This was a good day. As this blog is a bit of an electronic journal, more personal than public, I though it might be good place to record my experience of it.
Most of the school gathered in the gymnasium to watch the inauguration as projected on the walls. I arrived while Aretha Franklin was singing, and immediately found myself moved to tears by the images of the huge crowd on the mall. The images were so reminiscent of another crowd on the same real estate, facing the other direction, listening to the words of Martin Luther King, Jr.
Since the election, countless pundits and commentators have mentioned that no one on the Mall during King's most famous speech could have predicted that this day - a black president - would come so soon. Turns out, one person did:
We sat in a darkened gym, and the history of the moment did not seem lost on the kids - and the presence of the kids strengthened the sense of history for me.
I have always loved the melody of "Simple Gifts," and found John Williams arrangement to be powerful and moving, an appropriate mix of traditional and contemporary, comforting and challenging. Best moment: Yo Yo Ma's smile when he had the melody. Wish I could find a picture of that to put here.
The flub in the oath will go down in history. All I could think was that the right-wing zealots would have a field day with it. I didn't realize at the time that the flub was John Roberts' more than Obama's. Still, one Fox commentator has already speculated that the flub means that Obama isn't really president. I like to see that argument go to the Supreme Court, just to see how John Robert's would rule on it.
Fox News: We're unpresidented!
On Fox News, Chris Wallace just speculated that President Obama might still legally be regular ol' Barack Obama, because his botched oath doesn't count.
Wallace was referring to the one slip in today's otherwise flawless ceremonies, which came at the most important moment: Chief Justice John Roberts said and President Obama repeated back to him: "I, Barack Hussein Obama, do solemnly swear that I will execute the office of President of the United States faithfully." The oath's actual line (which is in the Constitution) goes, "I [Barack Hussein Obama] do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States."
You can see the video of the oath here:
Over on Fox, Wallace predicted this will go to the courts. Though, presumably, if it makes it to the Supreme Court, John Roberts will rule that he administered a legitimate oath. (Besides, the mistake was Roberts' fault anyway, not that any of this is actually the least bit significant.)
Though I'd ordinarily guess that even this is too silly to take off on the paranoid far-right, these days, who can be sure? As a friend of mine joked, "Maybe the real reason he botched the oath is that he rehearsed it in Arabic."
Reviews seem mixed on Obama's speech. I thought is was tough at a time when toughness is appropriate. I loved that it called us all to task. It could have soared more, but the power was in the moment, the setting, the history, and perhaps expectations are too high. Was there a "nothing to fear" phrase, a "ask not what" moment? Maybe not. But there was a call to return and depend on our highest ideals, and for a "new era of responsibility."
The 1st grade didn't watch the inauguration in the gym, so after we were dismissed I went to look for my youngest son. I was excited and moved about the possibilities of this country, and I wanted to give him a big hug. And I was powerfully reminded of another time that I walked through the lower school halls desperate to give a young son a hug. Seven years ago, on 9/11, I sought out my family members to mark the moment. It was odd that such a different feeling would have such familiarity.
Later in the day, when a senior class came in, one student asked if we could discuss the inaugural poem. Teachable moment. Quick Google search, quick trip to the copier, and within three minutes each kid had a copy of the poem. The kids didn't like it, though they liked it better when it was sitting in front of them. Much was said about it, but the cool revelation, I thought, was that the poem seemed an attempt to echo Walt Whitman, who loved and admired his president, Abraham Lincoln. Like Obama swearing on Lincoln's Bible, this seemed another nice tribute to the progress this country has made, and where much of it started.
They have been dark days of late, and I am once again amazed at big the little things can be.
I assumed my funk, my blues, my down was the result of the big things. Problems in my personal life. Stresses at work. Especially, perhaps, an existential crisis due to shifts in my spiritual life.
I've never been accused of under-thinking things
Turns out I wasn’t sad because of those problems. They were problems because I was S.A.D.
And then the school counselor, whom I don’t know well, but I want to cuz she’s so cool, shows up in my classroom. She said “Here, try this. You’ve looked like you could use it,” cuz counselors notice these things. And she put a light on my desk.
Look, I’m a skeptic, too. About just about everything. But I admit that I had been wondering if my blues were seasonal, and I had heard about light therapy and wondered about it. A buddy walked in, saw me sitting in front of the light, and said “Oh, come on. You have crystals in your pocket, too?”
But I gotta tell ya. I turned on this blazingly bright light for a half hour while I checked email or graded in the morning, and, well, I felt just like this:
Let’s acknowledge that it could be psychosomatic. Okay. I’m alright with that. But it’s not. But it could be. But it’s not. But who cares?
Let’s also acknowledge that the person who gave it to me thinks it works. Which means she literally took her happy off of her desk and put it onto mine. Which is really nice.
So, in all of this time, have I done any writing? No. Well, lots of writing for work – comments on each kid, lots of college recs. But no creative writing.
Well, wait. I wrote a college recommendation for a kid who is the best reader and writer I’ve ever taught, who is getting a C in my English class. So that took some creativity, I suppose.
So the answer to the “And so now what now?” has, for too long, been nothing much. I've not been a creator. Even my time on the piano has been about learning other people's songs. Which I've enjoyed, a lot, but still.
However, I’ve continued to be a big consumer of pop culture, so I thought I’d do a run down of some stuff I’ve read or watched in the long time since I’ve written. This is going to look like a lot of stuff, but remember: it’s been a long time, and I don’t watch sports.
Okay. Here’s stuff I’ve consumed of late:
The Odyssey: Impressed? You ought to be. Well, actually I just taught it again. I love this thing, and as stuffy and unmanageable as you might think it is, you should know that my students love it, too. Cool thing:, I took my son out to lunch at a new Greek restaurant I heard was great. And, it being just after his exam, we got into an argument about The Odyssey. Then we realized we were in a Greek joint arguing about The Odyssey. And that felt kinda cool.
Oedipus Rex: Taught it, love it. But when teaching two different classes, I keep calling Odysseus and Oedipus by each other’s names
That led to Minority Report, which I show after teaching Oedipus Rex. We talk about how the ancient Greeks saw fate as, well, fate: inevitable, unchangeable, and you are a hero if you face it with dignity and courage. Whereas in American culture, you’re a hero if you change fate. Also, it is a really cool movie. I had forgotten how much I love Spielberg. When Tom Cruise's watch ticks toward zero - Will he kill him, as prophesied? Will he not? – it was more fun to watch the students than the movie. They were rapt.
Artificial Intelligence: A.I.: So Minority Report put me in a Spielberg mood, so I tried to watch A.I. with my kids, but my son got too creeped out by it, and I decided that it was too creepy for my daughter. I love this film. It is a beautiful mess the likes of which you should expect if Spielberg (“Life is good, we can control our lives, a positive view saves the day, more happy endings than a Craig’s List massage parlor” [even to the holocaust, see Shindler’s List]) takes over a project started by Stanley Kubrick (“the universe is a bitch, we’re all evil deep inside, we’re doomed by eye liner and bowler hats, or nuclear bombs ridden like rodeo horses, or Nicholson with an ax”) The reactions A.I. causes are so complex and contradictory it’s almost hard to sit through.
I realized that the movie never made sense to me because I thought of the ending as being about aliens, not evolved mechas. I’m an idiot.
Note about me being obsessive. I bought this movie on eBay on a whim. When it came, it was full screen. So I bought it again. You want the full screen version? Really? Shame on you.
Wall*E: How amazing is Pixar? This movie is brilliant, and proves that clever can also be powerful and poignant and fun. We just watched this on DVD, but when we saw it in the theater it got me on a serious Charlie Chaplin kick. Have you ever watched Chaplin?
Modern Times still feels modern, and, though funny and slap-sticky, is also satirical, with an edge that holds up more than I expected. I expected to enjoy it in that I-forgive-old-movies-for-being-kind-of-boring-and-cheesy sort of way, but I didn’t have to. Chaplin movies really hold up. And if The Kid doesn’t touch you, you’re an asshole.
Born Standing Up by Steve Martin. I’m a huge fan. Of the author. But not of this book. Eh.
Wanted I grabbed this comic book from the library and read the whole thing, constantly amazed at how stupid it is, and how hard it works too be bad-ass and shocking, only to come across as trying too hard. This book is embarrassing. So of course I immediately rented the movie
Wanted, which is dumb but not nearly as dumb as the book, and is a blast to watch. Fantastic if crazy derivative stunts and effects, and I think this might have been the first time I’ve seen Angelina Jolie on film. She’s really cool. I didn't expect that. I thought she was only hot. She comes across as really smart and charming (and those other things too, yes.) Also, this movie contains the most ridiculous conceit ever, announced in dulcet tones by Morgan Freeman: “The Loom of Fate.”
Infinite JestI had never read any David Foster Wallace, and when he committed suicide, I was moved by the many obits in the press. So I read a bunch of his journalism, and then dove into his masterpiece. Well, I didn’t dive exactly. I'm still wading in, slowly. But I felt over-due for a literary challenge. I love the book, when I’m able to really concentrate, but my progress through this cinder-block of a novel was stalled by a quote-of-the-day in an email at work: "Here's something else no one will ever tell you: if you don't read the classics, or the novel that won this year's Booker Prize, then nothing bad will happen to you; more importantly, nothing good will happen to you if you do… Read anything, as long as you can't wait to pick it up again. — Nick Hornby, Housekeeping vs. The Dirt (2006)
I don’t quite agree with the “nothing good” part, but I'm still taking a break from the challenge and am reading
When You Are Engulfed By Flames by David Sedaris instead. Fun, thoughtful, with some laugh-out-louds, but his self-absorption gets a bit tedious.
Speaking of self-absorption, I should be clear that I don’t think you are still reading this. But I’m enjoying recording my opinions for myself.
Okay. Other things I’ve consumed in the past days or weeks or months:
Obama’s victory. It’s all been said, but I felt it too, big time. It hit me when I was walking my dog , waiting for the official 270 at 11:00. It just hit me, hard. It was good.
30 Rock: I often forget how great this show is, and then I watch an episode on hulu on a whim, and I try to remember other shows that make me laugh so much.
Quantum of Solace: I don’t get it. Why is everyone bashing this film? It’s not as good as Casino Royale, sure. But for a Bond film, it’s good, right? People remember Bond movies as better than they really are, sort of like the first seasons of Saturday Night Live. Goldfinger? Sure, it’s fun. But go watch it again. Then watch Quantum of Solace. It’s cool and fun, if a little bloated. And smarter than it looks. Nice touch with the oil-coated homage to the Connery classic, too.
A Colbert Christmas: The Greatest Gift of All: I enjoyed this at the time, but weird out weighed funny. This was almost as surreal as the old Peewee’s Playhouse, but you expect Peewee to be that bizarre.
Tropic Thunder: I'm not entirely fond of how much I loved this film. Hilarious, and Robert Downey Jr.; is there anyone more fun (and impressive) to watch on film these days? I was half way through the movie before I recognized Tom Cruise.
Derren Brown. This guy, who I’ve only seen online, rocks my world (and distracts me from grading exams. And challenges what I believe. And has me studying NLP.) You can’t get his DVDs on this side of the pond. Watch one and see if you can stop.
Frankenstein: The old original. Frickin’ blast.
Young Frankenstein: Funnier than I remembered. And without that old-comedy sag at the end.
Man on Wire: The effect of this documentary is this: even though the guy who walked on a high wire between the Twin Towers is there, in the documentary, in 2008, talking about his exploit in 1974, when you watch the old footage you still think he might not survive. The movie doesn’t exploit the sadness of the missing towers, but the film gains beauty from 9/11 anyway.
West Wing: I loved this show and stopped watching shortly after Aaron Sorkin left, cuz it fell so far so fast, but I’m watching season five now because of this, and while it ain't Sorkin, I am enjoying it.
All Star Batman and Robinby Frank Miller is a comic for fans of the genre only, and only the fans willing to forgive super-hero comics at their most misogynistic. I’m not sure I’m there. And Batman should never laugh like the Joker or say “God damn.” But the guest appearances by the JLA are fun.
Slaughterhouse 5: Taught this again for the first time in years. Loved it even more than I remembered, in large part because of the quality of my students' discussions. And, this time, I think understood the novel in a whole new way. I realized that Vonnegut probably doesn’t agree with the lessons he has Billy Pilgrim come to learn.
The Day The Earth Stood Still: I won’t take the kids to see the new one (horrible reviews, but my daughter really wants to see it) until they watch the old one. Really great movie, in a I-forgive-old-movies-for-being-kind-of-boring-and-cheesy sort of way.
Bolt. Took the family to this one. It’s okay. Opening chase scene is great because it steals apologetically from Pixar’s The Incredibles. The rest of the movie is fun, but mostly points out how impressive Pixar’s consistent excellence really is.
Boy in the Stripped Pajamas: My son and I saw this as a preview for free, and our night out was great. Hooray for the non-megaplex; we need to go to the Drexel much more often. At first the film made me uncomfortable; it depicts the fashion and zeitgeist of my parents' childhood, but with English accents. but the performances are fantastic and the movie really powerful. It is as good as the holocaust as a young adult film can be - which is actually very, very good. The point of view of a young boy who doesn't understand what is happening is moving and tragic and sad; you feel sorry for the son of a monster - and the monster, his father who runs a concentration camp, is uncomfortably honest in making him human. The last fifteen minutes are amazing and powerful on a number of levels.
That's a downer to end on. How about this one:
Robot Chicken: Star Wars I had never seen Robot Chicken, because I am old. But I threw this on my iPod a long time ago and forgot about it, and stumbled upon it yesterday. I haven't watched the whole thing yet, but it's hilarious. Here are some clips (not embeddable).
Writing this was a fun and oddly relaxing way to kick off Winter break. If you read the whole thing: why?
I just came across high praise for Tater Tots of Love.
The blogger who wrote seems to be an avant-garde performer in Bristol. Look at his blog.
That a traditional high school show hit him so hard seemed to surprise him as much as his blog post surprised me:
The highlight of my Edinburgh Fringe as an audience member was undoubtedly Tater Tots of Love, this is an American high school musical. Trust me I was as shocked as you might be to hear this.
Essentailly the experience shook me to the foundations of my artistic practice: you don't need experimentation and the attendant obscurity, what you need is show tunes, big smiles and the ability to hit the high notes. Even better the whole things was probably the best response to Faust that I've seen.
I have included an audio sample of the finale for your enjoyment.
Thanks to the lovely Chloë Courtney for sending me the link.
I've had very little time for creative pursuits during this hectic first quarter and three-offspring soccer season. A couple things here and there, though, including work on a recording for my daughter and her best friend of a song they wrote together. This to make up for not letting her go to Kings Island with friends, because her mother and I are united in unreasonable meanness.
Another school has requested a perusal script for the musical I wrote. Fingers crossed.
The band is moving along despite membership shake ups.
I've done no writing of my own.
I did, however, get the chance to revisit a piece I wrote four years ago that I was always a wee bit pleased with.
A former student stopped by my room to ask me to write a college recommendation. College recommendations are par for the course in this job, but rarely am I asked to write one for a student who graduated four years ago. This kid, who I always liked very much, left college to go on a "find myself" expedition that landed him in China teaching English. How cool is that? But now he's ready to go back to school, and needs a college rec to do it.
But how am I supposed to write him a rec? I haven't know him for four years.
Apparently there is a program at Columbia exclusively for students who have been out of school for two years or more. They are looking for non-traditional students (they certainly have found one in this kid). So they know that the academic recs they get might be from relationships that ended years ago.
I was comfortable with the idea when I realized that he didn't want me to write a new rec. he wanted me to send the one I wrote years ago.
College recs are tricky, but don't often call for much creativity other than finding ways to be honest about shortcomings that make students look good. But this kid, an unusual student whose strengths might not be apparent on his transcript, was applying to Kenyon, which I felt was a good match, and a school for which I could take some risks in my writing. So I took a big risk and wrote an unconventional letter that I think really captured the kid.
This letter was passed around in the Kenyon admissions office, ended up being published in a journal for college admissions counselors, and was remembered and cited by the president of the college when she spoke here some years ago. Toot-toot goes my own horn, small though it may be.
In the four years since I wrote the lettr I've grown uncomfortable with how much of a presence I am in the letter. Still, it did the job then, and I hope it does the job for him again, and I include it here because I like it, and he was, and I hope still is, such a creative kid.
I got his permission, and I changed his name.
TEACHER RECOMMENDATION FOR ANTHONY DAVID D. WRITTEN BY DEAD LENNIE TEACHER OF ENGLISH AND THEATER
This is a college recommendation I wrote for Anthony David D. when he was my student in 2004. He has asked me to send this letter as a snapshot of who he was in high school. It was a pleasure to see him again, and it is a pleasure to share this letter.
For what it is worth, Anthony David’s recent emails to me suggest that the former struggles with grammar noted below are now a thing of the past. And his recent life suggests that those things about him I most admired have only grown more inspiring.
When Anthony David asked me to write this letter, I was thrilled. I am a huge fan of this kid, and I was pleased to have the opportunity to introduce him to your school.
Now I’m starting my fourth attempt at this letter. Turns out, Anthony David is not an easy kid to capture on paper, especially in something as formal as the Recommendation Letter, capital “R” capital “L.” Anthony David is generally an informal kid. He’s also a kid that perceptive teachers gush about – usually at lunch, informally. My formal attempts at capturing him have fallen short. But if you and I were out to lunch – someplace casual – Max and Erma’s, maybe - these are some of the things I’d say about Anthony David D. between sips of tortilla soup and nibbles of my BLT:
“You should have seen him in the fall play. I mean, what was I thinking when I cast this show? This play, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged) – do you know this show? This show depends on speed. It’s hilarious, and Anthony David is hilarious. But the whole last, I dunno, half hour depends on speed. They race through Hamlet three times, each time faster than the last – and the last time BACKWARDS. So what do I do? I cast an ADD kid with processing issues – issues with speed, in other words – in the lead role. I mean, what was I thinking?
“But I took the leap, and Anthony David flew. You should have seen him. He was brilliant. Brilliant. The audience will never know how hard he worked to do what he did on that stage. They only know that it was an unforgettable, hilarious, sidesplitting performance by one of the funniest kids that stage has ever seen. You should have seen it. It was amazing. And the part where he improvises, alone on stage, talking directly to the audience? Some folks were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. I was one of them, and I had seen it a million times.
“Really. You should have been there.”
Pause. Slurp some soup. Sprinkle some salt.
“He’s always been like that, though. He’s always been surprising. Once, his, ummm, his sophomore year, I think. He took my theater class. He’s a fan of Shakespeare, so he was going to do Romeo’s speech in the tomb, when Romeo thinks that Juliet is dead. Well, we knew the theater was unavailable, so I figured we’d just do the scene in my classroom. But Anthony David realized that the cubbies in the hallway look sort of tomb-like. So he opts to do his scene in the hallway.
“Okay. So he disappears for a while, and then when we all go out there, he’s dressed up, and he has these teddy bears – like a dozen teddy bears – all over the hallway, on the floor, in the cubbies. There are all these teddy bears. The Capulet tomb, see? ‘Oh no,” I’m thinking. ‘He’s going to play this for laughs. He’s going to go for a cheap joke. He’s going to butcher Shakespeare and he’s going to sink his grade.’
“But he didn’t.” Quick bite of my BLT. Wipe my chin. “Traffic is stopping in the hall at this point, and Anthony David launches into the speech. ‘Let me peruse this face,’ he says, kneeling over a light brown bear. ‘Mercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris!’ and so on, until he goes to another bear, this one Juliet. People are gathering throughout the speech, each approaching with a giggle but then falling silent. Then, at last: ‘Thus with a kiss . . . I . . . die.’
Silence. No laughs. Then, applause. Cheers. He nailed it. Kneeling in a school hallway with a teddy bear in his arms, he gave everyone a mid-afternoon glimpse of the power of Shakespeare. It was brilliant. He made it look easy. This kid. I tell you.
“Pass the salt.”
You do.
“Thanks. You know, he was a pretty tough student. I had him freshman year, and it was rocky. He has some learning differences – grammar will always be tough for him, for instance, but the bigger problem was just his organization. He never got things in on time. But I have him now, again, as a senior, and he’s amazing. Very organized, and things get done. But there’s a bigger issue. Somewhere along the line he gained confidence, and now? He’s got this drive, this hunger. He can’t get enough information. I think he’s read more about Hamlet than I have.
“He gave a presentation in class about sources for Oedipus and Antigone explaining this controversial theory he found. His presentation ends up lasting two days. It was amazing. He is passionate about learning. He was inspired.
“One night, we were driving back to school from a play I took some kids to see, and I started asking Anthony David all these questions about his home life. I’ve known this kid for years through plays and classes, but I didn’t know too much about his life. So I ask. I knew his parents were separated, and I suspected they were pretty uninvolved with his school life. I didn’t realize how uninvolved they really were. They’re good people, but Anthony David was pretty much on his own – for meals, even, most of the time, as far back as middle school. So I asked him straight out, there, in the van. I asked, 'So, this growth you’ve had. I mean, you had some struggles, with organization, with getting the job done. Now you’re this great student. You’ve had a transformation. You did that on your own? All on your own?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Pretty much.’”
Now, at Max and Erma’s, I shove my food aside. I wipe my mouth, and I lean toward you. I’m looking right in your eyes.
“This kid. This Anthony David D. He’s smart – moments of brilliance even. He’s passionate. He’s a hard worker. Grammar? Not his thing. He’ll always have to work at the technical side of writing. But his ideas have substance and depth and subtlety. His leadership injects the entire school with fun, but keeps us talking about what’s important. His spirit – he’s got more school spirit than anyone here. This kid – he’s why teachers get out of bed in the morning. He’s inspiring to inspire. He’s done amazing things. He’s going to do amazing things. He should do them at your school.”
So that’s what I would say if we were out to lunch.
Years ago Brian and I collaborated on a project to stage a swing musical version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Shakespeare provided the book, and I had the concept and the resources – I direct theater at a high school – but I lacked the knowledge of the music of the period. I also needed a big band. And an arranger.
I called the right guy.
For about a year Brian and I met at Stauf’s countless times to put the show together. We laughed a lot. Brian had a sharp understanding of the play, and seemed to know a period song to suit every mood and thought in the show.
Brian and I worked for almost a year on our show A Midsummer Night’s Swing, or It Don’t Mean a Thing If It Ain’t Got That Dream, but, as always, the final weeks of rehearsals were rushed, and many of the arrangements that were performed were never finished on paper, including his original piece for the show, “Titania’s Lullaby.” It was beautiful, and I hate to think it’s gone.
The show was a big success, and working on it forged a friendship between Brian and me that stayed strong despite rarely seeing each other. I was surprised and thrilled, years later, when Brian dropped out of nowhere and onto my front porch for a birthday I had years later; we had no friends in common, really, and it had been ages since we’d talked. Brian knew that he wouldn’t know anyone there, but he came, alone, and was funny and sincere and fantastic. He had a great time. Seeing him was the highlight of the night for me.
I got a call from Brian a couple of months ago. Whenever we talked we talked a lot; it seemed that despite years between conversations, we had never really lost touch. Brian had an idea for a play and was looking for a playwright to help edit, or maybe to collaborate – I wasn’t sure which. I was excited about the chance to work with him again. His idea was to splice Waiting for Godot and Peanuts. Of course.
Honestly, I didn’t get it at first, but he was so excited I jumped in with him. After re-reading Godot and reading lots of Charles Schultz, it made sense. Alas, I lacked follow-through. I thought there would be time later. Nothing came of it, as far as I know.
(I’d be interested if Brian discussed this idea with any readers of this blog, and whether he ever pursued it. I’d love to know more about what he had in mind or had come up with.)
Last week I was considering what show to choose when or if I return to directing theater. I decided the show to do would be our version of Midsummer. I thought about how I needed to give Brian a call.
This was a good day. As this blog is a bit of an electronic journal, more personal than public, I though it might be good place to record my experience of it.
