Showing posts with label Everyday Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Everyday Life. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Best of Everything 2014

2014 happened. Here is the best stuff I encountered in it.

BOOKS


New Fiction:


Annihilation, by Jeff VanderMeer

My first encounter with Jeff VanderMeer was in the pages of Steampunk, an excellent anthology of short stories and other excerpts from various steampunk writers that Jeff and his wife Ann VanderMeer put together as an introduction to the genre.1 Until this year, I only knew his writing from the introduction to said anthology. This spring, someone on Tumblr mentioned that he's a great speculative fiction writer himself, so I bought a copy of City of Saints and Madmen2 off Better World Books and enjoyed it so much that I immediately headed over to the Ball State library to scrounge for more Jeff VanderMeer. The only book of his on the shelves was Annihilation, but boy, they picked a great only book by Jeff VanderMeer to have, I tell ya.

Annihilation messed me up something fierce. From the first moments of the book, I felt this palpable dread radiating off the page, wafting gently onto me like tropical humidity until I was drenched with it. The dread in this book clung to me for days afterward, messed up my sleeping patterns and work habits.

It was great.

Equal parts Stalker, Twilight Zone, and Goosebumps-cranked-to-11, Annihilation is a first-person account of a biologist sent as part of a team to explore Area X--about which, the less said the better. She quickly realizes that everything she thought she knew was a lie, but instead of trying to figure out the truth, or leave, she kind of just realizes she's screwed and decides to stick around to see what happens. It's all quite terrifying and magnificent and weird.


Runner Up: The Bone Clocks, by David Mitchell


Old Fiction:


The Killing Moon and The Shadowed Sun, by N. K. Jemisin

I spent the end of 2013 and the beginning of 2014 digging up fantasy and sci-fi from authors of color, because, let's face it, you can only read so many books by white guys before you need someone else's perspective. One great find was N. K. Jemisin, who creates fantasy worlds where, just like in our world, most of the characters are people of color. How about that.

The Dreamblood books, The Killing Moon and The Shadowed Sun, take place in a world dominated by various Middle Eastern- and African-inspired cultures, deities, and political powers. The plots are full of political conspiracy, culture conflict, and strange magic. They're also just really rad, so I'm quite glad I found them. I'm pretty stoked for her next book, which is coming out in August, 2015.




Runner Up: the Xenogenesis trilogy, by Octavia Butler


Honorable Mentions: If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, by Italo Calvino;
Embassytown, by China Mieville


New Nonfiction:



The Teacher Wars: A History of America's Most Embattled Profession, by Dana Goldstein

This fall, I started taking classes toward an elementary school teaching certificate. But my interest in education, and education policy, goes back a number of years. So I was delighted to hear Terry Gross interview historian Dana Goldstein about her book on the history of teaching in America. It's actually mostly a history of Americans fighting about teaching: who should teach, what they should teach, and what they should be paid.

It's a very balanced, thoughtful, and thorough treatment of the subject, but it never gets bogged down with all the details, and almost always retains a human, personal touch, examining the issues of each period through the lives of a few key figures. The key lesson I walked away with was that, however much we may fight about education today, Americans have tried a lot of the current strategies for reforming education before, and we can actually just look to history to help us decide what works (teacher mentoring and coaching!) and what doesn't (merit pay!).




Old Nonfiction:


Freedom National: The Destruction of Slavery in the United States, by James Oakes

Race and racism in America were on my mind a lot this year; I think many Americans can say the same, what with police brutality protests in Ferguson, NYC, and around the country, as well as "The Case for Reparations" and other racial issues coming to national attention throughout the year. I wrote several posts on this subject, and I researched them all as thoroughly as time would allow. My best find while researching was Freedom National, a book that examines in fine detail the ending of slavery in America.


It's a rich book, full of lively detail and incisive analysis. Most crucially, though, it functions as a striking rebuttal to historians and laypeople alike who allege that the Civil War was not "about" slavery, or that Lincoln and the Republicans had no intention of abolishing slavery. At every turn, author James Oakes points out how fervently anti-slavery Lincoln and the Republicans were, and the measures they were taking to destroy slavery within the boundaries set out for them by the Constitution of the United States. (Read about Oakes's thoughts on revisionist Civil War history here.) Freedom National is a great work of history, and a brilliant read to boot.


Runner Up: When I Was a Child, I Read Books, by Marylinne Robinson


  Jesus and the Victory of God, by N. T. Wright;
The Information, by James Glick


New Comics:


The Shadow Hero, by Gene Luen Yang and Sonny Liew

I've been in love with Gene Luen Yang's work ever since my friend Daniel put his copy of American Born Chinese in my hand and said, "Read this." Yang's work is elegant in its simplicity, always poignant, yet never maudlin. His latest collaboration with Sonny Liew brings new life to a forgotten character from the Golden Age of comics, the Green Turtle. Yang and Liew reinvent the Green Turtle as a gangster-era, Chinese-American superhero, stirring up trouble and upending the corrupt social order in Chinatown. The art is zippy and kinetic, colorful, lively, and keen. The story is a fun, light-hearted tribute to a bygone era, with Yang's perennial theme, the Chinese-Western culture clash, never far from view.

One of my favorite things in comics is when creators include commentary on their work within the book itself: Scott McCloud's combination of nostalgia and faint embarrassment about his early work in the Zot! anthology, Chester Brown's copious historical notes at the back of his Louis Riel biography, Juanjo Guarnido's meticulous color studies in A Silent Hell. So it was a special treat for me to open my copy of The Shadow Hero on Christmas and discover at the end, not only a detailed commentary on the original Golden-Age character and his creator, but a full reprint of the original issue of the Green Turtle's debut comic! This volume is a delight.

Runner Up: Blacksad: Amarillo, by Juan Diaz Canales and Juanjo Guarnido


Old Comics:



Finder: Talisman, by Carla Speed McNeil

My entry point into the world of comics was Douglas Wolk's book of essays, Reading Comics. It's a great volume, partly because just about every chapter is an essay on a single comic creator's work, so you end up with a good idea of who you'd like to look up (and who you might want to steer clear of) when you're done.

Carla Speed McNeil's Finder universe is one of the ones I initially decided to steer clear of. Her work is rich in the way that Tolkein's is: when you read it, you sense a carefully thought-out, extremely detailed world in the background, of which you're just glimpsing bits and pieces of the surface. This can make it pretty daunting to the beginner. I've tried reading her collected works a few times, but had trouble getting into them because of how little handholding she does in the beginning; your introduction to the Finder universe--a sort of indigenous, retro-punk, post-disaster future--is a glorious, cacophonous mess, not because McNeil is bad at her job, but simply because that's how the world she writes in is. It's clearly great inside; it's just hard to get in.

Talisman finally broke the world open for me this year. It's short, it follows a single character all the way through, and it's beautiful, sometimes wrenchingly so. I'm hoping to finally get into Finder now that I've finally found a way in.


Runner Up: Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, by Hayao Miyazaki


MOVING PICTURES

Feature Film:


Coherence, directed by James Ward Byrkit



Coherence is the movie I made everyone watch this fall; I must have screened it five or six times for various groups of friends. I told each of them this: Coherence is like if you watched Primer and actually cared about the characters. If you haven't seen Primer, it's on Netflix instant, it's like 70 minutes long--just do it, go ahead, I'll wait.


Okay, so Primer uses a small budget to play with a sci-fi concept--time travel--in ways that deliberately mess with the viewer and, hopefully, makes you want to watch it again to puzzle out what you miss the first time. It's really great if that's what you're into; but the major flaw is that you don't necessary come away from it caring very much about the people who are caught up in its convolutions. Not so with Coherence, which rapidly establishes each character in its eight-person cast, creating buy-in from the audience from the first moments, and providing an emotional through line that keeps you invested even as the plot starts to spiral into madness. Best of all, it rewards multiple viewings even better than Primer (since you can actually figure out what's happening in another watch-through or two).

Maybe my favorite thing about Coherence is the story behind the movie. The film flows really well, with realistic, overlapping dialogue and an intimate feel. That's because it was all filmed at the director's house over the course of a few days, with the actors improvising their lines. (The actors were given their motivations and basic to-do's by the director each night, but not told what anyone else would be doing or saying.) It's a testament to how important the editor's job is that this film is even watchable; I can't imagine how hard it must be to assemble a normal film with lines and discrete scenes, never mind an ad-libbed deal like this one. But it's not merely watchable: it's a marvel, clear and gorgeous throughout, and loads of fun to boot.


Runner Up: Snowpiercer, directed by Bong Joon-ho

Honorable Mention: Noah, directed by Darren Aronofsky

Short Film:

Straight Down Low, by Zach Wechter

 

I'd never heard of Wechter before I saw his short, Straight Down Low, but he's definitely talented. The film nails the film noir feel, to a T, but rather than taking the Chinatown route and revisiting the 30s, 40s, and 50s settings of the original noirs, it heads the way of Brick instead, and uses the genre to explore different territory--in this case, a 90s-era gangland. It's twisty, gritty, wicked fun.


Runner Up:  Submarine Sandwich, by PES

Honorable Mention: The Missing Scarf, by Eoin Duffy


Music Video:

Shia LaBeouf, by Rob Cantor





I don't really have words for this one; just watch it, and you'll either get it, or be like "who is Shia LaBeouf lol." 


TV Show:


Bojack Horseman




Okay, so apparently this is a controversial choice: Bojack Horseman divided critics and fans alike. I thought it was gut-bustingly funny, and also weirdly mesmerizing. I watched it all in a single day, which is almost unheard of for me. It's about a washed-up former Hollywood sitcom star--so about half the jokes are about being a has-been in Hollywood. But he's a horse, and other people are animals also, so the other half of the jokes are about what it would be like to live in a world where some people are animals: a chicken woman lays an egg after a fight in a bar stresses her out; Cameron Crowe is a raven, who is really annoyed that people can't get that he's not actually a crow; and so on. It's fun/weird.

All of that wouldn't be enough to put this on top for me. The two things that did were (1) the opening credits, for which see the above clip--it captures the essence of the show so perfectly, so surreally, and so catchily, that just those 54 seconds of music and visuals obsessed me for quite a while, and (2) the way the series winds up, which is surprisingly emotionally resonant--beautiful even. Check it out sometime; it's all available on Netflix instant.


Runner Up: High Maintenance



TV Episode: 

"Food Chain" from Adventure Time






Adventure Time is probably my favorite current piece of pop culture, in any medium, currently being created right now. This episode was a great demonstration of why: we're six seasons in, but the creators are still experimenting. This gives me life.


In this case, they handed the reins of the show over to a complete outsider for a whole episode, and the result is a masterwork of psychedelic visuals, zany music, and surprisingly educational content; yet the emotional core, the friendship between the two main characters, remains intact. That ability to balance emotional resonance with experimentation and zaniness is what keeps me coming back for more.


Runner Up: "Island Adventure" from Steven Universe

Honorable Mention: "Matilda" from High Maintenance


Video Game:

Gone Home



Gone Home
is not a conventional video game, and that's a big part of its appeal. There's no bad guys to fight, no puzzles to work out, no points or lives or any of that. It's purely an interactive story, one that you investigate at your own pace, watching it, and--crucially--hearing it unspool in front of you. The sound design on this game is unreal. A game like this lives and dies on atmosphere--and Gone Home has atmosphere in spades.


The game takes the player back to the pre-internet 90s, a world of CD players, typewriters, video cassettes, and zines. The human story is the real heart of the game, though--and the less I say about it, the better, because you should experience it for yourself. If you hurry, you can get it on Steam for ten bucks.

Gone Home is an evocative, poignant, lush experience. I loved it.


Runner Up: Gunpoint

Honorable Mention: 2048

SOUNDS


Podcast: 



You Made It Weird with Pete Holmes

Podcasting can be anything, but the classical form is two people talking smack into a microphone, and no one in my experience talks better smack or finds more interesting people than Pete Holmes does on You Made It Weird.


Pete Holmes is a comedian, and he brings a lot of fellow comedians on to talk to him, which is great, and he's great at it. But what I love most about You Made It Weird is that, no matter who he brings on, Pete almost always brings up religion at some point, and he's great at drawing people into religious conversations in a way that you won't hear on On Being or pretty much anywhere else. Mostly because they're usually pretty uproarious.


Runner Up: The Nostalgia Trap

Honorable Mentions: Meet the Composer


Podcast Episode: 



"Love Hurts" from Strangers

Lea Thau's podcast Strangers is pretty great, but you wouldn't really know it from the premise: it's really just people telling their stories. But Lea Thau was one of the main people behind The Moth--she was its Executive Director for a decade, and she started the podcast--so when it comes to getting people to tell their stories, she's a legend.


What makes "Love Hurts" so special is that it's Lea's own story, just not from her perspective. She lays out her romantic woes, true, but then she does something unique: she interviews an ex, to ask him: what went wrong? The question we all have but can't ever really ask--was it me? is there something wrong...with me?--she asks it. And it's brilliant, involving stuff, let me tell you.


Runner Up: "60 Words" from Radiolab

Album:



Oh Christmas Trees Volume Two, by Oh Christmas Trees

I've stopped buying or even really looking for new music over the last few years--I dunno why. But that hasn't stopped me from occasionally making some of my own. In 2013, some friends and I put together an album of Christmas songs, and this year, we came back and did it again. This year's album was a lot of fun, and I was really proud of my contribution, a recording of the Advent hymn Lost in the Night.




Runner Up: Enamored, by Dave and Erica


MISCELLANY


Life Event: 

Got married. Our wedding was really, really cool, and we still think back on it with pride and glee. The music, the ceremony, the guests, the food--it was all a blast. Check out the summary below, or heck, just watch the whole thing here.





Runner Up: Went back to school.

Trip Destination:



Washington Island, WI.

We went here for our honeymoon. It's an island in the middle of Lake Michigan. Ask me about it sometime.


Runner Up: Manhattan, Isle of Joy






Friday, September 5, 2014

Why I Am Considering the Teaching Profession

Photo credit: Todd Petrie

Speak with words that you gathered from the ground,
Hold a light up to the sky,
Give the dove just one more chance to sing,
And replace the morning light.
"Built for This," Ben Sollee

The following is a short essay I wrote this week for my elementary education class; since it answers a basic question I get asked a lot—why do you want to teach?—I thought it'd be appropriate to share here. Enjoy!

~   ~   ~

“Okay, so, what are we playing tonight—Settlers of Catan? Cool. Have you played Settlers before? No? Great, well let’s get James over here to teach it to you—he’s good at that.” Settlers of Catan is a popular board game among young people,1 and whenever my friends get together to play a new board game like Settlers, someone will say something like the quote above: James should teach it to you; he taught me to play, and I understood right away. I am the resident teacher of new board games in my friendship circle, because I am, and always have been, just that: a teacher.

I have always, always loved learning, and passing along what I learn has just come naturally as part of that love. As an elementary school student, I learned math with relative ease. My peers often struggled with math, though; once other kids realized that I knew my math pretty well, they would come to me for help. I learned to like helping them: it strengthened my grasp of the material and made me feel kind and intelligent all at once. Teaching, in other words, improved my sense of self-worth, enriched my own education, and gave me a chance to serve others. I held it close from then on, nurturing my skills as a teacher of one kind or another through camp counseling,2 Sunday school teaching,3 and running tutoring and mentoring programs.4

My teaching method: wear hats; point at things.

Thus, teaching has always been something I have considered doing professionally. As an undergraduate, I studied linguistics in the hopes of someday becoming a college linguistics professor. Unfortunately, I graduated in 2009, in the middle of the Great Recession, when legions of other young adults were delaying entry into the decidedly unfriendly job market by applying to grad school. Prospects for secure, long-term employment as a professor looked grim, and have continued to do so ever since, as university budgets shrink and higher education in the U.S. leans more and more heavily on adjuncts to prop itself up. Fortunately, though, I learned through a variety of post-college experiences that I was adept at teaching children, and that I enjoyed it a great deal. I also knew that male elementary teachers were few and far between, and I relished the thought of bringing something unique to children’s lives with something as simple as my gender. So it is that I have turned my sights on elementary education.

I do this knowing that there are risks: education in this country is a fraught business everywhere, not just at the college level. While poverty and other external social factors are at the root of many problems with education in America, the education reform movement has placed most of the burden of solving these problems on teachers, most notably through tying school funding and even teacher pay to standardized testing. Charter schools and turnarounds place additional pressures on teachers, often minimizing their job security and compensation in the vain hope that this will somehow empower them to improve their students’ educational outcomes. I have seen these issues and others in person, in addition to reading about them extensively in the news.

To put it bluntly, the culture of education in this country is a mess. I fully expect to be frustrated and hampered in my attempts to work with my kids. But in a way I look forward to the challenge. After all, if not me, who will serve? If no one steps forward to improve kids’ lives, how will they improve? If people do not set out to change the world, why should it change? I hope to be the change that I want to see, in the lives of my students and, just maybe, in the system that serves them. That is why I am considering the teaching profession.

1. Well, some young people. My friends, anyway. Yes, we are nerds. Well, some young people. My friends, anyway. Yes, we are nerds.↩
2. I was a summer camp counselor for both younger kids and teenagers, starting at age 17 and continuing through college. I had the privilege of working at a camp that I attended throughout my childhood, so I felt very at home there, which was great for my ability to jump right in and lead each year.↩
3. Before moving to Muncie, I was a Sunday school teacher for 1st-4th graders for three years. I have also signed up to be a Sunday school teacher at my new church in town, the Lutheran Church of the Cross, though the Sunday school year has not begun yet.↩
4. I was a team leader for City Year teams in Chicago public schools on the south side of Chicago for two years. City Year is an AmeriCorps program that provides young adults with service opportunities in underserved schools. My teams did reading tutoring, after school programs, and mentorship for elementary and middle school students, and I oversaw their work, as well as participating in much of it myself.↩

Friday, August 22, 2014

Alternate Sartoreality

Me and Dad on my wedding day

I can see a lot of life in you,
I can see a lot of bright in you,
And I think the dress looks nice on you,
I can see a lot of life in you.
—"That Dress Looks Nice On You," Sufjan Stevens

As a young Christian, I learned somewhere along the line that caring about your appearance was wrong. It even had a special name: vanity, a word that, in spite of all I have learned since, I have still not learned to associate with small handheld mirrors or combination sink-and-cabinets.

I say "learned," but I can't say that this was an idea anyone actually ever set out to teach me. It may have been implicit in some Sunday school lesson somewhere, or maybe one of those old Hanna-Barbera Bible cartoons.1 Maybe I just got it from reading Jesus' words about not worrying about what you should wear.

Anyway, it's not like I needed a religious reason not to care about what I looked like: it was not a focal point of interest for me much before college.2 I liked t-shirts from Target with weird slogans on them, old ratty jeans, and whatever else felt comfortable. My concern about dressing nice being a form of vanity was real, but it mostly served as a convenient excuse to ignore my parents' advice on personal appearance when the subject came up.

~   ~   ~

One of my best friends in college was a delightful young woman who lived on the same floor as I did in the dorm. We connected over shared interests and worldviews, but especially because we were both committed Christians at a university with a predominantly secular student body. One major item of difference between us was my friend's meticulous concern for her appearance: she dressed impeccably whenever she left the dorm, and clothing choices were a frequent though minor topic of conversation with her. So, naturally, I asked her about it one day.

She explained that dressing nice for her didn't feel like vanity—she wasn't seeking a sense of superiority over others, or prioritizing small details that did not matter instead of caring about weightier topics. Instead, she did it as a form of self-care: dressing well made her feel happy and confident, which were especially important for her at college, which she found to be an often intimidating, even depressing, place.

This made sense to me. Not right away, but eventually, and without much further persuasion on her part.

So I started doing it, too. I learned to dress myself well, and then did so when I needed to feel especially happy or confident. First day of class? Wear a nice shirt and some slacks. Going to a party full of people I don't know? Throw on a tie. Taking an exam I hadn't studied that well for? What the hey: put on a suit for that one. I dress pretty nice most of the time now, because it makes me feel happy and helps me get things done.

~   ~   ~

These days, I try to avoid buying something if I can find a way to make it myself, or do without. Not primarily because I value frugality (which is a deeply ingrained value for Anna in a way it probably will never quite be for me), but because participating in late-stage industrial capitalism usually feels slightly dirty to me.3 So when I had a mind to buy myself a nice, fitted shirt the other day, it occurred to me that I could make one instead, maybe.

I have a rack full of button-downs that have quietly gone unused or under-used since I realized that off-the-rack shirts don't fit my slender frame very well at all and started buying fitted shirts instead. A regular shirt from a department store is designed to be worn by men of varying builds, and I am decidedly at the narrow end of that variation, so I end up kind of swimming in all the extra fabric:

That red line is roughly where my actual body is inside this shirt
My wife owns a sewing machine and graciously offered to show me how to use it. I looked up how to alter men's shirts online, but I found all the sewing terminology confusing, so I decided to just wing it on the grounds that these shirts were expendable.

I began by checking my shirt to see how much I could afford to lose; the first one, a plain blue number, seemed like it could comfortably lose at least an inch on each side and in the arms. I turned the shirt inside out, and sewed a line about an inch from the side seam on each side, turned roughly 90 degrees once I got to the armpit, and drew a tapering line down the sleeves to the cuff:


As you can see, I ended up doing the sleeve twice after deciding to take a bit more
Anna taught me a trick for sewing in a straight line, which was to try to keep the fabric aligned with the edge of the metal plate on our sewing machine:

This is the "after" picture; I wisely opted not to try taking a photo during the actual sewing. 

Another trick is to just sew down one of the stripes in the shirt, if it has them:


And that was pretty much it. The results have been pretty positive. This is the blue shirt I started with:


Maybe slightly baggier than I'd like, but decent for a first try. Here's the shirt from earlier, before and after:


It's probably slightly too tight now, though that may be alleviated somewhat once I actually cut off the material I've sewn off from the rest, which is just sitting inside the shirt right now. Probably the best result is this one:


It's got a little bunchiness in the armpits, but otherwise it turned out great. All three are vast improvements over wearing baggy unfitted shirts, and they'll all probably go in the regular clothes rotation now that they actually fit me decently.

~   ~   ~ 

So if you're a slender dude with access to a sewing machine, and your shirts are baggier than you want them, I say give this a shot. Definitely start with shirts you don't care about, and get some advice on how to use a sewing machine if you don't already know. Good luck!

1. Note: I can't technically confirm this, but I'm willing to bet that these were at least a little bit racist? Last time I saw one I was probably just entering teenagerhood, so my critical thinking skills were still in their nascent stage. If memory serves, though, the main characters are two white people and their wacky brown friend of vague ethnicity, which sounds kinda wack.↩
2. Aside from really wanting a beard as soon as I could get one, of course, with unfortunate results: ↩

That beard is composed of like 7 hairs 
3. Just to take one example: Amazon, so beloved by consumers of our generation for its convenience and low prices, achieves said convenience and prices in part by being terrible to its employees. Its business model also seems designed expressly to destroy other businesses. I'd say these are uncommon principles for running a company these days, but I'd be lying: those are the only principles in town right now. And they suck.↩

Friday, August 15, 2014

Starting Over

Beneficence, the unofficial mascot of my new school, Ball State. Source
And you of the tender years
   can't know the fears
   that your elders grew by.
—"Teach Your Children" Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young


School starts on Monday. It'll be my first first day of school in five years.1

I say school, but what I really mean is class, and when I say class I do mean class rather than classes, because I'm only taking one this fall.

~   ~   ~

Since moving to Muncie, I've been looking ahead to Monday, August 18, with mixed feelings. It represents the end of an excellent summer vacation, spent with my new wife in a new home—a real, actual house, no less—but also the beginning of a new chapter in my life: graduate school.

Grad school is something I've long wanted to do, but the original plan was much different. After a semester of undergrad, I set my heart on the study of linguistics. I wanted to get a PhD and become a linguistics professor somewhere.

Maybe that was always a fantasy. Acquiring a PhD has always been a tough gig, and getting a tenure track position at a university little easier. What really convinced me it that it would be a waste of my time to try, though, was the Great Recession. However challenging it might have been to pursue my dream in the pre-2008 world, graduating in 2009 made getting into a PhD program look fiendishly difficult, as young people delayed entry into the job market by going to grad school in record numbers.

Perhaps "waste of time" is too strong a term. At any rate, I realized I was unwilling and maybe even unable to undergo the loss of time and energy, the uncertainty, and the hardship required to achieve that particular goal. I didn't want to move all over the country hunting jobs for the next several decades. I didn't want to compete in the cut-throat academic world for low pay. I didn't want to publish or perish. I wanted peace. And in the world of the post-2008 "economic recovery,"2 there seems to be very little peace to go around in academia.

So I looked for something else. I did two years in AmeriCorps, which would be a great program if it actually paid people a living wage for their service to the country (like, say, military service, or literally any other public-sector job). As it was, I lived on a small stipend and foodstamps and worked my butt off five or six days a week. Afterwards, I cobbled together a meager living from teaching test prep for a for-profit education company (shudder) and teaching some friends the basics of Biblical Hebrew, and then finally got a full-time job proofing resumes for fairly low pay (still better than my previous gigs, sigh).

Life in this economy hasn't been easy for most Americans. I don't think my story is particularly unique, but it is what it is.3

~   ~   ~

Meeting Anna, getting married, and moving to Muncie has given me a chance to hit the restart button, for which I'm grateful. I'm going back to school to get certified as an elementary school teacher. It will take at least two and a half years. Even though I'm a grad student, I'm basically just getting a BA in elementary education, so it will be entirely undergrad-level classes. I don't know how much fun it's going to be being almost a decade older than my classmates. Maybe no fun at all? 

I've always loved school, though. I love learning new things, and I love teaching other people things, so learning stuff with the express intent of using it to teach others seems like it's going to be fun. Or at least entertaining enough and worthwhile enough that I'll be able to bear the awkwardness that may come with being caught between grad and undergrad. 

And maybe it won't be fun; maybe I'll just do my time and move on to do the worthwhile work out in the field. I think education in America is in a seriously bad place, though I'm not of the opinion that it's ever been all that great. The way I see it, the root of our problems is this: America's poverty levels are too high, much too high for a rich country, and we have too many impoverished students in particular. Poor students need the most intervention (read: money) in order to succeed, but tend to get the worst resources because of how schools are funded and the ability of richer students to opt out of public education. Impoverished students are increasingly segregated into schools by themselves, to the detriment of their educational performance. (Also, speaking of segregation: racial segregation in schools is on its way back.) The result of all this is a system that adequately serves the needs of middle-class and wealthy kids, and throws poor ones under the bus. 

Source

America's school troubles, in other words, can be summed up with that old chestnut, It's the economy, stupid. 

Troublingly, the "education reform" movement ignores this, and has been implementing misguided solutions like using standardized tests to determine which schools should get government funds (Surprise, kids, your whole education is now oriented around the ISATs!), as well as opening charter schools (Kids, your education is now being used to profit large corporations! Ain't that swell? Also your teachers get paid less here. And there's no evidence this school will do better on average at educating you than a traditional public school. We're much more likely to expel you to keep our numbers high, though!).

I hope to be able to do my part in building something better than what we have now. Failing that, I'll serve the kids I meet to the best of my ability for as long as I can. But first, I gotta get through grad school...with undergrads. 

~   ~   ~

If I'm not careful, I may end up at Bracken Library for the whole semester, where I often go to read books for fun. Source

Which brings me back to my opening remarks. I'm only taking one class this fall because I can't get in-state tuition rates till next year, and the difference is steep enough that it makes sense to wait till then to get started in earnest. I can't tell whether this first semester is going to be a challenge or not. I've enjoyed lots of free time this summer, but I'll start to feel guilty if I don't find something worthwhile to do with my extra time this fall. But what exactly that will be remains to be seen. I'm considering finding a job (top of the list: substitute teaching) or starting some kind of big personal project, or maybe just finding a bunch of on-campus activities to get involved in. 

Whatever it is, I recognize that it's an enormous blessing to have extra time to myself this fall, and that I would have a much bigger, more intense set of worries if not for Anna. So I'll end this post with a word of thanks to her, my beloved partner, support, and friend, for this gift: the chance to start something new.



1. Unless you're counting my AmeriCorps years working in schools, which did include "first day(s) of school" in a distinct sense.↩
2. In scare quotes because the gains from said recovery have overwhelmingly gone to the richest Americans while the rest of us climb over each other for the few remaining jobs at low wages. Wealth inequality is probably the economic problem of our time; possible solutions range from raising the minimum wage to creating a no-strings-attached minimum income for all Americans, with a job guarantee program lying somewhere in the middle. Sadly, thanks to the Reagan Revolution in the 80s and the Democrats' reaction to it, both major parties are apparently too far to the right to seriously propose any but the first and least radical option.↩
3. I do remember sitting out on a hot day in the park one summer not long after the economic downturn. It was a gross, humid day, and I had stripped down to a grody white undershirt, my body sweaty, my hair mussed. As fate would have it, a Japanese TV crew walked through the park just as I sat down, spotted me, and came over to interview me about, what else, the economy. It was pretty surreal. I told them that yes, the economy did indeed suck right now. I can only assume I looked perfect for the part of down-on-his-luck schmo, though whether that's an accurate description of me, a highly educated white male with a great middle-class social support system, is open for debate.↩

Friday, August 8, 2014

Manhattan, Isle of Joy

Source
The city's bustle cannot destroy
The dreams of a girl and boy—
We'll turn Manhattan
Into an isle of joy.
—"Manhattan," Ella Fitzgerald

Anna and I have been traveling a great deal this summer—a wedding in Ann Arbor, visiting friends and family in Indiana—but nothing in the way of what you might call vacation until this past weekend, when we flew out to New York to visit friends.

The friends in question were slightly nonplussed when they realized that our goal was not to ascend the Empire State Building, visit Ellis Island, or see a show on Broadway, but simply to spend time with them. We've both been to New York a couple times before (my last New York trip was the foundation on which was built several key college friendships that endure to this day), so we'd basically had the New York ExperienceTM already. We had no desire to, say, see Times Square or the Statue of Liberty while we were there, because we knew that those things would not actually be fun, the way anyone who has been to Navy Pier knows that Navy Pier is not actually going to be fun.1

Once we cleared the air on that matter, we were able to plan out a fun weekend together, doing stuff that we could all enjoy. We stayed in Upper Manhattan with two of my friends, Brinton and Matina, but also wanted to hang out with two of Anna's friends, Alicia and Alain.

~   ~   ~

Arriving late Friday night, Anna went off to bed while Brinton, Matina, and I schemed about the days to come. (Anna had worked since five that morning; I had, uh, not.) Brinton is from Minnesota and Matina is from Tajikistan, so we woke to a breakfast of mixed Minnesotan and Tajik fare, and then set out for a visit to a nearby art museum run by the Hispanic Society of America, where we saw Art.

Yeah, Art! Much of the Art was quite cool. I liked this Art the best.2

It was both fun and free, which is a great combination, plus it gave me a chance to tell the story of our first date, which is always a pleasure.3

Speaking of our first date, we next asked Brinton to bring us down to the main New York Public Library branch on 42nd street (a great research library recently rescued from a plan to turn it into a glorified internet cafe), where we took a picture that commemorated our first meeting, next to the lions at the Art Institute in Chicago:

There are people all around us in this picture.
I swear Manhattan is not a desolate wasteland.

We toured the inside of the library, which is quite lovely, including a wonderful exhibit called Why Children's Books Matter, which included dozens of old, rare, and beautiful illustrated books for children.

Alas, we didn't get to see the coolest bit, the reading room (pictured) because part of the ceiling fell off. Source

We then met up with Alicia and Alain and tooled around downtown Manhattan, stopping for 99-cent pizza slices and chilling out in Grand Central Station, where they patiently listen to me explain my leftist political views on education and the economy. They were both extremely gracious and quite fun to be around. So much so that they agreed to come with us and Brinton and Matina to the symphony at the Lincoln Center later that night.

The Lincoln Center is gorgeous, BTW. Source

I am a somewhat casual fan of classical music, so I often run into a problem when going to the symphony, which is that I can't pay attention for longer than about five minutes unless I already know the song well. If I do know the song, I can focus on the details of how it's being performed, which is a great pleasure for me as both a musician and a music listener. Somewhat unfortunately, then, I wasn't too familiar with either of the pieces being played that night, Beethoven's "Emperor" concerto and Haydn's "London" symphony, and I had a little trouble giving them my full attention. Though there are worse things than thinking about knotty political issues and the like while beautiful music plays in the background.

That said, the performances were excellent, and I really did enjoy them, apart from my wandering attention. Brinton thanked us for the opportunity to go, since he and Matina hadn't gone to the symphony since moving to Manhattan. It's a familiar feeling to me: not going out and seeing the great stuff in your city until someone comes to town who wants to see it. I was happy we'd given them reason to go.

~   ~   ~

The real adventure of our weekend came on Sunday. Brinton proposed we go see King Lear at Free Shakespeare in the Park that night, which suggestion I rejected out of hand because I know from talking to her that Anna does not like Shakespeare.4 Anna overturned this ruling, however, declaring her openness to Shakespeare performed live by professionals, as opposed to how she usually experiences it: read in class, seen in a movie, or performed in a high school auditorium.

Free Shakespeare in the Park was completely new to me, but it is evidently a robust and well-loved New York tradition, stretching back five decades and featuring a wide variety of well-known actors, including this year's John Lithgow and Annette Benning (not to mention Clarke Peters, seen below, who I had a hard time recognizing outside his role as The Wire's Lester Freamon). It takes place throughout the summer each year, and the performances are held in the Delacorte Theater in Central Park.

How did John Lithgow get so old? Source

Typtically, the intersection of Free and Popular features either Long Lines or Luck; Free Shakespeare features both, in that you can get tickets either by showing up at around 7 am and waiting in line till noon, or by entering a lottery. We opted for the certainty (and tedium) of the line, at which we arrived early enough to guarantee ourselves some tickets, but late enough that there were already hundreds of people ahead of us, the morning's rain not having done much to dissuade folks: 

The view forward from our spot in line.

I brought a book (China Mieville's The Scar, which is brilliant and a great deal of fun, by the by), sheltered it and myself under an umbrella, and took periodic walks around Central Park to keep myself spry. The line is so big, long-lasting, and well-known that an entire cottage industry of service to people waiting in it has sprung up, of people selling food, chairs, umbrellas, and the like to folks in the line, who aren't allowed to leave for more than 20 minutes. This also makes them a captive audience for, say, street musicians, or people advertising things, like a new Shakespeare app for iPhone.

Legs aching, feet sore, we finally got our tickets at 12:30, having suffered most recently through the musical stylings of a street saxophonist who arrived after the rain to work the line for tips. We went home, rested, ate, and left for Central Park again that evening.

As Anna knows well, live Shakespeare, done poorly, can be pretty heinous. His plays do not work on their own regardless of talent, and though this is true of many playwrights, it is perhaps especially true of Shakespeare. At any rate, his are the plays you're most likely to see performed badly, of anyone's in the English language.

But live Shakespeare done well is always a joy. In particular, I love it when actors and directors know their stuff well enough to make the meaning come through in spite of the age of the language. Watching King Lear that night was like this. Though I'd read the play before, seeing it staged brought a wealth of connections and resonances that I'd never noticed in reading (or, for that matter, in watching Ran, Akira Kurosawa's Japanese-language adaptation, which I love). Layered on top of my joy at seeing a great work of art performed well, was the pleasant, bewildered astonishment of seeing it performed by, um, really famous people, in Central Park, for free. Free Shakespeare in the Park is a fantastic, brilliant idea, and it is justly loved by the people of New York. The guy who created it sounds like he had a good head on his shoulders:
In the feature-length documentary Joe Papp in Five Acts, Papp, the founder of New York City’s Free Shakespeare in the Park, recounts what he hoped to achieve when he started producing outdoor performances on the Lower East Side in 1956. Until his death in 1991, Papp brought more theater to more people than any other producer in history. In his eyes, art was for everyone, not just a privileged few. “We have public libraries,” he would argue, “Why not public theaters?”
“I believe that great art is for everyone — not just the rich or the middle class,” said Papp, who grew up in a poor neighborhood of Brooklyn. “When I go into East Harlem or Bedford-Stuyvesant and see the kids who come to see our shows, I see nothing so clearly as myself.” (Source)
~   ~   ~

The only thing of note that happened on Monday was the violation of the familial book buying ban, which was laid down by Anna after we went on a book buying spree earlier this summer and she declared we couldn't buy any more books till we'd finished what we had. (Note that this ban had already been violated, in the buying of the ESV Reader's Bible that I reviewed last week, but I was given a pass because it was, after all, the Bible.)

The occasion for the violation of the ban was that we were in New York City, doggone it, and I really wanted to go to The Strand. The Strand is a famous and famously good bookstore in Manhattan, where one's options range from browsing the $1 used book cart outside to visiting the rare book room on the third floor. I wanted to go in order to, yes, buy books, but also simply for the experience, and especially the chance to forge a link with my last trip that I remember so fondly.

Source

I ended up finding a couple of books by two of my favorite Jewish Bible scholars (Jacob Neusner's Invitation to the Talmud, a new find, and Jon D. Levenson's Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel, which I've wanted to read/own for almost a decade now). I also came across a whole shelf full of Aubrey-Maturin novels, a personal favorite series of mine, which I've been slowly attempting to acquire in its entirety for the last few years.5 I ended up buying two, which represented some very serious restraint on my part:

Behold, outlined in red, the transgression of the book buying ban
The remainder of Monday was spent resting, enjoying the remaining time with friends, and traveling back to Muncie. We arrived home pretty exhausted, but quite exhilarated at the fun we'd had. Having gone so far and had such fun, with such lovely people, felt deeply satisfying, not least because it is an accomplishment to go on a vacation this successful. At all events, it was a truly great first vacation for us both, I think, and I look forward to many more to come.

1. Zing, Navy Pier. Zing. Also, sorry if you're really into Navy Pier; I know it has a nice garden.↩
2. And now I've written Art so much that I'm experiencing semantic decay and Art sounds like a made-up nonsense word.↩
3. Short version: Anna and I met at the Art Institute of Chicago, where we walked around and looked at Art and Anna thought I was a humorless fuddy-duddy because I was being all serious and Arty. I later redeemed myself by taking her out for falafel, but it was a close call, there, folks.↩
4. Marriage, y'all. We like, talk and stuff.↩
5. The story of that is probably even more boring than the rest of this post, so it's going in a footnote. I saw Master and Commander: Far Side of the World when it came out in 2003. I was in high school; I liked it a lot. For Christmas that year, dad got me two of the books in the series, Master and Commander (book 1) and The Far Side of the World (book 10). The trouble was, the books are written in early 19th-century period style; though the author lived in the 20th and 21st centuries, the books sound like they were written by Jane Austen's seafaring cousin. I had trouble reading at that level for pleasure in high school, so I put them aside. Fast forward to a couple years ago: I picked up the first book and found that, not only was I able to read it, I actually thoroughly enjoyed it. I went to the library and burned through the first 18 of the 20-book series in a few months. Along the way, I decided that I had a marked preference for one of the printings of the books over the others, which feature a single large naval painting across the spines, matte covers, clear fonts, crisp off-white paper, and general loveliness all around. I find that I really loathe finishing series of things, and occasionally I've found myself refusing to do so; this was a case in point. Rather than read books 19 and 20 and be done with it, I resolved to wait until I'd acquired all the books, used when possible, in the printed edition that I liked best, and only then read them all from start to finish. As you can see in the picture above, I'm a little over a quarter of the way there; I'm not sure what I'll do with the three books that aren't the favored edition, especially given that two of them were gifts from my father.↩