Well, I'm back. And I can't say that I've missed it, but the nice thing is that it seems to get easier each time I do it. Oh yeah that something that causes me to sparkle and shine and drag my weary bones out of bed is the ongoing, everloving, death-defying start to creep back to school. Last week when I was back in Colorado, I was in a Safeway with my seventeen year old niece. I paused only briefly to note the stacks of looseleaf binder paper and spiral notebooks behind a hastily arranged "Back To School Savings" display.
It's still July, people. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to help dispel the myth that all teachers race out to their catamaran after the sixth of June and drink themselves into a stupor until August 30th. The party didn't start for me until after I had taught three weeks of summer school, which took me into the second week of July. Then I had to return for training July 31. I am currently enrolled in the Advanced II section of Mastery in the art of teaching reading. I am told that next year I will further my Mastery in the Advanced III section. The following year should put us right about in line with another textbook adoption, so we'll all get to start learning a brand new curriculum then.
For now I'll be spending the week at the Hilton, loading up on the buffet and reveling in the massive amount of air conditioning they make available. Today I got to see one of my fellow teachers draw a ferret (or was it a dog? maybe a cat) to explain the importance of Consonant Digraphs. Or something like that. Now that's what I call a party!
Monday, July 31, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Know Your Audience
One evening I was watching television with our neighbor (back in the day when "coming over" meant that we would leave the back door open when he was ready to stop by). That particular night we were enjoying the narrative subtleties of "GI Blues" - tagline: ELVIS AS THE GAY, SINGING SENSATION...TOAST OF THE WORLD'S GIRLS...ENVY OF EVERY MAN IN THE ARMY!
Okay, maybe that's overstating it a little bit, but you have a sense of the camp value of such an experience. As we watched, we became increasingly perplexed by the number of commercial interruptions. Then we started to notice the number of ads for a specific product. WTBS, Atlanta's "Superstation," was bringing us "GI Blues" thanks primarily to its sponsor, Attends. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Attends would be Pepsi to Depends' Coke. Adult diapers were not a brand new concept for us, but it caused us to question just who the audience for "GI Blues" might be. Was there a nation of weak-bladdered individuals staining their couches as they watched Elvis sing his way across Europe? Had we missed our demographic?
Then we made a connection: Perhaps there was a subtle message being sent. Maybe they were trying to tell us that The King may have been a secret incontinence sufferer. That would have explained all that shaking about, wouldn't it? Perhaps it was brought about by the intense mixtures of chemicals or fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Whatever the case, it became increasingly difficult to watch the movie without a twinge of "ABC Afterschool Special" angst.
By the halfway point, we started paying more attention to the commercials than the movie - especially the toll-free number at the end that encouraged us to inquire about their full line of Attends products. After a few more breaks, we could no longer contain our curiosity, and so we dialed. The very cheerful Attend-ant asked what product we were interested in - our inner fourteen year old had been stirred. At this point, I was grateful not to be on the phone, having given that very important responsibility to my more laconic friend. He very carefully navigated the series of questions that lead us down a path to be sent free samples of pull-on briefs.
I had to remove myself from the room, but was able to stay within earshot and was able to come up with the address of the lucky individual who would receive the package.
Then came the ultimate challenge: The very helpful operator asked what size undergarment we would be needing. As I collapsed in a heap on the cool linoleum floor of the kitchen, I heard my friend gasp, "Large." It was a courageous effort. I am certain that I would not have made it past the selection of pads or briefs. It is a testament to his tenacity that he was able to maintain his composure for the duration of the transaction. Only after he hung up the phone did he allow himself to be swallowed up in the utter sophomoric glee of the moment. It is this effort we salute today. I'm still laughing.
Okay, maybe that's overstating it a little bit, but you have a sense of the camp value of such an experience. As we watched, we became increasingly perplexed by the number of commercial interruptions. Then we started to notice the number of ads for a specific product. WTBS, Atlanta's "Superstation," was bringing us "GI Blues" thanks primarily to its sponsor, Attends. For those of you who are unfamiliar, Attends would be Pepsi to Depends' Coke. Adult diapers were not a brand new concept for us, but it caused us to question just who the audience for "GI Blues" might be. Was there a nation of weak-bladdered individuals staining their couches as they watched Elvis sing his way across Europe? Had we missed our demographic?
Then we made a connection: Perhaps there was a subtle message being sent. Maybe they were trying to tell us that The King may have been a secret incontinence sufferer. That would have explained all that shaking about, wouldn't it? Perhaps it was brought about by the intense mixtures of chemicals or fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches. Whatever the case, it became increasingly difficult to watch the movie without a twinge of "ABC Afterschool Special" angst.
By the halfway point, we started paying more attention to the commercials than the movie - especially the toll-free number at the end that encouraged us to inquire about their full line of Attends products. After a few more breaks, we could no longer contain our curiosity, and so we dialed. The very cheerful Attend-ant asked what product we were interested in - our inner fourteen year old had been stirred. At this point, I was grateful not to be on the phone, having given that very important responsibility to my more laconic friend. He very carefully navigated the series of questions that lead us down a path to be sent free samples of pull-on briefs.
I had to remove myself from the room, but was able to stay within earshot and was able to come up with the address of the lucky individual who would receive the package.
Then came the ultimate challenge: The very helpful operator asked what size undergarment we would be needing. As I collapsed in a heap on the cool linoleum floor of the kitchen, I heard my friend gasp, "Large." It was a courageous effort. I am certain that I would not have made it past the selection of pads or briefs. It is a testament to his tenacity that he was able to maintain his composure for the duration of the transaction. Only after he hung up the phone did he allow himself to be swallowed up in the utter sophomoric glee of the moment. It is this effort we salute today. I'm still laughing.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
There's a Time and Place for Spontaneity
This morning I spent a good deal of time contemplating all the photos that have been taken of me this summer during moments of planned spontaneity. I'm speaking of those flash pictures that are snapped at the end of high speed turbulent roller coaster type thrill rides. When you come off the ride, you're supposed to pause and take a moment to look at just how silly you look as your life flashes before your eyes.
Okay - most people look properly thrilled, nauseated, or both, but there is another way to go. After the first ride, you become aware of the waiting camera and you can plan your response to the moment of peak surprise. It starts with a funny face, then evolves into a more elaborate production that can include amusing gestures or even props (if you can free yourself from the harness or restraint system that holds you in your seat).
There is a web site devoted to those daring and devious folks clever and coordinated enough to engineer momentary public nudity on Disneyland's "Splash Mountain." The page can be found under the hysterical title, "Flash Mountain." Having the presence of mind that will allow one to flaunt a little flesh while plummeting five stories (52.5 feet), down a 47-degree waterfall deserves some recognition, I suppose.
This got me to thinking about all the other places outside theme parks that offer such opportunities. The camera taking your photo at each ATM transaction is just one. What about all of those recently installed stop-light cameras? Somebody is looking at these pictures, why not give them a thrill, or at least a moment of heightened awareness? The "observer effect" (often referred to incorrectly as the Heisenberg Effect) refers to changes that the act of observing has on the phenomenon being observed. On a planet that promotes "reality television" and contains a "Real World" that is lit and wired for sound, what shred of our existence has any truth?
I suggest we embrace the surreal, observed world as our own, and manipulate it for our own purposes. If the NSA really is listening to our conversations, periodically conduct your phone calls in "Meow-Meow" language. While shopping, wave at those one-way mirrors. And most of all, smile for the camera.
Okay - most people look properly thrilled, nauseated, or both, but there is another way to go. After the first ride, you become aware of the waiting camera and you can plan your response to the moment of peak surprise. It starts with a funny face, then evolves into a more elaborate production that can include amusing gestures or even props (if you can free yourself from the harness or restraint system that holds you in your seat).
There is a web site devoted to those daring and devious folks clever and coordinated enough to engineer momentary public nudity on Disneyland's "Splash Mountain." The page can be found under the hysterical title, "Flash Mountain." Having the presence of mind that will allow one to flaunt a little flesh while plummeting five stories (52.5 feet), down a 47-degree waterfall deserves some recognition, I suppose.
This got me to thinking about all the other places outside theme parks that offer such opportunities. The camera taking your photo at each ATM transaction is just one. What about all of those recently installed stop-light cameras? Somebody is looking at these pictures, why not give them a thrill, or at least a moment of heightened awareness? The "observer effect" (often referred to incorrectly as the Heisenberg Effect) refers to changes that the act of observing has on the phenomenon being observed. On a planet that promotes "reality television" and contains a "Real World" that is lit and wired for sound, what shred of our existence has any truth?
I suggest we embrace the surreal, observed world as our own, and manipulate it for our own purposes. If the NSA really is listening to our conversations, periodically conduct your phone calls in "Meow-Meow" language. While shopping, wave at those one-way mirrors. And most of all, smile for the camera.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Takeoff
We have a certain amount of ritual in my family when it comes to air travel. My wife and I have made it our practice to hold hands on takeoff and landing. I'm not sure if this is in hopes of forestalling some vast cosmic irony - like having some major malfunction or calamity while entering or leaving the sky. Maybe we're just taking the opportunity to connect at that moment: the beginning of another great adventure.
This morning as the Airbus 319 roared down the runway, I was very conscious of my wife's right hand in my left. My son was too consumed with what was happening outside his window to share in our reverie. I put my right hand on his back, and listened to the acceleration. I could feel the warmth of my family as the nose of the plane started to lift, then the wheels left the ground, and we were flying.
I continued to stare out the window, watching my son and the earth slip away. I could feel his breath, and my wife's pulse. We were going home.
We rolled up the plains and over the mountains. We climbed over the foothills and above the Continental Divide. I watched until I couldn't recognize specific landmarks or shapes. Soon it was just sky with clouds in sharp relief and grey and purple mountain majesty below. It seemed like a long time, but we were halfway out of Colorado before I let go of my wife and son to return to my copy of "Rolling Stone." Below us, life returned to normal.
This morning as the Airbus 319 roared down the runway, I was very conscious of my wife's right hand in my left. My son was too consumed with what was happening outside his window to share in our reverie. I put my right hand on his back, and listened to the acceleration. I could feel the warmth of my family as the nose of the plane started to lift, then the wheels left the ground, and we were flying.
I continued to stare out the window, watching my son and the earth slip away. I could feel his breath, and my wife's pulse. We were going home.
We rolled up the plains and over the mountains. We climbed over the foothills and above the Continental Divide. I watched until I couldn't recognize specific landmarks or shapes. Soon it was just sky with clouds in sharp relief and grey and purple mountain majesty below. It seemed like a long time, but we were halfway out of Colorado before I let go of my wife and son to return to my copy of "Rolling Stone." Below us, life returned to normal.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Hometown Paper
The other day, I sat here and wrote about a ghost town. Last night the sky was full of light and thunder. A founding member of "Bill Flaley and the Vomits" passed on. I met Mark in the sixth grade. He had, as his obituary stated, a crackling dry sense of humor - even at that age. We connected as middle brothers. We both had older brothers in Boulder High School, and we expected to follow in their respective glory: Me in band, he in theater. We had younger brothers following us around at recess on Columbine Elementary's playground. I was clever in sixth grade, but I knew I was onto something if I made Mark laugh.
My dad always used to read the obituaries. Bill Cosby does a bit about his dad announcing from behind his paper, "You know who died yesterday?" Truth is, it's kind of a universal notion - keeping morality at bay by reading the death announcements instead of creating them. Reading the local newspaper in my hometown makes that an even more tenuous experience. These are the people I grew up with. Forty-four still seems like a cheat. So does fourteen. So does ninety-four.
Instead, I'll hold on to the photo of Mark and I up at our cabin the summer after our sixth grade year. After the flurry that was our last year in Columbine, he was headed for Casey Junior High. I was headed for Centennial. He was going to be a Cub. I was going to be a Cyclone. For that weekend in the mountains, we chopped wood, stayed up late reading comic books, and worked hard at being kids before we launched ourselves into the next big thing.
We met up again at Boulder High. I was in band. He wasn't. So we didn't have as much to share as we used to. I was always pretty happy when I did something goofy in Pep Band and made Mark smile. It wouldn't last long, but it told me I was on the right track. I confess that after graduation, I haven't given him a lot of thought. He was a guy I knew in school. I'm guessing this would be his wry little way of letting me know he was headed on to his next big thing.
My dad always used to read the obituaries. Bill Cosby does a bit about his dad announcing from behind his paper, "You know who died yesterday?" Truth is, it's kind of a universal notion - keeping morality at bay by reading the death announcements instead of creating them. Reading the local newspaper in my hometown makes that an even more tenuous experience. These are the people I grew up with. Forty-four still seems like a cheat. So does fourteen. So does ninety-four.
Instead, I'll hold on to the photo of Mark and I up at our cabin the summer after our sixth grade year. After the flurry that was our last year in Columbine, he was headed for Casey Junior High. I was headed for Centennial. He was going to be a Cub. I was going to be a Cyclone. For that weekend in the mountains, we chopped wood, stayed up late reading comic books, and worked hard at being kids before we launched ourselves into the next big thing.
We met up again at Boulder High. I was in band. He wasn't. So we didn't have as much to share as we used to. I was always pretty happy when I did something goofy in Pep Band and made Mark smile. It wouldn't last long, but it told me I was on the right track. I confess that after graduation, I haven't given him a lot of thought. He was a guy I knew in school. I'm guessing this would be his wry little way of letting me know he was headed on to his next big thing.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Equilibrioception
"Come out and play, plan to spend the day, come to Elitches just for fun." - advertising slogan
That's what we did yesterday. We actually ended up planning to spend most of the day, not the whole day. Travel time, meals, sleep, hours of operation - all these things conspired to keep our stay at Elitches at less than an entire day. We lasted about seven hours.
Did we have fun? You betcha. It's always interesting to see how many ways we can intentionally mess with our sense of balance. Spinning, swinging, twisting, turning, and all the various combinations at various speeds and accelerations make wobbling to the line for the next attraction a challenge. The churning effect felt in all of our stomachs was only exacerbated by the delicious treats available at the concession stands wedged carefully between each ride. Imagine dropping a salty pretzel with mustard and a big chunk of peanut butter fudge into a blender with thirty-two ounces of Coca-Cola, then setting it for "high." It's all part of the challenge.
And what exactly is the challenge? Don't hurl. Don't cough or sneeze your food. Don't do the big spit. That and don't let the wait in line bore or intimidate you enough to leave the "Mind Eraser" or "Half Pipe" to go heading for the benches in front of the arcade. Getting up your nerve is the reason you need to go to the amusement park with a group of people. It's a lovely dance of peer pressure and friendly cajoling to make each ride seem like it could be the last. Watching the timbers rattle and shift under "Twister II" was enough to make me ponder, however briefly, what sort of state and federal guidelines keep attractions like this big wooden roller coaster from falling into disrepair.
"Not to see Elitches is not to see Denver." - advertising slogan
I saw Elitches, therefore, I saw Denver. A lot of it was upside down and blurred, but I saw Denver.
That's what we did yesterday. We actually ended up planning to spend most of the day, not the whole day. Travel time, meals, sleep, hours of operation - all these things conspired to keep our stay at Elitches at less than an entire day. We lasted about seven hours.
Did we have fun? You betcha. It's always interesting to see how many ways we can intentionally mess with our sense of balance. Spinning, swinging, twisting, turning, and all the various combinations at various speeds and accelerations make wobbling to the line for the next attraction a challenge. The churning effect felt in all of our stomachs was only exacerbated by the delicious treats available at the concession stands wedged carefully between each ride. Imagine dropping a salty pretzel with mustard and a big chunk of peanut butter fudge into a blender with thirty-two ounces of Coca-Cola, then setting it for "high." It's all part of the challenge.
And what exactly is the challenge? Don't hurl. Don't cough or sneeze your food. Don't do the big spit. That and don't let the wait in line bore or intimidate you enough to leave the "Mind Eraser" or "Half Pipe" to go heading for the benches in front of the arcade. Getting up your nerve is the reason you need to go to the amusement park with a group of people. It's a lovely dance of peer pressure and friendly cajoling to make each ride seem like it could be the last. Watching the timbers rattle and shift under "Twister II" was enough to make me ponder, however briefly, what sort of state and federal guidelines keep attractions like this big wooden roller coaster from falling into disrepair.
"Not to see Elitches is not to see Denver." - advertising slogan
I saw Elitches, therefore, I saw Denver. A lot of it was upside down and blurred, but I saw Denver.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
More Ours In The Day
Vacation time. That means that I try to lay in bed for an extra few minutes, while my son tries to get up a few minutes earlier (or an hour or two earlier). I was trying to remember when it becomes more important to look at the inside of your eyelids than Cartoon Network. My seventeen year old niece has passed that mark. Teenagers have an amazing capacity for sleep. Parents would like to aspire to such a talent. I lay there in bed this morning with the sounds of "Tom and Jerry" wafting up the stairs. I closed my eyes a little bit tighter, and made conscious efforts to relax. "Settle down there, big fella," I tell myself in a comforting way, "He'll be fine for hours. He knows how to use the remote."
Then the truth returns: I want to be up and sharing the experience. Not necessarily the cartoons, unless they were Warner Brothers, but the empty chunks of time that hang around the edges of vacation days. There are plenty of scheduled or suggested activities for the rest of the day, but right now there's only breakfast, television, a morning paper, and a couple of hours before the excitement begins.
My life is hardly the "Cat's in the Cradle" version from the Harry Chapin song. I have lots of time to connect with my son, and we share all kinds of important events and experiences. During the school year, my wife and I sometimes need a crane, or paramedics to haul my son out of bed to get him ready to go to school. It's on the weekends that he shows off his amazing stamina for eighteen hour days, filled with amusements. I know that the day is coming soon when he'll be the one snoring in the other room as I get up to go and mow the lawn, or write my blog. But right now he's sitting on the stairs, reading a "Dennis the Menace" comic book. I want to be part of that.
Then the truth returns: I want to be up and sharing the experience. Not necessarily the cartoons, unless they were Warner Brothers, but the empty chunks of time that hang around the edges of vacation days. There are plenty of scheduled or suggested activities for the rest of the day, but right now there's only breakfast, television, a morning paper, and a couple of hours before the excitement begins.
My life is hardly the "Cat's in the Cradle" version from the Harry Chapin song. I have lots of time to connect with my son, and we share all kinds of important events and experiences. During the school year, my wife and I sometimes need a crane, or paramedics to haul my son out of bed to get him ready to go to school. It's on the weekends that he shows off his amazing stamina for eighteen hour days, filled with amusements. I know that the day is coming soon when he'll be the one snoring in the other room as I get up to go and mow the lawn, or write my blog. But right now he's sitting on the stairs, reading a "Dennis the Menace" comic book. I want to be part of that.
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