The beautifully paved, forested path in Central Park (a manicured version of the real thing) complete with landscapers and slithering creeps is quizzical. Magical in the the kiss of summer and the whisper of fall, but almost poisonous in its juxtaposition. Alice in Wonderland, Oz, all of it luxury--but unreal, because it is afterall, largely unnatural. Walking foot over foot through the foliage observing every now and then, the curious New Yorkers with their accents and clothes. They are just like the display windows, only touchable in this setting. I'm sightseeing, taking it in, enjoying myself on vacation, but then in an instant everything changed.
A curious black little spec hovered carelessly in the air. A simple fly completing its lifecycle that lasts about a day perhaps. It was nothing and yet I noticed it. Obviously, it was a sick fly because it was flying as though it was intoxicated. Figures, it being a New York fly and all. And then, with the audacity of a sassy teenager, the translucent orange glow was unmistakingly spectacular in its simplicity. Was that? I had to see it again! Running, screaming, laughing down the path like a crazed New Yorker. Hey, do they come in different colors? Like jolly ranchers, like lights at Christmas, like a child's delight over the simplest occurence, icecream? It was worth a million birthdays at least. I ran through them and they flashed on and off. And to think, I thought it was a diseased fly.
Off the island of Maui, suspended from my parachute, being kissed by the ocean and toted through the air alongside the mooga mooga birds with a tummyfull of sweet pineapple. The rain? A simple mist that we try to replicate at home by purchasing a garden hose full of millions of holes and hang from the patio. Sweet in its attempt to recreate the experience, but hopelessly silly. And how can it be? One amazing thing after another? I'd just seen hundreds of spotted dolphins that same day play in the clear, kool-aid blue ocean. A manta ray breeched, leapt into the air like a whirling pancake and I'd seen it off the boat. I'd floated in the ocean, alongside a hundred other souls thinking it was weird because you could really drown, it was so big. Enormous. I didn't even comprehend enormous until then.
And now, today of all days my birthday, December 14th is really the moment of truth isn't it? I woke up with a certain sense of oh my gosh, its just another day, carry-on and whatever you do don't expect too much. Well, the whole birthday surprise thing is suspicious, isn't it? Wonderous things happen to other people who think just the right thoughts and are serious, and mostly perfect. You know the ones I'm talking about. They drive cars that don't ever break down, they don't have any cavities, and their clothes are never ever wrinkled.
Believe it or not, I'm the one, who gets the plain papered box, from ebay that's empty. The shipper says, no I put what you bought in there! So I take a picture of an empty box and email it. See? Technology at work.
I'm the one with the lottery ticket that doesn't even get one damn number on the day the statistics professor is giving a lecture on why the lottery is a waste of money (mathmatically speaking) of course. And I sit there, shaking my head thinking why am I so stupid? Even though it only costs a dollar, I've wasted a dollar, and I'm probably doomed because he's lecturing about it and... my gawd this lottery ticket is burning a hole right through my pocket. It might as well be up on the board flashing before our eyes. And oh yea, I'll end up with C or D on the probability test, because instead of learning probability I'm thinking about this damned lottery ticket. Curse you.
I'm the one who gets a rock - just like Charlie Brown on Halloween. Usually we all just laugh and toss the rocks and go buy a bunch of candybars, because all my friends get rocks too, but not this year. This year was totally different! I opened up the box and it just so happened, that what I thought was an empty box, full of losing lottery tickets, and rocks was really full of something that I just couldn't see.
Dreams my friend, dreams.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Black Market Final
I gave a final last night. Everyone seemed in good spirits except one student, "Old Man River." I've learned a lot from Old Man River this term. He's about 70 years old and has absolutely no patience with anyone in the class. He absolutely hates computers and to tell you the truth I do not understand why he is even taking a computer class. He tells me that they use computers for everything and has no choice. He waves his arms in surrender as his tells me this every class period over the last 15 weeks.
We have had many conferences. I learned that he hates group work, hates that the class is noisy, and does not think that I am stern enough. He told me that we do way too many activities. Anyway, he walked into the classroom about 15 minutes late for the final. I graciously handed him the final. He looked at it for 1 minute and then he left. I think he took the final with him! Anyway, I felt bad. Everyone said, "such a waste." He won't get credit now.
Let me tell you though, I don't think it was a total waste. That man had more fun doing research and googling then anyone in the class. He told me some fabulous stories about Paris, France. One of the course assignments is to use the internet to plan a dream vacation. In my demonstration, I show the students how I choose to visit Paris, France. We use a search engine to locate famous landmarks and cut and paste these landmarks to make an itinerary using a wordprocessor. Old Man River seemed delighted with the assignment and he went wild with the search engine.
He spent an hour after class telling me that Paris, used to be a relatively cheap place for him to visit before the dollar went into the toliet. He would smuggle one thing or another into Paris (he didn't say what) and sell it on the black market. He spent weeks there enjoying himself with his lady friends and only had smuggle in one or two little things. I liked the way he would smile and his clouded blue eyes would get big when he told these stories. He talked about riding a motor bike and drinking. I watched this man completely struggle with his assginment, but he got it done, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.
There are many days when Old Man River was grumpy. He said he didn't think he wanted to be a "worker". He didn't like all the requirements and BS that went along with taking college classes. I thought he meant "worker" in the Marxist sense. I could tell that Old Man River was no worker from the very first day of class. He did things when and if he felt like it. He took his time. He told me many stories about his civil disobedience and hunger striking fasts from the past. I told him that I liked my burgers and there was no way I'd be giving them up. I'm not sure if he found this amusing or not.
He would often criticize me for not knowing what life was really like before computers. He almost found it a disservice that I'd grown up curious about mainframes, and working on a Commmodore 64. He just thought I didn't understand, that I couldn't comprehend what life was like. It was almost like he felt that I was at least a couple of standard deviations away from really understanding him. He took it upon himself to stay after class to tell me what he thought of my teaching and how he felt everyone responded.
"You gotta put your foot down. End this group work business."
"Why? the research says that group work is good for students. We all learn from one another. Besides, that's one of the advantages of being together as community of learners."
Blank stare from Old Man River. He'd think for a moment and begin again.
"You go from activity to activity like a little hummingbird."
"But, we only did 3 activities in 2 hours"
"Too Many"
"Perhaps" He'd watch me deflate, and understand that his lecture had the desired affect on me.
He'd say, "I gotta get home now."
I'd drive home with all those comments reeling in my head. Why oh why, do I let this man get to me? On some level could he be right?
So now, as I grade my finals, I don't really have anything to grade for Old Man River.
In the back of my mind, I know that he is out there somewhere with a hard copy of my final. It won't be sold on the black market in Paris, but something tells me that I'd better change it next term. I mean, if I learned one thing from this man. Its that I can't underestimate Old Man River.
We have had many conferences. I learned that he hates group work, hates that the class is noisy, and does not think that I am stern enough. He told me that we do way too many activities. Anyway, he walked into the classroom about 15 minutes late for the final. I graciously handed him the final. He looked at it for 1 minute and then he left. I think he took the final with him! Anyway, I felt bad. Everyone said, "such a waste." He won't get credit now.
Let me tell you though, I don't think it was a total waste. That man had more fun doing research and googling then anyone in the class. He told me some fabulous stories about Paris, France. One of the course assignments is to use the internet to plan a dream vacation. In my demonstration, I show the students how I choose to visit Paris, France. We use a search engine to locate famous landmarks and cut and paste these landmarks to make an itinerary using a wordprocessor. Old Man River seemed delighted with the assignment and he went wild with the search engine.
He spent an hour after class telling me that Paris, used to be a relatively cheap place for him to visit before the dollar went into the toliet. He would smuggle one thing or another into Paris (he didn't say what) and sell it on the black market. He spent weeks there enjoying himself with his lady friends and only had smuggle in one or two little things. I liked the way he would smile and his clouded blue eyes would get big when he told these stories. He talked about riding a motor bike and drinking. I watched this man completely struggle with his assginment, but he got it done, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.
There are many days when Old Man River was grumpy. He said he didn't think he wanted to be a "worker". He didn't like all the requirements and BS that went along with taking college classes. I thought he meant "worker" in the Marxist sense. I could tell that Old Man River was no worker from the very first day of class. He did things when and if he felt like it. He took his time. He told me many stories about his civil disobedience and hunger striking fasts from the past. I told him that I liked my burgers and there was no way I'd be giving them up. I'm not sure if he found this amusing or not.
He would often criticize me for not knowing what life was really like before computers. He almost found it a disservice that I'd grown up curious about mainframes, and working on a Commmodore 64. He just thought I didn't understand, that I couldn't comprehend what life was like. It was almost like he felt that I was at least a couple of standard deviations away from really understanding him. He took it upon himself to stay after class to tell me what he thought of my teaching and how he felt everyone responded.
"You gotta put your foot down. End this group work business."
"Why? the research says that group work is good for students. We all learn from one another. Besides, that's one of the advantages of being together as community of learners."
Blank stare from Old Man River. He'd think for a moment and begin again.
"You go from activity to activity like a little hummingbird."
"But, we only did 3 activities in 2 hours"
"Too Many"
"Perhaps" He'd watch me deflate, and understand that his lecture had the desired affect on me.
He'd say, "I gotta get home now."
I'd drive home with all those comments reeling in my head. Why oh why, do I let this man get to me? On some level could he be right?
So now, as I grade my finals, I don't really have anything to grade for Old Man River.
In the back of my mind, I know that he is out there somewhere with a hard copy of my final. It won't be sold on the black market in Paris, but something tells me that I'd better change it next term. I mean, if I learned one thing from this man. Its that I can't underestimate Old Man River.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Tis' the Season
Hard to believe that full-fledged winter is upon us. A friend of mine reminded me that I haven't posted anything. I call myself a writer and I fail to write anything at all. Lots of things occur upstairs in my brain, but do I write about them? Negative. So, now that I've been reminded of my blog I'll post to it. Maybe someone on earth will read it. Doubtful, but it could happen.
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