

It's not an obscure phrase, as far as biblical reference goes. I remember, though, a facebook post in which someone wrote how he though "it [was] ironic that Cain said 'I am my brother's keeper'." Someone else then replied that the line is actually "Am I my brother's keeper?" (Genesis 4:9), putting an end to any illusions of clever insight that the original post-er had.

Considering my relationship with this person, I got a disproportionate amount of satisfaction from his stuffed attempt at a profound facebook post. And I think it's because I see in him something that I dislike or fear in myself. Then again, I might just enjoy it when someone gets knocked down from a foolish position.

Freedom Fighters

2011-01-17T12:56:00.000-08:00

I wrote this while in France, with the intention of including it in a travelogue:

“Impressionnante.” We mostly kept a solemn silence, supported by brief observations. It was the home states on the graves that got me. Like I’d just met the soldiers and asked where they were from. People I could know. Young men like me.

He was from Brittany, but she grew up in Normandy, so when we left the beach for food she called her parents for a dining recommendation. Her mother began proposing meals we could have at their house. “How do galettes sound?”

“Yes. I remember my father telling me about the GIs – how they gave him chocolate as they passed by his yard.” The scene played, black and white, in my mind, a soup of all the old WWII movies I’d seen. I wanted to know everything about my grandfather’s soldier experience, to show that I fit into this real thing told in personal stories, not just studied in school or watched in films. “Have you had macaroons before? Roquefort?”

Kurt Snarfield Vonnegut, Jr.

2011-01-13T05:38:00.000-08:00

In his graduating class of 1940, Kurt Vonnegut is listed as "Kurt Snarfield Vonnegut, Jr." His classmates called him snarf because they once noticed him sniffing his armpits. Vonnegut points out, however, that technically "a snarf was a person who went around sniffing girls' bicycle saddles. I didn't do that."

Later, in the same interview from The Paris Review, Vonnegut specifies that a "twerp" is "a person who inserts a set of false teeth between the cheeks of his ass." This baffles the interviewer. Thankfully Vonnegut elaborates that twerps do it "In order to bite the buttons off the backseats of taxicabs. That's the only reason twerps do it. It's all that turns them on."

At this point, the interviewer decides to change the subject. He tries to shift to a more serious tone by asking if Vonnegut "went to Cornell University after Shortbridge." The reply: "I imagine." Pages later, to close the interview, Vonnegut suggests a way to maintain a reading public. He proposes "that every person out of work be required to submit a book report before he or she gets his or her welfare check."

Christian Compassion

2011-01-10T12:10:00.001-08:00

I am a confirmed Catholic. It happened early in high school, the culmination of Sunday evenings dedicated to CCD (the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine). My memories of CCD are mostly a swirl of jokes with friends, attempts to talk with girls, and adults' complaints about missed football games on TV. Not much Father, Son, or Holy Ghost.

In the final year, my group's instructor was the father of a classmate. He focused on making the lessons relevant to our pre-teen and teen lives. Since Everlast's "Put Your Lights On" played on the radio all the time, he decided to analyze how the lyrics related to Christianity. I wasn't a fan of Everlast, but I appreciated the gesture.

Back then, three friends and I had our own band, Conformity Crisis. I thought the name was awesome, even though I didn't come up with it. During one Sunday, the teacher went around the table to ask what we thought about confirmation. When my turn arrived, I said something like: "I think it's stupid because it's just the church trying to get us all to think and act the same. Like, look at the word 'confirmation.' It even means conformity!" That was the crux of my rebellious rant - my false belief that the two words meant the same thing.

This argument fit right into my angsty thinking and made me feel cool. I even remember the other group members thinking I was cool for saying it, and then getting behind me. Now, if I were that teacher I would have found a dictionary and figuratively smashed that kid's smug face. But looking back, my ego and social identity had a lot riding on that argument. And though the teacher didn't agree with me, he didn't squash me either. I remember he told me, softly, that I should look those two words up; they may not mean what I think they do. Then we moved on to the next person.

Wednesdays

2010-10-14T10:50:00.000-07:00

October 13^th, 2010

5:45 – Wake up

6:00 – Swimming class (feat. Alix)

7:15 – Breakfast (apple pie, hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, English cheddar, coffee, chocolate milk) & TV (Daily Show, How I Met Your Mother)

9:00 – Accompany Alix en route to school

9:15 – Write in journal

9:45 – Read a chapter of Sophie’s World in bathroom

10:00 – Finalize and print documents for graduate school application

11:00 – Bike to recycling center & post office (feat. postal worker who also lived in Merrimack, NH)

12:00 – Yoga (feat. Rodney Yee)

12:45 – Lunch (delicious burrito) & amazing K-1 fight (on youtube)

1:30 – Tidy up apartment

2:00 – Read chapter from linguistics text book

2:45 – Drive to work

3:00 – Plate desserts and prepare pastry inventory

9:30 – Help unclog drain by dish pit

10:00 – Clean kitchen

11:30 – Drive home

11:45 – Read book reviews & watch fights online (feat. decompression)

12:30 – Fall asleep

Exam

2010-07-28T08:21:00.000-07:00

Two weekends ago, I took the Massachusetts Test for Educator Licensure (MTEL). It took eight hours: half for the Communication & Literacy Skills portion, and half for the English test. Living in Virginia helped prepare me for the test, since Lynn, MA, like most of New England at the time, had a bit of a heatwave. No air-conditioning in an old high school was no problem.

In addition to heat acclimation, I also got ready for the test by studying some literary theory vocabulary. A friend told me to expect many questions about theory, and it's an area that I hadn't formally studied. Many of the terms' definitions, however, blended together. And it took great work to find and pin down the nuance between similar ideas or schools of thinking.

So, while brushing up on vocabulary between the two tests, I wrote the following: Learning a term or phrase gives its idea/concept a solid mental place/existence (parameters) - words create order out of the abstract, boundaries within that which bleeds together. This has deep implications for how we perceive the world.

The pursuit of precise terms that capture specific ideas reminds me of the scientific pursuit of matter's fundamental components. Actually, that's a poor analogy. Maybe it better compares to the identification and classification of chemistry's elements. In either case, though, it shows our desire to better understand our perceived scale of the world by moving to a scale outside of the naked eye. To classify and conquer.

Pizza

2010-05-09T15:47:00.000-07:00

/ 2

+ Pineapple, Grated Mozzarella, & Marinara Sauce

=

The Linguists

2010-04-22T13:00:00.000-07:00

Today I joined a William & Mary linguistics class' viewing of The Linguists, a documentary showing "David and Greg [...] circle the planet to hear the last whispers of a dying language." That's the official website's catch-line for the film, and it sounds more theatrical than documentary. It's an apt description, however, because the presentation of the featured languages resembles the Food Network's approach to regional cuisine. I have learned more about a culture and people from Fight Quest than this documentary. This isn't to say that The Linguists should be about people and culture, but if a series about fighting styles around the world can understand the integral role of culture to combat, then it's fair to expect a documentary of this nature to do the same.

Unfortunately, the film does not make up for this glaring omission by giving greater attention to the technical aspects of language documentation, nor the character and nuances of the featured languages. Maybe this comes from an executive decision to produce the film for a general audience. But that seems to both insult and misidentify one's viewers. First, the average viewer can handle greater technical depth than the documentary provides. And second, the "general audience" who watches a documentary film about language extinction isn't the same "general audience" that Hollywood caters to.

The redeeming qualities of The Linguists come from the nature of field of language documentation. That is to say, it's a mediocre presentation of an enthralling subject. I wish it had done more, and maybe I'd be happier with the film if I didn't think that The Linguists could have been so much better.

Putting In Work

2010-04-16T06:48:00.000-07:00

It's been over five months since I started work as a cook. Shit can be hectic, and I rarely have time in the kitchen to stand still - nevermind sit down. It reminds me of what I wrote when I started judo, about the need to be both calm and fast at the same time. Back then, I thought of how that same "mode" is important in boxing and classical guitar. Now I see it as crucial to any skill.

Two Bobs, one E and one D, responded to my original post, pointing out the role of technique and practice. In the case of cooking, however, I never had a chance to practice. Instead, I needed to be fast right away or I'd be fired. No hard feelings - the people need to eat. So even though I've certainly become faster and more efficient with experience, I think there's a certain temperament or mental "mode" that is just as important as practice.

Panic never seems to help people, especially when they're trying to unlock their car door because a serial killer is quickly approaching. Or when they fall into a bog, as Bear Grylls demonstrates. But not many of us can practice evading serial killers or escaping bogs. Instead, we can practice a mindset that stays both relaxed and responsive. Like a samurai.

Haters Gonna Hate

2010-04-01T11:50:00.000-07:00

I remember an interview with Celine Dion, around the time of Titanic's success, in which she stated that it's impossible to have everyone like you. And she would know. In the face of that, however, I've also thought that it's impossible to not want everyone to like you. Who doesn't want to be universally accepted and appreciated? Alack, two inevitables in conflict.

Fortunately for me, I'm getting better, with age, at paying less mind to whether people like me. For example, there's a jerk who works at the recycling center in town. Whenever I roll in on my bike to drop off recycling, he's resting his overweight, lazy self on the back of his pickup. I imagine he eyes me and thinks to himself, "damn long-haired (to be fair, I should cut it) yankee (he's seen my NH plates) and his stupid hippie (recycling) ways."

He has begrudgingly spoken with me a couple of times, usually to point out the station's policies, and I was certainly polite at first, saying "hello, sir", following his directions, and all that. I may have even been tempted to somehow demonstrate that we're not so different, to strike up a conversation. Now, though, I want nothing to do with that self-righteous, working-class identifying layabout.

In&Out

2010-03-25T11:06:00.000-07:00

This is human, to be in an empty room and a playground. With worlds inside, celluloid ribbon both raveled and rolled. Recorded negatives, some developed and others decomposed.

Bicycle

2010-03-19T12:26:00.000-07:00

This is my sky blue Schwinn, feat. Orange the pudgy cat & her Trader Joe's bags:

I've planned to buy some canvas to cover the seat, but the main problem with the bike has been flat tires. Mysterious flat tires. In the past few months I've had six flats, and all but yesterday's have had no known cause (yesterday I ran over a very un-mysterious piece of metal on my way home from work). So when I was in Philadelphia last week, I considered buying a new bike. Unfortunately, I got a flat tire while test-riding a bike for two minutes. It was cool, though, cause the tire went "pssshhhh" as I dismounted the bike. Like some neat hydraulic system that lowers about an inch. As a result, I decided to just get my Schwinn's tire fixed again, and instead of a new bike I bought this hooded sweatshirt:

It's also blue.

Dikembe Mutombo'd

2010-03-14T17:39:00.000-07:00

Neither Boston University nor William & Mary accepted my graduate school applications. As my sister said, it seems that graduate schools need you to apply two years in a row to prove that you're serious. So now I plan to return to the classroom as a teacher. Even though the rejection hurts, I'm not too upset. The more I considered the possibilities of being a graduate student or secondary school teacher for the next five years, the less I worried about graduate school acceptance. I want to get back to teaching.

In the meantime, here's something I would have loved to study in graduate school: cultural neuroscience. Maybe I'll try to attend a few lectures about it, and pretend that I'm a student.

15 Solid Albums

2010-03-04T11:13:00.000-08:00

Wild

2010-02-25T10:43:00.000-08:00

A bellow in solitude:

1) The fear of reprimand

2) The surge of freedom

3) The silence of isolation

.

A Trade

2010-02-18T14:50:00.000-08:00

I love to see people work at something they've mastered. It's especially enjoyable to watch someone do something that I'm also into, but it's the adeptness that matters. Maybe that's why I didn't get museum fatigue yesterday at Colonial Williamsburg - all those master craftsmen. Whether we were at the Gunsmith or the Joiner, I could have watched any of them work all day. Well, except the Wigmaker.

My admiration for skilled work has increased because of my job in a kitchen, where I'm surely the least experienced and skilled. The gym, too, has made me appreciate the fluidity and sureness that comes with mastered technique, especially when it means a kick in the ribs or an armbar. In fact, my generalist tendencies seem to keep me from any real mastery. So maybe it's an appreciation born from envy. Or just straight-up envy.

Rebel Rebel

2010-02-04T10:51:00.000-08:00

I clearly remember the first time I fully considered my mortality, my death. My eighth grade math teacher walked by my desk to see if I needed help with a worksheet, but when she looked at me and said "is everything alright?", she wasn't talking about arithmetic. I was either twelve or thirteen. Because of this, I would brush off the suggestion that teenagers think they're invincible, that they'll live forever. Maybe I didn't calculate risk as an adult would, but I certainly felt the full weight of my mortality.

This all sounds grave to me now, overly-dramatic, but those are also apt descriptions for most of my adolescence. And it's not as though I became obsessed with death as a figure or concept, earnestly drawing skulls and macabre scenes, nor with my own death in the way that some people fantasize about their funerals. I just remember thinking: this isn't permanent, and eventually all that I know and am will cease to exist for me.

It's silly to assume that I was alone in this realization. And now it seems a natural and crucial part of developing a sense of self, a period in a process that psychologists have probably laid out neatly. But those models of individual development always seemed like challenges to me. As though psychologists dared me to defy their predictions, like the freshmen orientation at college when they tell you to look to your right and left because only a certain percentage of you will graduate. When you say, "Not me, but I bet this homely-looking dude next to me won't make it."

Two Songs

2010-01-28T07:19:00.001-08:00

I didn't realize that this song is from the 90s, though it seems obvious after watching the video (and Alix says it's in Empire Records, which is also a clear giveaway):

The song really does it for me. However, I'd assumed that it was a 90's style rip-off that came out around the same time (2003) as this song:

Aside from being a decade apart, I think these songs have a lot in common. First, they both have videos with the leader singer making weird faces. It's a nice reminder that most people look silly when singing, especially when they're not actually playing music. Stylistically, they nail the heavy pop rock sound - something rarely done. I'd also argue that both songs have bridges with enough hook to be choruses. In fact, all three parts of the traditional verse - bridge - chorus structure are solid in both songs. That's a rarity, like getting in all clean shots on a jab - cross - hook combo. Knockout.

Over and Under

2010-01-21T09:22:00.000-08:00

At the end of every summer, as the school year arrived, I would tell myself how much I'd changed since the last year. How much cooler I'd be, for whatever reasons, and how much it would impress others. Then I'd find myself re-immersed in the day to day social and academic world of school, and realize that, for the most part, I was the same.

A similar process happens when I reflect on certain philosophical and spiritual ideas. At times, I will feel I've reached some sort of revelation, a new way of seeing the world and myself. But as time goes on I will find my overall perspective unchanged.

This isn't something I'm realizing now, though. After a couple of school years without significant growth in coolness, I'd say to myself: Yeah, I thought I was cool going into those last few years, but this year is totally different and I have a whole new perspective. Then I'd start to think that reflecting on one's coolness isn't very cool, and so I'd just let things ride. Be cool. Still, I was the same.

In my deeper reflections, I'd tell myself that constantly seeking progress in great leaps only held me back from further progress. Then I'd try to progress by letting go of my desire to progress.

I can't believe that I'm alone in this type of thinking. Rather, I assume that most people do it. Or at least most people under the same cultural influences as me, because I think that my culture creates this conception progress and growth. I'm not, however, referring to the obsession with get-rich-quick schemes or revolutionary diets. Rather, it's in our stories, our histories and myths. Here we have flashes, sudden revolution and invention and enlightenment that changes everything.

Supermen

2010-01-16T18:44:00.000-08:00

I took a Russian literature course in college, titled "Outsiders, Supermen, and Ordinary People." The professor, a young woman from Russia who matched the description of all I'd imagine when told that the professor is a young woman from Russia, often provided much-needed insights on Russian culture as we discussed Pushkin, Lermontov, Turgenev, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky, among others. She also brought up characteristics of American culture, sometimes to contrast with the Russian perspective.

As the course title implies, we gave a lot of attention to the place of individuals in society, both as the individuals perceive their place and as society sees it. One day, the professor said: "One thing I cannot understand is how Americans so often believe that they can be anything they want to be." She went on about how one can wish and try and pursue the goal of being one of history's great writers, but only certain people are actually capable of reaching that level.

By saying this, she not only challenged the Disney-esque message that if we try hard enough we can all achieve our dreams, she also suggested that talent - genius, even - is an inherent quality. Some of the class sided with her, while others fought back. However, remembering this, I forget which stance I took. I can imagine taking either one. And maybe that's the thing: subjectivity and open-mindedness can create a wash that makes nearly anything look possible, yet nothing definitive.

Jobber

2009-12-16T13:55:00.000-08:00

I’m a bit more than a month into my new job. That’s four months of work here in Virginia, after about three months of unemployment. A lot of the time the work stresses me out, but I’m happy to have it. It was tough to be jobless.

Obviously it wasn’t hard work being unemployed. And I tried to make the most of my time, reading and writing and telling myself to appreciate it because soon I’d have a job again and wish I had more leisure. Which I do.

The biggest stressor was the feeling of limbo. With so many things that I want to do, I couldn’t stand to, well, sit around all day. I ended up researching and considering all the possible things I want to do, and then didn’t do any of them.

I remember a guy at a party telling me that I was lucky to not have a job. That he wished he didn’t. I told him to quit. He laughed, and I thought of how we both envied each other’s situations.

Since I had so much time, I reread “Days of War, Nights of Love.” Their outlook romanticizes unemployment. Job free, home free, deodorant free. But I couldn’t feel the romance. I wanted to get back to work.

Maybe I needed something to keep me from over-thinking. Or maybe it was the sense of identity, of fitting in – contributing – that became even more desirable since I’d moved to a new place. In any case, I'm ready for a vacation.

Personal Statement, First Draft

2009-12-07T14:12:00.001-08:00

I tried to quit school for a year. I didn’t enter the classroom this August, and, for the first time in twenty years, summer’s end didn’t mark the beginning of a new academic year for me. I planned to work outside the realm of education for a bit. See what I may have missed. But I couldn’t cut myself off entirely. By October I started to tutor for an after-school program at a local elementary school. Plus, the majority of my friends in town were full-time graduate students. Then my new teacher’s license came in the mail, and got me thinking of the students I’ve had in the past few years, of the students I could have had this year.

From 2006 through 2009 I taught high school English in New Hampshire, Vermont, and France, respectively. I loved it. I found, though, that I wasn’t ready to end my own education. This isn’t to say that I wasn’t learning while teaching – quite the contrary. However, I wanted to continue my formal education at the graduate level. I wanted to return to the classroom as a student.

My last year three semesters at college preluded those past three years: I worked in seminar-level literature courses at Keene State, studied at the University of Rennes II in France, and completed my internship as a student teacher at Souhegan High School. It was also at that time that I decided on my eventual goal of earning a PhD and teaching at the university level. Unfortunately, I couldn’t decide what material I wanted to dedicate so much time and energy to.

So far in my academic pursuits, I have chosen breadth over depth. I love to look at seemingly disparate subjects and search for fruitful connections, or, specifically as a pedagogical tool, to use knowledge of one subject to enrich the understanding of another subject. For example, I can use a student’s knowledge of collegiate wrestling to better explain the writing process. Or, in my own work, I can call on my understanding of quantum physics to gain a new perspective on a post-modernist text. Even though I plan to maintain my generalist tendencies, I understand that graduate school is a world of specialists. And until recently, I struggled to narrow my scope.

At first it seemed odd that living in France would invigorate my interest in American literature and culture. Yet the more I thought about it, the easier it became to see how the experience of a foreigner would cause one to deal intimately with one’s national identity. My nationality was my defining characteristic. In order to reflect on my interactions in France, on how others perceived me, I had to explore how American culture has shaped me. Additionally, I had to think about how others view American culture – generally – and how the French view America and Americans – specifically.

What started as a pursuit to better understand my identity as a foreigner became a realization of what I wish to focus on in graduate school. Within my English coursework as an undergraduate, the 20th Century American Literature class and the Thoreau seminar stood out. While I credit the professors for making the content especially engaging, I also know that when left alone with the texts I found myself captivated. These courses, combined with my non-academic exploration of how language and national culture shaped me, led me to my desired field of focus. Specifically, I am interested in how 20th and 21st Century American literature reflects and represents the impact of modern science on individuals and culture. Furthermore, within this context, I would like to explore the role of science and language in constructing and defining one’s reality and identity. I believe that further study into the connection of philosophy of science with semiotics, in the context of 20th & 21st C. American literature, offers awesome insights and I’m excited to pursue them.

How specific program would be good for me (professors to work with).

My undergraduate and professional teaching experience greatly influenced my graduate and post-graduate school aspirations. However, I also believe that this year, this brief intermission in my educational career, has been instrumental in realizing how much passion I have for teaching and learning. Just as my sejour in France brought my excitement for American literature and culture to the forefront, this period outside the classroom has reinforced my desire for a career in education.

First Draft Poem

2009-11-29T17:00:00.000-08:00

Clip

First the feelings swoop,
free in places.

Then separation pens them
to one time, location,
person that you have slowly
shed until,

Eventually, the feelings bind
into memories.

Deliverance

2009-11-23T15:52:00.000-08:00

A big guy came to the porch, its single bulb the only source of light in the driveway/parking lot. He yelled, "Whatchuh doin' here" over the fence and board pen full of an uncertain number of barking dogs. I walked away from my car, past the pen, towards him. Another guy, this one even bigger, also with a buzzed head, came to the porch.

"I'm droppin' off my car for Mike to work on."

"He know 'bout it?"

"Yeah."

I guessed so. Hoped. I hadn't actually talked with Mike, nevermind met him. A coworker said his friend, Mike, would change my timing belt at a good price. The coworker also told me about the dogs, and that he'd let a roommate know I'll come by that night. He explained that this last detail was important because the roommates have an arsenal as big as the police department's, and may not like an unexpected visit.

I thanked the roommate for letting me park my car, then thanked my Texan friend - by giving her fried pickles - for following me to the place in her Jeep and driving me home. The next day at work, when I thanked the coworker for giving the well-armed roommate the heads up, he said he was glad I found a ride back, that he felt bad not going with me because I'd probably thing I "was getting into some 'Deliverance' shit."

(Written on October 7th. Posted November 23rd.)

Relatives

2009-11-17T07:50:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been talking a lot with one of my co-workers when the place isn't too busy. Today, as we were discussing politics and music, I realized that I was unintentionally comparing him to some of my friends. It wasn't a comparison to decide if he is as good as them, but a search for who he reminds me of. As though pinning down someone to connect him to would give me a better grasp of who he is.

I think everyone does this sort of thing, to try to better understand or feel comfortable with something new by connecting to to something familiar. Like how people always say, "you look just like (or remind me so much of) so-and-so." Maybe it's a basic urge to link things and seek patterns. In any case, I wonder if it's possible to see anything as it is by itself, to take that raw, new thing and process it alone.

(Written on September 3rd. Posted on November 17th.)

He Who Laughs Last

2009-11-11T06:38:00.000-08:00

I probably understood two thirds of what people said to me when i was in France, especially in the first few months. Normally that, plus context, was enough to get the general message. Though often I wouldn't be exactly sure what someone was saying until the end of it, so I'd let things to that I didn't understand. I figured it was better to let a couple of things slide in a conversation than to interrupt it each time I didn't know a word or phrase. Because of this, there'd be times when someone would finish talking and I'd have no idea what they said. At that point I'd decide whether to have them repeat themselves, based on how important it seemed, and usually I'd just let it go.

Unfortunately, this habit of not asking for clarification when I didn't hear or understand something - or worse: going on as though I know what the person said - has transposed to my US mind. But I'm working on it.

(I wrote this on August 31st. Not sure why I hadn't posted it yet, or anything for that matter.)

Public Education and Health Care

2009-08-19T16:28:00.001-07:00

I’ve got a suggestion for the health care debate. Someone may have already brought it up, but I haven’t heard it put the way I thought of it. That is, to treat health care the same way as education.

This would make health care an obligation for all citizens. It would also make each community, district, and state responsible for organizing and providing health care to its citizens. Finally, while all taxpayers would financially support this system, they would be free to use alternative, private schools.

I don’t think public schools are perfect. I’ve seen many of the problems, both as a student and educator. But I do believe its model provides a core system that effectively benefits citizens and society alike, while constantly adapting and seeking to best serve them. Plus, if we pay doctors as much as teachers then it’ll be affordable. Though I guess we couldn’t give two months of summer vacation to doctors too.

Comment Tester Ton Ami (Pt. 2)

2009-08-05T09:26:00.001-07:00

He put his hand on the cutting board right when I brought down the knife. I tried to pull it back, but couldn’t. It’s a weird feeling to commit your body and mind to a sudden motion, and try to stop it in the middle of the act. First I saw the blood spray out, hitting the wall near us. Then I stared at his hand. He, much smarter than me, yelled to get something to cover the wound. I grabbed a rag, but he said, again with a clear mind, that it was filthy. We ran to the sink and put a clean towel over the gash, both of us applying as much pressure to it as we could.

In Defense

2009-08-04T06:31:00.001-07:00

The first section of the French history textbook, picking up after WWII, focuses on globalization. Though it’s not overt in its anti-globalization stance, subtle is often more effective. I don’t want to defend globalization, but two things bother me as I read.

First, I’m tired of the suggestion that consuming US products and culture is forced. If people don’t buy it, if there’s no demand, then corporations can’t profit. That’s not to say corporations and media aren’t aggressive, but that consumers aren’t helpless victims.

Second, I don’t think the French, historically, have a right to claim moral high ground on the issue. Why do citizens of some African countries speak French? Napoleon undertook massive military and cultural invasions, and, unlike the decision to buy a coke or watch a Hollywood movie, his were occupations by force.

Comment Tester Ton Ami (Pt. 1)

2009-08-03T14:19:00.001-07:00

He squatted in front of the mini fridge to stock portioned lobster roll and cole slaw. Or was it tuna salad? I still wondered about the newly delivered knives, which came with the warning, “careful, you know, these things are real sharp.” We had tested the big knife on various things, and nothing could slow it. I looked at the three-inch stack of square, American cheese slices. That’d take some force to cut through. So I placed it on the white, textured cutting board mounted on top of the mini fridge, and raised the knife just below shoulder height. I like to think I remembered to then say “don’t move” to him, that I’d made him aware of my plan – reckless as it was – in some way. But I’m not sure. I do know that I chopped as hard as I could, cause the block of cheese didn’t figure to split easily.

Rug Out the Window

2009-07-31T19:09:00.000-07:00

I just found out that the website for The Paris Review has their full interviews for free via pdf. Today I read one with Charles Olson; I didn’t know anything about the guy so I figured it’d be a good place to start. Turns out that in addition to being a notable American poet of the 50s and 60s, he’s also crazy. The interview starts with:

Charles Olson: Get a free chair and sit down. Don’t worry about anything. Especially this. We’re living beings and forming a society; we’re creating a total, social future. Don’t worry about it. The kitchen’s reasonably orderly. I crawled out of bed as sick as I was and threw a rug out the window.

Interviewer: Now the first question I wanted to ask you. What fills your day?

Olson: Nothing. But nothing, literally, except my friends.

Interviewer: These are very straight questions.

Olson: Ah, that’s what interviews are made of.

It gets wilder, and often less coherent, in the rest of the interview. Next I’m gonna read ones with Ralph Ellison and William Faulkner – they’re usually straightforward fellas.

History Books

2009-07-30T13:03:00.001-07:00

I finished reading a 10th grade French history textbook, kindly given to me by a social studies teacher at the high school in Landivisiau. We had talked about what’s covered in a US public school’s history course versus one in France – specifically the Cold War – and so he let me have a copy of the 10th and 12th graders’ books.

The 10th grade textbook begins with Ancient Greece and ends with the industrial revolution. Aside form a greater focus on Europe and France, especially France’s “inspiring” other countries to become democratic, I didn’t notice any glaring differences. The French textbook didn’t seem to talk much about the Louisiana Purchase, though I guess it wasn’t a good deal for them and they had a lot going on at home and elsewhere. I think the notable differences will come from the 12th grader textbook, from the end of WWII to today.

Green Mansions

2009-07-28T07:32:00.000-07:00

Netflix offers instant viewing for the PBS series: e2 design, about sustainable living and green design. The show’s website also streams episodes, but not all of the first season. So far I’ve watched up to episode four (about building a house out of Big Dig scraps) of season one, and gotten pumped up each time. While I’ve had the itch before, this series really makes me wanna get involved with this sort of thing. Not just as a hobby, though, but in a “go back to school and become a professional” kind of way.

Maybe it just seems so attractive because Brad Pitt narrates the episodes, but I don’t think it’s a feasible option for me. Just yesterday I came up with some American Studies graduate work that I could really get into. I plan to go to graduate school and eventually return to teaching, either at the high school or college level. I guess I just need to remember that I can’t do everything, especially not at once. And that getting excited about something doesn’t mean I should consider it as a career option – even if Brad Pitt wants me to.

Trifocals

2009-07-27T11:13:00.001-07:00

I’ve come up with three possible focuses for a graduate program in American Studies:

1. Explore the different forms of narrative in American literature – as well as media and vernacular – and the social and psychological implications of using those forms.

2. Study the major philosophies in American culture, and how literature has influenced and represented them.

3. Look at heroes in American culture, specifically through literature, and the implications thereof.

These are pretty general, though I think it’s good to start that way. Plus, I don’t foresee difficulty in narrowing them down. For starters, I’m mostly interested in 20th Century stuff. But now I need to figure out which focus offers the most fertile fields, instead of worn territory, and who can help me till them.

Japes

2009-07-22T09:20:00.000-07:00

It’s my friends’ fault that I’m not funny. They make good jokes and get me going on a certain type of humor, but once left to my own devices I drop the ball. I always think I can imitate their style and it always falls flat. At least I can beat most of them at basketball.

Weight On My Shoulders

2009-07-20T09:10:00.001-07:00

There’s a free gym in our housing complex, and since I’ve often wondered what consistent weight lifting is like I decided to give it a try. This is my seventh week of training – going three times a week for about 45 minutes each session, when I do two sets of eleven dumbbell exercises. And I don’t like it.

It’s boring. It’s hard in an unsatisfying way. The radio is usually on a crappy 70s station that drains my spirit. But I want some form of exercise, and a free gym will have to do until I can afford to take MMA classes or go rock climbing or do anything else awesome. Working out like this has also given me more respect for athletes who log hours and hours at the gym. Then again, they get a paycheck to play games.

Loops

2009-07-16T12:08:00.000-07:00

Gotta keep reminding myself, cause all those lovely realizations bleed out eventually.

Like swinging a golf club: doing it right once doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way.

Or how I periodically must clip my nails.

We’re not Sisyphus or Prometheus, with sharp moments when the liver’s torn or the boulder tumbles.

There’s no culmination, no shoulders of day to day giants; we just sometimes forget to breathe.

"A Forest of Symbols"

2009-07-15T14:38:00.000-07:00

There’s a man with hands tied to a whipping post. The other man whips him, sleeves rolled up. “Ideology” labels the whipper, “language” the whip, and “you” the whipped. Underneath the image, Nadia wrote (among other things):

“I think part of this pathological need to systematize everything comes from living in cities, incidentally. Every single thing around us here has been made by human beings, and has specific human meaning attached to it – so when you look around, instead of seeing the actual objects that are around you, you see a forest of symbols.”

I like this. I’m glad it got me thinking about my tendency to systematize and analyze everything, and the implication thereof. But isn’t that the means by which we think, even on the most basic level?

Animal Collective

2009-07-13T12:44:00.001-07:00

I have a lot more patience for people than for pets. Maybe it’s cause I believe our higher mental complexity deserves greater slack, but when I think that through it seems backwards. Shouldn’t higher-level thinking beget greater responsibility, accountability? Pets don’t make conscientious decisions, so why would I act as though they have agency or personality? They don’t do anything on purpose. Or they do everything on purpose, because there’s no weighing out decisions abstractly or in the long-term. They seem to deserve more of my patience than people do, yet maybe it’s because they bring out the animalistic response in me - all chasing, yelling, grabbing, pouncing, and throwing.

Man, I gotta get a job.

Bread and Water

2009-07-10T11:24:00.000-07:00

Grocery 1 (2 @ 0.99) : 1.98

Kennebunkport Wheat 6floz for 5.99 : 5.99

Salsa Chunky TJ’s : 2.29

Eggs Brown Extra Large Cage Fr : 2.79
TJ’s Honey Nut O’s Cereal : 2.49
B-Tortilla Handmade! Whole Whe : 2.49
Meatless Bkfst Patties : 3.39
Tamales Grn Chile&Cheese : 1.99
TJ’s Spring Salad Mix : 1.99
Organic Rnd Yellow Tort. Chips : 2.59
Beans Refried Black Beans FF V : 1.29
Organic Black Beans : 1.09
Tomatoes Whole No Salt w/Basil : 1.49
TJ’s Feta : 2.99
Spinach & Chive Linguine Pasta : 1.99
Vege Gyoza : 3.49
Fries Sweet Potato : 2.29
Organic Onions : 2.29
Pasta Whole Wheat Rotelle-Orga : 1.29
R-Strawberries Clamshell : 4.79
5 Layer Dip Small/11.5 oz : 3.99
Agave Organic Sweetner : 2.99
Yogurt Greek Style Plain : 2.49
Whipped Cream Cheese : 1.49
Milk Lowfat 1% Half Gal TJ’s : 1.69
TJ’s Organic Half & Half : 1.49
Pasta Spaghetti : 0.99
La Ferme Julien Rouge : 5.99
Villa Cerrina Montepulciano : 4.99
Eggplant Zucchini Marinated IT : 3.99
Organic Avocados : 4.39
A-Lemons Organic 1# : 2.49
Sliced Multigrain Sourdough : 2.79
Grocery 1 (5 @ 0.29) : 1.45
The Works Bagels : 2.29
TJ Xtra Shrp Wisconsin Cheddar : 3.37

Subtotal : $97.87
State Tax 1 : $2.02
State Tax 2 : $0.85
TOTAL : $100.74
VISA : $100.74

Items 46 - G, Amanda
07-09-2009 05:12PM

Comment Casser une Toilette (Pt. 2)

2009-07-08T11:35:00.000-07:00

I managed to open the bathroom door while pinching the broken floater with the other hand. It seemed ludicrously unreal: I was in a foreign country, at a party in the apartment of a girl I’d recently met, with a couple of other friends, at four in the morning on Halloween night, and water had sprayed all over her bathroom cause I’d just broken the toilet and I didn’t know how to fix it.

“Uhh, il y a une problème.” “J’ai…j’ai fait quelque chose.”

The girl whose apartment we were in, whose toilet I broke, came into the bathroom. I explained what I’d done, the problem. She took over the floater pinching duty while I apologized profusely. Maybe she didn’t believe me, or just wanted to see for herself, or maybe my French was so crappy that she didn’t understand a damn thing I said, but she let go of the floater.

All four of the square bathroom’s walls got reblasted. Water rolled down the mirror above the sink. She kind of stood there for a second – we both did – taking it all in as the toilet drenched her. By the time the water began beading at the tips of her hair, she got her wits back and reached for the valve next to the toilet to cut off the water supply. That solved the pinching problem.

Name That Novel

2009-07-07T13:31:00.001-07:00

Special Topics In Calamity Physics uses the name of a great literary work for each chapter’s title. The chapter’s themes and story development, I’m told, then connect to the referenced text. On the prose level, Marisha Pessl makes constant allusions and citations, some of which I get and many of which I probably don’t even notice. I like the book so far, and I feel satisfied when I understand a reference. Yet I want to know what I’m missing.

I’ll take the GRE General Test in October. But to prepare for standardized testing, and out of curiosity, I’m trying the practice exam for the GRE Subject: English test. Between this and Special Topics In Calamity Physics, the world of literature looks daunting. Still, I wonder how much the great writers read. Or great thinkers. Not that I’ll be either of those, but how important is it to cover the canon?

Fight or Flight

2009-07-06T12:56:00.000-07:00

The adrenaline exhausted me the first time I sparred. Half my energy went to held breath and tense muscles. I had to relax, stay loose, but I also needed to stop turning away when overwhelmed with punches. Sparring showed me my instinct: when I didn’t have time to think, I chose flight over fight.

I didn’t like my instinct, so I trained. The turning away kept up for a couple of weeks, rearing (or hiding) its ugly head when a sparring partner put on a lot of pressure. Eventually, though, I learned to stay in there. Get hit. Block. Effectively cover up, and try to read what was coming. I never got any good at it, but at least I was fighting.

Last Summer's Writing

2009-07-03T14:31:00.000-07:00

How many times have I told you
to dance along the bridge
like the water underneath:
if the rock’s too big, go around
or go over the top and churn

How many times have I told you
that I can’t fully express myself -
like a whistling kettle whose
shrill cry belies the boiling
belly and churning steam

How many times have I told you
to look up at the sky
like a monk who
meditates on death and compassion
and circles that you can see only half of.

Ragamuffin

2009-07-02T12:51:00.001-07:00

Today I filled out two applications to work as a firefighter – one for the City of Williamsburg, and the other for James City County (which is basically just Williamsburg, but because of Colonial Williamsburg the city limits don’t include the entirety of “Williamsburg”). I’ll be happy to work as a firefighter, though my lack of prior experience and training makes it an unlikely prospect.

I’ve also applied for...

Executive Assistant: Alumni Association at William & Mary
Office Manager: Center for Gifted Education at William & Mary
Anything: Trader Joe’s
Anything: Buon Amici (good Italian restaurant)
High School English Teacher: Williamsburg Public Schools
Middle School English Teacher: Williamsburg Public Schools
Anything: Barnes & Noble
Anything: Williamsburg Post Office (not hiring)

So far, no good. And I even got a haircut to look more professional. I have, however, been able to fill up the days with applications, resumes, cover letters, references, letters of recommendation, transcripts, etc.

Comment Casser une Toilette (Pt. 1)

2009-07-01T07:42:00.000-07:00

The lid for the toilet’s tank was off cause the regular flush handle broke; you had to pull the flapper valve when you’d finished. I knew this. But, mind fogged by Halloween fun, I didn’t see which part was the flapper valve. Three choices: something on the left, something in the center, and something to the right. I didn’t take much time to look.

The plastic cover tore when I pulled on the floater. Water blasted through the small hole I’d created. With all that pressure in so little space, it soaked the ceiling, the walls, my shoulders and hair. I pinched the hole closed. The water couldn’t come out, but neither could I. Stuck in the bathroom at a party in a foreign country at four in the morning. I heard “Paint It Black” through the bathroom door.

Fight Fire with No. 2 Pencils

2009-06-30T08:09:00.000-07:00

I just paid $150 to the Educational Testing Service (ETS) for the Graduate Record Examination (GRE). When I was a high school junior, I gave them money for the SAT; in college it was the PRAXIS, so I could get my teaching license. This is a huge profit industry. Yet colleges say they give less and less importance to SAT and ACT scores. And most educators and SAT-prep course instruction will say that standardized test taking skills are just as important as the content knowledge.

The recent Supreme Court ruling on the case of the New Haven firefighters has gotten press mostly because of race issues and Judge Sotomayor. But it also raises questions on the use of standardized tests to evaluate current and potential employees. As an educator, it reminds me of the debate and frustration over standardized testing to not only evaluate a student’s knowledge, but also the school’s performance (see: No Child Left Behind). Both cases – the firefighters’ and students’ exams – involve money: the results determine the employees’ salaries and the school’s federal funding. That puts a lot of faith in standardized testing as an accurate measure of skill level and knowledge.

Should these exams carry so much weight? If not, what alternatives does one have when trying to give a fair evaluation that gets universal recognition? Surely licensing boards and college admissions need a standard measure to judge candidates by. And it’s not just in the USA. In France, all high school seniors spend their final days of school taking the BAC, the scores of which then determine what universities and programs the student can enter. The main difference between the SAT and BAC, however, is that the BAC isn’t a multiple choice, scantron test. No bubble filling. All work must be shown, all responses written out. So is it the design of the exam that needs attention, or simply the idea of standardized exams?

Boards and Ballpoints

2009-06-29T06:57:00.000-07:00

Aymeric and I made this video in the spring of 2006, when I first lived in France. My intent was to create a souvenir, not show how well I can fall. The filming also became a way for me to hang out with friends at a time when my French didn’t cut it. All the others rollerbladed, but, after a couple of tries, I decided to stick with skateboarding. If I’m gonna fall, I’ll do it on something familiar.

After I got back from France in 2006, I pretty much stopped skating. Now my souvenirs come in writing. I’m an old man, better at falling flat on the page than my face. But writing doesn’t have that same satisfaction – of landing a trick after failing again and again, or weaving with a group of friends through crowds and streets in the city.

Boards and Blades

2009-06-26T08:06:00.000-07:00

A grind on rollerblades feels smooth – plastic on a waxed curb or a rail. When I first tried one I fell on my ass. I leaned into the grind, pushed my feet forward a bit, and my legs shot out from under me. Up until then, I’d always done grinds on a skateboard. Metal on metal or a curb. The trucks dig in and grind. Because I’d always had to push the board along, I wasn’t ready for the smoothness of rollerblades.

Even though there’s variety in both, that’s the biggest different between styles: skateboarding is force while rollerblading is finesse. Skateboards pop and snap; you flick the board and catch it. It takes serious coordination, much harder for beginners than rollerblading, and most pros make it look fluid and easy. Usually it’s a rodeo on concrete. Rollerblades glide and cut; you roll through lines and transition between grinds. It also requires serious coordination, but more in a gymnastic sense. The best pros get acknowledged as much for their style and pose as the acrobatic and/or ballsy trick they’re pulling off.

Someone rollerblading for two years will impress the average onlooker more than the skateboarder of two years. Especially at a skatepark. When I’d skateboard with friends, we’d land about 50% or fewer of our tricks. Many afternoons of my teenage years were devoted to a single trick. Just to land it once, with the hope that eventually I’d have it down. But in rollerblading, about 75% or more tricks are “landed.” It’s just a question of whether the style was right, the grind was long enough, etc.

A Blurred Beacon

2009-06-24T12:08:00.001-07:00

We sat on the beach – Obama and me. Middle Ages looking castle walls loomed behind us. The beach shrunk as the tide came in, and our little fire flickered brighter under the creeping clouds. We didn’t say much.

The rain started, so we looked for shelter. We left the fire dying and confined within its rusty metal container. The green film on the rampart walls (or was it a castle) stood out as we got closer, and showed how high the sea climbed the charcoal-colored bricks.

I got separated from Obama after we passed through one of the walls. We had some sense of eerie urgency, probably intensified by the tide and clouds. But I don’t know what we needed to do. It was cool to hang out with Obama though.

New Blood

2009-06-22T18:27:00.000-07:00

Season two of True Blood started. I watched this week’s episode, the second of the season, earlier today. Reminds me that I should finish writing about vampires. I’ve got a new angle too, since I also got into Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Funny thing about that show, though, is that it doesn’t agree with my theory.

Buffy’s vampires can look human, but when they feed or fight they show their vampire faces. Not very sexy. And when people get “turned” in the Buffyverse, a demon inhabits their body, making them a vampire. So much for free will.

I just started season four of seven, so we’ll see if I get a new view of the modern vampire. Maybe I’ll have to revise my theory. I guess it’s a good thing I haven’t finished writing about vampires.

Ivory Tower

2009-06-19T07:54:00.001-07:00

Today I’m into linguistic anthropology. I read about the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, the “argument that language shape[s] the world rather than simply reflecting it” (Michael Agar’s Language Shock, p. 66), the example of the difference between how the Hopi and English languages treat time, and the subsequent difference in how their speakers see the world.

I think, “here’s something I can really get into, something I could make part of an academic career.” Then my mind goes on to imagine the studies, the work, and the use of this career. That’s when my excitement wanes. It’s not that I imagine I’d lose interest, but it’s the “use” of that career. I can’t help but think I’d be unsatisfied with its practical productivity, my lack of any “real” skills or knowledge.

Babble

2009-06-18T12:43:00.000-07:00

“That’s the thing about emptiness,”

I looked into the Grand Canyon,

“it’s like when you look out at nothing:”

its red cliffs stuffed with air.

“you’re not really seeing nothing”

I tried to imagine nothing,

“cause you can’t see nothing at all.”

and the canyon’s walls surrounded it -

“It’s only when you see something”

sharply sudden and steep.

“that you realize the nothing around it -”

The openness bubbled, vacuumed.

“if you only see nothing,”

I looked to its bottom,

“then you can’t see at all.”

so far down it seemed unreal,

“That’s why when all you feel is emptiness”

and I imagined jumping to it,

“you wonder if you even exist.”

then gripped the rail a bit tighter.

Rulers

2009-06-17T10:21:00.000-07:00

Good teachers get their students interested in the subject. That’s the best time to learn – when you want to. Great teachers can intrigue students who wouldn’t care at all otherwise. But when does the teacher decide to give up on motivating, and move to forcing? Surely not every student will get interested in every subject, even with the greatest teachers. So at what point does the teacher say, “Regardless of whether you want to, you’re learning this because you need it”?

Governments must deal with this too. Ideally there’s no discrepancy between what the people want and what they need, but we don’t always pursue what’s best for us. So how long does government try to convince its people to act a certain way before it coerces them? Parents probably face the same thing. Of course, I’m not accounting for bad teachers, governments, or parents – of which there are many – but that’s a different question.

Passage

2009-06-16T12:40:00.000-07:00

Nine days ago I drove from New Hampshire to Virginia. Aside from breakfast outside of Boston with Kev, I only stopped once – to fill my gas tank and empty my bladder.

Along the way, I listened to:

The Gaslight Anthem – ’59 Sound
Against Me! – a friend-made mix of early stuff
Wu Tang Clan – 36 Chambers
At the Drive In – Relationship of Command
The Misfits – Collection I
Why? – Alopecia
Weezer – Pinkerton
Blink 182 – Dude Ranch & Enema of the State
Eminem – Curtain Call

And I passed:

a car on fire
(through) a long, super fast tunnel by Baltimore
the 155,000 mile mark on my car
my patience for traffic (somewhere within the Blink 182 block)
the Mason-Dixon line

Mother Tongue

2009-06-15T11:27:00.001-07:00

I often got frustrated with my level of French, especially when hanging out with friends and meeting new people. I felt it held me back from being my “real” self.

Now that I’m stateside I don’t have to worry about my language level, but I still get frustrated sometimes about being “real.” Looks like it’s not all words.

Autograph

2009-06-12T10:35:00.001-07:00

“Those songs…they just really helped me through some tough times.”

”Oh yeah?”

I looked up from the merchandise table, where I’d put down the vinyl for him to sign.

“It’s a brand new copy, see, cause I’m not gonna play this one.”

He reached over the t-shirts and patches.

“Mmm.”

I noticed that he wrote with his left hand to sign the album, yet I knew he played guitar righty. Just like me.

“Yeah, cause the one I have at home’s all beat up. The cover, that is. I take great care of the record itself.”

He finished writing.

“See, cause I listened to it all the time when I was away. Away from home. And it kept me going – kept me thinking about where I used to be and where I was gonna be.”

He reached over the t-shirts and patches.

“Your lyrics really stuck with me…the music too. I could relate to it all. It all just helped me remember who I was. Who I wanted to be. It filled me up and kept me from drifting away.”

I picked up the autographed album.

“Funny thing though, is that now that I listen to it – now that I’m back – all I can think of is where I was at that time. What I was feeling. You know? I can’t listen to it and not think of everything that was going on there.”

He looked up from the merchandise table, where he’d put down the vinyl he’d signed.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Trivial Pursuit

2009-05-15T07:29:00.000-07:00

While I washed the dishes,
Kanye West asked me:
Do I know what it means to find my dreams?

In my dreams I’m lost
within place I know
that aren’t quite themselves.

I kiss girls I haven’t seen
in ten years, acquaintances
who might have been lab partners.

In my dreams I fly
sometimes, though often
my limbs move like pasta in pudding.

My dreams are a vibrant mush,
the scraps of the day’s meals
and rescrubbed spots

that wash off my mind’s
plates and forks,
then spiral down the drain.

So, Kanye, if you follow me,
my question is:
Where do my dreams go once the dishes are clean?

The Stranger

2009-05-14T02:27:00.000-07:00

Her accent grated the words. She smiled, but it only made her look stupider. Do I sound like that? I understood what she wanted to say, and I understood the bored-looking woman at the register, but it’s always easier to get it when they’re not talking directly to you.

I bet she imagined foreign worlds, exotic flashes like movie trailers, but now she was in it. Deep. Treading, and realizing that even buying a sandwich could be daunting. I pointed to the electronic read-out next to the register. That was my trick when I didn’t understand how much money they’d asked for. I could have just told her in English, but I don’t want to be the foreigners talking to each other in their language.

We left the supermarket and passed a group of young guys. I avoided gazes, though back home I’d look them in the eyes. One guy approached us. He asked something, probably for a cigarette or a light, but neither of us understood.

He didn’t care that we both shook our heads “no.” He kept talking, walking next to us. I felt stripped. Vulnerable. I wanted to shove him. Drive elbows into his face. We kept walking until he lost interest and went back to his friends.

Ancient History, Baby

2009-05-13T02:13:00.000-07:00

At a certain point, the past and future become opposite in the way we understand them. That is, we see the prehistoric past only through its effects, what’s left behind, while we grasp at the future by its causes. Obvious. But it’s not the case for all of the past, because the historic past can be equally understood in cause and effect, even more so than the present. So on an understanding timeline we have “effect” in prehistory, “cause and effect” in history and present, and, with “effect” starting to thin in present, we are left with “cause” in the future.

I’m not sure why I’m thinking of this, or what it does for me. Maybe a reminder that time is subjective to the observer. That human observation begets understanding, and that understanding is founded by cause and effect. Or it could be an exercise in searching for symmetry, patterns – another foundation of understanding. I also like to think of human understanding as a big bang: exploding into the past and future, searing into mystery just as matter did into nothingness.

Megalith

2009-05-12T05:26:00.000-07:00

This is a megalith. I think it was for wedding ceremonies, but lots of people have lots of ideas about what it was for and nobody’s really sure of anything. Except that most adults have to crouch down to walk inside it.

It’s not super clear in the photo, but the symbol of a spear is engraved on the inner wall of two of the rocks. Typical prehistoric men, always thinking of their spears. There’s also a smaller engraving of a cross, but, given the date of the megalith, it was done far after the structure’s origin. Looks like the Christians and Vandals were in cahoots.

There’s no fuss about going to the megalith. No tickets or museums. It’s surrounded by farms, and when I visited it there were farmers taking care of business only twenty feet away from the megalith. I wonder if much has changed.

Spread the Wealth Around

2009-05-11T10:49:00.001-07:00

The French government owes me money. Through the CAF (Caisse d’Allocations Familiales), a social-aide program, I am entitled to financial support each month. They calculate how much to give you based on a variety of things, including age, cost of housing, annual income from two years ago, current salary, and number of dependents. There’s more to it than that, but when all the paperwork is in, one’s aide is calculated and given monthly. Except I never got my money.

CAP aide is far more prevalent in France than welfare in the US. Taxes are higher here, but the government gives more money via programs such as the CAF. I was surprised when I found out that I qualified for government help with my rent. Many university students get monthly government checks, in addition to CAF aide. My friends were a bit shocked when I explained that I have loans with interest to pay back.

Using information from sources including the CAF, the government has designated certain neighborhoods in France as Zones Urbaines Sensibles. When I asked my friends to explain what the ZUS are, they said it’s basically the ghettos. Apparently the designation has corresponding legal and economic effects. For example, someone opening a business in the designated zone may have government aide for rent. Teachers have different incentives to work within the areas. Whether all this aide works, on a large scale, is still unclear to me.

Magic Eye

2009-05-10T07:43:00.000-07:00

Like there’s some hidden scene,
something after the end credits have rolled,
when the magic lingers but doesn’t fulfill.

Or when all other classmates have left and
the chance has come to talk with the teacher,
to get that finalizing understanding.

Like a final deep reach into the stocking,
or a check under the tree
to see if there’s one more present waiting.

For that magic understanding, waiting,
I stay up late.

Huelgoat

2009-05-09T12:02:00.001-07:00

A long time ago there was a battle between giants at Huelgoat. They attacked each other with enormous granite stones, and that’s why we find the rocks the way they are today.

When I saw the name “Huelgoat”, the first thing I thought of was Huey Louis and the Goats. But it’s pronounced “Ooh-el-gwat.” And since it attracts tourists passing though the area, there’s a lot of confusion when asking locals for directions.

The entire area is open to the public, and it wasn’t until recently that handrails were put up. Before, people could slip and it would take weeks before their bodies would surface further down the river. The rocks are especially slick in the “Devil’s Cave.”

Sexy Curses (Pt. 6)

2009-05-08T04:00:00.000-07:00

Bill, the lead vampire in True Blood, is also a Byronic hero – alluringly dark and mysterious, with supernatural powers that defy the established order – the icon of the Romantic Movement. The Romantics rejected the “scientific rationalization of nature” (Wikipedia: Romanticism). Science had replaced God, and they defied the coldness of Natural law as the greatest power. They sought mystery and grandiosity. And the tortured, powerful individual filled that void.

The modern audience shares that void, as well as a glorification of the individual. In an early episode, Bill suggests to Sookie, the show’s protagonist, that not all things are explainable. Like the Romantics, he warns against using reason to dissect all. And though his remark is in a dialogue between two TV series characters, it serves just as well as a conversation with the audience. So while the old vampire lay isolated, rejected by God, the modern vampire stands alone, in defiance of reason and science...

Exposure

2009-05-07T00:30:00.001-07:00

The pupils flare –
darkness grasps for
light in darkness –
to find what’s there.

In a slow breath
the eyes discern
and make sense of
shape, length, and depth.

Pupils collapse –
light scores chaos –
blurred order in
vision’s relapse.

Pavlov's Clap

2009-05-06T04:56:00.000-07:00

I noticed it a while back, but didn’t think much of it until I had a TV in my apartment. Then it stood out. Every time a song would come on during a game or talk show, the entire audience would start clapping. Not applauding, as directed by a blinking “applaud” sign, but clapping with the song. Always the same rhythm too. A stiff, every upbeat, clap.

It’s Pavlovian for much of the French audience. And it doesn’t stay in the confines of TV. On my last night in Landivisiau, I attended and played in a concert put on by high school students. I had a lot of fun, and I liked getting to see the students’ creative talents. But the audience kept doing the damn clapping thing.

The worst was during this performance by the music teacher on cello and the other English assistant, a talented musician on multiple instruments, playing a traditional Russian instrument. People got excited cause the song’s familiar. But they made it hard to enjoy with their overwhelming claps. The tempo varies a lot in the performance, and the audience couldn’t hang with it. The players’ work was impressive by itself, but even more so when considering that they had a giant, off-beat metronome to contend with.

Sexy Curses (Pt. 5)

2009-05-05T06:31:00.001-07:00

Americans love individualism. It shows in much of our economic policy, education system, and, most notably, pop culture. We obsess over superstars. Our athletes, singers, and actors get massive paychecks, and magazines are dedicated to their every move. Even before the modern tabloids, we had our ultimate individuals in Western films. The cowboy comes from some unknown town, with a dark past and no family, to exorcise his demons.

In American culture, we romanticize the outsider. The tall, dark, mysterious, and powerful figure. Men want to be him and women want to be with him. So our vampires aren’t cursed, they’re blessed. The traits that account for suffering in the old symbol of the vampire are the same qualities that make the modern vampire a sex icon...

Photograph 3

2009-05-04T09:17:00.000-07:00

Five of them posing for the picture. Only one looks at the camera. They’re dressed mostly in black, with hair that wouldn’t pass in the military. Nothing past the shoulders, though. Males between the ages of 16 and 25. Young faces.

He’s in the back row, his head slightly blocked by another’s. The longest hair in the group, reaching the tip of his nose, he keeps it swept to one side where it partially covers an eye. His face looks a bit gaunt, but healthy.

Just as children often pose with open grins, these five pose with serious regards or preoccupied faces. Their age complements their attitudes, while their white skin contrasts with their outfits. They look like a group of young artists – critical of the world but excited for it.

Goodbye Land of the Horses

2009-05-03T10:02:00.000-07:00

I’ve left Landivisiau for Rennes, where I’ll stay for two weeks before flying out of France. From goats to anarchists, and farms to markets. The smell of manure wafted into the car as we drove from Brittany’s heart to its capital.

In addition to cheeses and vegetables, the Saturday market in downtown Rennes has a notable seafood section. After the market ends, the city workers come out with their street cleaning machines to hose down and sweep the day’s debris. A fishy mist rises up and attacks innocent passerby.

Nearly all buildings in Brittany are made of concrete or stone. But some older ones in Rennes are wooden, with a notable eterior that reveals its beams. French tourists recognize the image from postcards, and take pictures as they walk through the market’s aisles.

Conseil de Classe (Pt. 3)

2009-05-01T00:15:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday I talked with two high school students, both in their final year, about the conseil de classe. Since we spoke in English, one of the students didn’t contribute much because he’s usually reluctant to speak. The other student has a good level of English and likes to practice her conversation skills. She also served as a delegate for the conseil de classe, so she had a fair amount to say.

Her first point matched my now graduated friend’s, saying that the conseil de classe can work as a great medium for solving problems when they arrive. She differed, however, in her view of the relationship between the teachers and students. When I asked her what one thing she would change about the meetings, she quickly responded with “teachers’ attitudes.” She believes the meeting should serve as an opportunity to hear from students. To her, student delegates are considered non-objective, with no authority to criticize teachers’ pedagogy, and, because they aren’t encouraged to speak, the meeting is useless.

When I asked both students if they think the system should remain, they both said yes. Their reasoning was that in general the system works and can help some students. But they added that it isn’t an ideal system because it’s indirect. Especially for students, it requires working through representatives to hear and be heard. Each class meets before the conseil de classe to ask and discuss things for the delegate to bring up at the meeting. Yet when the delegates feel their voice isn’t heard, the entire student body can be left frustrated and disenchanted with the system.

Time Flies

2009-04-30T08:22:00.000-07:00

I’ve left my mark on
the windshield of this place –

The mph of time passing
has spread me open and out.

Pounds

2009-04-29T15:49:00.000-07:00

I never gained the “freshman fifteen” when I went to college. Actually, I think I lost weight cause I was vegan the whole year and the dinning hall didn’t offer me much. Lots of pasta, shitty wraps, and cheerios with soy milk. My older sister liked to joke about how skinny I’d gotten.

When I had my boxing match last summer I weighed in at 137 lbs. I ended my vegan diet four years ago, and eventually started to eat meat again over three years ago. That first cheeseburger tasted so good. But, weighing 137 after three years of omnivoring, it didn’t really add much weight to me. For that, I had to live in France for seven months.

The cafeteria food here is great. For about $2.50 I get a mini-baguette, appetizer, fruit, yogurt, dessert, salad, and a main dish with some assortment of vegetables, meat, and a starch. I eat all of it. And with that, I’ve gained fifteen pounds since last summer, before I left for France. Thanks to big lunches, slower metabolism, less boxing, and snacks like this:

Photograph 2

2009-04-28T09:05:00.001-07:00

He has his head turned away, but a slight smirk suggests he knows he’s getting his photo taken. And that he’s comfortable with the photographer. The smirk looks content, not mischievous, and his eyes are shut. Probably to block out the sun.

He holds his arms tight along the side of his body. His pale, bare torso, belly up to the sky. The inflatable tube holding him above water has a watermelon pattern. Red and black, with scattered seeds.

He wears black shorts and short brown hair. Both contrast with his skin. Though the photo doesn’t show much of it, the water looks calm. Like his simple smile.

No Saint

2009-04-27T08:31:00.000-07:00

Behind me, in these woods, is a moat and the mass it surrounds that once stood as a castle. There's a legend that the princess who lived there had a father who constantly tried to marry her off, but she refused. Eventually, in his rage, he killed her with an axe. Further up the trail is a fountain with a statue that memorializes her, Saint Anastase.

None of that is in this picture, though. These woods look ordinary, like many others I've seen. But this picture interests me more than a disappeared castle or beheaded princess turned saint. It recalls a part of me that I once cultivated, but haven't tended to in a while.

I don't feel much connection with traditional religion. I don't know if I believe in God (though I suppose knowing isn't a prerequisite to believing), and if I do believe in something I haven't defined it. But I do feel spiritual. For the past few years, however, I think I've had a spiritual regression. Maybe it's that my soul has gotten more attention, and maybe it's been a conscious decision. Nonetheless, looking into these woods felt like looking at an old picture of myself.

Covers

2009-04-26T03:38:00.001-07:00

Next Thursday will be my last day teaching in Landivisiau. I’m a bit sad, though not necessarily because of specific things I’ll miss, but more the general feeling that something is ending. There’s a concert that night at the high school, and I might play drums for a couple of cover songs with some of my students. All students playing in the concert are in the school’s music option, a class in which students pick songs they want to cover, and learn how to play them, eventually performing at periodical concerst. It’s sweet.

Because I have a lot of music option students in one class, I made a mix cd for them. It goes:

Jezebel – Iron and Wine
Film Noir – The Gaslight Anthem
Above the Clouds (feat. Inspectah Deck) – Gang Starr
Big Dipper – Built to Spill
A Fond Farewell – Elliot Smith
Gigantic – The Pixies
Crush – The Smashing Pumpkins
Hybrid Moments – The Misfits
Protect Ya Neck – Wu Tang Clan
He War – Cat Power
Stork and Owl – TV on the Radio
Paper Thin Walls – Modest Mouse
Sprout and the Bean – Joanna Newsom
Oh – Fugazi
The 4th Branch – Immortal Technique
Those Anarcho Punx Are Mysterious – Against Me!
Things I Don’t Remember – Ugly Casanova
Lopsided – At the Drive In
BBF3 – Godspeed You! Black Emperor

The Prince (Pt. 3)

2009-04-25T08:37:00.000-07:00

His mom gave us as many popsicles as we want.
His big brother had Nintendo in his room;
he played Contra and talked with girls on the phone.

We had orange mustaches from the popsicles.
We got mad at each other.
We stopped pushing and went to his porch.

I climbed onto the other side of the railing.
I leaned back and felt it come loose in my hands.
I woke up in his driveway.

Sexy Curses (Pt. 4)

2009-04-24T09:02:00.001-07:00

Much of the modern audience feels as separated from God as the vampire is. In this, we both idolize and sympathize with the vampire. When there is belief in God, in heaven, as there was in the culture of the old vampire, the cursed "Upir", separation from God is a curse. But when God no longer permeates everyday life, when there is no more belief, the separation is only an absence. A void that doesn't threaten, but pangs.

Reason and science have replaced superstition and God in our understanding of the world. We send rockets into the heavens, revive hearts that stop beating, and cure diseases that threaten populations. This isn’t to overlook the billions of people who still believe in an almighty power, even in Its scriptural depiction. Yet while they may argue with science’s theories, they cannot dispute its achievements and importance in our lives. Moreover, the majority of artists and audiences shaping the symbol of the vampire do not believe in God as a dominating being who damns sinners. Their culture is founded on scientific progress and individual development...

Smooth

2009-04-23T06:25:00.000-07:00

This is my friend Smooth. His real name isn’t Smooth, and because of the French accent it's more like “S’Moose” when we say it. But that’s how he was introduced to me: Smooth. In fact, it sounded so unlike my American pronunciation that I had no idea it was “Smooth” at first. That same day, though, I watched him skate a mini ramp in Rennes and I saw why they gave him the name.

One time, back in October, we’d come back from a pretty late night out and I fell asleep on the couch while Smooth and another friend stayed up a bit longer to talk. When they finally decided to call it a night, they had to move the couch a bit to get an extra mattress from behind it. Apparently I woke up. Smooth told me the next morning that I looked like a freaked out, wild animal, with crazy red eyes. I sat up and started talking in American super fast, none of which they understood, until they convinced me that everything was cool and I could go back to sleep.

We’ve been good friends ever since.