Yeah, I've been out for a while... Turns out my router (whatever that is) blew out, so even though Roadrunner's been fine, my PC couldn't connect (if you can't tell, taking two weeks to figure this out = me, technologically challenged).
Last I wrote, I was anxious about the PRAXIS II test... Shoot. The first section was, if not exactly a breeze, well, it was something requiring just a bit of effort, like- well, like a fart. A fart you try to squeeze out in a really crowded and really quiet room, a fart that you surreptitiously pass (as through a teeny tiny straw) silently, and then look on as though nothing were the matter... What's that smell? Why, 'tain't me... Yes, I got away with that first section, squeaky clean, if not entirely odorless... After all, multiple choice questions are no big thing. You just fill them in in a zigzag pattern, and you're bound to hit something right! Right?
The second section was, for the most part, fun. 4 essay questions in 2 hours... I bypassed the whole outlining and organizational procedures and tore right into my written answers... What were the questions? Well, it's been over two weeks... But:
question 1 had to do with some poem by some lady... Can't recall. It was about earthquakes or something or other, earthquakes being the metaphor for the relationship between mothers and daughters... and fathers being surreptitiously injected into the poem as a symbol of the interface between mothers and daughters- like, sometimes the relationship is like rubbing your hand over the stubble of the chin of a father, something like that. It was actually fun analyzing it.
question 2 had to do with some prose by some dude... Again, can't recall... It was the introductory paragraphs to some short story. Descriptions of some grape farm. Shrouded in mist. And everything was passive, quiet, waiting... EXCEPT the mrs. farmer what's her name. She's described as this almost masculine active figure... So, we had to talk about how the author (Mr. what's his ass) utilized setting and character descriptions to introduce this character (Mrs. I'm wearing the pants i
n this household).
question 3... not prose, precisely, but some passage ABOUT writing, written by, well, some writer. Mr. nobody's heard of him yet. He described writing as walking a tightrope, no net. He had this real attitude. Like, I don't give a s**t what you critics think, I'm going to bare my ass to you all (while walking this tightrope) and defecate, and that's art, and who cares if you don't appreciate me "raining on your parade and all..." He was kind of funny... So for this question, we were supposed to analyze the changing metaphors this dude used for his writing process, talk about what it meant and all...
question 4... aye, there's the rub. We had a list of literature to choose from. And we had to choose two to support this argument that the significance of any given piece of literature is heavily dependent upon its historical context... Trouble was, I didn't know or remember any of the stories listed! Goody-goody Amy Tan's "Joy Luck Club" was on the list, as was Hawthorne's "Scarlet Letter." Also, "Grapes of Wrath." Guess what? I NEVER READ THEM. But I BSed the best I could... With information gleaned from SECTION I of the test (oh clever clever), I was able to figure out bits and pieces of Hawthorne's book... And, oh yeah, I saw "Joy Luck Club" (chick-flick time with Lynn)... Something about Chinese American second generation existential angst...
Needless to say, question 4 was DA BOMB. And I mean that in the worst possible sense. My mind, by that time, was fried. Not up to its usual nimble BSing potential... I think I repeated the same sentence over and over when discussing "specifics of the texts." What a joke. Well, true to form, at least my beginning and ending was pretty decent.
...well, great to be back.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
blurts on time, faith, mountain dew.
There is a wind outside that is restless, and stirs.
I am tired, but I suffer the giddy anxiety of a test that I am ill prepared for, one that I will have to rely on wits and, more importantly, luck to pass. It's the same feeling I had when in college, and Mountain Dew actually worked to keep me up and studying all night (although the buzzy state of mind I'd be in the next day wasn't exactly conducive to lucid thought).
I wonder what I am doing, where I am going... Can I really pass this test? And even if I do, can I afford to go to school, for another stupid degree? And if I do, and if I get a job teaching, can I really do it? Do it well? And if I do it, can I manage everything else in my life appropriately (particularly raising Willow and Aiden), or will I perform this stutter-step dance through it all, same way that I "studied" for this upcoming test? Confronting waterfalls only when one foot has already slipped off the brink...
... a digression here...
In life, there are so many wants, but truly, time is limited. Time, and its physical, embodied expression within human flesh, attention. I heard someone say that Love IS attention... And if this is so, then it puts a natural limitation on what a person may love in life. For attention requires time, and time, as I stated, is limited. Well, not time itself, but MY time, the time that I have, the endurance I may maintain, my patience... We are finite beings, and (perhaps by definition of finitude) this limitation is most evident with regards to TIME. How much can one take, how much can one give... capacities limited most prominently by time.
If you love something, you must devote time to it, and therein lies the crux... For we live in a world of endless opportunity, in fact, opportunity is always exploding in our eyes, our ears...
... another (dangerous) digression...
When I was a little younger (and don't get me wrong, it's not as though this danger is beyond me), the attraction and fascination of other LIVES (not to mention other faces, other BODIES) was devastating, destructive... I think, if I were a normal "red-blooded" male, I would have succumbed to temptation long ago... if not for several key "genetic abberations": 1) I am a social blockhead, and can neither read nor send "signals"; and 2) I am stupidly (but with Lynn, fortunately) faithful, like a dog (BTW, the whole "faithful dog" thing's a myth; you can command loyalty of a dog within a week after its old owner's death, if you have enough steaks handy. Same with men? Same with ME?).
...but back to the issue of time. I am grateful to be with Lynn, because it frees me, paradoxically by focusing me... So much time would be wasted if we just kept looking at all the open doors and windows for the right framed scenery... You can only live in one room, you see, and you can only look at the world through one windowframe... The fear that you are missing out, that there is a better place, a better view, well, some of it may be true, but mostly it's just that which consoles the lost and the damned and the loveless... I should know, because, for a long time (up until Lynn) that's exactly what I was, lost, damned... Mewling like a kitten for some affection... Not realizing how (simultaneously) ordinary and wonderful love actually could be.
... Speaking of time. I have to get up at 6. I just needed to kill some, to get me tired... THIS IS NOT WORKING. Oh well, good night.
I am tired, but I suffer the giddy anxiety of a test that I am ill prepared for, one that I will have to rely on wits and, more importantly, luck to pass. It's the same feeling I had when in college, and Mountain Dew actually worked to keep me up and studying all night (although the buzzy state of mind I'd be in the next day wasn't exactly conducive to lucid thought).
I wonder what I am doing, where I am going... Can I really pass this test? And even if I do, can I afford to go to school, for another stupid degree? And if I do, and if I get a job teaching, can I really do it? Do it well? And if I do it, can I manage everything else in my life appropriately (particularly raising Willow and Aiden), or will I perform this stutter-step dance through it all, same way that I "studied" for this upcoming test? Confronting waterfalls only when one foot has already slipped off the brink...
... a digression here...
In life, there are so many wants, but truly, time is limited. Time, and its physical, embodied expression within human flesh, attention. I heard someone say that Love IS attention... And if this is so, then it puts a natural limitation on what a person may love in life. For attention requires time, and time, as I stated, is limited. Well, not time itself, but MY time, the time that I have, the endurance I may maintain, my patience... We are finite beings, and (perhaps by definition of finitude) this limitation is most evident with regards to TIME. How much can one take, how much can one give... capacities limited most prominently by time.
If you love something, you must devote time to it, and therein lies the crux... For we live in a world of endless opportunity, in fact, opportunity is always exploding in our eyes, our ears...
... another (dangerous) digression...
When I was a little younger (and don't get me wrong, it's not as though this danger is beyond me), the attraction and fascination of other LIVES (not to mention other faces, other BODIES) was devastating, destructive... I think, if I were a normal "red-blooded" male, I would have succumbed to temptation long ago... if not for several key "genetic abberations": 1) I am a social blockhead, and can neither read nor send "signals"; and 2) I am stupidly (but with Lynn, fortunately) faithful, like a dog (BTW, the whole "faithful dog" thing's a myth; you can command loyalty of a dog within a week after its old owner's death, if you have enough steaks handy. Same with men? Same with ME?).
...but back to the issue of time. I am grateful to be with Lynn, because it frees me, paradoxically by focusing me... So much time would be wasted if we just kept looking at all the open doors and windows for the right framed scenery... You can only live in one room, you see, and you can only look at the world through one windowframe... The fear that you are missing out, that there is a better place, a better view, well, some of it may be true, but mostly it's just that which consoles the lost and the damned and the loveless... I should know, because, for a long time (up until Lynn) that's exactly what I was, lost, damned... Mewling like a kitten for some affection... Not realizing how (simultaneously) ordinary and wonderful love actually could be.
... Speaking of time. I have to get up at 6. I just needed to kill some, to get me tired... THIS IS NOT WORKING. Oh well, good night.
Friday, November 16, 2007
PRAXIS II!!!
Tomorrow, I will be taking the Praxis II English test. It's divided into two parts (at least the sections that I will be taking). Part I is 120 multiple choice questions, and Part II consists of 4 essay questions...
WISH ME LUCK!!!
WISH ME LUCK!!!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Mad Libs
In preparation for the upcoming PRAXIS II exam on English Content (I am a religion major, after all, not an English major), I have been studying a bit of grammar. Bought two books, one called (appropriately for me) Grammar Sucks! and the other, the recently popular "Eats, Shoots and Leaves."
I've also been reading a book called "The Passionate Teacher," all about teaching strategies that foster student driven projects and independent critical thinking. One idea for a project for students to learn the basics of grammar is to have them construct and then fill out a Mad Libs- you know, those quirky little books from when we were kids, the ones that required you to fill in "Nouns", "Pronouns," "Adjectives," etc. into a passage, and then read the ridiculous outcome... By having students construct a Mad Libs- perhaps they could get an article, progressively remove word classes that I assign them to (like Nouns, for example), and then have another group of students "fill out" the Mad Libs. It's an exercise in grammar for both the students as they construct the puzzles, and for the students as they fill them in. And the often silly outcome makes the project entertaining. Imagine that! Grammar, entertaining?!
... but jeez, I am tired. The test will be demanding, and I haven't invested much time studying... Looks like I will be winging it, for the most part. The part that I really dread is the Essay section. 4 questions, 30 minutes apiece, on various topics. Analysis of a prose piece, analysis of a poetry piece, something else... But then again, I like a challenge. And I miss the essay exams from my college days- now THOSE were real terrors!
I've also been reading a book called "The Passionate Teacher," all about teaching strategies that foster student driven projects and independent critical thinking. One idea for a project for students to learn the basics of grammar is to have them construct and then fill out a Mad Libs- you know, those quirky little books from when we were kids, the ones that required you to fill in "Nouns", "Pronouns," "Adjectives," etc. into a passage, and then read the ridiculous outcome... By having students construct a Mad Libs- perhaps they could get an article, progressively remove word classes that I assign them to (like Nouns, for example), and then have another group of students "fill out" the Mad Libs. It's an exercise in grammar for both the students as they construct the puzzles, and for the students as they fill them in. And the often silly outcome makes the project entertaining. Imagine that! Grammar, entertaining?!
... but jeez, I am tired. The test will be demanding, and I haven't invested much time studying... Looks like I will be winging it, for the most part. The part that I really dread is the Essay section. 4 questions, 30 minutes apiece, on various topics. Analysis of a prose piece, analysis of a poetry piece, something else... But then again, I like a challenge. And I miss the essay exams from my college days- now THOSE were real terrors!
Tired (I)
Yup, I'm tired...
Tonight's class was difficult. It wasn't because the subject was (Acupoints). It was just- this feeling. Like a disconnect. I felt like I was talking to myself much of the class. That, to me, is the worst feeling... Like I am not really engaging the students. Today, we learned about the Du (Governing) Vessel, a channel that runs up the posterior midline of the body (the spine). Although I had a willing model, nobody really wanted to palpate the points. I had four students locate four significant points, but that's it... Well, I suppose it's just me, I expect my enthusiasm for the topic to instantly infect the students... It just felt- strange tonight, that's all... Normally, I don't think I'm so thin-skinned. Jeez, if I get this riled up over tonight's class, with its overwhelmingly supportive environment, how will I ever handle high school students?!
Tonight's class was difficult. It wasn't because the subject was (Acupoints). It was just- this feeling. Like a disconnect. I felt like I was talking to myself much of the class. That, to me, is the worst feeling... Like I am not really engaging the students. Today, we learned about the Du (Governing) Vessel, a channel that runs up the posterior midline of the body (the spine). Although I had a willing model, nobody really wanted to palpate the points. I had four students locate four significant points, but that's it... Well, I suppose it's just me, I expect my enthusiasm for the topic to instantly infect the students... It just felt- strange tonight, that's all... Normally, I don't think I'm so thin-skinned. Jeez, if I get this riled up over tonight's class, with its overwhelmingly supportive environment, how will I ever handle high school students?!
Ideas for Virtual Slam Poetry Contest
I'm going to attend UH this Spring, part of the Post Baccalaureate program in Secondary Education... that is, if I can raise the funds. Tuition will cost $3,500. With both kids going to preschool, that's going to be hard money to come by... So I glanced at a list of prospective scholarships, and one that mildly caught my eye was a "Virtual Slam Poetry Contest" on the subject of torture. Now, I have no idea what Slam Poetry is- I've heard a bit about it, like that they have open mike night for slam poetry at Arts at Mark's Garage (?) in Downtown. I have a vision of it being like these high-school to early college age kids wearing baggy pants and heavy hanging BLANG BLANG punctuating the air (KAPOW!) with arcane hand signs, and then pausing for emphasis by grabbing their armpits and leaning precariously backwards... Or else, of thin waif girls and boys dressed all in black, with berets and goatees (the boys, not the girls) and pencil thin cigarettes, playing clever puns, and repeating them, as if the audience somehow missed them, or didn't get them "deeply" enough...
I think I fit in more with the latter...
Anyway, not that I'll be able to do anything for this contest, but it got me to thinking...
I'm supposed to submit a small video file for the contest. I was thinking of using one of those "pills" that contain some kind of spongy shape, like an animal or a musical instrument, you know, the kind that, if you put it in water, it gradually dissolves and expands into the "surprise" shape. Maybe I would construct some sort of "inverting" or "tilting" bed (can't think of the right words- it's 4 am), tie the "pill" to it, and "dunk" the pill periodically into a cup of water- to simulate the newest and hippest torture method of discourse, "water-boarding." Accompanying it would be a recycling soundtrack of Radiohead's Kid A song, can't think of the name, but the one that starts off with what sounds like a music-box tune...
The poem, the actual words, would be from something I wrote a while back, when water-boarding was just beginning to be talked about, and when I was attempting to research Catholicism and the seven sacraments for some stupid story which I have long despaired of writing. The poem was called "Per Aquem en Verbo," which means the Water in the Word. It is a phrase used to explain the significance of the first sacrament, Baptism. I just thought it was such an interesting phrase; I mean, can't you just visualize Prez Double-Yuh saying something like, "My words hold water..."?
Anyway, ideally, the poem was supposed to play on many levels: a critique of water-boarding (and this current administration), but also a subtle (for me, though, "subtlety" pronounces the hard "t" sound) play on the notion of baptism, of reluctant (necessary?) baptism... After all, as conceived by this nation, sometimes overtly, but most often without any real awareness, this war is one between cultures, simplistically between Christian (I extend this to Catholicism) and Muslim nations...
Someday I will post the original poem, though right now, I am thinking of a clearer beginning... Something like:
"You will walk on water someday,"
A promise made casually
Although He never makes casual promises.
"Walk on water,"
He whispering repeats for emphasis
dangling, levitating the miracle of it.
"But first."
[Jesus Christ was (H)imself baptized by a mysterious figure known as John the Baptist. The passage in which this occurs is paradoxical, because although the authority and holiness of Jesus is never questioned, it seems necessary that (H)e, for the purposes of Baptism, be subservient to John the Baptist.]
Well, more on this later.
[Ah, I never made a video file. Forget this virtual slam poetry contest... Been too busy!]
I think I fit in more with the latter...
Anyway, not that I'll be able to do anything for this contest, but it got me to thinking...
I'm supposed to submit a small video file for the contest. I was thinking of using one of those "pills" that contain some kind of spongy shape, like an animal or a musical instrument, you know, the kind that, if you put it in water, it gradually dissolves and expands into the "surprise" shape. Maybe I would construct some sort of "inverting" or "tilting" bed (can't think of the right words- it's 4 am), tie the "pill" to it, and "dunk" the pill periodically into a cup of water- to simulate the newest and hippest torture method of discourse, "water-boarding." Accompanying it would be a recycling soundtrack of Radiohead's Kid A song, can't think of the name, but the one that starts off with what sounds like a music-box tune...
The poem, the actual words, would be from something I wrote a while back, when water-boarding was just beginning to be talked about, and when I was attempting to research Catholicism and the seven sacraments for some stupid story which I have long despaired of writing. The poem was called "Per Aquem en Verbo," which means the Water in the Word. It is a phrase used to explain the significance of the first sacrament, Baptism. I just thought it was such an interesting phrase; I mean, can't you just visualize Prez Double-Yuh saying something like, "My words hold water..."?
Anyway, ideally, the poem was supposed to play on many levels: a critique of water-boarding (and this current administration), but also a subtle (for me, though, "subtlety" pronounces the hard "t" sound) play on the notion of baptism, of reluctant (necessary?) baptism... After all, as conceived by this nation, sometimes overtly, but most often without any real awareness, this war is one between cultures, simplistically between Christian (I extend this to Catholicism) and Muslim nations...
Someday I will post the original poem, though right now, I am thinking of a clearer beginning... Something like:
"You will walk on water someday,"
A promise made casually
Although He never makes casual promises.
"Walk on water,"
He whispering repeats for emphasis
dangling, levitating the miracle of it.
"But first."
[Jesus Christ was (H)imself baptized by a mysterious figure known as John the Baptist. The passage in which this occurs is paradoxical, because although the authority and holiness of Jesus is never questioned, it seems necessary that (H)e, for the purposes of Baptism, be subservient to John the Baptist.]
Well, more on this later.
[Ah, I never made a video file. Forget this virtual slam poetry contest... Been too busy!]
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
A Poem: Wood, Japanese AV Mosaic versus Zen Koans
the grain of wood that runs,
followed by fingertip calluses
like bark on bark,
a rough mirror.
---
japan is the summer country
and all color resides there
and the smell of sweat is
a mixed pheromone of sadness
and purity
and beauty
and lies.
a worship of transience-
the world passing-
still allows garish outfits
of impossible lace,
with shifting squares
over the parts that struggle
to show through.
in japan, they never show it
not the front,
and definitely not
the phenomenon of
interpenetration.
they speak of such things only in zen,
in riddles,
are frank and rude
only in paradox.
in truth,
all is surface.
cute and cutaneous.
beauty is
skin deep.
followed by fingertip calluses
like bark on bark,
a rough mirror.
---
japan is the summer country
and all color resides there
and the smell of sweat is
a mixed pheromone of sadness
and purity
and beauty
and lies.
a worship of transience-
the world passing-
still allows garish outfits
of impossible lace,
with shifting squares
over the parts that struggle
to show through.
in japan, they never show it
not the front,
and definitely not
the phenomenon of
interpenetration.
they speak of such things only in zen,
in riddles,
are frank and rude
only in paradox.
in truth,
all is surface.
cute and cutaneous.
beauty is
skin deep.
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