Some of my fellow teachers have encountered some negative feedback lately because they have blogged about some negative things.
I don't see this as a bad thing.
The world is not all roses.
I love what Helen Keller had to say about this -
"People do not like to think because in order to think, they must reach conclusions. And conclusions aren't always positive."
Amen, Helen.
Life is not always roses.
The point, as one of my colleagues noted today, is not to kill the messenger.
Instead - and here is an original idea - how about looking at the issue.
That is one thing that is so refreshing about our new administration this year.
I am not lying when I tell you this. But I saw our new leader pick up gum off the hallway floor this year. Can you believe that?
When a few years ago I told our former boss that some student - on one of our inservice days - had pretty much parked on the school lawn - that he would look into it. Which meant that nothing would happen unless the student moved the car himself.
Nothing like sticking your head in the sand and hoping the problem disappears.
Yet, our new leader was picking gum off the floor! I cannot explain to you how revitalized and motivated I feel coming to work every day.
How refreshing and inspiring.
Yet, not everything is positive. The important thing here is to focus on what is going wrong and take steps to fix it. Heaping blame is not the answer. Let's address what is wrong and try to fix it.
But the first step in this is acknowledging that there is something wrong.
That's not always easy.
But when it gets fixed and things get done. That is what is rewarding.
So, don't freak out about us stating our concerns. Let's, instead, focusing on fixing things.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Comiclife
Here is one of the better Comiclife assignments a group completed for The Jungle.
Apparently, there are some Jurgis facebook pages out there too (as that was one of the creative options for their take home test)!
Apparently, there are some Jurgis facebook pages out there too (as that was one of the creative options for their take home test)!
End of the Day
Spent most of my time today reading drafts, offering feedback on them, and then walking around to students hunched over tablets or pecking away at keyboards and offering help and encouragement.
Not a bad way to spend a day. Not bad at all.
I even was able to put up a student's essay and then help show him (and the class) how to delve in and - as Tom Romano stays - "explode the moment" with detail, dialogue, humor, thoughts, voice, and descriptions.
Then I put up the introduction to my McEssay essay. I had a few kids in the lab confess to me that they were so interested in it that they were wondering if I could print off some more copies so they could finish it. Now if the people at Information Age Publishing would like it that much!
Not a bad way to spend a day. Not bad at all.
I even was able to put up a student's essay and then help show him (and the class) how to delve in and - as Tom Romano stays - "explode the moment" with detail, dialogue, humor, thoughts, voice, and descriptions.
Then I put up the introduction to my McEssay essay. I had a few kids in the lab confess to me that they were so interested in it that they were wondering if I could print off some more copies so they could finish it. Now if the people at Information Age Publishing would like it that much!
School Board Presentation
Here is the Keynote we presented to the board on Monday about the MNHS Teaching MN History Grant our district has been part of for several years now.
History Presentation
View more presentations from Kurt Reynolds.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
In honor of EAP
In Lit & Language 11, we listened to "The Cask of Amontillado" today. Then we worked on a creative assingment with several options. One was to write a prologue to the story. That is, what could Fortunato have done to Montresor to so anger him that he would go to such insane lengths to extract revenge in the fashion he does against Fortunato.
Here is the prologue I came up with when I did a similar assignment for extra credit when I was freshman in college.
Three parts to my Tale
There are three parts to my tale. The first began when I was working in my tailor shop. My father had opened it long before I was born. By the time I was seven, he began to apprentice me into the trade. When I reached the age of 19, he claimed that I had mastered the trade and, in fact, had transformed it into an art, an art that would do our family, the Montresors, proud.
Father died three months before I wed my beloved Lady Montresor.
It was a tiresome Monday afternoon until a stranger entered the shop. The man was young and rather tall, with dark hair, a frail mustache, and very brown eyes. He was quite handsome. And wealthy. He was dressed in some of the finest garments I had ever seen. Silk and cashmere flowed from his extravagant shirt and coat. The clothes accentuated his build and gold jewelry encircled his fingers and wrists. A large jeweled cross dangled from his neck and rested on the middle of his broad chest.
“Good afternoon,” he said bowing his head slightly and not extending his hand, though I had extended mine. After a few painful seconds, I let it drop and buried my hands in my threadbare pockets. “I am Fortunato. I have heard about your talent as a tailor. Lent is soon upon us and I would like a new wardrobe for the occasion, including an extravagant jester’s costume for the upcoming carnival. You may ship them to my palazzo near the monetary.”
“Oh! What a coincidence,” I began. “My mother in law lives close by. In fact, my wife is heading there this afternoon for a short stay.”
However, this Fortunato did not care, for he turned to leave, as a servant held the door open, but just then my wife entered the shop from the back.
“Oh my, who do we have here?” Fortunato asked as he paused, one step from the exit.
In fact, the two had almost collided. In haste, hoping he wouldn’t take insult and withdraw his request, I apologized for my wife’s lack of awareness, for which he explained that there was no need to apologize.
I introduced Lady Montresor to him. He politely leaned forward and kissed her dark hand and said that a woman so beautiful could never lack anything. He then entered into a conversation with her while I busied myself with the task of reading the fabric for the garments.
My wife called to the back of the shop and asked if I would join her for dinner before she had to leave for her mother’s. I responded that I had to get started on the outfits as soon as possible, for April had just begun.
The man immediately called back and inquired if I had any objections to his taking Lady Montresor out to dinner.
“Surely not,” I said as an after thought as I began to cut some of my finest silk into sections.
Several hours went by and I assumed that my wife simply left for her mother’s after lunch with Mr. Fortunato. But as I finished the man’s second outfit, he entered my shop with Lady Montresor.
They were laughing and sounded in high spirits, obviously having sampled quite a few over lunch.
Fortunato began to explain that after lunch, they began sampling wine from his personal stock.
“When will you be leaving for you mother’s then?” I asked since it was rather late in the afternoon and her ride had wished to leave before dark.
Fortunato quickly said that he would be all too happy to drop her off at her mother’s on the way back to his palazzo. I quickly thought of not having to pay for her original ride and quickly consented.
The man peered at my work and picked up the garment I had just finished.
“Very nice indeed. You are a man of skill. These are incredible. I will return in a week for the collection,” he said.
Then I kissed my wife and the two ventured out.
This is where the second part of my tale beings.
Lady Montresor was to spend four days with her ailing mother. The time without her went quickly, for I poured all of my time into finishing Fortunato's collection.
When I finally emerged from my shop, I realized that I finished half a day early.
With this unexpected free time and a large profit ensured, I decided to close shop and venture into the city.
When I reached my mother-in-law’s home, it was dark.
I knocked on the door. My wife’s mother slowly opened the door. She was the picture of death. Her eyes were sunken and her voice was more than a groan . . . “Where is Alonza?”
“She isn’t here?"
“No . . . and I need her so!”
The old woman, after hearing the first part of my tale, suggested that there must have been some trouble with the coach.”
I agreed and left for home.
On my way back, I grew hungry and – with the large sum from Fortunato assured – I decided to treat myself to a meal. A local inn that Alonza and I frequented was just ahead.
However, as I tied my horse to the post, I noticed a familiar coach in the adjacent stable . . . it was Fortunato’s.
I ran to it and tore open the door. My heart sank when I saw Alonza’s scarf there on the seat.
I returned to my shop in a fury. There I found a small amount of solace down in the catacombs where I stored my own selection.
I woke in a pool of wasted Medoc and spilled tears. I immediately returned to my shop and ripped Fortunato’s collection to shreds. Then I drank more wine.
The thoughts that took form in my mind were products of my anger and hate, but they didn’t shock me. This insult could not be tolerated. I grabbed another cask of wine, and finding it empty, shattered it against the back wall of my shop.
It disintegrated against a tapestry of my family’s coat of arms. Staring at the tapestry, I began to read the family motto, “nemo me impune lacessit” over and over. No one can provoke me and get away with it.
I could see my father and grandfather laughing at my cuckoldry.
Then my mind returned to its violent thoughts, which soon began to please me.
Later that night, Lady Montresor returned as I manned the front of the shop.
“How is your mother?”
“Oh, she is getting worse by the day. I fear that I shall have to stay with her indefinitely.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Maybe when you are staying with her, you could inquire as to how Fortunato likes his collection.”
“Oh, it is done then? She inquired, and any hint of melancholy vanished.
I told her that I had indeed finished the collection.
She begged to see them and remarked how perfect she thought the first garments were.
I ushered her to the work area in back of our shop.
When Alonza saw the wreckage, she shrieked at the mess. I feigned surprise.
“Someone must have broke in over the night,” I said.
“I hope the garments aren’t damaged,” she said, rushing over to my worktable.
“Here is what is left of them,” I said and held up the tattered silk.
“Oh God. Can you possibly make a new one for the carnival?”
“I think so. . . But, dear, only with your help.”
“Of course. I was hoping to attend the carnival to see the reaction to Fortunato’s outfit.”
“I bet you were my dear. I bet you were,” I said as a smile struck my face and an empty bottle of Medoc struck the back of Alonza’s head.
When she woke, I longed to se kaleidoscope of emotions in my wife’s eyes. Fear would be prominent, as would shock, disbelief, pain, and finally, beautiful terror, which I had become an apprentice of.
However, Alonza never opened her eyes. She couldn’t. I sewed them shut . . . along with other openings. Never would Fortunato have my wife again. Nor would Alonza speak his name again. Nor would she be able to scream.
I did, though, leave her ears untouched. I wanted her to hear what I had in store for my final masterpiece.
“Now, dear, I must cut some fabric for Fortunato’s new costume,” I said as I walked toward the table where I had her bound. “In fact,” I said, patting the inside of her thigh, “I just so happen to have his favorite kind right here.”
Lady Montresor began to writhe.
“Please, my dear, hold still.”
And I reached for my scissors.
The third part of my tale began at the carnival before Lent when I began contemplating, “The thousands injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best I could . . .”
Here is the prologue I came up with when I did a similar assignment for extra credit when I was freshman in college.
Three parts to my Tale
There are three parts to my tale. The first began when I was working in my tailor shop. My father had opened it long before I was born. By the time I was seven, he began to apprentice me into the trade. When I reached the age of 19, he claimed that I had mastered the trade and, in fact, had transformed it into an art, an art that would do our family, the Montresors, proud.
Father died three months before I wed my beloved Lady Montresor.
It was a tiresome Monday afternoon until a stranger entered the shop. The man was young and rather tall, with dark hair, a frail mustache, and very brown eyes. He was quite handsome. And wealthy. He was dressed in some of the finest garments I had ever seen. Silk and cashmere flowed from his extravagant shirt and coat. The clothes accentuated his build and gold jewelry encircled his fingers and wrists. A large jeweled cross dangled from his neck and rested on the middle of his broad chest.
“Good afternoon,” he said bowing his head slightly and not extending his hand, though I had extended mine. After a few painful seconds, I let it drop and buried my hands in my threadbare pockets. “I am Fortunato. I have heard about your talent as a tailor. Lent is soon upon us and I would like a new wardrobe for the occasion, including an extravagant jester’s costume for the upcoming carnival. You may ship them to my palazzo near the monetary.”
“Oh! What a coincidence,” I began. “My mother in law lives close by. In fact, my wife is heading there this afternoon for a short stay.”
However, this Fortunato did not care, for he turned to leave, as a servant held the door open, but just then my wife entered the shop from the back.
“Oh my, who do we have here?” Fortunato asked as he paused, one step from the exit.
In fact, the two had almost collided. In haste, hoping he wouldn’t take insult and withdraw his request, I apologized for my wife’s lack of awareness, for which he explained that there was no need to apologize.
I introduced Lady Montresor to him. He politely leaned forward and kissed her dark hand and said that a woman so beautiful could never lack anything. He then entered into a conversation with her while I busied myself with the task of reading the fabric for the garments.
My wife called to the back of the shop and asked if I would join her for dinner before she had to leave for her mother’s. I responded that I had to get started on the outfits as soon as possible, for April had just begun.
The man immediately called back and inquired if I had any objections to his taking Lady Montresor out to dinner.
“Surely not,” I said as an after thought as I began to cut some of my finest silk into sections.
Several hours went by and I assumed that my wife simply left for her mother’s after lunch with Mr. Fortunato. But as I finished the man’s second outfit, he entered my shop with Lady Montresor.
They were laughing and sounded in high spirits, obviously having sampled quite a few over lunch.
Fortunato began to explain that after lunch, they began sampling wine from his personal stock.
“When will you be leaving for you mother’s then?” I asked since it was rather late in the afternoon and her ride had wished to leave before dark.
Fortunato quickly said that he would be all too happy to drop her off at her mother’s on the way back to his palazzo. I quickly thought of not having to pay for her original ride and quickly consented.
The man peered at my work and picked up the garment I had just finished.
“Very nice indeed. You are a man of skill. These are incredible. I will return in a week for the collection,” he said.
Then I kissed my wife and the two ventured out.
This is where the second part of my tale beings.
Lady Montresor was to spend four days with her ailing mother. The time without her went quickly, for I poured all of my time into finishing Fortunato's collection.
When I finally emerged from my shop, I realized that I finished half a day early.
With this unexpected free time and a large profit ensured, I decided to close shop and venture into the city.
When I reached my mother-in-law’s home, it was dark.
I knocked on the door. My wife’s mother slowly opened the door. She was the picture of death. Her eyes were sunken and her voice was more than a groan . . . “Where is Alonza?”
“She isn’t here?"
“No . . . and I need her so!”
The old woman, after hearing the first part of my tale, suggested that there must have been some trouble with the coach.”
I agreed and left for home.
On my way back, I grew hungry and – with the large sum from Fortunato assured – I decided to treat myself to a meal. A local inn that Alonza and I frequented was just ahead.
However, as I tied my horse to the post, I noticed a familiar coach in the adjacent stable . . . it was Fortunato’s.
I ran to it and tore open the door. My heart sank when I saw Alonza’s scarf there on the seat.
I returned to my shop in a fury. There I found a small amount of solace down in the catacombs where I stored my own selection.
I woke in a pool of wasted Medoc and spilled tears. I immediately returned to my shop and ripped Fortunato’s collection to shreds. Then I drank more wine.
The thoughts that took form in my mind were products of my anger and hate, but they didn’t shock me. This insult could not be tolerated. I grabbed another cask of wine, and finding it empty, shattered it against the back wall of my shop.
It disintegrated against a tapestry of my family’s coat of arms. Staring at the tapestry, I began to read the family motto, “nemo me impune lacessit” over and over. No one can provoke me and get away with it.
I could see my father and grandfather laughing at my cuckoldry.
Then my mind returned to its violent thoughts, which soon began to please me.
Later that night, Lady Montresor returned as I manned the front of the shop.
“How is your mother?”
“Oh, she is getting worse by the day. I fear that I shall have to stay with her indefinitely.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Maybe when you are staying with her, you could inquire as to how Fortunato likes his collection.”
“Oh, it is done then? She inquired, and any hint of melancholy vanished.
I told her that I had indeed finished the collection.
She begged to see them and remarked how perfect she thought the first garments were.
I ushered her to the work area in back of our shop.
When Alonza saw the wreckage, she shrieked at the mess. I feigned surprise.
“Someone must have broke in over the night,” I said.
“I hope the garments aren’t damaged,” she said, rushing over to my worktable.
“Here is what is left of them,” I said and held up the tattered silk.
“Oh God. Can you possibly make a new one for the carnival?”
“I think so. . . But, dear, only with your help.”
“Of course. I was hoping to attend the carnival to see the reaction to Fortunato’s outfit.”
“I bet you were my dear. I bet you were,” I said as a smile struck my face and an empty bottle of Medoc struck the back of Alonza’s head.
When she woke, I longed to se kaleidoscope of emotions in my wife’s eyes. Fear would be prominent, as would shock, disbelief, pain, and finally, beautiful terror, which I had become an apprentice of.
However, Alonza never opened her eyes. She couldn’t. I sewed them shut . . . along with other openings. Never would Fortunato have my wife again. Nor would Alonza speak his name again. Nor would she be able to scream.
I did, though, leave her ears untouched. I wanted her to hear what I had in store for my final masterpiece.
“Now, dear, I must cut some fabric for Fortunato’s new costume,” I said as I walked toward the table where I had her bound. “In fact,” I said, patting the inside of her thigh, “I just so happen to have his favorite kind right here.”
Lady Montresor began to writhe.
“Please, my dear, hold still.”
And I reached for my scissors.
The third part of my tale began at the carnival before Lent when I began contemplating, “The thousands injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best I could . . .”
Another Top Ten List just in time for Halloween
Last week I posted my top ten horror stories for Halloween. Now it's time for the film version of this.
10. Sleepy Hollow - Okay, maybe not a true horror film. But I love it. The sets and cast are great. Plus, Tim Burton's take on Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" is so refreshing and spooky.
9. No Country for Old Men - What? You ask. This is not a horror film. True. But when the psycho killer (played brilliantly by Javier Bardem) steps on screen, I squirmed and wanted to fast forward it. There is not a serial killer, a monster, or a demon more terrifying that Bardem's character. Completely unforgettable. I can think of three scenes that I'll never forget. The first one where he strangles the police officer in the station to escape. The second where he kills his first victim with a captive bolt - used for killing cattle in slaughter houses. The final one involves him laying a wager with a hick gas station owner . . . and the stakes are no less than the owner's life. That is one of the most brilliantly constructed scenes in recent memory.
8. Freaks - All the way back to 1932. Kristie and I caught this one not too long ago on TV. Even though it was ancient - and initially banned - the story captivated us. And the final flight scene - as well as the conclusion - are legendary. As is the fact that the director used actual side show 'freaks' in the cast.
7. Cube - This small budget film was so fresh and so original, I hardly knew what hit me. I was totally caught off guard when it came on the sci fi channel. And that opening scene, where a man wakes up in an eerily lit cube with six doors - one on each wall and the ceiling and floor - and he tries to navigate his way out -- only to find a hideous demise in one of the rooms. And - as we learn - there are even worse demises in most of the rooms - just waiting for someone to step into them. As with the other great horror films on here, the viewer is caught up in the story first (can the group that survives and is drawn together find their way out? Who put them in there? How do they keep from giving in to panic and dread?) and you care about the characters. This makes the terrible things that might happen to them that much more terrifying.
6. Dog Soldiers - From the same director as The Descent. And another werewolf film. The plot is not complex: a group of soldiers is off in the woods going through some drills when they encounter a pack of werewolves. The soldiers make it to a deserted farm house - only to realize that the farm house belongs to the werewolves. Well, when the werewolves are in their human forms. The film never lets up. And it never takes itself too seriously either. And what's not to love about a film that features hand to hand combat with soldier and werewolves?
5. The Blair Witch Project - Another unforgettable movie experience. It was so unnerving. I had never seen anything like this before. And the advertising and publicity behind the film - especially the Sci Fi channels excellent "Curse of the Blair Witch" - was incredible. This works so well with the Lovecraft mythos - the idea that what is out there is so terrible that we can't even begin to fathom what it is. We can only tolerate glimpses or hints. And that is precisely what we get - and what is so terrifying - about this film.
4. The Howling - I'll never forget the first time I became aware of this film. I was sitting in our living room when we lived in town. I had been playing Star Wars or Buck Rogers and was just relaxing in the chair - in fact, I think I was watching the end of "Escape from New York City" on a local cable channel's "Saturday Night at the Movies." Mom was in the kitchen. Then a preview for this came on, for it was going to be coming on the next "Saturday Night at the Movies." When I saw those werewolves transform, I was terrified. I suddenly realized how alone I was, for Mom was all the way in the kitchen. And I was in that chair, which was right next to the darkened stairs, which seemed incredibly malevolent then.
This was back when my sister was dating her to be husband and we were out at his parents' house when this came on. I didn't watch all of it (I couldn't take watching it all), but I saw the transformations and that was scary enough. I recall going back to town and biking around with my friends Lance and Danny and going over to Thompson Hardware to look at fishing tackle (we were avid fishermen). I grilled Danny - who was four years older than me - and who had seen the entire film - to fill me in on what I had missed. Again, my imagination was kicked into over drive and I was terrified.
You know it's a frightening film when it heightens your memories of all the other things around you at the time.
3. The Silence of the Lambs - I was freaked out when I read the book several months before it came out on film, but this was one of those rare instances where the film can actually stand right up along side the book. It was one of the first times when I saw a true horror film that was gimmicky or a farce in the slightest way. When Hannibal puts on parts of the police officer's face to aid in his escape, well who could have ever thought of that?
2. Seven - When I watched this on DirecTV home alone from college one afternoon, I was so absorbed in trying to figure out what was going on - and come to grips with how terrible the killings were - I was totally unaware of the world around me. I was right in the film with the detectives trying to piece together the horror around them. Saw rips this film off. But what Saw fails to do is hint at the atrocities, which is exactly what Seven does. And that allows the viewer to use their imagination, which is always more powerful - and frightening - than any special effects.
1. The Descent - This film totally creeped me out. I couldn't sit still. Not only does the director totally get you with the claustrophobia effect as the girls are climbing through the caves, but then he introduces those creepy crawly creatures . . . and well, it was some of the most uncomfortable moments I've had watching a film. And that is the mark of a great horror film.
10. Sleepy Hollow - Okay, maybe not a true horror film. But I love it. The sets and cast are great. Plus, Tim Burton's take on Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" is so refreshing and spooky.
9. No Country for Old Men - What? You ask. This is not a horror film. True. But when the psycho killer (played brilliantly by Javier Bardem) steps on screen, I squirmed and wanted to fast forward it. There is not a serial killer, a monster, or a demon more terrifying that Bardem's character. Completely unforgettable. I can think of three scenes that I'll never forget. The first one where he strangles the police officer in the station to escape. The second where he kills his first victim with a captive bolt - used for killing cattle in slaughter houses. The final one involves him laying a wager with a hick gas station owner . . . and the stakes are no less than the owner's life. That is one of the most brilliantly constructed scenes in recent memory.
8. Freaks - All the way back to 1932. Kristie and I caught this one not too long ago on TV. Even though it was ancient - and initially banned - the story captivated us. And the final flight scene - as well as the conclusion - are legendary. As is the fact that the director used actual side show 'freaks' in the cast.
7. Cube - This small budget film was so fresh and so original, I hardly knew what hit me. I was totally caught off guard when it came on the sci fi channel. And that opening scene, where a man wakes up in an eerily lit cube with six doors - one on each wall and the ceiling and floor - and he tries to navigate his way out -- only to find a hideous demise in one of the rooms. And - as we learn - there are even worse demises in most of the rooms - just waiting for someone to step into them. As with the other great horror films on here, the viewer is caught up in the story first (can the group that survives and is drawn together find their way out? Who put them in there? How do they keep from giving in to panic and dread?) and you care about the characters. This makes the terrible things that might happen to them that much more terrifying.
6. Dog Soldiers - From the same director as The Descent. And another werewolf film. The plot is not complex: a group of soldiers is off in the woods going through some drills when they encounter a pack of werewolves. The soldiers make it to a deserted farm house - only to realize that the farm house belongs to the werewolves. Well, when the werewolves are in their human forms. The film never lets up. And it never takes itself too seriously either. And what's not to love about a film that features hand to hand combat with soldier and werewolves?
5. The Blair Witch Project - Another unforgettable movie experience. It was so unnerving. I had never seen anything like this before. And the advertising and publicity behind the film - especially the Sci Fi channels excellent "Curse of the Blair Witch" - was incredible. This works so well with the Lovecraft mythos - the idea that what is out there is so terrible that we can't even begin to fathom what it is. We can only tolerate glimpses or hints. And that is precisely what we get - and what is so terrifying - about this film.
4. The Howling - I'll never forget the first time I became aware of this film. I was sitting in our living room when we lived in town. I had been playing Star Wars or Buck Rogers and was just relaxing in the chair - in fact, I think I was watching the end of "Escape from New York City" on a local cable channel's "Saturday Night at the Movies." Mom was in the kitchen. Then a preview for this came on, for it was going to be coming on the next "Saturday Night at the Movies." When I saw those werewolves transform, I was terrified. I suddenly realized how alone I was, for Mom was all the way in the kitchen. And I was in that chair, which was right next to the darkened stairs, which seemed incredibly malevolent then.
This was back when my sister was dating her to be husband and we were out at his parents' house when this came on. I didn't watch all of it (I couldn't take watching it all), but I saw the transformations and that was scary enough. I recall going back to town and biking around with my friends Lance and Danny and going over to Thompson Hardware to look at fishing tackle (we were avid fishermen). I grilled Danny - who was four years older than me - and who had seen the entire film - to fill me in on what I had missed. Again, my imagination was kicked into over drive and I was terrified.
You know it's a frightening film when it heightens your memories of all the other things around you at the time.
3. The Silence of the Lambs - I was freaked out when I read the book several months before it came out on film, but this was one of those rare instances where the film can actually stand right up along side the book. It was one of the first times when I saw a true horror film that was gimmicky or a farce in the slightest way. When Hannibal puts on parts of the police officer's face to aid in his escape, well who could have ever thought of that?
2. Seven - When I watched this on DirecTV home alone from college one afternoon, I was so absorbed in trying to figure out what was going on - and come to grips with how terrible the killings were - I was totally unaware of the world around me. I was right in the film with the detectives trying to piece together the horror around them. Saw rips this film off. But what Saw fails to do is hint at the atrocities, which is exactly what Seven does. And that allows the viewer to use their imagination, which is always more powerful - and frightening - than any special effects.
1. The Descent - This film totally creeped me out. I couldn't sit still. Not only does the director totally get you with the claustrophobia effect as the girls are climbing through the caves, but then he introduces those creepy crawly creatures . . . and well, it was some of the most uncomfortable moments I've had watching a film. And that is the mark of a great horror film.
The Braided Essay
My College Comp class is trying their hands at the braided essay. I've never tried this with a class before. I've written them before when I was in grad school, but I've never tried it with a class.
So here we go.
So far the results are encouraging.
The focus on the braided essay with be a passion or expertise. Students will write three essays and then braid them together later this week.
The first one just called for students to write about or explore what they consider to be their passions or expertise.
The second one was a narrative examining their best moment related to their passion or expertise.
The third essay is an analysis of their passion or expertise. This could be a how to, a personal history, a critique, or whatever they want to explore.
So far I spent my first College Comp block just reading their drafts and offering them ideas and suggestions. I also tried to give them some hints as to where they can divide their essays in the chunks that will be braided together.
I hope to get some examples that I can share on here.
Here is a braided essay I wrote in college - and loved every minute of it. In the original essay, I was able to actually scan in the first piece I ever wrote called "Nhom the Warrior: The Quest for the Three Crowns," which I wrote at around ten or so. I built the rest of the essay around what inspired that tale and how it affected my imagination.
Adventures of a Young Warrior (and Writer)
I.
Some of the most influential books I have ever read are the Prydain chronicles by Lloyd Alexander. There are five books in the series: The Book of Three, The Black Cauldron, The Castle of Llyr, Taran Wanderer, and the Newberry Award winner The High King. I was in fourth grade when I first encountered this land and its inhabitants. It was a serendipitous event when I found the first book, The Book of Three, tucked away in the library. The cover instantly captivated me: a shaggy haired youth, who I would later find to be Taran, was in some darkened wood facing down the most evil looking villain I had ever seen this side of Darth Vadar. The villain was riding atop a snarling white steed reared up on its hind legs. A crimson cloak flowed from his rippled torso, and he brandished a long sword high above his head. But what stood out most, however, was the villain's head. He wore a pale white skull that seemed to snicker and smirk. The eyes flamed and massive antlers sprouted from the skull. Basically he wore an antelope skull from hell. I would later learn that he was aptly named The Horned King.
I could not believe that the crummy little library in J.A. Hughes Elementary School contained something so cool. I had tried some books by Louis Lamour and Jack London, but this book was unlike anything I had ever seen. A banner in the library proclaimed "Don't Judge A Book By Its Cover" and that was our librarian's creed. But judging from The Book of Three, if it was half as good as its cover, I would be ecstatic. I was not disappointed.
II.
Taran, a young and brave warrior, and his stout blade, Dyrnwyn, fresh off a battle with a hoard of ravaging beasts in his home land, Prydain, strode into his home. He was in need of a feast and then rest. The hero stalked through the kitchen. His hand still rested on his sword's hilt. He was constantly ready for battle. The only possible threat could come from the cook's food. Luckily, she was preparing stew, one of his favorites. The warrior told the wench that he was in need of nourishment and a nap. Then he proceeded into the main room to rest his weary limbs.
As the young barbarian began to slip into slumber, his acute ears picked up a hissing coming from across the room. Without showing any alarm or fear, he cracked an eyelid and peered out through the mesh of eyelashes. His arms still rested on his chest folded across Dyrnwyn.
He spotted the intruder.
A great snake slipped into the room. Its head oscillated from one side to another in search of easy prey.
"Ha," the young warrior thought. "That is exactly what the snake can think. He'll feel the wrath of my blade."
So Taran continued to lie still, feigning sleep, until he felt the thing’s breath rustle his shaggy mop and trickle across his arm. Then just before the serpent could strike, he leaped to his feet, brandishing his sword.
The enemy, startled by the warrior's super human speed, backed away but continued to sway its head. Finally it coiled itself in the middle of the room for a final stand.
The warrior tossed his blade from one mighty fist to the other, testing the enemy's gaze and searching for weak points.
Finally, he spotted one and lunged.
The serpent had thick skin and easily rebuffed his lashes.
Then he noted a chink in the snake's scales and plunged his blade into the beast's swiveling head. In what should have been Taran’s shinning moment, his troubles really began.
A loud clanging and shattering sound erupted from the felled beast. Before the boy's very eyes, his enemy suddenly transformed - as if a sorcerer’s spell had been shattered - from a snake to a teetering fan, whose large blue plastic blades had suddenly been shattered.
Then thunderous footsteps stormed toward him, shaking the very floor. Before the boy's eyes his dwelling changed from a chamber to his living room. Instinctively, the young warrior looked for a hiding place. But it was too late, for the wench who had been preparing his feast, now changed into his enraged mother.
Taran dove behind the recliner.
“Come out from there! What did you do to my new fan?"
Uh-oh. Suddenly the boy changed from the mighty warrior Taran into a frightened nine-year-old who had just mortally wounded his mother's new rotating fan.
The footsteps came closer to the boy quivering behind the recliner. With the strength of the Cauldron Borne, she hauled him out from behind the chair by the scruff of the neck.
"How many times have I told you to keep that stick outside!" Suddenly, the blade in his hand changed from Dyrnwyn to a lathe taken from a snow fence and whittled sharp at one end and the hilt , replete with jewels and etchings, drawn into the wood with crayon.
"Get that thing outside now! I don't want to see you back in here until I call for supper," she yelled and set the boy down. He instantly bolted for the back door.
III.
The hero of this Prydain series is a young boy named Taran, an orphan who works as the Assistant-Pig Keeper for the wizard Dalban on his estate, Caer Dalban, and longs for adventure and manhood and excitement in his dull life. Taran was the literary equivalent of me. While Taran was often excluded for being an orphan, I faced my own form of ostracism for my weight. When I was in first grade I broke my leg and spent a summer sitting watching TV and eating. Thus I went from an average skinny kid to the fat kid in the class. So every time some nobleman insulted Taran for being an ignorant commoner, I felt his anguish. And every time Taran vanquished an enemy and saved his friends, I felt his elation and longed for the same kind of kind of success. Taran did all of the great things on the page that I longed to do in real life. Of course, I did do those things, but they were all in the real life of my imagination in the confines of my room or house or yard.
IV.
As soon as the child escaped near doom and fled to the back yard, the boy transformed himself into the valiant warrior Taran again. The stick in his hand was once more Dyrnwyn. One of his pant loops became his sheath for his all-powerful blade.
He scanned his terrain, which rapidly changed from a neatly mowed lawn to a deadly battlefield in Prydain. He strolled amongst the vanquished foes - which had once been dandelions - and dispatched any that were still drawing breath with a quick lash from Dyrnwyn.
The lone tree in the back yard suddenly became the warrior's refuge. The young champion scaled it and plopped his battle weary frame into his throne, which had previously been a tiny, rusty metal chair in his tree house. Indeed, the incident with the vicious snake and the evil sorceress (who apparently had owned the snake and was cursing him for its death) had nearly cost him his life, but he had escaped to fight another day.
Taran hadn't rested in his throne five minutes before he heard some rustling below the tree in the alley bordering the backyard. As the warrior peered down, the alley transformed itself into a barren, horse worn path that vandals and rapscallions traveled in search of victims.
"Well," thought Taran, "I will show them who the victim will be!" Then the boy peered over and found his next battle.
Below the tree house the neighbor's dog shambled over and began sniffing the trash cans. The trash cans were suddenly transformed into the boy's horse and his bag of loot. The dog was transformed into a vicious hell hound of the Huntsmen's of Annuvin, who served Arawn. If the hell hound was there, his master couldn't be far away.
"Let him come then," the boy thought as he slowly drew Dyrnwyn. "If they dare, they will find their doom, just like that wretched serpent," the boy thought a split second beforehe leaped into battle
The vicious hound yipped in surprise and was beaten away - with its tail between its legs - with several furious lashes. The boy's horse and treasure were once again safe.
V.
I still read, well re-read, the Prydian series once a year, usually over Christmas break. It is funny how I used to think the books were so long and thick, they average about 200 pages - with wide margins and large font. Of course, I can polish the entire series off in a day now, but I still savor them as much as ever.
The books change with every reading. And it is in this change that I can see my own evolution as a reader. I never realized the religious and mythological symbolism and allusions Alexander uses. As a nine-year-old, it never occurred to me that the character Medwyn in The Book of Three, is caretaker of a secret valley which is a refuge to all of the animals in the land. I noted how Taran observes a huge ship resting at one end of Medwyn's hidden valley and how all of the animals are in pairs. An obvious allusion to Noah.
Likewise in the final book, The High King, Taran defeats the dreaded Death Lord, Arawn, along with his band of undead warriors, The Cauldron Borne. Arawn is the antagonist of the series, yet Alexander never has him actually appear until this last book. And only then does Arawn take the form of a snake. Obviously an allusion to Satan as the serpent in the Garden of Eden.
In the third book, The Castle Llyr, Taran and his companions are at the mercy of a giant who is going to eat them. It is only through deception that Taran is able to escape. Again as a mature reader who has read The Odyssey I see the allusion to the Cyclops and Odysseus and his men.
I also gained a new respect for Alexander's handling of Taran. As a young boy, I wanted Taran to be indestructible and superhuman. I wanted each book to end with Taran victorious and revered by all. But I was always left a little disappointed. For all of his victories and conquests, he still remained so ordinary, so human, so much like me. Now I can see how deftly Alexander handles Taran's character development to render him authentic and genuine when he easily could have turned him into a comic book hero or a cliché.
VI.
Then later, when Taran was lounging in his tree, a piercing scream caused his warrior's blood to chill and the warrior to plummet off his throne and onto his steed below. Luckily his large bag of loot cushioned his fall.
"What are you doing digging in the garbage? I told you to get rid of that stick. Now come in and eat."
Again, the wonderful land of Prydain was suddenly transformed back into their backyard. He was no longer the valiant warrior Taran. He was again a nine year old boy whose mother was ready to go into his father's closet and find one of his spare belts and brandish his backside with it.
"Yes, Mom!" he called, dropping the blade instantly, which suddenly became just a wooden lathe. He brushed the refuse from his arms and hair. He flew in the screen door his mother held open, not daring to meet her glare and clenching his tiny buttocks together for fear of a lash from the belt.
VII.
For an entire week I was entrenched in The Book of Three. I quit coloring and playing during free time in school, preferring to hunker down in my desk and enter the other world of Prydain. There were times when the bus driver would repeatedly have to yell at me to get me to get off at my stop because I would be so engrossed in the book.
Unfortunately, I was rapidly finishing the book; the adventure was drawing to a close. Taran helped destroy Arawn's henchman, The Horned King. He was honored by the prince of Prydain, Gwydian. He had met the Princess Eilonwy and helped rescue her from her evil aunt Achrin. He unwittingly discovered the lost sword, Dyrnwyn, and gave it to Gwydian. This drove me crazy.
Taran found this all-powerful sword and had to give it to Gwydian because only those of royal blood could draw the blade from its sheath without injury. I felt Taran's pain and envy when he offered that magnificently jeweled blade to Gwydian. By the time I finished the last sentence on page 224, I was shaking with anger. To my nine-year-old brain I could not possibly fathom how Taran could lose out on both the sword and the princess, even though she was to remain and work on Caer Dalban, but Taran returned to being an Assistant-Pig Keeper. I remember fuming that had I written the book Taran would have won the sword, the princess, and promptly set out of all kinds of adventures.
Frustrated, I returned the book to Mrs. Purath the librarian. Then she said something I will never forget, "are you going to read the next book in the series?"
I was shocked. There were more? Four more to be precise. Over the rest of that school year I hoarded over these books as if they were my own personal property. I absolutely devoured them.
Then I noticed in one of our monthly book order forms that students could actually order these books. Needless to say before the school year was out I had my own personal collection of the Prydain series.
VIII.
I never really understood how profoundly this series influenced me. But it was from around that time that my first writing attempts can be traced. Young kids already have active imaginations. But this series somehow threw mine into overdrive.
Suddenly, my back yard transformed itself into Prydain. I, of course, became Taran. I was able to pry a long thin lathe from a neighbor's snow fence and whittle down on one end and draw a hilt on it. I even carved a tiny hole in the hilt and worked a toothpick into it, just in case The Horned King or any Cauldron Borne tried to sneak up behind me. One quick tap from my hilt and they would be wounded. This became my Dyrnwyn.
That summer I spent nearly every afternoon exploring or battling and vanquishing hordes of evil doers around the neighborhood. I must have been I sight. A plump nine-year-old wielding a sharpened fence post down the sidewalk.
Of course, in my mind, I was a whole land away battling hordes of evil doers trying to win Eilonwy's hand and destroy Arawn and become the High King of Prydain. I still have the original books and many of the stories that this series inspired me to write. There is not any amount of money that I wouldn't pay to be able to go back in time, even for a mere hour, and rediscover my lost Dyrnwyn and vanquish some more imaginary evildoers around the block.
IX.
After supper, which had been just a quiet meal between a boy and his still simmering mother instead of a mighty banquet in celebration of the day's victory, the boy went up to his room.
He had gotten off easy. No whipping, just grounding. As he climbed the stairs, he ceased to be the nine-year-old boy and became the proud warrior Taran again. He had narrowly escaped the sorceress's spell. He received no curse, but had been banished form Prydain and imprisoned in the high tower.
Worst of all, the sorceress has deprived him of his dear blade.
Taran plopped himself upon the lone cot in the cell, which had previously been his bed, replete with several species of stuffed bears and Star Wars bed sheets. The stuffed animals now became his cellmates.
"How long you been in?" the warrior asked the troll, who had previously been a koala bear.
The prisoners were not talkative. They were probably under a different spell, the warrior reasoned. Or maybe they were spies. That sorceress was cunning one. He began jumping on the cot in protest.
"Son. Knock that off. I'm warning you. Don't make me come up there," the sorceress screamed up at him, shattering his imaginary world. Again, the cell was his room.
Vanquished, he strode over to his desk and planted himself in the chair. He dug around beneath some Pac Man folders and found some clean paper. He also found a pencil that looked more like a carcass attacked by piranhas from all of the bite marks in it.
Then he began to do what seemed so natural to him, but which he had never tried before. "I'll create my own story. My own book. At least then I won't get grounded for breaking anything else," he thought. Maybe even the sorceress would be happy with it and shorten his sentence. "I'll tell the world my story," the boy thought and began to write "Nhom was on a ship to Africa . . ."
Here is one of my favorites to come in so far.
My First Deer (Edited)
So here we go.
So far the results are encouraging.
The focus on the braided essay with be a passion or expertise. Students will write three essays and then braid them together later this week.
The first one just called for students to write about or explore what they consider to be their passions or expertise.
The second one was a narrative examining their best moment related to their passion or expertise.
The third essay is an analysis of their passion or expertise. This could be a how to, a personal history, a critique, or whatever they want to explore.
So far I spent my first College Comp block just reading their drafts and offering them ideas and suggestions. I also tried to give them some hints as to where they can divide their essays in the chunks that will be braided together.
I hope to get some examples that I can share on here.
Here is a braided essay I wrote in college - and loved every minute of it. In the original essay, I was able to actually scan in the first piece I ever wrote called "Nhom the Warrior: The Quest for the Three Crowns," which I wrote at around ten or so. I built the rest of the essay around what inspired that tale and how it affected my imagination.
Adventures of a Young Warrior (and Writer)
I.
Some of the most influential books I have ever read are the Prydain chronicles by Lloyd Alexander. There are five books in the series: The Book of Three, The Black Cauldron, The Castle of Llyr, Taran Wanderer, and the Newberry Award winner The High King. I was in fourth grade when I first encountered this land and its inhabitants. It was a serendipitous event when I found the first book, The Book of Three, tucked away in the library. The cover instantly captivated me: a shaggy haired youth, who I would later find to be Taran, was in some darkened wood facing down the most evil looking villain I had ever seen this side of Darth Vadar. The villain was riding atop a snarling white steed reared up on its hind legs. A crimson cloak flowed from his rippled torso, and he brandished a long sword high above his head. But what stood out most, however, was the villain's head. He wore a pale white skull that seemed to snicker and smirk. The eyes flamed and massive antlers sprouted from the skull. Basically he wore an antelope skull from hell. I would later learn that he was aptly named The Horned King.
I could not believe that the crummy little library in J.A. Hughes Elementary School contained something so cool. I had tried some books by Louis Lamour and Jack London, but this book was unlike anything I had ever seen. A banner in the library proclaimed "Don't Judge A Book By Its Cover" and that was our librarian's creed. But judging from The Book of Three, if it was half as good as its cover, I would be ecstatic. I was not disappointed.
II.
Taran, a young and brave warrior, and his stout blade, Dyrnwyn, fresh off a battle with a hoard of ravaging beasts in his home land, Prydain, strode into his home. He was in need of a feast and then rest. The hero stalked through the kitchen. His hand still rested on his sword's hilt. He was constantly ready for battle. The only possible threat could come from the cook's food. Luckily, she was preparing stew, one of his favorites. The warrior told the wench that he was in need of nourishment and a nap. Then he proceeded into the main room to rest his weary limbs.
As the young barbarian began to slip into slumber, his acute ears picked up a hissing coming from across the room. Without showing any alarm or fear, he cracked an eyelid and peered out through the mesh of eyelashes. His arms still rested on his chest folded across Dyrnwyn.
He spotted the intruder.
A great snake slipped into the room. Its head oscillated from one side to another in search of easy prey.
"Ha," the young warrior thought. "That is exactly what the snake can think. He'll feel the wrath of my blade."
So Taran continued to lie still, feigning sleep, until he felt the thing’s breath rustle his shaggy mop and trickle across his arm. Then just before the serpent could strike, he leaped to his feet, brandishing his sword.
The enemy, startled by the warrior's super human speed, backed away but continued to sway its head. Finally it coiled itself in the middle of the room for a final stand.
The warrior tossed his blade from one mighty fist to the other, testing the enemy's gaze and searching for weak points.
Finally, he spotted one and lunged.
The serpent had thick skin and easily rebuffed his lashes.
Then he noted a chink in the snake's scales and plunged his blade into the beast's swiveling head. In what should have been Taran’s shinning moment, his troubles really began.
A loud clanging and shattering sound erupted from the felled beast. Before the boy's very eyes, his enemy suddenly transformed - as if a sorcerer’s spell had been shattered - from a snake to a teetering fan, whose large blue plastic blades had suddenly been shattered.
Then thunderous footsteps stormed toward him, shaking the very floor. Before the boy's eyes his dwelling changed from a chamber to his living room. Instinctively, the young warrior looked for a hiding place. But it was too late, for the wench who had been preparing his feast, now changed into his enraged mother.
Taran dove behind the recliner.
“Come out from there! What did you do to my new fan?"
Uh-oh. Suddenly the boy changed from the mighty warrior Taran into a frightened nine-year-old who had just mortally wounded his mother's new rotating fan.
The footsteps came closer to the boy quivering behind the recliner. With the strength of the Cauldron Borne, she hauled him out from behind the chair by the scruff of the neck.
"How many times have I told you to keep that stick outside!" Suddenly, the blade in his hand changed from Dyrnwyn to a lathe taken from a snow fence and whittled sharp at one end and the hilt , replete with jewels and etchings, drawn into the wood with crayon.
"Get that thing outside now! I don't want to see you back in here until I call for supper," she yelled and set the boy down. He instantly bolted for the back door.
III.
The hero of this Prydain series is a young boy named Taran, an orphan who works as the Assistant-Pig Keeper for the wizard Dalban on his estate, Caer Dalban, and longs for adventure and manhood and excitement in his dull life. Taran was the literary equivalent of me. While Taran was often excluded for being an orphan, I faced my own form of ostracism for my weight. When I was in first grade I broke my leg and spent a summer sitting watching TV and eating. Thus I went from an average skinny kid to the fat kid in the class. So every time some nobleman insulted Taran for being an ignorant commoner, I felt his anguish. And every time Taran vanquished an enemy and saved his friends, I felt his elation and longed for the same kind of kind of success. Taran did all of the great things on the page that I longed to do in real life. Of course, I did do those things, but they were all in the real life of my imagination in the confines of my room or house or yard.
IV.
As soon as the child escaped near doom and fled to the back yard, the boy transformed himself into the valiant warrior Taran again. The stick in his hand was once more Dyrnwyn. One of his pant loops became his sheath for his all-powerful blade.
He scanned his terrain, which rapidly changed from a neatly mowed lawn to a deadly battlefield in Prydain. He strolled amongst the vanquished foes - which had once been dandelions - and dispatched any that were still drawing breath with a quick lash from Dyrnwyn.
The lone tree in the back yard suddenly became the warrior's refuge. The young champion scaled it and plopped his battle weary frame into his throne, which had previously been a tiny, rusty metal chair in his tree house. Indeed, the incident with the vicious snake and the evil sorceress (who apparently had owned the snake and was cursing him for its death) had nearly cost him his life, but he had escaped to fight another day.
Taran hadn't rested in his throne five minutes before he heard some rustling below the tree in the alley bordering the backyard. As the warrior peered down, the alley transformed itself into a barren, horse worn path that vandals and rapscallions traveled in search of victims.
"Well," thought Taran, "I will show them who the victim will be!" Then the boy peered over and found his next battle.
Below the tree house the neighbor's dog shambled over and began sniffing the trash cans. The trash cans were suddenly transformed into the boy's horse and his bag of loot. The dog was transformed into a vicious hell hound of the Huntsmen's of Annuvin, who served Arawn. If the hell hound was there, his master couldn't be far away.
"Let him come then," the boy thought as he slowly drew Dyrnwyn. "If they dare, they will find their doom, just like that wretched serpent," the boy thought a split second beforehe leaped into battle
The vicious hound yipped in surprise and was beaten away - with its tail between its legs - with several furious lashes. The boy's horse and treasure were once again safe.
V.
I still read, well re-read, the Prydian series once a year, usually over Christmas break. It is funny how I used to think the books were so long and thick, they average about 200 pages - with wide margins and large font. Of course, I can polish the entire series off in a day now, but I still savor them as much as ever.
The books change with every reading. And it is in this change that I can see my own evolution as a reader. I never realized the religious and mythological symbolism and allusions Alexander uses. As a nine-year-old, it never occurred to me that the character Medwyn in The Book of Three, is caretaker of a secret valley which is a refuge to all of the animals in the land. I noted how Taran observes a huge ship resting at one end of Medwyn's hidden valley and how all of the animals are in pairs. An obvious allusion to Noah.
Likewise in the final book, The High King, Taran defeats the dreaded Death Lord, Arawn, along with his band of undead warriors, The Cauldron Borne. Arawn is the antagonist of the series, yet Alexander never has him actually appear until this last book. And only then does Arawn take the form of a snake. Obviously an allusion to Satan as the serpent in the Garden of Eden.
In the third book, The Castle Llyr, Taran and his companions are at the mercy of a giant who is going to eat them. It is only through deception that Taran is able to escape. Again as a mature reader who has read The Odyssey I see the allusion to the Cyclops and Odysseus and his men.
I also gained a new respect for Alexander's handling of Taran. As a young boy, I wanted Taran to be indestructible and superhuman. I wanted each book to end with Taran victorious and revered by all. But I was always left a little disappointed. For all of his victories and conquests, he still remained so ordinary, so human, so much like me. Now I can see how deftly Alexander handles Taran's character development to render him authentic and genuine when he easily could have turned him into a comic book hero or a cliché.
VI.
Then later, when Taran was lounging in his tree, a piercing scream caused his warrior's blood to chill and the warrior to plummet off his throne and onto his steed below. Luckily his large bag of loot cushioned his fall.
"What are you doing digging in the garbage? I told you to get rid of that stick. Now come in and eat."
Again, the wonderful land of Prydain was suddenly transformed back into their backyard. He was no longer the valiant warrior Taran. He was again a nine year old boy whose mother was ready to go into his father's closet and find one of his spare belts and brandish his backside with it.
"Yes, Mom!" he called, dropping the blade instantly, which suddenly became just a wooden lathe. He brushed the refuse from his arms and hair. He flew in the screen door his mother held open, not daring to meet her glare and clenching his tiny buttocks together for fear of a lash from the belt.
VII.
For an entire week I was entrenched in The Book of Three. I quit coloring and playing during free time in school, preferring to hunker down in my desk and enter the other world of Prydain. There were times when the bus driver would repeatedly have to yell at me to get me to get off at my stop because I would be so engrossed in the book.
Unfortunately, I was rapidly finishing the book; the adventure was drawing to a close. Taran helped destroy Arawn's henchman, The Horned King. He was honored by the prince of Prydain, Gwydian. He had met the Princess Eilonwy and helped rescue her from her evil aunt Achrin. He unwittingly discovered the lost sword, Dyrnwyn, and gave it to Gwydian. This drove me crazy.
Taran found this all-powerful sword and had to give it to Gwydian because only those of royal blood could draw the blade from its sheath without injury. I felt Taran's pain and envy when he offered that magnificently jeweled blade to Gwydian. By the time I finished the last sentence on page 224, I was shaking with anger. To my nine-year-old brain I could not possibly fathom how Taran could lose out on both the sword and the princess, even though she was to remain and work on Caer Dalban, but Taran returned to being an Assistant-Pig Keeper. I remember fuming that had I written the book Taran would have won the sword, the princess, and promptly set out of all kinds of adventures.
Frustrated, I returned the book to Mrs. Purath the librarian. Then she said something I will never forget, "are you going to read the next book in the series?"
I was shocked. There were more? Four more to be precise. Over the rest of that school year I hoarded over these books as if they were my own personal property. I absolutely devoured them.
Then I noticed in one of our monthly book order forms that students could actually order these books. Needless to say before the school year was out I had my own personal collection of the Prydain series.
VIII.
I never really understood how profoundly this series influenced me. But it was from around that time that my first writing attempts can be traced. Young kids already have active imaginations. But this series somehow threw mine into overdrive.
Suddenly, my back yard transformed itself into Prydain. I, of course, became Taran. I was able to pry a long thin lathe from a neighbor's snow fence and whittle down on one end and draw a hilt on it. I even carved a tiny hole in the hilt and worked a toothpick into it, just in case The Horned King or any Cauldron Borne tried to sneak up behind me. One quick tap from my hilt and they would be wounded. This became my Dyrnwyn.
That summer I spent nearly every afternoon exploring or battling and vanquishing hordes of evil doers around the neighborhood. I must have been I sight. A plump nine-year-old wielding a sharpened fence post down the sidewalk.
Of course, in my mind, I was a whole land away battling hordes of evil doers trying to win Eilonwy's hand and destroy Arawn and become the High King of Prydain. I still have the original books and many of the stories that this series inspired me to write. There is not any amount of money that I wouldn't pay to be able to go back in time, even for a mere hour, and rediscover my lost Dyrnwyn and vanquish some more imaginary evildoers around the block.
IX.
After supper, which had been just a quiet meal between a boy and his still simmering mother instead of a mighty banquet in celebration of the day's victory, the boy went up to his room.
He had gotten off easy. No whipping, just grounding. As he climbed the stairs, he ceased to be the nine-year-old boy and became the proud warrior Taran again. He had narrowly escaped the sorceress's spell. He received no curse, but had been banished form Prydain and imprisoned in the high tower.
Worst of all, the sorceress has deprived him of his dear blade.
Taran plopped himself upon the lone cot in the cell, which had previously been his bed, replete with several species of stuffed bears and Star Wars bed sheets. The stuffed animals now became his cellmates.
"How long you been in?" the warrior asked the troll, who had previously been a koala bear.
The prisoners were not talkative. They were probably under a different spell, the warrior reasoned. Or maybe they were spies. That sorceress was cunning one. He began jumping on the cot in protest.
"Son. Knock that off. I'm warning you. Don't make me come up there," the sorceress screamed up at him, shattering his imaginary world. Again, the cell was his room.
Vanquished, he strode over to his desk and planted himself in the chair. He dug around beneath some Pac Man folders and found some clean paper. He also found a pencil that looked more like a carcass attacked by piranhas from all of the bite marks in it.
Then he began to do what seemed so natural to him, but which he had never tried before. "I'll create my own story. My own book. At least then I won't get grounded for breaking anything else," he thought. Maybe even the sorceress would be happy with it and shorten his sentence. "I'll tell the world my story," the boy thought and began to write "Nhom was on a ship to Africa . . ."
Here is one of my favorites to come in so far.
My First Deer (Edited)
Now . . . the highlights!
Who Dey!
It's been awhile since the Bengals beat up on somebody as badly as they pummeled the Bears last Sunday (truth be told, the last time they decimated a team this way, it was the 37-8 trashing they gave the Vikings the last time they played back in '05 - but I have a sinking feeling that trashing might be returned to them this December when the Bengals visit the Metrodome).
Now, enjoy . . .
It is hard to believe that the Bungals have already won more games this season - and we aren't even quite half way there - than we did all last year. But that was a nightmare (which is pretty much par for the course when it comes to the Bungals).
But this team seems destined to finally turn things around. They are running the ball very well (Cedric Benson is leading the league in rushing right now). They have Ochocinco involved in every single game (I think he is fourth in the league in receiving yards). Now Carson seems to be over that rustiness as a result of his injured elbow last year that caused him to play in only four games - and an ankle injury that wiped out his entire preseason - and playing at the level that landed him in the Pro Bowl in '05 and '06. Better yet, the defense is actually getting people off the field on third down. And they are rushing the passer. In fact, the third leading sacker in the NFL is a Bengal -- and he is out for the rest of the season. And he is still in third place.
Finally, the Bengals are playing tough against their division foes. Palmer is 8-3 against the Browns and 8-3 against the Ravens. We won't mention his record against the Steelers though. But at least the Bengals are 3-0 in the division. It brings back the good old days from '88-'90 when the Bengals were a whopping 15-3 against the old AFC central (losing just to the Houston Oilers - remember them? - all on the road in the old Astrodome).
Once they are done with their by week, the will face the final division run. Luckily, the have the Ravens and Browns at home. They have to travel to Pittsburgh but Palmer has won their twice in the past, so there's some hope.
It's been awhile since the Bengals beat up on somebody as badly as they pummeled the Bears last Sunday (truth be told, the last time they decimated a team this way, it was the 37-8 trashing they gave the Vikings the last time they played back in '05 - but I have a sinking feeling that trashing might be returned to them this December when the Bengals visit the Metrodome).
Now, enjoy . . .
It is hard to believe that the Bungals have already won more games this season - and we aren't even quite half way there - than we did all last year. But that was a nightmare (which is pretty much par for the course when it comes to the Bungals).
But this team seems destined to finally turn things around. They are running the ball very well (Cedric Benson is leading the league in rushing right now). They have Ochocinco involved in every single game (I think he is fourth in the league in receiving yards). Now Carson seems to be over that rustiness as a result of his injured elbow last year that caused him to play in only four games - and an ankle injury that wiped out his entire preseason - and playing at the level that landed him in the Pro Bowl in '05 and '06. Better yet, the defense is actually getting people off the field on third down. And they are rushing the passer. In fact, the third leading sacker in the NFL is a Bengal -- and he is out for the rest of the season. And he is still in third place.
Finally, the Bengals are playing tough against their division foes. Palmer is 8-3 against the Browns and 8-3 against the Ravens. We won't mention his record against the Steelers though. But at least the Bengals are 3-0 in the division. It brings back the good old days from '88-'90 when the Bengals were a whopping 15-3 against the old AFC central (losing just to the Houston Oilers - remember them? - all on the road in the old Astrodome).
Once they are done with their by week, the will face the final division run. Luckily, the have the Ravens and Browns at home. They have to travel to Pittsburgh but Palmer has won their twice in the past, so there's some hope.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Week 7
This afternoon we will see if the Bungals are back.
With the national media descending upon Paul Brown Stadium last week as the Bengals were 4-1, the Bengals did what they have always did - tank. I can count the number of bombs the Bengals dropped in big games. And the Texans took it to them.
We shall see how they fare against the Bears, who usually play some pretty physical ball.
Postscript --
How wrong I was. As I type this the Bengals have a comfortable 38-3 lead over the Bears.
Not only have they shut the Bears down, but they have pounded the ball. Cedric Benson is well over 100 yards and should be close to leading the league in rushing again.
Better than that, though, Carson Palmer appears to be back to his surgically accurate self again. He has dialed up 5 touchdown passes and his just putting the ball right where it needs to be.
If they can run the ball consistently and Palmer can stretch the field with the passing game - and the defense can get teams off the field on third down, get a few sacks here and there, and force a turnover every once in awhile, they could make a run at the AFC North this year.
As it stands, they will be tied for first with the Steelers at 5-2. Wouldn't you know it. The one time I need the Vikes to win, and they go and lay an egg in Pittsburgh today.
With the national media descending upon Paul Brown Stadium last week as the Bengals were 4-1, the Bengals did what they have always did - tank. I can count the number of bombs the Bengals dropped in big games. And the Texans took it to them.
We shall see how they fare against the Bears, who usually play some pretty physical ball.
Postscript --
How wrong I was. As I type this the Bengals have a comfortable 38-3 lead over the Bears.
Not only have they shut the Bears down, but they have pounded the ball. Cedric Benson is well over 100 yards and should be close to leading the league in rushing again.
Better than that, though, Carson Palmer appears to be back to his surgically accurate self again. He has dialed up 5 touchdown passes and his just putting the ball right where it needs to be.
If they can run the ball consistently and Palmer can stretch the field with the passing game - and the defense can get teams off the field on third down, get a few sacks here and there, and force a turnover every once in awhile, they could make a run at the AFC North this year.
As it stands, they will be tied for first with the Steelers at 5-2. Wouldn't you know it. The one time I need the Vikes to win, and they go and lay an egg in Pittsburgh today.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
OCNN
If I break it, you might as well believe it.
That is Chad Ochocinco's new motto as he is forming his own news source.
Believe it or not.
We should all be so innovative. Here is the story.
Love him or hate him (and I've done both over the years), nothing is every boring with Chad.
Sometimes I wish he'd just shut up and play the game like Jerry Rice or Tim Brown. But at least he didn't pretend to moon the fans as Moss did in Green Bay or storm off the field with a few seconds left as he did in Washington.
But, as I said, it's always entertaining.
And he was one of the first players to hug his defensive coordinator, Mike Zimmer, who had lost his wife, after they beat the Ravens in Baltimore. He also helped buy up the last few thousand or so tickets so they Bengals could sell out their most recent home game.
Love him or hate him, he doesn't seem to be going anywhere. The Ocho now has his own news network to go with his own iPhone app!
That is Chad Ochocinco's new motto as he is forming his own news source.
Believe it or not.
We should all be so innovative. Here is the story.
Love him or hate him (and I've done both over the years), nothing is every boring with Chad.
Sometimes I wish he'd just shut up and play the game like Jerry Rice or Tim Brown. But at least he didn't pretend to moon the fans as Moss did in Green Bay or storm off the field with a few seconds left as he did in Washington.
But, as I said, it's always entertaining.
And he was one of the first players to hug his defensive coordinator, Mike Zimmer, who had lost his wife, after they beat the Ravens in Baltimore. He also helped buy up the last few thousand or so tickets so they Bengals could sell out their most recent home game.
Love him or hate him, he doesn't seem to be going anywhere. The Ocho now has his own news network to go with his own iPhone app!
No need to show up here . . .
or use vodpod.
iTunes has finally got around to selling the original Treehouse of Horror, which features Poe's "The Raven."
Just click here
iTunes has finally got around to selling the original Treehouse of Horror, which features Poe's "The Raven."
Just click here
Favorite Place
Last Sunday was so nice that Kenzie and I hit the road and visited one of my favorite places in my hometown, Red Lake Falls. The place is known as The Point. I'm not sure exactly the origins of the name, other than that is where the Clearwater and Red Lake rivers meet. The Point is at the end of what is known as Sports Man's Park. The city has done a wonderful job updating it and turning it into a very nice park and campground.
However, my favorite place is always down by the river. The road dips right down to a boat launch that is right at the tip of land at the end of the park - what I imagine to be 'the point' of where the two rivers join.
I never really thought about all of the history behind this place. I just enjoyed the cliffs, the trees, and the water.
However, one year the city had this marker put up and it changed my appreciation of the point.
Well over a century ago a thriving saw mill stood at that very spot. What I wouldn't give to be able to travel back in time and see not only what the mill itself was like but also what the community was like, for it was larger than it is today.
However, these bit of bricks are all that remain. Funny, I drove by this spot a million times when growing up, yet I never noticed them.
However, my favorite place is always down by the river. The road dips right down to a boat launch that is right at the tip of land at the end of the park - what I imagine to be 'the point' of where the two rivers join.
I never really thought about all of the history behind this place. I just enjoyed the cliffs, the trees, and the water.
However, one year the city had this marker put up and it changed my appreciation of the point.
Well over a century ago a thriving saw mill stood at that very spot. What I wouldn't give to be able to travel back in time and see not only what the mill itself was like but also what the community was like, for it was larger than it is today.
However, these bit of bricks are all that remain. Funny, I drove by this spot a million times when growing up, yet I never noticed them.
On Friday, Kenzie will have her first costume party and parade at Smallworld (our excellent daycare provider). Kristie is going to try and sneak away to get some pictures. It should be a quite a site to see all of the kids dressed up and marching around.
Here is Kenzie's second costume (her first was a pumpkin, but that was really just a pumpkin sleeper). I hope it still fits her! We tried it on when we bought it in September and it was a little tight.
Here is Kenzie's second costume (her first was a pumpkin, but that was really just a pumpkin sleeper). I hope it still fits her! We tried it on when we bought it in September and it was a little tight.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Great Kids
I had to check out early last Thursday because Kenzie was sent home from daycare because she was running a temp. So I hastily threw some sub notes together - got my class going on a project and headed home to relieve Kristie who is running low on sick leave.
When Kenzie was still running a bit of a temp, we decided to keep her home another day, so I decided to take Friday off. I ran up to school Thursday night to get things ready for the sub on Friday.
I was interested to see what my sub notes were concerning Thursday.
And I quote, "You are lucky to have such great students."
I couldn't agree more.
Friday just proved this. I had two students personally call me (from class no less - I allow them to use the cell phones) to clarify their assignments. Furthermore, I had about a dozen text me with questions regarding their essays. In one instance, I actually called a student, who had a question on formatting her essay. Luckily, she was at a computer. I had my laptop up and I was able to walk her through how to properly format an MLA paper using appleworks. Later in fourth hour, I received two texts from students - and one phone call - confused over some due dates. I couldn't get hold of either student, so I called another student in that class.
He said, "Hold on a sec Mr. Reynolds."
Then I heard some shuffling. "Okay, go ahead. I have you on speaker phone!"
And I walked the entire class through the due dates and any questions they might have had.
Now that is pretty cool. Again, what great students I am blessed with. That is why it is an honor to be their teacher.
When Kenzie was still running a bit of a temp, we decided to keep her home another day, so I decided to take Friday off. I ran up to school Thursday night to get things ready for the sub on Friday.
I was interested to see what my sub notes were concerning Thursday.
And I quote, "You are lucky to have such great students."
I couldn't agree more.
Friday just proved this. I had two students personally call me (from class no less - I allow them to use the cell phones) to clarify their assignments. Furthermore, I had about a dozen text me with questions regarding their essays. In one instance, I actually called a student, who had a question on formatting her essay. Luckily, she was at a computer. I had my laptop up and I was able to walk her through how to properly format an MLA paper using appleworks. Later in fourth hour, I received two texts from students - and one phone call - confused over some due dates. I couldn't get hold of either student, so I called another student in that class.
He said, "Hold on a sec Mr. Reynolds."
Then I heard some shuffling. "Okay, go ahead. I have you on speaker phone!"
And I walked the entire class through the due dates and any questions they might have had.
Now that is pretty cool. Again, what great students I am blessed with. That is why it is an honor to be their teacher.
Blogging and Teaching
John Merrow over at Learning Matters has a list of the 100 blogs every beginning teacher should read. The list is quite interesting.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Well, we might as well get used to it.
After all, Christmas is right around the corner.
While the video itself is boring, the song is one of the best Christmas anthems ever. It's from a husband and wife singing due called Fleming and John. They take the old Christmas standard "Winter Wonderland" and perform it to the beat of Led Zeppelin's "Misty Mountain Hop." Totally original.
While the video itself is boring, the song is one of the best Christmas anthems ever. It's from a husband and wife singing due called Fleming and John. They take the old Christmas standard "Winter Wonderland" and perform it to the beat of Led Zeppelin's "Misty Mountain Hop." Totally original.
Thomas Friedman, you were right . . .
It is indeed a flat world in which we now live.
I took a personal day to get some work down around home before winter sets in. Namely, moving our patio furniture into storage at Gail's in Mayville.
On my way up, I ripped the new Biography episode on Edgar Allan Poe I ordered from amazon onto my laptop and then uploaded it to my iPod classic.
So on the way to Mayville I listened to the biography. I was also able - thanks to my BlackBerry - scroll down (or voice record if I wanted to) questions that I would later turn into a worksheet (sorry Schmoker!).
The previous night I had received a few anxious texts from students nervous for their large novel tests. So just before turning at Neilsville I texted them and asked them how they thought their tests went. Before I got to Mayville, I had the responses.
On my way back, I received a call from one of my College Comp students. He didn't have part of his novel test. Sure enough, I had printed it, but I forgot to grab it and put in the pile for the sub. So we were able to fix that problem.
Then I got another call from a College Comp student wondering about her assignment. She wanted to know exactly what was due on Thursday.
Here I was most certainly not at work, yet I was getting quite a bit of 'work' done! This is exactly what Barry Schwartz talked about in his TED podcast called "The Paradox of Choice": we now live in a world where, for most of us, it is possible for us to work 24 hours a day from almost anywhere.
Is that exciting? Or depressing?
If you have the greatest job on earth, as I do, then it is awesome.
I took a personal day to get some work down around home before winter sets in. Namely, moving our patio furniture into storage at Gail's in Mayville.
On my way up, I ripped the new Biography episode on Edgar Allan Poe I ordered from amazon onto my laptop and then uploaded it to my iPod classic.
So on the way to Mayville I listened to the biography. I was also able - thanks to my BlackBerry - scroll down (or voice record if I wanted to) questions that I would later turn into a worksheet (sorry Schmoker!).
The previous night I had received a few anxious texts from students nervous for their large novel tests. So just before turning at Neilsville I texted them and asked them how they thought their tests went. Before I got to Mayville, I had the responses.
On my way back, I received a call from one of my College Comp students. He didn't have part of his novel test. Sure enough, I had printed it, but I forgot to grab it and put in the pile for the sub. So we were able to fix that problem.
Then I got another call from a College Comp student wondering about her assignment. She wanted to know exactly what was due on Thursday.
Here I was most certainly not at work, yet I was getting quite a bit of 'work' done! This is exactly what Barry Schwartz talked about in his TED podcast called "The Paradox of Choice": we now live in a world where, for most of us, it is possible for us to work 24 hours a day from almost anywhere.
Is that exciting? Or depressing?
If you have the greatest job on earth, as I do, then it is awesome.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Blasphemy???
This is a most interesting Christmas decoration. I'm not one for these tacky things, but this one definitely is worth a laugh.
It is Santa pulling his pants down and mooning. It's hard to read but it says "Happy Holidays" on his rear.
I also saw a great one with penguins in a tank like igloo. The turret rotated and everything. They appeared to be shooting snowballs.
But Kristie won't hear of it.
I don't really blame her.
It is Santa pulling his pants down and mooning. It's hard to read but it says "Happy Holidays" on his rear.
I also saw a great one with penguins in a tank like igloo. The turret rotated and everything. They appeared to be shooting snowballs.
But Kristie won't hear of it.
I don't really blame her.
Must be close to Halloween
Teachers must be looking - as I did awhile ago - to show the first Simpson's first Treehouse of Horror and the excellent rendition of "The Raven." I have hits from Texas, Illinois, Florida, Ohio, Kansas, Ontario, Saskatchewan looking for the Raven video. It is not available on youtube, but vodpod has a version you can watch and stream into your classes.
In fact, I'll be doing that probably on Friday.
In fact, I'll be doing that probably on Friday.
Not a condemnation of all sports programs
My first disgruntled parent letter post was not a condemnation of all sports programs. Looking at it again, it does look like that though. Sorry.
It was not meant that way. I was frustrated over how KoKo was being treated, despite her work ethic and diligence. If athletics teach us anything - it is that your work will be rewarded. I simply doubted if KoKo's reward was matching the work put in.
I also understand an athlete needing to realize their role on a team. That is an excellent point. I never doubted KoKo's role. But when speaking about roles, that is a two way street. For example, teachers have to understand their roles in the lives of our children. Coaches can say all they want about their role in our kids' lives, but that is just it: a role.
The feedback I heard regarding the previous post was fair and justified. The coaches were protecting their babies (their programs) and I was protecting mine (Beaner). I see both sides. And I see their roles.
To be fair, KoKo's coach did call Kristie and things were ironed out. KoKo played all three games, with her team winning the final two (with KoKo serving the final three points in the third game).
Things were handled with respect and fairly. If you check the time I posted the previous blog, it was the next day. It was not like I was unhappy or ungrateful for how the matter was dealt with and then fired off that post. It was written the same time as my disgruntled email. My error was not getting around to posting this very entry the next evening.
Again, I did not mean to condemn other programs or athletics in general. Here is a post in which I stick up for programs when they come under attack. As I said, sports CAN mean so much to a kid. Or they cannot. Maybe it depends on a greater partnership between parents, coaches, and athletes than the one that exists now. Maybe this is what we are working toward. I hope so. If this post hurt that effort. I am sorry. I did not want it to appear that way.
Even last summer Kristie defended KoKo's softball coach when several parents were watching practice, and one player copped a bit of an attitude. The coach let her have it and she stormed off and the parents were angry and confronted the coach. Well, soon other parents were jumping in and voicing their displeasure over several other things.
Kristie was the first to stick up for him saying that he was justified in dealing with attitudes and not to just all gang up on him when he is backed into a corner.
But coaching, teaching, and parenting - and all are intertwined are a two way street (if that metaphor is not too messed up). But we all - coaches, teachers, and parents - must understand our roles. But one role is much more important than all the others. If you don't know already which role that is . . . stop reading now. It is a lost cause.
What conferences last week did a good job of reminding me (and I often take this for granted) is that I just don't have a student in my class. What I do in good old 211 reaches far beyond that. In a way, I also have their parents indirectly in my class as well, for many parents mentioned how much their children talk about both me and my class at home. That made me really think about what I say and do and teach when I am in front of their kids.
I don't just teach Johnnie for 90 minutes a day. That teaching goes back home.
The same is true with athletics. This too was brought home during conferences when I was visiting with some parents whose younger son is on my football team. He has been out with a concussion for most of the season. He has been helping out, though, as kind of a manager. Well, in our last practice we didn't have enough players to run a full scout offense, so I asked the player in question to come into the huddle. I told him to just walk out and then run a route and I'd hit him for a touchdown. Since he was in street clothes, no one expected it and he caught a TD. Then we had him break the team down to end practice. His parents told me just how much that little moment meant to him. And to be honest, I had almost forgotten about that! Yet, it totally made that kid's season!
So if that was a little moment in an athlete's life, just imagine what the major moments mean! Both those good and bad moments. That is a big responsibility. And when a parent worries about the impact of those moments on our children and their well being, then we do have a right to question. That doesn't mean we are attacking.
After the conference, I was reminded how blessed I am to have a fraction of the day with my students and athletes. And how grateful I was that their parents let me occupy those roles in the lives of their children. It is a pleasure to serve them. But I understand my role. I serve them . . . and their children.
It was not meant that way. I was frustrated over how KoKo was being treated, despite her work ethic and diligence. If athletics teach us anything - it is that your work will be rewarded. I simply doubted if KoKo's reward was matching the work put in.
I also understand an athlete needing to realize their role on a team. That is an excellent point. I never doubted KoKo's role. But when speaking about roles, that is a two way street. For example, teachers have to understand their roles in the lives of our children. Coaches can say all they want about their role in our kids' lives, but that is just it: a role.
The feedback I heard regarding the previous post was fair and justified. The coaches were protecting their babies (their programs) and I was protecting mine (Beaner). I see both sides. And I see their roles.
To be fair, KoKo's coach did call Kristie and things were ironed out. KoKo played all three games, with her team winning the final two (with KoKo serving the final three points in the third game).
Things were handled with respect and fairly. If you check the time I posted the previous blog, it was the next day. It was not like I was unhappy or ungrateful for how the matter was dealt with and then fired off that post. It was written the same time as my disgruntled email. My error was not getting around to posting this very entry the next evening.
Again, I did not mean to condemn other programs or athletics in general. Here is a post in which I stick up for programs when they come under attack. As I said, sports CAN mean so much to a kid. Or they cannot. Maybe it depends on a greater partnership between parents, coaches, and athletes than the one that exists now. Maybe this is what we are working toward. I hope so. If this post hurt that effort. I am sorry. I did not want it to appear that way.
Even last summer Kristie defended KoKo's softball coach when several parents were watching practice, and one player copped a bit of an attitude. The coach let her have it and she stormed off and the parents were angry and confronted the coach. Well, soon other parents were jumping in and voicing their displeasure over several other things.
Kristie was the first to stick up for him saying that he was justified in dealing with attitudes and not to just all gang up on him when he is backed into a corner.
But coaching, teaching, and parenting - and all are intertwined are a two way street (if that metaphor is not too messed up). But we all - coaches, teachers, and parents - must understand our roles. But one role is much more important than all the others. If you don't know already which role that is . . . stop reading now. It is a lost cause.
What conferences last week did a good job of reminding me (and I often take this for granted) is that I just don't have a student in my class. What I do in good old 211 reaches far beyond that. In a way, I also have their parents indirectly in my class as well, for many parents mentioned how much their children talk about both me and my class at home. That made me really think about what I say and do and teach when I am in front of their kids.
I don't just teach Johnnie for 90 minutes a day. That teaching goes back home.
The same is true with athletics. This too was brought home during conferences when I was visiting with some parents whose younger son is on my football team. He has been out with a concussion for most of the season. He has been helping out, though, as kind of a manager. Well, in our last practice we didn't have enough players to run a full scout offense, so I asked the player in question to come into the huddle. I told him to just walk out and then run a route and I'd hit him for a touchdown. Since he was in street clothes, no one expected it and he caught a TD. Then we had him break the team down to end practice. His parents told me just how much that little moment meant to him. And to be honest, I had almost forgotten about that! Yet, it totally made that kid's season!
So if that was a little moment in an athlete's life, just imagine what the major moments mean! Both those good and bad moments. That is a big responsibility. And when a parent worries about the impact of those moments on our children and their well being, then we do have a right to question. That doesn't mean we are attacking.
After the conference, I was reminded how blessed I am to have a fraction of the day with my students and athletes. And how grateful I was that their parents let me occupy those roles in the lives of their children. It is a pleasure to serve them. But I understand my role. I serve them . . . and their children.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
First disgruntled parent letter
Last night I wrote my first 'disgruntled parent' letter to a coach.
KoKo is getting robbed in 9th grade volleyball. First, she was one of a handful of players to attend the RLF sports excel program last summer. She does not miss practice. She does not have an attitude. She might not be the best player on the team, but she is most certainly not the worst. Yet, last night at parent's night, we saw KoKo - a 9th grader mind you - subbed out regularly during their second game while 8th graders never sat. Now when KoKo was an 8th grader last year, she chose to move up to the C team last year (and guess what - many of the girls who did not choose to move up, who just chose to have a few weeks off before winter sports, actually moved up to JV this year!) - she rarely got playing time on the C squad. And certainly not ahead of other 9th graders.
Leaving KoKo's talent out of this, what kind of message is this sending to an athlete? The parent handbook that the coaching staff sent out at the beginning of the year mentioned how attending extra work sessions (such as sports excel) might lead to extra playing time. But in KoKo's case it has led to a decrease in playing time. What sense does that make?
I am in no way calling for equal playing time. As a coach, I know that is BS. But when a talented player sits when inferior 8th graders play, what is the message that is being sent?
So I sent off an email to the coach and AD last night.
We shall see if it bears any fruit or if it falls on deaf ears as is prone for this program. And they wonder why girls are quitting sports at an alarming rate.
Here is a great example - Kristie used to volunteer coach 5th and 6th grade girls basketball. When she decided to stop, the head coach got her a plaque and had all her former players sign it. Well, we just got around to hanging the plaque up. One day I couldn't help but notice as I was looking at it, all of the players who have been weeded out. Upwards of 90 percent. Now what does that tell you about the health of a program?
But again, just look at the attendance levels for sports. The volleyball bleachers were almost empty - even though it was parents night. The same is true for winter sports - well the boys basketball program reels them in, but that might be because they are cooped (or it could be that the coach runs a positive program). Even the football games are sparsely attended.
What has happened? I remember a local business owner stop me on the street when I walked by his car dealership and he assured me that they would be tailgating before our second home game of my junior football season. And that was after not winning a game my first two years of varsity football!
And it is not like the programs have been unsuccessful in terms of wins and losses. They have not.
I think it's simply a disconnect between the public, parents, and the sports program.
And it's sad too because sports could be so much more meaningful for the kids. Again, I'll plug Mumm's program, but just look at this week how his players have worked with the special olympics. And that is just one small element of what makes his program so rewarding for players. Sure, some quit, but there are a lot who remain. There are even some who decide to come out their senior years - and they always find a role on the team. How rare is that?
Again, sports can mean so much to a kid. Or so little.
KoKo is getting robbed in 9th grade volleyball. First, she was one of a handful of players to attend the RLF sports excel program last summer. She does not miss practice. She does not have an attitude. She might not be the best player on the team, but she is most certainly not the worst. Yet, last night at parent's night, we saw KoKo - a 9th grader mind you - subbed out regularly during their second game while 8th graders never sat. Now when KoKo was an 8th grader last year, she chose to move up to the C team last year (and guess what - many of the girls who did not choose to move up, who just chose to have a few weeks off before winter sports, actually moved up to JV this year!) - she rarely got playing time on the C squad. And certainly not ahead of other 9th graders.
Leaving KoKo's talent out of this, what kind of message is this sending to an athlete? The parent handbook that the coaching staff sent out at the beginning of the year mentioned how attending extra work sessions (such as sports excel) might lead to extra playing time. But in KoKo's case it has led to a decrease in playing time. What sense does that make?
I am in no way calling for equal playing time. As a coach, I know that is BS. But when a talented player sits when inferior 8th graders play, what is the message that is being sent?
So I sent off an email to the coach and AD last night.
We shall see if it bears any fruit or if it falls on deaf ears as is prone for this program. And they wonder why girls are quitting sports at an alarming rate.
Here is a great example - Kristie used to volunteer coach 5th and 6th grade girls basketball. When she decided to stop, the head coach got her a plaque and had all her former players sign it. Well, we just got around to hanging the plaque up. One day I couldn't help but notice as I was looking at it, all of the players who have been weeded out. Upwards of 90 percent. Now what does that tell you about the health of a program?
But again, just look at the attendance levels for sports. The volleyball bleachers were almost empty - even though it was parents night. The same is true for winter sports - well the boys basketball program reels them in, but that might be because they are cooped (or it could be that the coach runs a positive program). Even the football games are sparsely attended.
What has happened? I remember a local business owner stop me on the street when I walked by his car dealership and he assured me that they would be tailgating before our second home game of my junior football season. And that was after not winning a game my first two years of varsity football!
And it is not like the programs have been unsuccessful in terms of wins and losses. They have not.
I think it's simply a disconnect between the public, parents, and the sports program.
And it's sad too because sports could be so much more meaningful for the kids. Again, I'll plug Mumm's program, but just look at this week how his players have worked with the special olympics. And that is just one small element of what makes his program so rewarding for players. Sure, some quit, but there are a lot who remain. There are even some who decide to come out their senior years - and they always find a role on the team. How rare is that?
Again, sports can mean so much to a kid. Or so little.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Father/Daughter Night
Since Kristie is in Fargo prepping for another test, and since KoKo was off to her father's, Kenzie and I had a father/daughter night.
We watched Disney's version of "Sleepy Hollow" over supper (she had beef stew and I had pizza. Well, she pretty much had my pizza too. And some Mac and Cheese. And some carrots and apples too). Then we settled into our family room for a little football (Cincy vs. Southern Florida).
Soon, though, she was getting cranky and tired so I made her a bottle and she was out before halftime.
Now if she can just make it through the night!
We watched Disney's version of "Sleepy Hollow" over supper (she had beef stew and I had pizza. Well, she pretty much had my pizza too. And some Mac and Cheese. And some carrots and apples too). Then we settled into our family room for a little football (Cincy vs. Southern Florida).
Soon, though, she was getting cranky and tired so I made her a bottle and she was out before halftime.
Now if she can just make it through the night!
Speaking of the wild rumpus
Here is a link to a NY Times lesson on how to teach those 'moldy oldies' and make them relevant to kids today.
I like to think . . .
That the way Tom Nardone carves pumpkins and throws caution into the wind and takes pumpkin carving to a whole other level is the same kind of approach I take to teaching.
Screw the cookie cutter patterns and Madeline Hunter lesson plans!
Let's create something interesting and original . . . and with any luck, unforgettable.
Screw the cookie cutter patterns and Madeline Hunter lesson plans!
Let's create something interesting and original . . . and with any luck, unforgettable.
I looked forward to this every Halloween too
The Wonderful World of Disney would feature this (if memory serves me) before Halloween. I used to watch it with Dad.
This is my favorite scene.
This is my favorite scene.
A Halloween Poem
I've put this on my blog a couple of Halloweens ago. This time I uploaded it to scribd and embedded it here. If you haven't read it before, take a peek at it. Otherwise, skip over it, not much has changed since the last time I put it up.
Halloween Poem
Halloween Poem
In the Halloween spirit . . .
And in honor of my favorite holiday.
Here is an updated list of my annual top ten best horror stories. Perfect for Halloween, right?
10. The Great God Pan - Arthur Machen. Okay, I cheated here a bit. This is more than a short story; it's actually a novella. But it is creepy beyond imagination. Machen is right out of the school of Lovecraft - better to just hint at the true horror of what is out there rather than to beat you over the head with blood and guts. And he succeeds brilliantly here.
9. "Masks" by Douglas Winter. I read this in an anthology devoted to Halloween, October Dreams. Like all great horror stories, it is not about blood and guts and things that go bump in the night. It's about the fears we all have . . . and what would happen if they really were true. The ending is brilliant.
8. "Cell" - David Case. From the quite excellent (and likely now out of print) The Mammoth Book of Werewolves. I'm realizing as I comprise this list that each of these stories has a moment or two where we just glimpse the true terror or horror of the characters and their situations. I think that is ten times more powerful than if you just throw open the door and try to show us the true monster lurking there. And just hinting always works better - because that technique is like steroids for our imagination. And what we can imagine is always worse than what someone else can devise. Well, except for my top two choices. In those cases, the authors throw open the door and invite us right into the room where we not only see the monster and try to flee but end losing traction on something slippery on the floor . . . and then we look at what is splattered on the walls around us . . . then the stench hits us . . . then we hear the monster start after us. That's how good those top two choices are.
7. "Maypole" - Brian Mooney. My first new addition to this list. It's a take on the old 'corn king' legend supposedly associated with the druids. It's a great companion piece to "The Lottery," though I could never teach "Maypole" in school.
6. "N." - Stephen King. From his newest short story collection. It is a tribute to Machen's "The Great God Pan." Once this starts spiralling downward for the characters, there is no stopping it. Just hold on and enjoy the descent. Lovecraft and Machen could not be prouder of a story.
5. "Hunting Meth Zombies in the Great Nebraskan Wasteland" - John Farris. I've read a couple of Farris' novels when I was much younger (the classic All Heads Turn When the Hunt Goes By being the only one I really remember). This was up for a Bram Stoker award for best short story. And so I hunted it down and found it in a collection of other great horror and sci-fi stories. This story alone should make it just for its title - not to mention that the story itself is a term paper written by a high school student for an English class. Plus, how can a list of top horror stories not include at least one zombie story, right?
4. "The Summer People" - Shirley Jackson. Not as horrifying as "The Lottery," but just as disturbing and perplexing. It scares the hell out of me without actually being a horror story at all.
3. "Crouch End" - Another Stephen King staple. This one is written as a tribute to HP Lovecraft (whose eternal - no pun intended - "Herbert West: Re-Animator" is usually included on this list but got bumped off this year). King's prose is so effective whenever I read it, the room I'm in just fades away and I'm right next to Mr. and Mrs. Freeman try to find their way out of Crouch End. Sadly, only one makes it. Well, one makes it out alive . . . though they never really are able to make it back completely. But I've already said too much about this one!
I got lucky and found this one on Scribd.
Crouch End
2. "The Pattern" - Ramsey Campbell. I've read the final page several dozen times. It still scares the hell out of me each time.
1. "Pig Blood Blues" - Clive Barker (from his iconic The Books of Blood). There is not a better collection of horror fiction than Barker's classic anthology. He has such a knack for starting out in reality and with a small twist, throwing us into a world that is totally horrifying and unbelievable, but he throws us in so quickly we can't help but accept it and find it believable. Read this sucker with the lights on.
Here is an updated list of my annual top ten best horror stories. Perfect for Halloween, right?
10. The Great God Pan - Arthur Machen. Okay, I cheated here a bit. This is more than a short story; it's actually a novella. But it is creepy beyond imagination. Machen is right out of the school of Lovecraft - better to just hint at the true horror of what is out there rather than to beat you over the head with blood and guts. And he succeeds brilliantly here.
9. "Masks" by Douglas Winter. I read this in an anthology devoted to Halloween, October Dreams. Like all great horror stories, it is not about blood and guts and things that go bump in the night. It's about the fears we all have . . . and what would happen if they really were true. The ending is brilliant.
8. "Cell" - David Case. From the quite excellent (and likely now out of print) The Mammoth Book of Werewolves. I'm realizing as I comprise this list that each of these stories has a moment or two where we just glimpse the true terror or horror of the characters and their situations. I think that is ten times more powerful than if you just throw open the door and try to show us the true monster lurking there. And just hinting always works better - because that technique is like steroids for our imagination. And what we can imagine is always worse than what someone else can devise. Well, except for my top two choices. In those cases, the authors throw open the door and invite us right into the room where we not only see the monster and try to flee but end losing traction on something slippery on the floor . . . and then we look at what is splattered on the walls around us . . . then the stench hits us . . . then we hear the monster start after us. That's how good those top two choices are.
7. "Maypole" - Brian Mooney. My first new addition to this list. It's a take on the old 'corn king' legend supposedly associated with the druids. It's a great companion piece to "The Lottery," though I could never teach "Maypole" in school.
6. "N." - Stephen King. From his newest short story collection. It is a tribute to Machen's "The Great God Pan." Once this starts spiralling downward for the characters, there is no stopping it. Just hold on and enjoy the descent. Lovecraft and Machen could not be prouder of a story.
5. "Hunting Meth Zombies in the Great Nebraskan Wasteland" - John Farris. I've read a couple of Farris' novels when I was much younger (the classic All Heads Turn When the Hunt Goes By being the only one I really remember). This was up for a Bram Stoker award for best short story. And so I hunted it down and found it in a collection of other great horror and sci-fi stories. This story alone should make it just for its title - not to mention that the story itself is a term paper written by a high school student for an English class. Plus, how can a list of top horror stories not include at least one zombie story, right?
4. "The Summer People" - Shirley Jackson. Not as horrifying as "The Lottery," but just as disturbing and perplexing. It scares the hell out of me without actually being a horror story at all.
3. "Crouch End" - Another Stephen King staple. This one is written as a tribute to HP Lovecraft (whose eternal - no pun intended - "Herbert West: Re-Animator" is usually included on this list but got bumped off this year). King's prose is so effective whenever I read it, the room I'm in just fades away and I'm right next to Mr. and Mrs. Freeman try to find their way out of Crouch End. Sadly, only one makes it. Well, one makes it out alive . . . though they never really are able to make it back completely. But I've already said too much about this one!
I got lucky and found this one on Scribd.
Crouch End
2. "The Pattern" - Ramsey Campbell. I've read the final page several dozen times. It still scares the hell out of me each time.
1. "Pig Blood Blues" - Clive Barker (from his iconic The Books of Blood). There is not a better collection of horror fiction than Barker's classic anthology. He has such a knack for starting out in reality and with a small twist, throwing us into a world that is totally horrifying and unbelievable, but he throws us in so quickly we can't help but accept it and find it believable. Read this sucker with the lights on.
Let the Wild Rumpus Start
While waiting for Dr. Connolly yesterday, Kenzie and I read the classic Where the Wild Things Are.
She is certainly our little wild thing. There is no doubt about that.
This Saturday, Spike Jonze's film version of the classic children's book hits theaters. Judging from the trailer, it is going to be wonderful.
She is certainly our little wild thing. There is no doubt about that.
This Saturday, Spike Jonze's film version of the classic children's book hits theaters. Judging from the trailer, it is going to be wonderful.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
4-1
This win was, in part, for the Bengals defensive coordinator who lost his wife unexpectedly last week.
I tried to find a clip of the team celebrating with the coach in the locker room, but I couldn't find anything on youtube.
That is what team and family is all about - and those two terms are often used as cliches for the importance of sport. In many cases, those terms are just given lip service. But not in this case. How refreshing to see something like that in the me-me-me world of professional sports.
New Identity
Kristie first told me about her new identity - Kenzie's mom.
Whenever we go to either drop or pick Kenzer's up from daycare, we are bombarded with "There's Kenzie's mom/dad."
This morning was the same as all her little toddler buds were running around daycare (they were particularly fascinated with the new snow fall - telling everyone "Guess what? It's snowing!" to which all of us adults just smiled and nodded, the novelty of the year's first snowfall having long worn off - about 20 years ago!) saying "Kenzie's dad is here" or "Are you Kenzie's dad?"
I've gone from Kurt in elementary school, Renzy in high school and college, to Reynolds as a young teacher and just now Mr. Reynolds as I'm an old fart now. But I like Kenzie's dad the best.
Whenever we go to either drop or pick Kenzer's up from daycare, we are bombarded with "There's Kenzie's mom/dad."
This morning was the same as all her little toddler buds were running around daycare (they were particularly fascinated with the new snow fall - telling everyone "Guess what? It's snowing!" to which all of us adults just smiled and nodded, the novelty of the year's first snowfall having long worn off - about 20 years ago!) saying "Kenzie's dad is here" or "Are you Kenzie's dad?"
I've gone from Kurt in elementary school, Renzy in high school and college, to Reynolds as a young teacher and just now Mr. Reynolds as I'm an old fart now. But I like Kenzie's dad the best.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
The Cardiac Cats
Well, that's what they're calling the Bungals.
For the third straight week they pulled out a win, 17-14 over the hated Ravens.
Wonders never cease. Now if they can just keep it going. They don't play as light of a schedule as the Vikings, but their schedule is favorable. Maybe this will be the season they get that elusive playoff victory (I was a junior in high school they last time they triumphed in the playoffs, 41-14 over the Houston Oilers, yes - that franchise no longer exists).
Who Dey
For the third straight week they pulled out a win, 17-14 over the hated Ravens.
Wonders never cease. Now if they can just keep it going. They don't play as light of a schedule as the Vikings, but their schedule is favorable. Maybe this will be the season they get that elusive playoff victory (I was a junior in high school they last time they triumphed in the playoffs, 41-14 over the Houston Oilers, yes - that franchise no longer exists).
Who Dey
Big Game
With the Twins squaking into the playoffs - and coming up just short against the Yanks - I've adopted the philosophy of many Twins fans when it comes to watching my beloved Bungals.
That is, expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised when it doesn't happen.
That has worked so far this year. The Bungals - despite plenty of bungaling - are 3-1.
I'm watching them battle for first place in the AFC North against the Ravens.
I went in just wanting a moral victory - a close loss. That way when the Bungals play in Cincy next month, they can maybe steal a win.
But the Bengals are bungaling. They passed right down the field and because we have the worst long snapper in league history, we missed the field goal. Then our young emerging corner picked of Flacco in the endzone. However, we gave it right back with an Ed Reed pick for a touchdown. There is no denying that Reed is the greatest DB ever to play in the history of the NFL. Then the Bungals manage to battle back thanks to a 70 yard bomb to Chris Henry, who is tackled on the three yard line. The Bungals weren't able to punch it in, but they are locked in a 3-7 fight.
Right now they managed to strip the ball and return it for a TD (reversing the Ravens tough defensive play on the Ravens). But, of course, it's being challenged.
Let's hope for a break. We should get a dozen or so after that immaculate deflection from week one in which the Broncos stole a victory on the last play of the game.
By the way - is there a worse broadcaster than Steven Tasker? He's terrible. If the audio on my computer wasn't about eight seconds behind live TV, I'd listen to the Bengals radio network.
That is, expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised when it doesn't happen.
That has worked so far this year. The Bungals - despite plenty of bungaling - are 3-1.
I'm watching them battle for first place in the AFC North against the Ravens.
I went in just wanting a moral victory - a close loss. That way when the Bungals play in Cincy next month, they can maybe steal a win.
But the Bengals are bungaling. They passed right down the field and because we have the worst long snapper in league history, we missed the field goal. Then our young emerging corner picked of Flacco in the endzone. However, we gave it right back with an Ed Reed pick for a touchdown. There is no denying that Reed is the greatest DB ever to play in the history of the NFL. Then the Bungals manage to battle back thanks to a 70 yard bomb to Chris Henry, who is tackled on the three yard line. The Bungals weren't able to punch it in, but they are locked in a 3-7 fight.
Right now they managed to strip the ball and return it for a TD (reversing the Ravens tough defensive play on the Ravens). But, of course, it's being challenged.
Let's hope for a break. We should get a dozen or so after that immaculate deflection from week one in which the Broncos stole a victory on the last play of the game.
By the way - is there a worse broadcaster than Steven Tasker? He's terrible. If the audio on my computer wasn't about eight seconds behind live TV, I'd listen to the Bengals radio network.
Friday, October 09, 2009
Some cool pumpking carving ideas
As a werewolf aficionado, I've been searching for a great pumpkin carving idea.
Here are a few interesting ones. It's that time of year to get carving . . .
Here are a few interesting ones. It's that time of year to get carving . . .
This is funny
I know this has been all around, but it's the first time I've seen it. After watching Kenzie dance and move around, I couldn't help but laugh at this.
Really getting into this . . .
I have a few loose cannons in my Lit & Lang 11 class. They were wondering if for the creative option of their take home test on The Jungle they could shoot a scene from the novel and work on it as a group.
I was fine with this once I laid down some parameters so that one person wouldn't end up doing the bulk of the work.
Then I got back to work as they grouped their desks together and began brainstorming ideas.
I couldn't help but laugh out loud when after about five minutes, I heard one guy protest, "But I don't want to be Ona!"
Ha. I could just see him dressed up in a wig and a dress.
That's funny.
I was fine with this once I laid down some parameters so that one person wouldn't end up doing the bulk of the work.
Then I got back to work as they grouped their desks together and began brainstorming ideas.
I couldn't help but laugh out loud when after about five minutes, I heard one guy protest, "But I don't want to be Ona!"
Ha. I could just see him dressed up in a wig and a dress.
That's funny.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
More Schwartz
Barry Schwartz explains why our students don't do their work.
He attempts to explain our obsession with perfection. We live in such a productive and lavish society that we have developed such high expectations. No wonder we are depressed when we can't live up to our incredibly high expectations.
I think of one student in particular who dreads the grade printouts because they can't stand seeing a low score in one category representing a pop test they didn't do so well on. There is a lot of pressure at home to get all A's.
How nuts is that?
And if students did get all A's, what would that say about my class? Is it so easy that a student can never struggle on an assignment (and remember the "c" is the new "d").
He attempts to explain our obsession with perfection. We live in such a productive and lavish society that we have developed such high expectations. No wonder we are depressed when we can't live up to our incredibly high expectations.
I think of one student in particular who dreads the grade printouts because they can't stand seeing a low score in one category representing a pop test they didn't do so well on. There is a lot of pressure at home to get all A's.
How nuts is that?
And if students did get all A's, what would that say about my class? Is it so easy that a student can never struggle on an assignment (and remember the "c" is the new "d").
How cool is iQuiz
I stumbled upon iQuiz maker. Don't worry you don't need an iPod to make an iQuiz (though you can easily export them to an iPod).
Just go to - http://www.iquizmaker.com/ (pardon that stone age copy and paste method, but I'm blogging from my iGoogle account and can't embed the link).
You can create a quiz on anything.
This is cool because most of your students' iPods come with iQuiz already installed. But the default quizzes all focus on pop culture.
But, iQuiz maker, allows you to create your own quizzes and either export them to an iPod or you can take the quiz with the iQuiz application. An iPod appears on the screen and it simulates the quiz.
I bet you're students would love it.
I created one for "The Black Cat" that I want to use when I get around to using my SMARTboard (I'm waiting for conferences and MEA to test the ground there).
Just go to - http://www.iquizmaker.com/ (pardon that stone age copy and paste method, but I'm blogging from my iGoogle account and can't embed the link).
You can create a quiz on anything.
This is cool because most of your students' iPods come with iQuiz already installed. But the default quizzes all focus on pop culture.
But, iQuiz maker, allows you to create your own quizzes and either export them to an iPod or you can take the quiz with the iQuiz application. An iPod appears on the screen and it simulates the quiz.
I bet you're students would love it.
I created one for "The Black Cat" that I want to use when I get around to using my SMARTboard (I'm waiting for conferences and MEA to test the ground there).
Barry Schwartz
This is one of the best TED talks I've listened to in some time.
Schwartz explores the need to recapture wisdom and how it can transform our lives and culture.
Pretty cool stuff.
Schwartz explores the need to recapture wisdom and how it can transform our lives and culture.
Pretty cool stuff.
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Hardest thing in the world . . .
is not dealing with 125 students a day.
Not even close.
It's trying to get a sock (let alone two . . . let alone SHOES) on a thirteen month old!
Not even close.
It's trying to get a sock (let alone two . . . let alone SHOES) on a thirteen month old!
Monday, October 05, 2009
Irony
I still use my laptop with our English Department's wireless. That, however, is not unblocked. I can see why too with students hacking into it. It would be a nightmare if that were unfiltered.
My issue is not with that.
My issue is with our web blocker.
I just tried to visit the site - 'the innovative educator" and it was blocked!
That's irony.
My issue is not with that.
My issue is with our web blocker.
I just tried to visit the site - 'the innovative educator" and it was blocked!
That's irony.
Sunday, October 04, 2009
3-1
It wasn't pretty. In fact, sections of the second and third quarters contained some of the ugliest football I've seen in awhile.
Yet, there's hope.
The Bengals hung in there and overcame their own mistakes. By the time OT rolled around, they had the Browns' offense and special teams stymied.
I've seen enough ugly Bungal ball to know that in years past, this would have been a game that once they fell behind they would have given up. But there was some Bungaling here (blocked field goal, fumbled kick return, interception, and a missed PAT), but they hung in there and there was some anti-Bungaling here too (Chad's two TD catches, a defense that produced two key turnovers - one giving the Bengals a 14-0 lead and another stopping a Browns' scoring drive, Carson's huge 15 yard run on fourth and 10, and the final FG).
Only one more win and we've matched all of last year's total. Now, if we wouldn't have given up that Hail Mary pass to Denver in week one . . .
Yet, there's hope.
The Bengals hung in there and overcame their own mistakes. By the time OT rolled around, they had the Browns' offense and special teams stymied.
I've seen enough ugly Bungal ball to know that in years past, this would have been a game that once they fell behind they would have given up. But there was some Bungaling here (blocked field goal, fumbled kick return, interception, and a missed PAT), but they hung in there and there was some anti-Bungaling here too (Chad's two TD catches, a defense that produced two key turnovers - one giving the Bengals a 14-0 lead and another stopping a Browns' scoring drive, Carson's huge 15 yard run on fourth and 10, and the final FG).
Only one more win and we've matched all of last year's total. Now, if we wouldn't have given up that Hail Mary pass to Denver in week one . . .
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