Hey there. Haven't posted in a while so I thought I'd pop in and say some stuff.
I won't say too much because last classes are coming on Wednesday. I'll say it all then, most likely, and anything that's left to say I'll say it here when the time comes.
So many things I've been wanting to comment on, but because of the constraints on my time, I haven't been able to.
I recall a week or so ago there was big news out of the Vatican that they'd "forgiven" John Lennon for his remark forty years ago that "the Beatles are bigger than Jesus". They issued a statement that said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that the Beatles music was so much better and important than the music being made today. John was apparently speaking out of his misguided youth and sudden fame, too out of his mind with celebrity to understand the consequence and import of his words. But all is forgiven now. Horse, the barn door is now behind you.
Well, roll over Tchaikovsky and tell John Lennon the news! I'm sure John would be chuckling over that one if he were alive. Forgiveness? First of all, for what? Second of all, who died and made you God?
Also, and here's my real point: how the H-E-double-hockey-sticks would they know what good music was? Has the new pope (whoever he is; I can never remember his name, but for some reason, I can't get that face out of my mind) been listening to Beyonce and Nelly, or maybe R. Kelly or Kanye West? Is that where the comparison comes from? I wonder what the pope has on his iPod these days. Could it be...the Beatles? Maybe The White Album--the one with "Why Don't We Do It in the Road?" and "Happiness is a Warm Gun" and "Helter Skelter"--you know: the Charlie Manson serial killer theme song.
I love the Beatles' music, personally. I never thought they were so bad. I also happen to think that blasphemy is possible only in the face of extreme seriousness and, dare I say, arrogance. But yesterday's blasphemy seems so far away. And hindsight's got 20/20 vision. It's like looking through a glass onion, I guess. All is I know, I can hardly imagine (pardon the expression) that all those young Christians to whom the Vatican is suddenly trying to appeal running out and buying Rubber Soul and Revolver just because the new old pope thinks they're okay now. Of course, I don't image the young Christians were ever into Beyonce and Nelly to begin with. Or maybe I'm wrong.
Anyway, I think it's all just a big reminder to not take any of it so seriously, starting with ourselves and including music and religion.
As for John Lennon, well, maybe now his soul will be free to haunt some other institution. Or maybe he'll finally be able to go into the light, knowing that the pope forgives his sins.
Or maybe, just maybe, he's still befuddled about what the fuss is all about. Betcha.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Revised poetry list.
Here's the revised poetry list for English 1080. I've had to cut the ones that would've taken two or more classes each to discuss. No time, granny no time (Bugs Bunny reference--look it up. It's probably on You Tube.) This is all we'll have time for this semester. I got too ambitious with the Yeats and the Ginsberg especially. Next time, I might start with those.
Here goes. This is what we'll be doing for the rest of the term:
1. “Stopping By Woods” by Robert Frost (Handout)
2. “Daffodils” by W. Wordsworth (Handout)
3. “London” by William Blake (Handout)
4. “Constantly Risking Absurdity” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti (442)
5. “Things” by Lisel Mueller (445)
6. “Not Waving But Drowning” by Stevie Smith (433)
7. “True Love” by Judith Viorst (Handout)
8. “My Mistress’ Eyes” by William Shakespeare (405)
9. “A Kite is a Victim” by Leonard Cohen (452)
10. “My Papa’s Waltz” by Theodore Roethke (354)
11. “Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night” by Dylan Thomas (438)
That should keep us busy.
More to come.
GC
Here goes. This is what we'll be doing for the rest of the term:
1. “Stopping By Woods” by Robert Frost (Handout)
2. “Daffodils” by W. Wordsworth (Handout)
3. “London” by William Blake (Handout)
4. “Constantly Risking Absurdity” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti (442)
5. “Things” by Lisel Mueller (445)
6. “Not Waving But Drowning” by Stevie Smith (433)
7. “True Love” by Judith Viorst (Handout)
8. “My Mistress’ Eyes” by William Shakespeare (405)
9. “A Kite is a Victim” by Leonard Cohen (452)
10. “My Papa’s Waltz” by Theodore Roethke (354)
11. “Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night” by Dylan Thomas (438)
That should keep us busy.
More to come.
GC
Monday, October 13, 2008
Giving Thanks For A Free Country
Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you're all enjoying a relatively carefree day filled with gratitude for the good in this country and in this world.
I was thinking about the soldiers in Afghanistan this morning, how they'll awaken to yet another Thanksgiving in a country so very different from the one in which they were raised or in which their families live.
I was thinking about the freedom we have in this country, in large part thanks to soldiers just like them, but also to people who exercise the right to vote and do so responsibly.
I hope you'll all envision the kind of country you want to live in, ask yourself the right questions about the present and especially about the future of Canada and of this world and take the time tomorrow to vote in the federal election. It's not just your right; it's your duty. Your country doesn't ask much of you in a democracy. But it does ask that you vote.
If you don't vote, you surrender your right to complain about how society treats you or your friends. You concede that nothing will ever change for the better. You surrender, period.
Just vote. It doesn't cost anything. You might think your voice doesn't count, but if you don't vote, you guarantee it won't count. But somebody else's voice will.
What a dumb thing to let happen.
In a democracy, people get the government they deserve, not necessarily the one they need.
I was thinking about the soldiers in Afghanistan this morning, how they'll awaken to yet another Thanksgiving in a country so very different from the one in which they were raised or in which their families live.
I was thinking about the freedom we have in this country, in large part thanks to soldiers just like them, but also to people who exercise the right to vote and do so responsibly.
I hope you'll all envision the kind of country you want to live in, ask yourself the right questions about the present and especially about the future of Canada and of this world and take the time tomorrow to vote in the federal election. It's not just your right; it's your duty. Your country doesn't ask much of you in a democracy. But it does ask that you vote.
If you don't vote, you surrender your right to complain about how society treats you or your friends. You concede that nothing will ever change for the better. You surrender, period.
Just vote. It doesn't cost anything. You might think your voice doesn't count, but if you don't vote, you guarantee it won't count. But somebody else's voice will.
What a dumb thing to let happen.
In a democracy, people get the government they deserve, not necessarily the one they need.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Just In Time For Thanksgiving: quick fixes for sentence structure problems.
I gave back the first 1080 essays for the semester this week, and they were mostly better than I normally expect. It’s the first time in a decade of teaching at MUN I’ve given out three A’s on the first assignment, and several other people were close to getting one. Section 15 had no A’s at all, which is more the norm for this time of term.
There’s still a lot of work to do, as can be seen by the number of students lined up outside of my office door lately. With another assignment due on October 22, I figured a little advice wouldn’t hurt. So the next couple of bloggings from me will concern how to fix up some of the major problems nearly everyone had on the first essays. (Some info re-posted from an earlier blog entry, but revised to fit English 1080).
First of all, I don't make these things up. Sentence fragment, tense shift, and comma splice are real words and have real consequences for your writing. You should have learned about them in high school English, but either no one showed you or the lesson just didn't take. Or maybe in the time since you last wrote an essay, you forgot how to do it. That's all understandable, but what can we do about it? First, you might notice that I used some abbreviations on your essays: 1. "T.S." means tense shift. 2. "C.S." means comma splice. 3. "S.F." means sentence fragment (probably not what you were thinking SF could stand for).
Here's what those terms mean: 1. Tense shift just means that you're switching from speaking in the present voice to speaking in the past voice. You're using "was" when you should be using "is". You're ending words in an "-ed" suffix instead of ending them in "-es" or just "s". Just be consistent. Somtimes, it's fine to use past tense, but most of the time you should consistently use the present tense when talking about fiction, as if the action were happening right now as you read it. So if you said something like "Elisa worked in her garden most of the time," it should read: "Elisa works in her garden most of the time."
2. Comma splice means that you're joining (i.e. "splicing") together two sentences using a humble comma. The comma wasn't intended for such heavy labor. It's like using a screwdriver as a chisel. You can do it, but eventually there will be breakage. Your sentences get too long and, usually, tough to follow.
Here's how to recognize a comma splice: read what you've written on both sides of the comma; if both sides read like a complete sentence, then you've used a comma splice, which is a major grammatical error, not to mention confusing. See, a comma tells you to pause. But periods, for the sake of clarity, require you to stop. (See what I mean there in that last sentence?)
So how do you fix a comma splice, supposing you should see one? 1. Use a period and make two separate sentences. 2. Or use a semi-colon, which is designed to join/separate two complete sentences that are related to each other in thought/theme. 3. Or use a conjunction (e.g. “but,” “however,” “and,” “because,” and so on) and (sometimes) use a comma with it. That's probably the easiest and most common fix. You'll have to get used to recognizing comma splices in your sentences. That's the only way to eradicate the problem from your writing: practice. After a while, it will become natural. I've seen it happen for thousands of students in a matter of weeks and it can happen for you. Depends on how bad you want it. Here's an example of a comma splice:
Comma Splice: Henry leans over the fence, he startles his wife.
Fix: Henry leans over the fence. He startles his wife.
Fix: Henry leans over the fence; he startles his wife.
Fix: Henry leans over the fence, but he startles his wife.
Fix: Henry leans over the fence and startles his wife.
Fix: When Henry leans over the fence, he startles his wife.
3. Sentence Fragment just means that what you've said (and obviously think is a full sentence because it starts with a capital letter and ends in a period after a string of seemingly meaninful words) is not a complete sentence. It's a fragment of a sentence, a mere piece of one: a pretend sentence in disguise, and it's up to you to start recognizing its covert behaviour. It shouldn't be hanging out with the other sentences because, well, it just isn't one and it should just solve the problem by BECOMING one. Their main offense is that they just don't make sense on their own, sort of like Nick Lachey. That's how you fix a sentence fragment: either make it a full sentence by itself OR join it to the preceding clause. That's right: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Here's an example of a sentence fragment.
Sentence fragment: Arnold Friend, standing outside her door, asking if he can come in, which Connie refuses.
Looks, smells, sounds, and feels like a sentence, doesn't it? And yet, on closer look, it isn't quite complete. It needs something else, doesn't it? The sentence lacks context.
So the fix is in: Arnold Friend is standing outside her door, asking if he can come in, which Connie refuses.
Or: Arnold Friend stands outside her door, asking if he can come in, but Connie refuses.
See the difference a simple verb can make? I just added the word "is" or change “standing” to “stands” and now it all makes sense because we can (sort of) see them doing what we've implied they are doing. Fixing sentence fragments is usually just a matter of revising your verb (the word that implies action).
The other way to fix this problem would be to simply connect the fragment to a preceding sentence. For example, let's say you (okay, somebody else. Denial has its uses.) wrote this:
Connie looks into mirrors a lot and looks at other people’s faces. Which tells her how she is doing.
You no doubt recognize that the second "sentence" is an imposter: a mere sentence fragment.
Here's a quick fix: Connie looks into mirrors a lot and looks at other people’s faces, which tells her how she is doing.
Notice that all it takes is a simple comma (also notice that what follows the comma is NOT a complete sentence, so we haven't created a dastardly comma splice, and so everyone sleeps well).
Anyway, I hope this helps. If you're still confused, just come see me or get in touch, okay?
There's no need to feel like you're out there on your own with nowhere to turn. Help is available. :-) And my e-mail address is toll-free. Act now and you'll get free advice about plot summary (which means you're tell me what happens instead of why such details are important for your thesis). Offer available for a limited time only (till December 12, 2008).
It’s almost Thanksgiving weekend, and I’m guessing most of us have a lot to be thankful for. I’ll be very grateful if I never have to talk about comma splice, sentence fragment, or tense shift again this semester because that would mean people are getting it.
Next time: paragraphing and organizing your essay, perhaps a little on thesis statements and topic sentences too.
Till later,
GC
There’s still a lot of work to do, as can be seen by the number of students lined up outside of my office door lately. With another assignment due on October 22, I figured a little advice wouldn’t hurt. So the next couple of bloggings from me will concern how to fix up some of the major problems nearly everyone had on the first essays. (Some info re-posted from an earlier blog entry, but revised to fit English 1080).
First of all, I don't make these things up. Sentence fragment, tense shift, and comma splice are real words and have real consequences for your writing. You should have learned about them in high school English, but either no one showed you or the lesson just didn't take. Or maybe in the time since you last wrote an essay, you forgot how to do it. That's all understandable, but what can we do about it? First, you might notice that I used some abbreviations on your essays: 1. "T.S." means tense shift. 2. "C.S." means comma splice. 3. "S.F." means sentence fragment (probably not what you were thinking SF could stand for).
Here's what those terms mean: 1. Tense shift just means that you're switching from speaking in the present voice to speaking in the past voice. You're using "was" when you should be using "is". You're ending words in an "-ed" suffix instead of ending them in "-es" or just "s". Just be consistent. Somtimes, it's fine to use past tense, but most of the time you should consistently use the present tense when talking about fiction, as if the action were happening right now as you read it. So if you said something like "Elisa worked in her garden most of the time," it should read: "Elisa works in her garden most of the time."
2. Comma splice means that you're joining (i.e. "splicing") together two sentences using a humble comma. The comma wasn't intended for such heavy labor. It's like using a screwdriver as a chisel. You can do it, but eventually there will be breakage. Your sentences get too long and, usually, tough to follow.
Here's how to recognize a comma splice: read what you've written on both sides of the comma; if both sides read like a complete sentence, then you've used a comma splice, which is a major grammatical error, not to mention confusing. See, a comma tells you to pause. But periods, for the sake of clarity, require you to stop. (See what I mean there in that last sentence?)
So how do you fix a comma splice, supposing you should see one? 1. Use a period and make two separate sentences. 2. Or use a semi-colon, which is designed to join/separate two complete sentences that are related to each other in thought/theme. 3. Or use a conjunction (e.g. “but,” “however,” “and,” “because,” and so on) and (sometimes) use a comma with it. That's probably the easiest and most common fix. You'll have to get used to recognizing comma splices in your sentences. That's the only way to eradicate the problem from your writing: practice. After a while, it will become natural. I've seen it happen for thousands of students in a matter of weeks and it can happen for you. Depends on how bad you want it. Here's an example of a comma splice:
Comma Splice: Henry leans over the fence, he startles his wife.
Fix: Henry leans over the fence. He startles his wife.
Fix: Henry leans over the fence; he startles his wife.
Fix: Henry leans over the fence, but he startles his wife.
Fix: Henry leans over the fence and startles his wife.
Fix: When Henry leans over the fence, he startles his wife.
3. Sentence Fragment just means that what you've said (and obviously think is a full sentence because it starts with a capital letter and ends in a period after a string of seemingly meaninful words) is not a complete sentence. It's a fragment of a sentence, a mere piece of one: a pretend sentence in disguise, and it's up to you to start recognizing its covert behaviour. It shouldn't be hanging out with the other sentences because, well, it just isn't one and it should just solve the problem by BECOMING one. Their main offense is that they just don't make sense on their own, sort of like Nick Lachey. That's how you fix a sentence fragment: either make it a full sentence by itself OR join it to the preceding clause. That's right: if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Here's an example of a sentence fragment.
Sentence fragment: Arnold Friend, standing outside her door, asking if he can come in, which Connie refuses.
Looks, smells, sounds, and feels like a sentence, doesn't it? And yet, on closer look, it isn't quite complete. It needs something else, doesn't it? The sentence lacks context.
So the fix is in: Arnold Friend is standing outside her door, asking if he can come in, which Connie refuses.
Or: Arnold Friend stands outside her door, asking if he can come in, but Connie refuses.
See the difference a simple verb can make? I just added the word "is" or change “standing” to “stands” and now it all makes sense because we can (sort of) see them doing what we've implied they are doing. Fixing sentence fragments is usually just a matter of revising your verb (the word that implies action).
The other way to fix this problem would be to simply connect the fragment to a preceding sentence. For example, let's say you (okay, somebody else. Denial has its uses.) wrote this:
Connie looks into mirrors a lot and looks at other people’s faces. Which tells her how she is doing.
You no doubt recognize that the second "sentence" is an imposter: a mere sentence fragment.
Here's a quick fix: Connie looks into mirrors a lot and looks at other people’s faces, which tells her how she is doing.
Notice that all it takes is a simple comma (also notice that what follows the comma is NOT a complete sentence, so we haven't created a dastardly comma splice, and so everyone sleeps well).
Anyway, I hope this helps. If you're still confused, just come see me or get in touch, okay?
There's no need to feel like you're out there on your own with nowhere to turn. Help is available. :-) And my e-mail address is toll-free. Act now and you'll get free advice about plot summary (which means you're tell me what happens instead of why such details are important for your thesis). Offer available for a limited time only (till December 12, 2008).
It’s almost Thanksgiving weekend, and I’m guessing most of us have a lot to be thankful for. I’ll be very grateful if I never have to talk about comma splice, sentence fragment, or tense shift again this semester because that would mean people are getting it.
Next time: paragraphing and organizing your essay, perhaps a little on thesis statements and topic sentences too.
Till later,
GC
Monday, September 29, 2008
Young Goodman Brown: A Sock's Tale
Here's an adaptation of Nathaniel Hawthorne's "Young Goodman Brown" that I thought you'd enjoy.
I particularly like the actor who plays the devil figure. I think he shows a lot of range, while the one who plays YGB is a bit stiff. The actress who plays Faith is appealing in her own way, though fairly one-dimensional.
Also, please note that the video contains scenes of nudity that might be offensive to some. Or not. Enjoy!
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=4RbgjOa34wI
I particularly like the actor who plays the devil figure. I think he shows a lot of range, while the one who plays YGB is a bit stiff. The actress who plays Faith is appealing in her own way, though fairly one-dimensional.
Also, please note that the video contains scenes of nudity that might be offensive to some. Or not. Enjoy!
http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=4RbgjOa34wI
Thursday, September 25, 2008
New story
By the way, in English 1080, we'll be starting "Young Goodman Brown" by Nathaniel Hawthorne on Monday, Sept. 26. Just a reminder.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Grapes of Wrath
I was talking about John Steinbeck's "The Chrysanthemums" in class on Friday, reflecting on how, being published in 1938, it really does reflect the social, cultural, political, and economic realities of the Depression era. As I mentioned, the Great Depression really began in 1929, triggered by Black Tuesday, which began a decade of massive unemployment, with millions of jobs lost, people losing their houses and life savings, losing hope, losing everything. That era, more than anything, is a reminder to most of us in the Western World (though the Depression was felt everywhere, not just in the USA and Canada) of just how bad it can get, economically. It's a benchmark of how terrible our social and economic problems can become if we, our governments, and big business don't actually mind our business properly.
The same conditions appear to exist today. Although I'm no economist, it doesn't take one to see that our financial system is built on a house of cards--even more now because we no longer even have paper money and hard cash so much to produce. Most of what we own is a bank machine printout that says how much, or how little we have. It's all just numbers being traded back and forth. Same with Wall Street, as it always has been, I suppose. The U.S. government seems to have no clue to the value of a trillion dollars, buying out huge companies (though arguably, they are also preventing dozens of other companies from filing for bankruptcy in a sort of domino effect), shelling out billions and trillions to pay for wars they can't afford and, arguably, shouldn't even be fighting.
Beyond that, people are losing their houses in record numbers because banks loaned them money they really shouldn't have loaned them. So the banks foreclose, but that's not the same as the bank getting its money back. So the people are in debt, the banks lose money, and the whole thing starts to go up in smoke. The banks are getting bailed out by government, which only means the government goes in debt by trillions more, and the government is actually the people themselves.
Factor in massive layoffs, a global economy that depends on American stability (an oxymoron if I ever heard one), and the impending financial and other catastrophes as a result of global warming, and you have the recipe for a perfect storm. Great Depression II. Will it happen? Maybe there's a solution, or maybe someone's working on one. Let's hope so because it's not just an American problem.
Anyway, I mentioned in class on Friday that, for my money, The Grapes of Wrath by that same John Steinbeck feller is one of the top four American novels of all time. I consider The Great Gatsby, The Catcher in the Rye, and To Kill a Mockingbird to be the others--though I admit I need to reconsider my list and maybe update it one of these days. But my point, really, in writing this entry is that the movie version of The Grapes of Wrath is actually on CBC television tonight at 1:30 a.m. (Newfoundland time; midnight ET) in case you're interested in taking a peek. It's in black and white (which I love) and stars Henry Fonda, one the greatest actors of all time. You'll get to see his portrayal of the character in Bruce Springsteen's best song of all time (my opinion, anyway) "The Ghost of Tom Joad." That song gives me shivers every time I hear it because it makes me think of the fragility of our social fabric, but the strength of the human spirit at the same time.
The highway is alive tonight,
And where it's headed, everybody knows.
Just sittin' down here in the campfire light,
Waitin' on the ghost of Tom Joad.
If you're interested in seeing the video, I just found it on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DEtA5fhk4k
And if you've a mind to watch a clip from the movie, you'll see where Springsteen got his inspiration, from one of the most famous speeches in literary or movie history: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wke1RBvcNQ
The same conditions appear to exist today. Although I'm no economist, it doesn't take one to see that our financial system is built on a house of cards--even more now because we no longer even have paper money and hard cash so much to produce. Most of what we own is a bank machine printout that says how much, or how little we have. It's all just numbers being traded back and forth. Same with Wall Street, as it always has been, I suppose. The U.S. government seems to have no clue to the value of a trillion dollars, buying out huge companies (though arguably, they are also preventing dozens of other companies from filing for bankruptcy in a sort of domino effect), shelling out billions and trillions to pay for wars they can't afford and, arguably, shouldn't even be fighting.
Beyond that, people are losing their houses in record numbers because banks loaned them money they really shouldn't have loaned them. So the banks foreclose, but that's not the same as the bank getting its money back. So the people are in debt, the banks lose money, and the whole thing starts to go up in smoke. The banks are getting bailed out by government, which only means the government goes in debt by trillions more, and the government is actually the people themselves.
Factor in massive layoffs, a global economy that depends on American stability (an oxymoron if I ever heard one), and the impending financial and other catastrophes as a result of global warming, and you have the recipe for a perfect storm. Great Depression II. Will it happen? Maybe there's a solution, or maybe someone's working on one. Let's hope so because it's not just an American problem.
Anyway, I mentioned in class on Friday that, for my money, The Grapes of Wrath by that same John Steinbeck feller is one of the top four American novels of all time. I consider The Great Gatsby, The Catcher in the Rye, and To Kill a Mockingbird to be the others--though I admit I need to reconsider my list and maybe update it one of these days. But my point, really, in writing this entry is that the movie version of The Grapes of Wrath is actually on CBC television tonight at 1:30 a.m. (Newfoundland time; midnight ET) in case you're interested in taking a peek. It's in black and white (which I love) and stars Henry Fonda, one the greatest actors of all time. You'll get to see his portrayal of the character in Bruce Springsteen's best song of all time (my opinion, anyway) "The Ghost of Tom Joad." That song gives me shivers every time I hear it because it makes me think of the fragility of our social fabric, but the strength of the human spirit at the same time.
The highway is alive tonight,
And where it's headed, everybody knows.
Just sittin' down here in the campfire light,
Waitin' on the ghost of Tom Joad.
If you're interested in seeing the video, I just found it on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1DEtA5fhk4k
And if you've a mind to watch a clip from the movie, you'll see where Springsteen got his inspiration, from one of the most famous speeches in literary or movie history: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wke1RBvcNQ
Sunday, September 7, 2008
A New Chapter
It being September, I've begun teaching English at MUN as of this past Friday. So "Hi!" to all the new readers who'll be checking in over the next few weeks to see what's on the go.
I started this blog a little over a year and a half ago with the intent of keeping students informed about assignments, as well as providing some extra information and inspiration whenever possible, to help them get through my in-class ramblings a little easier. By the end of that semester there were about two thousand posts, telling me the experiment was a success--although most well-meaning people had told me it wouldn't fly. Since then, I've received e-mails, comments and notices from, not only former students, but people all over the world, really, who've been reading the blog and getting something out of it. Some people like the lessons on grammar and essay writing (there'll be more of that); others like my musings on fiction writing (there'll be some of that, though a bit less for a while); others were interested in the accounts of my attempts to publish my own work; while still others just seem to see something they liked in general.
I can't explain it really, but I appreciate that so many people seem to be reading this blog. After a couple of semesters off from teaching, though, I'm back at it again and so this blog will take on more of a collegial tone. I'll be writing more about assignments and essay-writing, while also offering the occasional bit on life in general, just to keep it interesting. So for those of you who've been tuned in all along, there's no need to go anywhere.
For you newbies: welcome. My hope is that you'll get something out of this that will help you on the journey. Feel free to poke around through past entries and comment wherever you'd like. Mostly though, just come visit once in a while and I'll try to have something here for you as often as the need arises.
The nature of blogs, for better or for worse, is that they inevitably become about the person who's writing them. Really, though, this one was never meant for that. It still isn't. And now, at last, we return to regularly scheduled programming.
And so it ends. And so it begins.
I started this blog a little over a year and a half ago with the intent of keeping students informed about assignments, as well as providing some extra information and inspiration whenever possible, to help them get through my in-class ramblings a little easier. By the end of that semester there were about two thousand posts, telling me the experiment was a success--although most well-meaning people had told me it wouldn't fly. Since then, I've received e-mails, comments and notices from, not only former students, but people all over the world, really, who've been reading the blog and getting something out of it. Some people like the lessons on grammar and essay writing (there'll be more of that); others like my musings on fiction writing (there'll be some of that, though a bit less for a while); others were interested in the accounts of my attempts to publish my own work; while still others just seem to see something they liked in general.
I can't explain it really, but I appreciate that so many people seem to be reading this blog. After a couple of semesters off from teaching, though, I'm back at it again and so this blog will take on more of a collegial tone. I'll be writing more about assignments and essay-writing, while also offering the occasional bit on life in general, just to keep it interesting. So for those of you who've been tuned in all along, there's no need to go anywhere.
For you newbies: welcome. My hope is that you'll get something out of this that will help you on the journey. Feel free to poke around through past entries and comment wherever you'd like. Mostly though, just come visit once in a while and I'll try to have something here for you as often as the need arises.
The nature of blogs, for better or for worse, is that they inevitably become about the person who's writing them. Really, though, this one was never meant for that. It still isn't. And now, at last, we return to regularly scheduled programming.
And so it ends. And so it begins.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
The Toughest Fight
"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else, means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."
e.e. cummings
e.e. cummings
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Fumbling Through Ecstasy
I went swimming at the Aquarena this morning. When I got home, my wife asked, "Was it fun?"
"I hurt all over."
"But did you enjoy it?"
Enjoyment had nothing to do with it, I told her. I haven't been swimming since Jesus was a baby (not that that was my reason for doing it back then; the two events are completely unrelated), but I've been meaning to.
When I was a kid, I spent my summers in water. I'd swim in the ocean day after day. I knew the tides better than I knew my friends' habits. There was this huge rock at Sandy Cove I used to stand on and use as a diving platform. When the tide was in, only the very top of that boulder--which was really about the size of a small shed--protruded from the salty brine, making it a perfect launching pad. I'd do somersaults, back flips, and jackknife dives into the North Atlantic, eyes wide open as I explored the seabed filled with rocks and sand, seaweed, starfish, shellfish, jellyfish, and whatever else the ocean had to offer. The last time I did that I was seventeen years old and the rush just never got old--that feeling of exhiliration from doing something forbidden and even potentially dangerous, especially since I swam alone a lot. I'd go there with friends too, but, as with skating (also on the ocean) it was my habit to get up early most days and enjoy it in solitude. Nothing but me and nature. Sometimes, I'd get out of the water and just sit there, not even breathing heavy, and just listen to the birds, the tide, and the wind.
Sounds pretty idyllic. Of course, we also had a community outdoor swimming pool just down the hill from our house, and it was open from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. It would kill me to have to wait until 9 a.m., to be honest. Most days, I'd be there at the door, rushing to be first in line, with my money in hand. I'd stay there all day if I could, though most days I had enough money for only two or three hours. I'd swim pretty much all day. Up and down, deep end or shallow end, teasing the girls of course, diving off the board, though none too pretty. It was a swimmapalooza, all summer long. I hated when the pool would shut down for the day and I had to wait all night and early the next morning for it to open again. It wasn't that I had no life; it's just that, when I was young, this pretty much was my life. If I wasn't reading a book, I was playing some kind of sports. It wasn't that I had to choose swimming over softball, basketball, or hockey. I'd do those things too, often all in the same day.
Well, things have changed. I still run a few miles several days of the week and play badminton occasionally, putting the same amount of effort in that I always did. But it's been YEARS, actually decades, since I've been swimming, except for the occasional dip over the years at Butterpot Park (once about fifteen years ago) or glacier fed (thus, extremely cold in August) Harrison Lake in British Columbia's lower mainland.
I made up my mind I was going to get back to it--been meaning to for years. Well, this morning, I finally did. It's a little unnerving to don the swim trunks again after so many years. Back in the day, I didn't worry about how I looked; I just went. Now it's in the back of your mind, after years of hearing things in the media about how you're supposed to wear the right things to the beach and be in shape for summer, and all the rest of it, that you can't help it. You just know you're being assessed by everyone in the pool, lifeguards and all.
Then there's the fact that I never really was a very strong swimmer. Sure, I could do it. But I never learned the techniques you're supposed to learn. So I wondered: could I really do it after all these years?
Turns out I can, but there's a price to be paid. First of all, forget about how I look in swim shorts. Everyone at the pool, except for the twenty-year-old lifeguards who looked like they wouldn't put me out if I was on fire, let alone rescue me from drowning on their watch, was at least a little overweight. I was easily the smallest and (I thought) most fit person there.
So I went there, got in the water, didn't think about it, just dove in. Figured that was the best way. Well, it seems that somewhere along the way the muscles that one normally uses for swimming had decided to retire without telling me. Swimming is like giving birth (or so I've been told): no one tells you that, if you've never done it before, it's FREAKIN' HARD! Michael Phelps is a god. No two ways about it. But the thing is, he practices. He swims five hours a day. He eats, sleeps, breathes, and dreams about swimming. And so do most of those other aquine Olympians.
I swam thirty metres out, and I thought I was gonna die. Honestly. My heart was pounding. My arms were already sore, and my legs were like jelly. I only thought I was physically fit. I mean, sure I am fit for the most part, but nothing had prepared me for that burning sensation of my limbs and lungs.
But I stuck it out. I stayed for about forty minutes, forcing myself to swim though I felt like quitting. I knew that the only way I was going to get better and stronger at this was to practice. And it's not going to happen overnight. Just like when I start running after a long absence, I'll have to start slowly (in this case, excruciatingly slow) and work my way up to it. Maybe in a month or so I can do an entire 100 metre lap. That's the goal for now. It's not easy to do these things when so many people are watching. The Aquarena is a very public space, with eyes on you everywhere you turn, including the two lifeguards, who looked so bored and disgusted with my feeble efforts. I mean, it was obvious I'm no swimmer or that I haven't done it in a very long time. So give me a break.
The thing I often think about is, when you guys are in your thirties and forties, are you still going to be stretching yourself athletically and in other ways? Are you still going to be daring yourself to try new things or things that scare you a little? Are you going to be willing to teach yourself something slowly, painstakingly slowly, until you at least become good enough at it that you can enjoy it?
I can honestly say I've lived my life that way. Every now and then I do something to shake things up. So I take up a new sport or creative pursuit. I remember once, in my early twenties, I woke up one morning and went downtown with my guitar to busk for a day. It was a horrible experience in some ways, but exhilirating in other ways. Thing is, I wanted to know how it felt just so I could empathize with those who did it, but also because it was such a scary, public thing to do--I mean, singing for strangers on a street corner, most of them looking at you like you were a freak or a hobo. I didn't want money. I wanted self-respect: knowing that I could do such a thing meant that I had nothing to be afraid of in life.
The experience of taking up swimming this morning was just like that. You just take the thing that scares you the most in life and dive right in.
The next step, of course, is to take some lessons. I need them, just to get my technique down. After that: practice, practice, practice. It's not just how you get to Carnegie Hall. It's how you get the most out of life.
"I hurt all over."
"But did you enjoy it?"
Enjoyment had nothing to do with it, I told her. I haven't been swimming since Jesus was a baby (not that that was my reason for doing it back then; the two events are completely unrelated), but I've been meaning to.
When I was a kid, I spent my summers in water. I'd swim in the ocean day after day. I knew the tides better than I knew my friends' habits. There was this huge rock at Sandy Cove I used to stand on and use as a diving platform. When the tide was in, only the very top of that boulder--which was really about the size of a small shed--protruded from the salty brine, making it a perfect launching pad. I'd do somersaults, back flips, and jackknife dives into the North Atlantic, eyes wide open as I explored the seabed filled with rocks and sand, seaweed, starfish, shellfish, jellyfish, and whatever else the ocean had to offer. The last time I did that I was seventeen years old and the rush just never got old--that feeling of exhiliration from doing something forbidden and even potentially dangerous, especially since I swam alone a lot. I'd go there with friends too, but, as with skating (also on the ocean) it was my habit to get up early most days and enjoy it in solitude. Nothing but me and nature. Sometimes, I'd get out of the water and just sit there, not even breathing heavy, and just listen to the birds, the tide, and the wind.
Sounds pretty idyllic. Of course, we also had a community outdoor swimming pool just down the hill from our house, and it was open from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. It would kill me to have to wait until 9 a.m., to be honest. Most days, I'd be there at the door, rushing to be first in line, with my money in hand. I'd stay there all day if I could, though most days I had enough money for only two or three hours. I'd swim pretty much all day. Up and down, deep end or shallow end, teasing the girls of course, diving off the board, though none too pretty. It was a swimmapalooza, all summer long. I hated when the pool would shut down for the day and I had to wait all night and early the next morning for it to open again. It wasn't that I had no life; it's just that, when I was young, this pretty much was my life. If I wasn't reading a book, I was playing some kind of sports. It wasn't that I had to choose swimming over softball, basketball, or hockey. I'd do those things too, often all in the same day.
Well, things have changed. I still run a few miles several days of the week and play badminton occasionally, putting the same amount of effort in that I always did. But it's been YEARS, actually decades, since I've been swimming, except for the occasional dip over the years at Butterpot Park (once about fifteen years ago) or glacier fed (thus, extremely cold in August) Harrison Lake in British Columbia's lower mainland.
I made up my mind I was going to get back to it--been meaning to for years. Well, this morning, I finally did. It's a little unnerving to don the swim trunks again after so many years. Back in the day, I didn't worry about how I looked; I just went. Now it's in the back of your mind, after years of hearing things in the media about how you're supposed to wear the right things to the beach and be in shape for summer, and all the rest of it, that you can't help it. You just know you're being assessed by everyone in the pool, lifeguards and all.
Then there's the fact that I never really was a very strong swimmer. Sure, I could do it. But I never learned the techniques you're supposed to learn. So I wondered: could I really do it after all these years?
Turns out I can, but there's a price to be paid. First of all, forget about how I look in swim shorts. Everyone at the pool, except for the twenty-year-old lifeguards who looked like they wouldn't put me out if I was on fire, let alone rescue me from drowning on their watch, was at least a little overweight. I was easily the smallest and (I thought) most fit person there.
So I went there, got in the water, didn't think about it, just dove in. Figured that was the best way. Well, it seems that somewhere along the way the muscles that one normally uses for swimming had decided to retire without telling me. Swimming is like giving birth (or so I've been told): no one tells you that, if you've never done it before, it's FREAKIN' HARD! Michael Phelps is a god. No two ways about it. But the thing is, he practices. He swims five hours a day. He eats, sleeps, breathes, and dreams about swimming. And so do most of those other aquine Olympians.
I swam thirty metres out, and I thought I was gonna die. Honestly. My heart was pounding. My arms were already sore, and my legs were like jelly. I only thought I was physically fit. I mean, sure I am fit for the most part, but nothing had prepared me for that burning sensation of my limbs and lungs.
But I stuck it out. I stayed for about forty minutes, forcing myself to swim though I felt like quitting. I knew that the only way I was going to get better and stronger at this was to practice. And it's not going to happen overnight. Just like when I start running after a long absence, I'll have to start slowly (in this case, excruciatingly slow) and work my way up to it. Maybe in a month or so I can do an entire 100 metre lap. That's the goal for now. It's not easy to do these things when so many people are watching. The Aquarena is a very public space, with eyes on you everywhere you turn, including the two lifeguards, who looked so bored and disgusted with my feeble efforts. I mean, it was obvious I'm no swimmer or that I haven't done it in a very long time. So give me a break.
The thing I often think about is, when you guys are in your thirties and forties, are you still going to be stretching yourself athletically and in other ways? Are you still going to be daring yourself to try new things or things that scare you a little? Are you going to be willing to teach yourself something slowly, painstakingly slowly, until you at least become good enough at it that you can enjoy it?
I can honestly say I've lived my life that way. Every now and then I do something to shake things up. So I take up a new sport or creative pursuit. I remember once, in my early twenties, I woke up one morning and went downtown with my guitar to busk for a day. It was a horrible experience in some ways, but exhilirating in other ways. Thing is, I wanted to know how it felt just so I could empathize with those who did it, but also because it was such a scary, public thing to do--I mean, singing for strangers on a street corner, most of them looking at you like you were a freak or a hobo. I didn't want money. I wanted self-respect: knowing that I could do such a thing meant that I had nothing to be afraid of in life.
The experience of taking up swimming this morning was just like that. You just take the thing that scares you the most in life and dive right in.
The next step, of course, is to take some lessons. I need them, just to get my technique down. After that: practice, practice, practice. It's not just how you get to Carnegie Hall. It's how you get the most out of life.
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