Sentences without verbs, impossible, right? Maybe not. So far, not one in this post. Yet, comprehension. How? Easy, language as a vehicle of knowledge. Clear meaning almost lyric in form just not convenient. Why? Good question. Michel Dansel, a French Doctor of Letters, an intelligent man. His passion against verbs, those "invaders, dictators, usurpers of our literature," notable especially in Le Train de Nulle Part, by Dansel, a book without verbs.
This type of writing, Constrained Writing, pure in format without the clutter of verbs. Dansel's belief, the clearest kind of writing. My opinion, not so much. Lyrical and poetic quality? Yes. Interesting thought exercise, of course. Useful? No, not beyond academically. A quotation from my friend, Veronica: "Verbs... So great! A post without verbs, not easy, nay, near impossible. Only nouns and adjectives, no spice without verbs!"
May 14, 2013
May 13, 2013
Jeff Bliss: Educational Martyr or Grandstanding Punk
Last week was pretty sweet for viral videos and auto-tuned quotes. Charles Ramsey generated enough content on his own to capitalize on a potential McDonald's spokesperson deal and he had not one, but two songs made from his explanation of what happened to him while eating a Big Mac. However, I think the rant by Jeff Bliss, sophomore at Duncanville HS here in TX, is just as interesting but for different reasons.
If you have no idea what I'm talking about, check out the video below and the story on The Huffington Post. I'll wait...
Yeah, so that went down. Bliss' rant begs the question: Is he an educational martyr, chaffing under the restraints and apparent laziness of his teacher who is so disengaged from her job that she refuses to interact with them? Or, is he a grandstanding punk who knows he will be filmed and put online with potential for viral stardom?
It's tricky. As an educator who has dealt with a fair share of lazy teachers, I understand his frustration. Handouts and packets should be supplemental material used to enhance a lesson plan. They shouldn't be the lesson plan. In this regard, Bliss is correct to call out his teacher. She is not teaching. As a student who dropped out of school but has returned, Bliss is in a position where he needs his classroom time to count and be as productive as possible. As a teacher, she has to facilitate that.
However, towards the end of the video it is obvious he is making a scene. It is difficult to tell when he realizes he's being filmed but there is a moment when his theatrics increase and his initial message becomes less important. Were his only concerns the lack of teaching taking place in the classroom he would have left after "This is my country's future and my education." As good a line as any as a finisher. But he doesn't stop there, he goes on because he has the attention of the class and the camera.
So, dear reader, what do you think? is Bliss taking a stand for what should be done or is he subverting the teacher's control of the class and learning environment just to shine a spotlight on himself? Let me know in the comments.
It's tricky. As an educator who has dealt with a fair share of lazy teachers, I understand his frustration. Handouts and packets should be supplemental material used to enhance a lesson plan. They shouldn't be the lesson plan. In this regard, Bliss is correct to call out his teacher. She is not teaching. As a student who dropped out of school but has returned, Bliss is in a position where he needs his classroom time to count and be as productive as possible. As a teacher, she has to facilitate that.
However, towards the end of the video it is obvious he is making a scene. It is difficult to tell when he realizes he's being filmed but there is a moment when his theatrics increase and his initial message becomes less important. Were his only concerns the lack of teaching taking place in the classroom he would have left after "This is my country's future and my education." As good a line as any as a finisher. But he doesn't stop there, he goes on because he has the attention of the class and the camera.
So, dear reader, what do you think? is Bliss taking a stand for what should be done or is he subverting the teacher's control of the class and learning environment just to shine a spotlight on himself? Let me know in the comments.
Apr 27, 2013
Atrophy
I'm trying to stretch. My fingers flex, my palm contorts for better grip. Forearm is sore, shoulder tight, must drop pen and shake out hand. My mind aches. My writing has atrophied. I've always thought of writing as a muscle, something to be used and worked out with regularity to maintain flexibility and strength.
I've spent years toning this muscle through active use and teaching others how to use their own muscle. I thought, for a while, that teaching others was enough of a workout to maintain my own levels of writing fitness. I was wrong. It's been almost a year since my last entry and in the time between much has happened. Perhaps too much. Suffice to say, there was plenty on which to comment which leaves me with no excuse for such a long absence. I'm putting myself in rehab, writing rehab. Bear with me as I work my way back to full strength. The skill is present, I just need to work on my endurance.
I've spent years toning this muscle through active use and teaching others how to use their own muscle. I thought, for a while, that teaching others was enough of a workout to maintain my own levels of writing fitness. I was wrong. It's been almost a year since my last entry and in the time between much has happened. Perhaps too much. Suffice to say, there was plenty on which to comment which leaves me with no excuse for such a long absence. I'm putting myself in rehab, writing rehab. Bear with me as I work my way back to full strength. The skill is present, I just need to work on my endurance.
Jul 17, 2012
Tales from the Service Counter pt. 5
The other day, I was talking with a co-worker about a customer who came in one evening while I was in the middle of closing the dept. The customer was looking to have a large amount of steaks cut with a specific thickness. At the time, I apologized to the customer and told him I couldn't do it because the cutting room was cleaned and, furthermore, the dept was technically closed because it was after 9 p.m. As I told this story to my co-worker, he nodded and then said, " I would have cut the order for him." This caught my attention.
"Really?" I asked. He nodded again. "It wouldn't have taken that long and I like cutting besides." He answered. I was stunned into silence. My co-worker took that to mean our conversation was over and walked away.
The rest of my shift I thought on what he had said. Combined with other small details I knew about him I came to the realization that my co-worker had complete job satisfaction. The idea was novel and I had a hard time believing it so I asked him outright. "Yeah," he said. "I like cutting meat, the hours are guaranteed, the customers are generally nice and for the most part, I like my co-workers." I was silent again, but not from shock this time, but jealousy.
I struggled to think of the jobs I'd worked and if any of them gave me complete satisfaction. I thought of three, two in within journalism, one in education, but as I thought of each, a single fact reminded me that while these jobs were great, they did not offer complete satisfaction. Not enough hours, tumultuous workplace, unpaid. There was always something.
While I am envious of my co-worker, his situation give me some hope. Perhaps there is an ideal job out there for everyone. I haven't found mine yet, but I will.
"Really?" I asked. He nodded again. "It wouldn't have taken that long and I like cutting besides." He answered. I was stunned into silence. My co-worker took that to mean our conversation was over and walked away.
The rest of my shift I thought on what he had said. Combined with other small details I knew about him I came to the realization that my co-worker had complete job satisfaction. The idea was novel and I had a hard time believing it so I asked him outright. "Yeah," he said. "I like cutting meat, the hours are guaranteed, the customers are generally nice and for the most part, I like my co-workers." I was silent again, but not from shock this time, but jealousy.
I struggled to think of the jobs I'd worked and if any of them gave me complete satisfaction. I thought of three, two in within journalism, one in education, but as I thought of each, a single fact reminded me that while these jobs were great, they did not offer complete satisfaction. Not enough hours, tumultuous workplace, unpaid. There was always something.
While I am envious of my co-worker, his situation give me some hope. Perhaps there is an ideal job out there for everyone. I haven't found mine yet, but I will.
Jul 4, 2012
Jun 14, 2012
My Mom, the Goddess
My mother's birthday was a few days ago and I thought it appropriate to reflect on the effect my mother has had in my life. After careful consideration I came to a startling realization. My mother might be a goddess. I know, it sounds strange to me too, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Bare with me, dear reader, while I make my case.
My mother is like Isis, the Egyptian goddess who was worshipped as the ideal mother and wife (right, Dad?) Besides the obvious, I must thank my mother for raising me and instilling in me a set of traditional values that have guided me and still guide me to this day. If that is not the ideal of motherhood then I don't know what is. Let me not fail to mention that she has done that job twice. My sister is every bit the strong young woman she is due to our mother's influence. A job well done as a mother might not be enough to convince someone of my mothers "other-worldliness" but there is more.
She is also like Mars, or Ares, depending on which side of the Adriatic and Ionian Sea you live. In this role, she fights for and defends those that are important to her with a ferocity that is unmatched. I recall a time in elememtary school when I watched her, with awe, dress down a teacher who complained to her that I, as a fourth grader, was leaving the class without permission and inciting other students to do the same (even at the age of nine I was a leader of, well, children). I remember being both frightened and excited to watch my mother defend me. The excitement because she was ready to protect me from any and all accusations. Frightening, because I knew later that evening her wrath would be upon me for my poor behavior. It was. With aspects of Isis and Mars already discovered, a third couldn't be far behind, right?
Finally, my mother is like Apollo, or more specifically, the Oracle at Delphi, a human imbued with Apollo's gifts of prophecy. There are countless myths that involve heroes consulting the Oracle for advice about their quest and learning crucial information that helped them succeed. There are just as many stories of others seeking wisdom from the Oracle and misinterpreting or outright ignoring what she says to their detriment. I'd like to say that I fall squarely in the first group but I've spent plenty of time in the latter. I'm just happy and blessed that my mother continues to offer sage counsel. It took me a couple years but I'm starting to understand.
My mother is my personal goddess. I love you and wish you many more happy birthdays.
My mother is like Isis, the Egyptian goddess who was worshipped as the ideal mother and wife (right, Dad?) Besides the obvious, I must thank my mother for raising me and instilling in me a set of traditional values that have guided me and still guide me to this day. If that is not the ideal of motherhood then I don't know what is. Let me not fail to mention that she has done that job twice. My sister is every bit the strong young woman she is due to our mother's influence. A job well done as a mother might not be enough to convince someone of my mothers "other-worldliness" but there is more.
She is also like Mars, or Ares, depending on which side of the Adriatic and Ionian Sea you live. In this role, she fights for and defends those that are important to her with a ferocity that is unmatched. I recall a time in elememtary school when I watched her, with awe, dress down a teacher who complained to her that I, as a fourth grader, was leaving the class without permission and inciting other students to do the same (even at the age of nine I was a leader of, well, children). I remember being both frightened and excited to watch my mother defend me. The excitement because she was ready to protect me from any and all accusations. Frightening, because I knew later that evening her wrath would be upon me for my poor behavior. It was. With aspects of Isis and Mars already discovered, a third couldn't be far behind, right?
Finally, my mother is like Apollo, or more specifically, the Oracle at Delphi, a human imbued with Apollo's gifts of prophecy. There are countless myths that involve heroes consulting the Oracle for advice about their quest and learning crucial information that helped them succeed. There are just as many stories of others seeking wisdom from the Oracle and misinterpreting or outright ignoring what she says to their detriment. I'd like to say that I fall squarely in the first group but I've spent plenty of time in the latter. I'm just happy and blessed that my mother continues to offer sage counsel. It took me a couple years but I'm starting to understand.
My mother is my personal goddess. I love you and wish you many more happy birthdays.
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