Wednesday, October 22, 2008

A Veritable Who's Who

Remember how when you read Of Mice and Men last year you had all that trouble juggling a dozen or so characters over the course of a couple hundred pages?

Welcome to Maycomb County, and the first four chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird. You'll be expected to identify (and compile a list of) the following individuals: Scout (Jean Louise) Finch, Jem (Jeremy Atticus) Finch, Dill (Charles Baker) Harris, Boo (Arthur) Radley, Atticus Finch, Alexandra Finch, John Hale Finch, Calpurnia, Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose, Miss Rachel Haverford, Mr. Radley, Mr. Conner, Miss Stephanie Crawford, Mr. Nathan Radley, Miss Caroline Fisher, Miss Maudie Atkinson, Walter Cunningham, Mr. Walter Cunningham, Miss Blount, Little Chuck Little, and Burris Ewell. You'll also need to be aware of the Haverford, Cunningham, and Ewell families as a whole.

I love and miss you all, and wish I was there with you. Be nice to Julio.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Obviously, that person is a baby.


This week's episode of My So-Called Life, "Guns and Gossip," begins with Angela Chase, in history class, expressing envy toward people who can tell her exactly where they were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. The adults around her have painted the 1960's, a decade she missed by a good nine or ten years, as "a better time, [when] people knew what they were supposed to do and how to make the world better." She is disappointed in her own existence and that of her classmates, who, "instead of changing the world [...], sit in class and write notes about other people."

It's one of a handful of MSCL moments that, for me, makes perfectly obvious the fact that there are adult writers behind every line of adolescent dialogue, because (in addition to shoehorning in a measure of Baby Boomer, "Weren't the sixties a magical time?" smugness) it undermines the central conceit of the show: that the notes people write about other people, the awkward first kisses, the fall-outs with best friends- those things are important. They are world changing. They are potentially devastating in the immediate world of the protagonist- much more so than the thought of guns or assassinations or... suitcase bombs. The episode regains its footing as it progresses, and as the "Gossip" half of the episode's title all but takes over, but that opening monologue almost shatters the illusion of a teenage narrator for me.

My fifth period class delayed watching the episode until today, because we had the opportunity on Monday to listen to Dr. Robert Fuller speak in the theatre, and while I think the experience was, overall, a valuable one, I've also got to say that there were moments when, despite the best of intentions, the good doctor pushed a few of my buttons.

Well, one button, mainly: I get wary of adults- and I've particularly seen it among those of the so-called "Woodstock Generation," though I'm sure my own peers are equally guilty- speaking to young people about the "task(s) of this generation," as if their age group, having fought the good fight for half a century, has earned the right to assign its "important issues" to the underage interns. As I recall, no revolution has ever been fought by interns, at the behest of the white-haired gentlemen in the corner- it's hard to really call it a revolution when you're holding up someone else's banner. If a generation is going to take up a cause (and I for one think it's slightly silly to speak of billions of people as if they'll all move with one mind), it must come to that decision independent of its predecessors. In fact, I'd put good money on the idea that a glowing endorsement from an elder statesman like Dr. Fuller may just be the kiss of death for a worthy cause. Social change, after all, implies that we are moving against what came before.

Which is not to say that I don't agree wholeheartedly with Dr. Fuller's theories or his admonition against holding ourselves above others- I do. It's just that I'd like to hear that- and more- from someone in the movement- in this movement, in this present- rather than someone on his way out, looking to pass a torch. I understand that, as they say, past is prologue, and vital to our understanding of the present, but I'm eager for the 00's to be presented as more than just the long-awaited sequel to the 60's. And yes, some incredible things happened in the sixties. Yes, significant attention was brought to societal ills which had been previously overlooked by much of the population. But I'd wager that most people had little to do with it. Most people weren't sure what they were supposed to do or how to make the world better. I'm still not sure what I'm supposed do- if there is such a thing- but I have a handful of ideas for how to make my little corner of the world better.

I'm sure you do too, and I'd like to hear them.

Oh, and by the by: here is the quote from "Guns and Gossip" I said I was going to write about:

“Don’t you remember? There’d be like this one person who had, like, perfect hair or perfect breasts, or they were just so funny... and you just wanted to eat them up- just live in their bed and just be them. It was like everybody else was in black and white and that person was in color.” (Amber Vallon, “Guns and Gossip”)


Here is the quote I actually wrote about:

"Grownups like to tell you where they were when President Kennedy was shot, which they all know to the exact second- which makes me almost jealous, like I should have something important enough to know where I was when it happened- but I don’t yet. And the fact that it was a better time then, and people knew what they were supposed to do and how to make the world better... now nobody knows anything. We know who’s popular, or that social studies is boring, or that Bryan always has stomach trouble, but nobody knows anything important. Instead of changing the world, people sit in class and write notes about other people." (Angela Chase, "Guns and Gossip")


And here, if you're interested, is the bibliographical information:

“Guns and Gossip.” My So-Called Life: The Complete Series. Writ. Justin Tanner. Dir. Marshall Herskovitz. ABC. 8 Sept. 1995. DVD. Shout! Factory. 2007.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

I can always sleep standing up...

Liana's off at an American Studies conference in Albuquerque this weekend, which leaves me alone with the puppies, Linus and Mathilda. I slept in longer than I have in weeks this morning, and called her when I woke up. She didn't answer, so I pulled up the covers again and cuddled with Mathilda, who thinks the entire bed belongs to her. I thought of letting myself doze off, but I wanted to talk to Liana when she eventually called back, so I cradled Phoebus Apollo, my cell phone, in my hand as I lay there.

See, I keep Phoebus Apollo on vibrate because Linus is a very neurotic dog, and gets excessively anxious when it goes off- on any ring tone. But I hate having to lay with my hand wrapped around an electronic device, even if it is the only way I'll get to speak to my best friend today. A cell phone isn't like a teddy bear, or a puppy or a kitten- even when you go to the trouble of naming it, it's still cold and hard and impersonal, and the joy-buzzer vibration it emits to signal the receipt of a call is among the least pleasant ways of being awakened. Then I had an idea- and it wasn't like I was going to get to sleep again at this point, so I slid out of bed and pulled the sewing box out of the closet.

I've been sewing pillow covers for the new furniture in our living room- everyday ones and ridiculous patriotic ones for the election night party we're having two weeks from Tuesday- and I had a bevy of scraps left over from those and other projects. It took longer than I'd first envisioned in my moment of Edison-like inspiration, but I was able to stitch together enough patchwork for a small project, and I used a ukulele as the pattern for my piece (because it was the closest thing on hand). I built in a pocket just big enough for Phoebus Apollo, stitched the two uke sides together, and filled the form with polyester fiber (the trick is to stitch the bottom of the pocket last so it acts a sort of umbilical cord for filling the body of the pillow, and then the hem is hidden inside).

The result is a sort of "cell phone cozy"- I can comfortably wrap my arms around it while resting, and the vibration is sufficiently dampened so that an incoming call is reminiscent of a purring cat. The idea's probably been patented, and I could probably march over to Target and choose from a whole aisle full of cell phone cozies- some that look like teddy bears, or puppies, or presidential candidates, but for now I'll rest in the knowledge that I've managed, in a few hours' work, to solve one of life's minor problems. When I wake up, I'll move on to global warming.

Friday, September 26, 2008

Going the Distance


If I could figure out how to comment on Marissa's blog, I'd tell her she writes some of the most lovely run-on sentences I've ever encountered.

Thursday, September 25, 2008

I've been engaged with the text for so long, we're practically married.


Liana catches me as she looks out the kitchen window; I'm pulling into the driveway. You'd think in the seven years she's known me that she'd at least have had suspicions before now, but somehow it's evaded her notice. Maybe she's just persuaded herself that it wasn't happening, pushed the obvious truth to the back of her mind.

"So who is it with?" she asks.

"I don't know. Anybody. Nobody. Myself."

"And you go through the whole thing?"

"Just my side of it."

"And how often are you doing it?"

"You know, whenever."

"Whenever I'm not around?"

"I guess. Yeah."

"It's not normal."

I admit it: I talk to myself- little half-spoken soliloquies, throughout the day- in the shower, in the car, in the neighborhood on a dog walk, in my classroom before school... I replay the previous day's conversation and preview the next day's. I rehearse witty replies to future biographers and radio talk show hosts. I try on different phrases with every possible inflection; I'm constantly revising, but the final drafts of these conversations never quite reflect the hours of effort I put into crafting them.

It's why I find comfort in blogging. I get to sit down and try my thoughts out before they stream out of my mouth and call everyone's attention to the fact that I've no idea what I'm talking about.

It's been a week since Matt S. asked us all what the point of blogging is, and you've all given me- and your peers, I hope- plenty of food for thought. I've seen insights, revelations, anecdotes, poetry, rants, and eloquent observations of the relationships that make up our lives. Admittedly, the teacher in me had visions of a lot more engagement with texts- but I feel like I've gotten so much out of reading what you've been willing to share here that I'm okay with letting some of that go.

But then I remember that the beauty of this project is that you are engaging with text, because each of us is a text, to be read and pondered and responded to, and then the teacher in me is sated.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Why We Blog

Oh, this is lovely. I spent a rather relaxing, paper-free hour last night perusing the new blogs, most of which- authored by the bloggers whose handwriting I could read from the spiral notebook- are now listed on the right-hand side of your screen; take a few minutes to open a new window in your browser, navigate to each blog in your class, and cut and paste the url into your link list.





The title box actually refers to the name of the list itself- name it something that will remind you that it includes members of the accelerated class (I've named my fifth and sixth periods, respectively, "the skinny pedal" and "the gas"- get it?). In the New Site Name box, type the name of the person whose blog you're linking. Do this with every member of your class and, if you choose, the other accelerated class.

I'm glad most of you are picking this up fairly easily. There are of course, a few of you who are still a little unsure. Matt S., struggles with the existential crisis of why we blog in the first place:

I've never blogged before and I don't really know why people do it. The phone was made for a reason, so we can talk to each other freely, well at least most of the time. What's the big deal about it? Why do people do it? And what makes it so special?


I have my own answers to these questions, but I'd like you to comment on Matt's blog with your ideas first, if you've got them.
I love you. Blog on.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Go Ask Alice Siebold


I am so excited about being back in school I can barely contain myself. I got a chance today to go off topic with my 6th period, basing much of what I said on an email exchange I had with Raechel over the summer. Raechel was stuck on her essay comparing the anonymous Go Ask Alice with Alice Siebold's The Lovely Bones, and I shot some ideas her way. For those of you still wondering what kind of connections I'm looking for, I'm posting part of my response email here:

You may have noticed that the title of Go Ask Alice is an allusion to lyrics of the song "White Rabbit" by Grace Slick (of the '60's psychedelic rock band Jefferson Airplane). Here are a few of the lyrics to the song:

One pill makes you larger
And one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you
Don't do anything at all
Go ask Alice
When she's ten feet tall

"White Rabbit," in turn, is an allusion to Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. You'll also find that the narrator of Go Ask Alice herself refers to Carroll's creation in the entry dated July 14: "I feel like Alice in Wonderland. Maybe Lewis G. Carroll was on drugs too." What does this all mean? If you've seen the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland, you may recall that the action begins when Alice chases the white rabbit into a hole which takes her to a fantastical version of reality. The narrator of Go Ask Alice likewise enters a sort of metaphorical rabbit hole when she experiences drugs for the first time at her friend Jill's party. The rest of the book, like Alice in Wonderland, chronicles her efforts to crawl back out of the hole.

In The Lovely Bones, Susie, like Alice, enters a literal hole in the ground in the first chapter- and as with the narrator of Go Ask Alice, Susie will not leave the hole alive. These "rabbit holes" serve as tangible versions of a common device in young adult literature: the rite of passage. What is unique about these books (as opposed to, say, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, in which the Pevensie kids are able to come and go from the land of Narnia via the wardrobe) is that once the characters enter they don't ever come out. Both books are narrated by a girl from beyond the grave, and both leave us to wonder what their lives would have been like if they could have pulled themselves out.