Archive for July, 2009

A Sheltered Life

Friday, July 31st, 2009

It occurred to me, after my diatribe about teenage drinking, that I had come out pretty strongly against the sheltered life.  So I’d like to share a counter-anecdote:

Last year one of my Creative Writing students came to me with a proposal for a poetry slam.  I said it sounded like a good idea, but she would have to plan it.  She did, and it was fantastic.  The day of the slam, the vice principal called me into her office and said, “I assume you’ve been approving all the submissions for the poetry slam?  There will be parents there, and I want to make sure everything is school-appropriate.”

Jeez.  No.  Hadn’t thought of that.  I called a hurried conference just before the slam and leafed through the pages.  One poem had a line about making out with a boyfriend and smoking cigarettes, and while this is certainly tame by HBO standards, we’re a very conservative school.  I asked the student if she would tame it down a little.  “But I don’t want to,” she said.  Ah, youth.

I tried again: “Angie, there are nuns here.”  There were.  Immediately she asked if we could get them to approve it, and relieved to be free of the burden, I said, “Sure!”

She turned to one of the religion teachers, who was nearby.  “Mrs. Lowe said this poem wasn’t appropriate to read around nuns.”  Well, I guess I technically did.  The sister was very gracious and said that although she didn’t necessarily agree with the actions in the poem, it was Angie’s “reality” and therefore acceptable in a poetry reading.

I’d felt bad about the way things happened, so quickly and without forethought, so later I sought the sister out to apologize.  “Oh, I wasn’t offended,” she said.  “But I do think there’s a problem with saying something’s not appropriate just because of who’s present.  Either it’s appropriate, or it’s not.”

I’ve heard this argument before about movies: if you won’t let your kids watch it, you shouldn’t watch it either.  And I agree with it, to a point.  Yes, there’s some stuff out there that’s inappropriate to say, think, do or even watch in the presence of any human being.  But there’s also room for maturity: I have been known to let fly a chosen swear word for purposes of humor and / or drama, but I would certainly never do so in church, or in front of my grandmother.  And in turn, I am honored when people refuse to repeat a dirty joke or show a graphic film in my presence. To me, it connotes respect: “You’re too good for that.”  There was a time when this applied to all women, not just nuns, and it’s too bad that time has passed.

Resurrecting the Fallen

Thursday, July 30th, 2009

Writing is a tough business.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had someone approach me about writing for them and still not gotten the thing published.  Sometimes they’re too busy to edit it.  Sometimes the managerial staff changes.  Sometimes there’s no explanation; they just drop off the face of the earth, or at least the face of e-mails and phone calls.

And sometimes the publication goes out of business, which is what happened when Topic Magazine asked for a submission about Music Mind Games.  You’ve heard me plug MMG here before, and I know I will again: it’s the best way to teach kids to read music, period.

Anyway, it occurred to me the other day that I now have my own forum to publish whatever I want, and I won’t blow myself off or refuse to answer my e-mails.  So, enjoy!

Playing Right Into Their Hands:

How Games Help Kids Become Better Musicians

Think back, for a moment, to the way you learned to read.  In all likelihood, it began the moment you were born, when you were surrounded by cooing voices that issued from adoring, blurry faces.  Other humans spoke to you constantly until you learned to speak yourself, bungling your first pronunciations to the delight of everyone around you.  Your friends and family read you books, and sometimes they’d point at key words on each page: “ball,” “cat,” “mommy.”  You learned to speak in short words and phrases, each memorized for the effect they had on others (Remember what fun “no” could be?)  You began school, and your teachers made signs for everyday objects: “door,” “desk,” “goldfish.”  Gradually, slowly, you began to understand the way these sounds and symbols worked collectively, and you pieced together a language of communication.

It would have been absurd, on your first day of life, if your parents had placed a book in front of you and expected you to learn how to communicate.  As the black print swam on a white page before your eyes, you probably would have burst into tears (and not just because you were hungry.)  Yet for most music students, their introduction to reading is just that harsh.  Up goes the theory book; intimidating black notes stare out at them, and they try to make some sense of the signs, symbols and words that must all translate into artful, passionate sound.

My students are lucky.  By the time they see their first theory book, they have the tools to break down a line of music into something more easily digestible.  They have traced the treble and bass clefs with tiny fingers and placed them on the staff, paying careful attention to the way the dots of the bass clef sit on either side of the F line.  They have dropped colorful plastic dots onto a staff, calling out gleefully, “Space!  Line!” as the notes land in their places, and collected them with a “magic” magnetic wand.  They have curled up into tiny balls on the floor, whispering “pianissimo” amid stifled giggles, and gradually stood as their voices swelled: “mezzo forte . . . forte . . . FORTISSIMO!”  On this last one, they leap wildly into the air, acting out the dynamics with their whole bodies.  They have practiced rhythms with fun, silly words like “pineapple” and “gooseberry,” forming abstracted shapes with their fingers as they learn to keep a steady pulse while they repeat the words. So, when they see a piece of “real music” for the first time, they’re ready, and even eager, to put this knowledge to good use.
Students of Music Mind Games don’t just read music; they absorb it.  They act it out, sign it, speak it, and play it – and this last verb most accurately describes their state of mind as they learn some of the most difficult and complex musical concepts in existence.  For them, it’s all a game.

(Read the rest below.)

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American Parents: Ruining Lives since 1607

Wednesday, July 29th, 2009

Articles like this are so melodramatic, they make me want to set myself on fire!

For those of you who are too lazy to read the link, the gist of the story is that in the new Harry Potter movie, there are a lot of drinking scenes.  As in, the kids are at a party where butterbeer is being served.  Or they’re sipping mead.  And Harry purposely gets two of his professors drunk in order to extract needed information from them.

First, let’s attack talk about the American drinking age.  It’s a common argument, but that doesn’t negate its logic: at 18, you can legally drive a car, fly a plane, buy a shotgun, have consensual . . . children with another adult, and die for your country in the armed services.  But you can’t have a beer.  Sorry.  No other first-world country has a drinking age as high as ours, and only three others have one over 18.  If you look at it that way, these kids (who are under supervision most of the time) are completely within their rights.

Second, as the article points out, butterbeer is never really explained in the books.  It may be somewhat alcoholic (she mentiones that house-elves can’t take as much as humans) but everyone drinks it, and no negative consequences ensue.  People, this is how we should be teaching our children about alcohol.  If we have no positive examples to offer them, they will learn the negative ones.

Third, I wonder whether copious amounts of alcohol would result in more state secrets than waterboarding?  It worked on Professor Slughorn.  And I don’t think it constitutes “cruel and unusual,” unless the alcohol in question was light beer.  Just wondering.

Grammatical Rant

Tuesday, July 28th, 2009

This is why I really started this blog . . .

My graduate professor started this evening’s class with an anecdote.  When he was writing his dissertation, his advisor redlined his use of the word “befriend.”  It doesn’t mean “to make friends with,” the advisor explained, though it is often misused that way.  It means “to come to another’s aid.”  The connotation of friendship might be there in a latent way, but mostly it just means taking someone under your wing, showing them the ropes, and other assorted cliches.

My professor said that at the time, he’d paid lip service to his advisor, thinking privately that the advisor was probably wrong.  But later he looked it up, and “damned if he wasn’t right . . . and I’ve heard someone misuse that same word just about every month in the 30 years since!”

Well, in honor of that advisor, here are my top three misused words:

1. Issues. “Issues” means “Subjects.”  You may say, “We have many issues to discuss at this meeting.”  There is absolutely no negative connotation to the word.  To say, “Boy, she needs a therapist — girl’s got major issues!” is wrooooong.  On the other hand, if you’re an offender in this area, you’re in good company: I’ve even heard English teachers misuse the word.  And yes, I’ve corrected them.  In front of other English teachers.  I am ruthless.

2. Ironic / Fitting. I might have stolen this from my BFF’s DH, but until he gets his own teacher blog, here it is.  In literature, there are five types of irony: dramatic, situational, verbal, cosmic and romantic.  In life, people often say “ironic” when they mean “fitting.”  Example: “It’s so ironic that she was the one to pass the amendment in a dramatic tiebreaker vote, because she was the one who introduced it in the first place.”  No, it’s fitting that she was the one to pass the amendment.  Ironic would be if she turned around and vetoed it (situational.)  Or died the day it passed (cosmic.)

3. Phase / Faze. This one only matters if you’re writing.  Phase is a noun, meaning “a stage of a process:” “She’s going through that awkward phase.”  Faze is a verb, meaning “to rattle” in the colloquial sense, and is usually used in the negative: “She was unfazed by the terrible news.”  I have seen very intelligent people use the wrong homonym, so be vigilant!

My professor ended his speech by saying, “It’s better to use a ten-cent word correctly than to misuse a five-dollar word.”  What you don’t realize is that you look foolish to grammarians everywhere, and some of us are undercover.  You never know who will be listening.

Overloaded

Thursday, July 23rd, 2009

When I first moved back to Baltimore from New York, I went through a very difficult time.  I think there were a few different reasons: for one, I had just left the most stressful and psychologically damaging environment I’ve ever encountered.  For another, I had been displaced: my little brother was all grown up, my friends had moved away to colleges of their own, and even my room was taken (a friend of my sister’s was living there.)  I also had a lot of extra time on my hands, my only responsibility being a standard nine-to-five job, and when I have too much free time I ususally end up tangled in a web of introspective mishmash.

Of course, this time came to an end — with my knees buckling under me as Rob swept me off my feet. But there was one aspect of this period I never understood: my emotions were constantly in high gear.  I went to see The Grinch that Stole Christmas and slunk down into my seat, trying to hide my tears, when the monster’s heart grew three sizes bigger.  (”Are you crying?” my date asked in disbelief.)  On the way home from Dancer in the Dark I cried so hard that a stranger stopped to see if I was all right (and if you’ve ever ridden a Baltimore city bus, you know that’s really something.)  Even a glimpse of sun shining through the clouds on a cold day might set me off.  It wasn’t just hormones, either; there was a profound spiritual element to these outbursts, as if my eyes had been opened to the great suffering and beauty that were, together, the meaning of our earthly existence.  In some ways it was a gift; in others, a great burden.

Last week this all came back to me as I read a sociologist’s take on city life, an excerpt from Georg Simmel’s work:

“There is perhaps no psychic phenomenon which has been so unconditionally reserved to the metropolis as has the blase attitude.  The blase attitude results first from the rapidly changing and closely compressed contrasting stimulations of the nerves . . . [city life] agitates the nerves to their strongest reactivity for such a long time that they finally cease to react at all.”

Did living in the city make me act this way when I left it?  I don’t know.  But it’s an interesting thought!