Monday, June 30, 2008
Unspent Sleep
Lately, I am so sleepy. But then at night I can't sleep and when I do I dream and when I dream I stress as much as I'm awake.
And I wake up a crabapple and nothing about a day's work, or even a slow day at my desk, or a lunch hour spent bent on relaxation, has been enough to wind me down.
The funny thing is the same thing that keeps me awake is the same thing I need a break from, or actually, in writing, that's hardly a contradiction. I can see that now.
But I feel a great restlessness, and anxiety: I constantly feel like I'm not doing enough.
I'm not working out enough (or at all); I'm not hanging out with my friends enough (but I'm so tired in the first place I barely make it out more than once or twice a week tops); I'm not doing enough to help others (I have relied on the support of friends and family without feeling like I can ever give much back for a long while, and that feeling is never comforting. Sometimes I feel like when the time comes when I'll have a car or money or time or ideas, I might by then run out of people to share them with); and I want to help strangers, too (I want to volunteer, and am going to look into possibly a Saturday commitment somewhere, because that's all I really have the time to do).
I read for what seems like all day long about current events, history, pop culture, and whatever else (to the point sometimes that by the end of the day it amounts to one big weighty blur).
I don't know why I'm even sitting here writing this, except that it's been so hard lately to turn it off.
Lately, I am so sleepy. But then at night I can't sleep and when I do I dream and when I dream I stress as much as I'm awake.
And I wake up a crabapple and nothing about a day's work, or even a slow day at my desk, or a lunch hour spent bent on relaxation, has been enough to wind me down.
The funny thing is the same thing that keeps me awake is the same thing I need a break from, or actually, in writing, that's hardly a contradiction. I can see that now.
But I feel a great restlessness, and anxiety: I constantly feel like I'm not doing enough.
I'm not working out enough (or at all); I'm not hanging out with my friends enough (but I'm so tired in the first place I barely make it out more than once or twice a week tops); I'm not doing enough to help others (I have relied on the support of friends and family without feeling like I can ever give much back for a long while, and that feeling is never comforting. Sometimes I feel like when the time comes when I'll have a car or money or time or ideas, I might by then run out of people to share them with); and I want to help strangers, too (I want to volunteer, and am going to look into possibly a Saturday commitment somewhere, because that's all I really have the time to do).
I read for what seems like all day long about current events, history, pop culture, and whatever else (to the point sometimes that by the end of the day it amounts to one big weighty blur).
I don't know why I'm even sitting here writing this, except that it's been so hard lately to turn it off.
Labels: Anxiety, Insomnia, Restlessness
Relentless Ranting?
I finished the book yesterday, in exactly a week.
The initial review which brought me to it turned out to be misleading; by the time I reached the middle of the book, I wondered if the author had taken the time to read the whole thing.
I realize it contained a ton of information, but that review was written like a paper by a college freshman, as if the book had been skimmed, with a dash of notes from the beginning chapter, a couple from the middle, and voila, a lukewarm summarization. Surely, time and word count were most likely restrictions in that instance; it's still worth exploring, though.
I also read several reviews of the book on Amazon before I purchased it, noting Wendy Kopp herself wrote a book a few years ago, and I intend to read that as well. But in most cases, the conversation went toward a debate about education reform, rather than a discussion of the book itself, or proposed areas for further research on TFA's methods and scope for change.
I have my own criticisms, but they seem trifling compared to the message it expounds. When I began the book, it immediately took hold of me. I found it difficult to sleep.
However, minus the scary introduction to the neighborhood, the gangs, and the school itself, the story then leaned toward of focus of the experience on the teachers, TFA and non; then, the organization, testing, recruiting methods, as well as problem-solving and expansion plans, among other things under the guise of TFA; and then the larger school system, and how it tied in with individual experience of those who were involved.
This would be an exciting time to join the organization, as alums are finally entering into the larger society to continue the path toward education reform through systematic change as envisioned by Kopp in the program's founding in the first place: teaching is only the first part of the story; staying focused on the larger picture and maintaining commitment in all professions thereafter as part of this country and this social movement is the second.
I have to say, I found this review informative as well as infuriating. That the Slate writer was an alum from the very first corp was intriguing; in the article I think she did her best to defend the organization and explain some common problems in the education system, but the last line was just far from necessary:
Leftists always talk about "the power structure" when discussing the poor, but it took a blond-headed, pro-business Princeton grad from Dallas to put in place a movement that stands a chance of actually changing that structure.
Seriously? I don't know where she was going with that. It practically came out of nowhere, and it left a sour taste in my mouth. It's just disappointing because with that last what? -- 32 words? -- she managed to not make TFA look any better, not make the discussion about the Ivy Leaguers who join any better, and not to make any sort of rightful criticism of leftism, or support of women world leaders such as Kopp. She just made herself look bad, as a successful alum of the program, who got to write an article about a book obviously over something she believed in, at least, 20 years ago, only to indirectly crap on it in the last sentence.
Nice.
However, the discussion it precipitated on the Web site -- and I read all of it -- provided an even more informative picture of this ongoing, incredibly important, ready-fueled debate.
I finished the book yesterday, in exactly a week.
The initial review which brought me to it turned out to be misleading; by the time I reached the middle of the book, I wondered if the author had taken the time to read the whole thing.
I realize it contained a ton of information, but that review was written like a paper by a college freshman, as if the book had been skimmed, with a dash of notes from the beginning chapter, a couple from the middle, and voila, a lukewarm summarization. Surely, time and word count were most likely restrictions in that instance; it's still worth exploring, though.
I also read several reviews of the book on Amazon before I purchased it, noting Wendy Kopp herself wrote a book a few years ago, and I intend to read that as well. But in most cases, the conversation went toward a debate about education reform, rather than a discussion of the book itself, or proposed areas for further research on TFA's methods and scope for change.
I have my own criticisms, but they seem trifling compared to the message it expounds. When I began the book, it immediately took hold of me. I found it difficult to sleep.
However, minus the scary introduction to the neighborhood, the gangs, and the school itself, the story then leaned toward of focus of the experience on the teachers, TFA and non; then, the organization, testing, recruiting methods, as well as problem-solving and expansion plans, among other things under the guise of TFA; and then the larger school system, and how it tied in with individual experience of those who were involved.
This would be an exciting time to join the organization, as alums are finally entering into the larger society to continue the path toward education reform through systematic change as envisioned by Kopp in the program's founding in the first place: teaching is only the first part of the story; staying focused on the larger picture and maintaining commitment in all professions thereafter as part of this country and this social movement is the second.
I have to say, I found this review informative as well as infuriating. That the Slate writer was an alum from the very first corp was intriguing; in the article I think she did her best to defend the organization and explain some common problems in the education system, but the last line was just far from necessary:
Leftists always talk about "the power structure" when discussing the poor, but it took a blond-headed, pro-business Princeton grad from Dallas to put in place a movement that stands a chance of actually changing that structure.
Seriously? I don't know where she was going with that. It practically came out of nowhere, and it left a sour taste in my mouth. It's just disappointing because with that last what? -- 32 words? -- she managed to not make TFA look any better, not make the discussion about the Ivy Leaguers who join any better, and not to make any sort of rightful criticism of leftism, or support of women world leaders such as Kopp. She just made herself look bad, as a successful alum of the program, who got to write an article about a book obviously over something she believed in, at least, 20 years ago, only to indirectly crap on it in the last sentence.
Nice.
However, the discussion it precipitated on the Web site -- and I read all of it -- provided an even more informative picture of this ongoing, incredibly important, ready-fueled debate.
Labels: Books, Education, Social Problems, Teach for America
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Line of Best Fit
Still one of my favorite songs of all time, although I haven't thought about it for a long while. Like old memories, it got lost. I played that CD so much, and at times I listened to that song over and over. Call me a masochist, but it got me through things, like great records do.
Death Cab For Cutie Lyrics
Line Of Best Fit. Lyrics..
It really spoke to me.
Lately, I've been thinking about that again. Paths and patterns. My future seems brighter than it ever has.
I took a vocational test at work last week. It's going to sound cheesy, but here's the back story. I work in an office where our mission is to help students find careers and carve their pathways into them. To succeed. To get out there and use their education. And then to give back to the University, either as alumni or as recruits. My role could be the most or least important, or somewhere in the middle. Sometimes I feel it's minimal. Others, I feel like I am part of this momentum, and I am making a difference. At best, I am, and I am inspired by so many around me. At worst, it's a means to an end, but that's only when I get itchy feet or when I'm super bored.
I have gotten off the subject. Anyway, they had everyone in the office take this test, and tomorrow we are going to go over the results in depth. They think the process will either a) work to help us each understand our role as contributors to a team, but also b) to recognize our individual strengths and weaknesses, and c) so we might have a better idea of whom just might be the missing piece of the puzzle, because we are understaffed and want to recruit those who could give an outstanding contribution in expanding the work we are doing, without having to upset the structure I think too much.
Anyway, it was spot on; it listed five strengths in depth, and pointed to careers, and strategic means of maximizing them, and suggested approaches to learning to get the most out of them, etc.
I won't bore you with the details, but I found it pretty fascinating. And though on one hand my boss thought it was sorta hokey and related it more to something like astrology than "hard science", it spoke to me.
The last trait for me, of the five, was called Connectedness. It completely described my worldview, and my values, addressing the deeply spiritual nature I see humans and animals, and the big picture, and the reasons I make some of the choices I do. It even recommended several programs for me that I am coincidentally applying to, and some others I have thought about exploring in the past.
The thing about it is, there's nothing coincidental about it. That's what Connectedness is about -- the interconnection of people, things, and events. Even when I'm not thinking about this at all, things happen, and I can't help but later think they were not a coincidence, that coincidences do not exist.
I'm not even going to call it fate. Fate could only be one spot on the metaphysical graph we draw our paths on. And they are not linear; the line of best fit is the best fit acknowledging that it includes error.
I'm going to be longwinded tonight. I already am, but I've just got too much to say, so please stick with this; I've got some points. (Hah. Points.)
Last Friday, my department had a "retreat." Actually, we got to spend the day at Dave and Busters. It was pretty cool, for what might have otherwise been a yucky boring meeting day. In between a meeting session, after lunch, I ended up having a long discussion with two of my coworkers about my future plans.
I don't even know how it started; I guess with the fact that I had taken a test this morning, and thought I had gotten a B (turns out I got another A! -- but I didn't know that till later). I was a little bummed. I told them about the specific goals I have decided upon, and that I've done the math. I've done plenty of homework. I have to make certain grades; I have to have a financial plan, and there are many other things I need to consider as well. Planning this stuff is not going to be easy.
So, without my really asking for it, they opened up and gave me some really great advice. Questions I could ask. Alternative ways to make ends meet. And other nonprofits I hadn't thought of -- like one in Houston where "volunteers" help tutor kids in reading that sounded really cool, for instance.
It wasn't until yesterday, taking a walk on campus, that I realized how lucky I am. Except that it's not an accident that I ended up there, working in exactly the right place. It's not just that they help me, but they've encouraged me to look outside of where I've been looking. Basically, for the first time I realized I don't have to do this all by myself. I don't have to walk into something so blindly. Not be prepared. Not know what my options are. And more importantly, I don't have to sell myself short.
Back to the Line of Best Fit. This is even crazier. OK, I'm liking research methods class. Last semester, I perceived that I wouldn't get it; that it wasn't interesting; that I would never use it. But I gave myself a talkin-to right before the summer session started, and I'm doing it. Not only am I making an A, I am engaged in it. I have learned things that I will use. I may not want to be a social researcher, but at least I will know a little about how it is done. At least I will have a better eye concerning what I can trust and not trust.
Which also made it easier for me to digest that vocational test. Even while I was taking it, I understood the method, and I was able to be completely honest.
My boss told me when he took it, he put himself in his work mindset. He said, "I'm different at work than outside of work," so he intentionally thought of work scenarios when thinking over the test questions.
I didn't do that. Because I don't think work should be separate from who you are. That is probably the largest reason so many are dissatisfied with what they do, and I'm not looking for a job. I'm looking for a way I want to live my life. I'm looking for the Golden Egg. I'm looking for fulfillment. I'm looking for a vocation, a career that will fall in line with my values, and what I want to gain from life itself.
And there's the Connectedness again.
Then there's the Line. And just like this story about all the things I've taken today, there are a series of points outlining it. The Line of Best Fit, in social research, falls through the sum of the squared differences between predicted and actual outcomes.
That's what life is like. I'm a key opponent of living a linear life, or at least, I tell people often, "Well, I've never lived a linear life." Especially lately, when all these people from high school have been randomly writing me, asking me what the last 10 years have been like.
That said, the Line of Best Fit is truth and fiction. It exists, but it doesn't. It is the line that can be formed through minimizing the likelihood of error. In Regressive Research, it is the Golden Egg.
My notebook paper had and x- and y-axis drawn, with points scattered and a line going through them, but not through them. It had scratch-outs, too.
Man, maybe I'm tired; maybe I'm reading too much into things, but I don't think so. Moments of clarity are few and precious, and right now, I'm savoring it. Because that's what you're supposed to do.
Still one of my favorite songs of all time, although I haven't thought about it for a long while. Like old memories, it got lost. I played that CD so much, and at times I listened to that song over and over. Call me a masochist, but it got me through things, like great records do.
Death Cab For Cutie Lyrics
Line Of Best Fit. Lyrics..
It really spoke to me.
Lately, I've been thinking about that again. Paths and patterns. My future seems brighter than it ever has.
I took a vocational test at work last week. It's going to sound cheesy, but here's the back story. I work in an office where our mission is to help students find careers and carve their pathways into them. To succeed. To get out there and use their education. And then to give back to the University, either as alumni or as recruits. My role could be the most or least important, or somewhere in the middle. Sometimes I feel it's minimal. Others, I feel like I am part of this momentum, and I am making a difference. At best, I am, and I am inspired by so many around me. At worst, it's a means to an end, but that's only when I get itchy feet or when I'm super bored.
I have gotten off the subject. Anyway, they had everyone in the office take this test, and tomorrow we are going to go over the results in depth. They think the process will either a) work to help us each understand our role as contributors to a team, but also b) to recognize our individual strengths and weaknesses, and c) so we might have a better idea of whom just might be the missing piece of the puzzle, because we are understaffed and want to recruit those who could give an outstanding contribution in expanding the work we are doing, without having to upset the structure I think too much.
Anyway, it was spot on; it listed five strengths in depth, and pointed to careers, and strategic means of maximizing them, and suggested approaches to learning to get the most out of them, etc.
I won't bore you with the details, but I found it pretty fascinating. And though on one hand my boss thought it was sorta hokey and related it more to something like astrology than "hard science", it spoke to me.
The last trait for me, of the five, was called Connectedness. It completely described my worldview, and my values, addressing the deeply spiritual nature I see humans and animals, and the big picture, and the reasons I make some of the choices I do. It even recommended several programs for me that I am coincidentally applying to, and some others I have thought about exploring in the past.
The thing about it is, there's nothing coincidental about it. That's what Connectedness is about -- the interconnection of people, things, and events. Even when I'm not thinking about this at all, things happen, and I can't help but later think they were not a coincidence, that coincidences do not exist.
I'm not even going to call it fate. Fate could only be one spot on the metaphysical graph we draw our paths on. And they are not linear; the line of best fit is the best fit acknowledging that it includes error.
I'm going to be longwinded tonight. I already am, but I've just got too much to say, so please stick with this; I've got some points. (Hah. Points.)
Last Friday, my department had a "retreat." Actually, we got to spend the day at Dave and Busters. It was pretty cool, for what might have otherwise been a yucky boring meeting day. In between a meeting session, after lunch, I ended up having a long discussion with two of my coworkers about my future plans.
I don't even know how it started; I guess with the fact that I had taken a test this morning, and thought I had gotten a B (turns out I got another A! -- but I didn't know that till later). I was a little bummed. I told them about the specific goals I have decided upon, and that I've done the math. I've done plenty of homework. I have to make certain grades; I have to have a financial plan, and there are many other things I need to consider as well. Planning this stuff is not going to be easy.
So, without my really asking for it, they opened up and gave me some really great advice. Questions I could ask. Alternative ways to make ends meet. And other nonprofits I hadn't thought of -- like one in Houston where "volunteers" help tutor kids in reading that sounded really cool, for instance.
It wasn't until yesterday, taking a walk on campus, that I realized how lucky I am. Except that it's not an accident that I ended up there, working in exactly the right place. It's not just that they help me, but they've encouraged me to look outside of where I've been looking. Basically, for the first time I realized I don't have to do this all by myself. I don't have to walk into something so blindly. Not be prepared. Not know what my options are. And more importantly, I don't have to sell myself short.
Back to the Line of Best Fit. This is even crazier. OK, I'm liking research methods class. Last semester, I perceived that I wouldn't get it; that it wasn't interesting; that I would never use it. But I gave myself a talkin-to right before the summer session started, and I'm doing it. Not only am I making an A, I am engaged in it. I have learned things that I will use. I may not want to be a social researcher, but at least I will know a little about how it is done. At least I will have a better eye concerning what I can trust and not trust.
Which also made it easier for me to digest that vocational test. Even while I was taking it, I understood the method, and I was able to be completely honest.
My boss told me when he took it, he put himself in his work mindset. He said, "I'm different at work than outside of work," so he intentionally thought of work scenarios when thinking over the test questions.
I didn't do that. Because I don't think work should be separate from who you are. That is probably the largest reason so many are dissatisfied with what they do, and I'm not looking for a job. I'm looking for a way I want to live my life. I'm looking for the Golden Egg. I'm looking for fulfillment. I'm looking for a vocation, a career that will fall in line with my values, and what I want to gain from life itself.
And there's the Connectedness again.
Then there's the Line. And just like this story about all the things I've taken today, there are a series of points outlining it. The Line of Best Fit, in social research, falls through the sum of the squared differences between predicted and actual outcomes.
That's what life is like. I'm a key opponent of living a linear life, or at least, I tell people often, "Well, I've never lived a linear life." Especially lately, when all these people from high school have been randomly writing me, asking me what the last 10 years have been like.
That said, the Line of Best Fit is truth and fiction. It exists, but it doesn't. It is the line that can be formed through minimizing the likelihood of error. In Regressive Research, it is the Golden Egg.
My notebook paper had and x- and y-axis drawn, with points scattered and a line going through them, but not through them. It had scratch-outs, too.
Man, maybe I'm tired; maybe I'm reading too much into things, but I don't think so. Moments of clarity are few and precious, and right now, I'm savoring it. Because that's what you're supposed to do.
Labels: Career, College, Death Cab
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Monday Night
I bought it Sunday. I was in the middle of a very good book, full of stories following people of all ages and social classes to their dreams, or at least, toward a more meaningful life. But I haven't picked it up since.
Instead, through schoolwork, one article for the Cougar, laundry, and a full work day, I am a quarter of the way -- more than one hundred pages in -- and I put it down this moment to reflect, because already, it has moved me to near tears, and has filled me with a greater sense of purpose, arming me with a realism, a picture of what I know I must do.
The story follows four recruits that come from completely different lives than my own: one is Armenian-American, and a graduate from Boston College, who was raised to become a doctor or lawyer, who organized singlehandedly an organization on his college campus in pursuit of its members exploration of their Armenian heritage.
Another is an African-American, whose father was only remotely involved in his life, and sporadically, who grew up in Massachusetts and went to college in Connecticut. He thought he would be more at home at Locke High School in L.A., a school overtaken by metal bars, and over-run by gangs, than at his upper-middle class white college, where shopkeepers would look at him suspiciously when he so much as went into a convenience store.
Then there are two white upper-middle class women: one, the child of two lawyers; the other, two highly involved school administrators. Neither of them necessarily went into education straightaway because it was ingrained in them, but more because in its ideology the program did speak to them on some level, and because the indecision of what else they might do after college overwhelmingly riddled their sense of choice with anxiety.
They all knew the stakes were high; they all new the program would be a challenge to break into, and that thousands would be rejected. To make it would mean they were the best of the best, in some respect, and that alone may have been the flattery they needed to maintain the commitment even when doubted by family members how much they could achieve in such a violent, conflict-ridden environment.
The writer gives a brief history of L.A. and the surrounding areas, and brings us from the Watts Riots around 1965, to the Rodney King Riots in '92. The fact that the school resembles a prison; that the security guards open the gates just slightly enough to let the teachers in and out at 6:00 a.m.; that everyone knows what colors not to wear to school, is never debated or questioned much: these are facts of life, for these kids, 32 percent of whom, if African-American, are predicted to end up in jail, and maybe 50 percent of all would even graduate.
Getting to class isn't just an issue of wanting to be there; one 15-year-old girl was shot right out back of her school, waiting for her aunt to pick her up one afternoon. The 18-year-old gangbanger who shot her in a misguided attempt at a driveby meant for someone else, was a drop-out from the same school. He was tried as an adult one year later, and sentenced to more than 80 years in prison for second-degree murder.
Another boy, Darius, hadn't shown up to class in weeks. When pressed, he said that he had gotten in a fight in his neighborhood, and won, and his opponents were not willing to take the loss. They had approached his house with guns several times over the last few weeks, and his mother forbade him from leaving. They had gotten a restraining order, but his only answer was that he may have to kill, if he didn't die first.
These are not stories to be romanticized, and the author I think does a good job to avoid that, and I hope I am keeping them real for you, the way they have burned impressions on me I fear may keep me awake tonight.
And I ask myself if I would be safe; if I may get too emotionally involved; or if I will even make the cut for the program at all, but these questions are trivial. If I could trade my petty problems with these kids, I'm sure they would love to take them on, if they could dream to.
This is a sealed deal; it is something I have always known, and run away from, because I didn't have much better to do outside of my mind for so long, things like pursuing silly things like goals.
Now, I feel like I have to. I have to pursue my goals and I have to get there so that I may show them. I feel like I am born to, and worry if that's going to sound arrogant, or if my overbearing sense of idealism is going to even be to much for the program's recruiter's to get.
I bought it Sunday. I was in the middle of a very good book, full of stories following people of all ages and social classes to their dreams, or at least, toward a more meaningful life. But I haven't picked it up since.
Instead, through schoolwork, one article for the Cougar, laundry, and a full work day, I am a quarter of the way -- more than one hundred pages in -- and I put it down this moment to reflect, because already, it has moved me to near tears, and has filled me with a greater sense of purpose, arming me with a realism, a picture of what I know I must do.
The story follows four recruits that come from completely different lives than my own: one is Armenian-American, and a graduate from Boston College, who was raised to become a doctor or lawyer, who organized singlehandedly an organization on his college campus in pursuit of its members exploration of their Armenian heritage.
Another is an African-American, whose father was only remotely involved in his life, and sporadically, who grew up in Massachusetts and went to college in Connecticut. He thought he would be more at home at Locke High School in L.A., a school overtaken by metal bars, and over-run by gangs, than at his upper-middle class white college, where shopkeepers would look at him suspiciously when he so much as went into a convenience store.
Then there are two white upper-middle class women: one, the child of two lawyers; the other, two highly involved school administrators. Neither of them necessarily went into education straightaway because it was ingrained in them, but more because in its ideology the program did speak to them on some level, and because the indecision of what else they might do after college overwhelmingly riddled their sense of choice with anxiety.
They all knew the stakes were high; they all new the program would be a challenge to break into, and that thousands would be rejected. To make it would mean they were the best of the best, in some respect, and that alone may have been the flattery they needed to maintain the commitment even when doubted by family members how much they could achieve in such a violent, conflict-ridden environment.
The writer gives a brief history of L.A. and the surrounding areas, and brings us from the Watts Riots around 1965, to the Rodney King Riots in '92. The fact that the school resembles a prison; that the security guards open the gates just slightly enough to let the teachers in and out at 6:00 a.m.; that everyone knows what colors not to wear to school, is never debated or questioned much: these are facts of life, for these kids, 32 percent of whom, if African-American, are predicted to end up in jail, and maybe 50 percent of all would even graduate.
Getting to class isn't just an issue of wanting to be there; one 15-year-old girl was shot right out back of her school, waiting for her aunt to pick her up one afternoon. The 18-year-old gangbanger who shot her in a misguided attempt at a driveby meant for someone else, was a drop-out from the same school. He was tried as an adult one year later, and sentenced to more than 80 years in prison for second-degree murder.
Another boy, Darius, hadn't shown up to class in weeks. When pressed, he said that he had gotten in a fight in his neighborhood, and won, and his opponents were not willing to take the loss. They had approached his house with guns several times over the last few weeks, and his mother forbade him from leaving. They had gotten a restraining order, but his only answer was that he may have to kill, if he didn't die first.
These are not stories to be romanticized, and the author I think does a good job to avoid that, and I hope I am keeping them real for you, the way they have burned impressions on me I fear may keep me awake tonight.
And I ask myself if I would be safe; if I may get too emotionally involved; or if I will even make the cut for the program at all, but these questions are trivial. If I could trade my petty problems with these kids, I'm sure they would love to take them on, if they could dream to.
This is a sealed deal; it is something I have always known, and run away from, because I didn't have much better to do outside of my mind for so long, things like pursuing silly things like goals.
Now, I feel like I have to. I have to pursue my goals and I have to get there so that I may show them. I feel like I am born to, and worry if that's going to sound arrogant, or if my overbearing sense of idealism is going to even be to much for the program's recruiter's to get.
Labels: Books, College, Teach for America
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Hmm.
I just finished the majority of my review for the debut Watson Twins' album. Tomorrow I'm going to listen to it with a fresh pair of ears, most likely on my lunch hour, cut what I've written in half, and hopefully dig down and find something more positive to say.
Their "Just Like Heaven" cover is stunning, which is what led me to contact their press and request an advance copy of the album in the first place, but the rest, complete with 10 originals in addition to the cover, left me wanting. :(
This is no Sera Cahoone story. And by that I mean the story of one (or two) who has been in the back for so long to step in and share a fair, deserved version of the limelight. The Watson Twins are excellent songwriters. Musically, they leave no room for complaint, but the record as a whole ... seriously lacking.
So, I had to take a break from writing the review. It doesn't deserve so much criticism, but at the same time, if I don't offer it, no one will. It seems that fans and critics alike are in love with the pair. Who wouldn't be? They are beautiful. Their angelic voices can captivate one far beyond their looks. And combined? Forget it. Add in that Southern, homegrown Kentucky charm, and who wouldn't be smitten?
But beyond what meets the eye, their lyrics and overall emotional tone of the album do not offer much more than what is skin deep. There's only vague allusions to personal experience. There're contrived rhyme schemes. Even upon considering their most ideal harmonies, perfectly in that they are not overdone, one can only place a veil over so much.
The album only offers maybe three songs that truly grabbed me, and even they didn't enough to foresee myself busting out this record to listen to much long after the review is published. Nope. No Sera Cahoone or Jenn Wood here.
They are compared to some of the greats -- Emmylou Harris and Lucinda Williams, but what I have to say is that perhaps they lack the life experience to live up to their songwriting craft in their words.
In my mind, a good song triggers feelings, memories, introspection. A good song is something you want to share with someone else. And although every single track is good in its own way; they don't do any of those things for me, so you maybe could see how I could feel a little torn in this review, right?
Even as a critic, I try to avoid negativity. I try to seek out what others would love in an album, and write about that, even if it isn't my thing (with the exception of the blog I wrote on Narrow Stairs, which I did not publish for any publication other than blogs), but in this case, I feel like if I don't say something, no one will.
Perhaps all this praise lavished on the twins is a matter of groupthink: one person loved them, so everyone did. Jenny Lewis did, and we loved them on her famed solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat. But still. It wouldn't be right to say they are not talented enough on their own to support solo work -- they definitely are. It's more disappointing that although these 11 tracks were the product of years of work and months in the studio, at the the end of the day you've got is a bunch of musically cohesive yes, and pleasantly sounding tunes, but about what? Nothing. I can't say I thought of much at all listening to each track over and over.
Ah ... anyway. Anybody else ever had this feeling? Because this cognitive dissonance I'm experiencing over the album is about as much as I'd ever had about anything I'd reviewed. Torn between singing its praises and calling it out, and feeling it so poignantly, knowing these songs are just as personal to them as my own are to me.
I just finished the majority of my review for the debut Watson Twins' album. Tomorrow I'm going to listen to it with a fresh pair of ears, most likely on my lunch hour, cut what I've written in half, and hopefully dig down and find something more positive to say.
Their "Just Like Heaven" cover is stunning, which is what led me to contact their press and request an advance copy of the album in the first place, but the rest, complete with 10 originals in addition to the cover, left me wanting. :(
This is no Sera Cahoone story. And by that I mean the story of one (or two) who has been in the back for so long to step in and share a fair, deserved version of the limelight. The Watson Twins are excellent songwriters. Musically, they leave no room for complaint, but the record as a whole ... seriously lacking.
So, I had to take a break from writing the review. It doesn't deserve so much criticism, but at the same time, if I don't offer it, no one will. It seems that fans and critics alike are in love with the pair. Who wouldn't be? They are beautiful. Their angelic voices can captivate one far beyond their looks. And combined? Forget it. Add in that Southern, homegrown Kentucky charm, and who wouldn't be smitten?
But beyond what meets the eye, their lyrics and overall emotional tone of the album do not offer much more than what is skin deep. There's only vague allusions to personal experience. There're contrived rhyme schemes. Even upon considering their most ideal harmonies, perfectly in that they are not overdone, one can only place a veil over so much.
The album only offers maybe three songs that truly grabbed me, and even they didn't enough to foresee myself busting out this record to listen to much long after the review is published. Nope. No Sera Cahoone or Jenn Wood here.
They are compared to some of the greats -- Emmylou Harris and Lucinda Williams, but what I have to say is that perhaps they lack the life experience to live up to their songwriting craft in their words.
In my mind, a good song triggers feelings, memories, introspection. A good song is something you want to share with someone else. And although every single track is good in its own way; they don't do any of those things for me, so you maybe could see how I could feel a little torn in this review, right?
Even as a critic, I try to avoid negativity. I try to seek out what others would love in an album, and write about that, even if it isn't my thing (with the exception of the blog I wrote on Narrow Stairs, which I did not publish for any publication other than blogs), but in this case, I feel like if I don't say something, no one will.
Perhaps all this praise lavished on the twins is a matter of groupthink: one person loved them, so everyone did. Jenny Lewis did, and we loved them on her famed solo album, Rabbit Fur Coat. But still. It wouldn't be right to say they are not talented enough on their own to support solo work -- they definitely are. It's more disappointing that although these 11 tracks were the product of years of work and months in the studio, at the the end of the day you've got is a bunch of musically cohesive yes, and pleasantly sounding tunes, but about what? Nothing. I can't say I thought of much at all listening to each track over and over.
Ah ... anyway. Anybody else ever had this feeling? Because this cognitive dissonance I'm experiencing over the album is about as much as I'd ever had about anything I'd reviewed. Torn between singing its praises and calling it out, and feeling it so poignantly, knowing these songs are just as personal to them as my own are to me.
Labels: Jenny Lewis, Music, Sera Cahoone, The Watson Twins
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Update
1. I just got a 100 on my first test for research methods!
2. My mother's surgery went well yesterday. They had decided to do another surgery after stopping the chemo and then finding several more tumors. However, when they went in to do the surgery, they couldn't find what they were looking for, so they took out several of the effected nodes and are going to do a biopsy. We should get the results in about a week, and then we will know what's in store as far as more chemo. This is good news, though, considering the surgery turned out much less minor this way; they had been talking about how it's safe to remove up to 80% of the organ. So, this was unexpected but good, and she will be out of the hospital hopefully this weekend.
3. Still working on my goals. I've been reading articles linked off the NYU site every day on my lunch hour. Two very good articles are here and here. One is on cognitive dissonance men experienced in defining their masculinity post-feminist movement; the other is about the cultural war behind international conflict, and the irrational separation between political ideology and culture between groups; how it divides us internally and externally. Go Ellen Willis. Sadly, yesterday I went to Borders and looked her up. Her books, including the one I checked out from the UH library and read, are out of print, so I must find and order used copies of them. The good news is they will be cheaper, but slightly inconvenient in that Why-Can't-I-Get-Exactly-What-I-Want-When-I-Want-It? sort of way.
4. Man, I love the Blue Scholars, and I can't wait to see them.
5. Surprisingly, I think about Elks Camp a few times a day, but since I'm not hating my life as I know it right now, I'm still enjoying what I'm doing otherwise, so that's good.
6. I have insurance! I enrolled yesterday. I have medical, dental, vision, AD&D, life insurance, and a retirement plan. Working for the state is nice, indeed.
K, thanks!
-c
1. I just got a 100 on my first test for research methods!
2. My mother's surgery went well yesterday. They had decided to do another surgery after stopping the chemo and then finding several more tumors. However, when they went in to do the surgery, they couldn't find what they were looking for, so they took out several of the effected nodes and are going to do a biopsy. We should get the results in about a week, and then we will know what's in store as far as more chemo. This is good news, though, considering the surgery turned out much less minor this way; they had been talking about how it's safe to remove up to 80% of the organ. So, this was unexpected but good, and she will be out of the hospital hopefully this weekend.
3. Still working on my goals. I've been reading articles linked off the NYU site every day on my lunch hour. Two very good articles are here and here. One is on cognitive dissonance men experienced in defining their masculinity post-feminist movement; the other is about the cultural war behind international conflict, and the irrational separation between political ideology and culture between groups; how it divides us internally and externally. Go Ellen Willis. Sadly, yesterday I went to Borders and looked her up. Her books, including the one I checked out from the UH library and read, are out of print, so I must find and order used copies of them. The good news is they will be cheaper, but slightly inconvenient in that Why-Can't-I-Get-Exactly-What-I-Want-When-I-Want-It? sort of way.
4. Man, I love the Blue Scholars, and I can't wait to see them.
5. Surprisingly, I think about Elks Camp a few times a day, but since I'm not hating my life as I know it right now, I'm still enjoying what I'm doing otherwise, so that's good.
6. I have insurance! I enrolled yesterday. I have medical, dental, vision, AD&D, life insurance, and a retirement plan. Working for the state is nice, indeed.
K, thanks!
-c
Labels: Cancer, College, Goals, Music, Work
Monday, June 09, 2008
Narrow Stairs
All right, so here's the verdict, and I'll write again if I change my mind, but I'm heartbroken.
Ben Gibbard wrote the soundtrack for my early 20s, and now it looks as though I may need to find the rest elsewhere.
I finally went out the other day and bought myself a copy of Narrow Stairs. Yes, bought it, which makes me even more entitled to have an opinion, on top of the fact that I've been with them shortly since the very beginning (thanks to Mary Carradine), and even though my friends overwhelmingly tried to pressure me to download it, I wanted to support my favorite band, even on its first major label release.
Ben and the rest of the band seem to have lost their mojo. More than that, they have lost their musicality and sentimentality. Granted, I am writing this after listening to the record just once, but that was about all I could handle.
I recently advised a friend to give it another chance, and I will, too, of course, but let's not kid ourselves: Narrow Stairs is no Plans or Transatlanticism. It's not even a Photo Album. There's nothing to make you suspect this is the same band that gave us "Styrofoam Plates" or "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," or "Song for Kelly Huckaby." There's no "Company Calls" -- not even an "I Was a Kaleidoscope."
Is this what happens? Because I am sadly reminded of a few other depressing moments in music history. This is like Death Cab's Green Album: They will gain a new audience, but what about the true fans? What's in it for us?
Granted, Gibbard's tenor is still as sweet as key lime; drummer Jason McGerr remains on time; Chris Walla can still play guitar with the best of the rest of the high and mighty; Nick Harmer, same: But where's the magic?
Where's the sincerity? Where's the reflection? Where's the breaking your heart and putting it back together? Putting you right back in some lost place, or speaking your thoughts from the back of your mind and playing the notes as you think them? Where is the deeply human, tragic yet hopeful element? Where?
It's rushed, it's repetitive, and it is too lyrical. Where are the bridges? Where are the musical breakdowns? Where are the interludes, the real intros and outros? And what the hell would you call the ending of track 10? Honestly. Who thought that was a good idea -- please don't tell me anyone at Atlantic. Someone there must know how to record.
A few years ago, I read a blog Chris Walla wrote. It was a letter to Bjork, a break-up note after her latest release.
Well, shame on you Chris. And Ben, and Nick, and Jason.
I'm not quite breaking up yet. I'll wait and see. I'll be patient and kind, like love should be. I know that with the truest love you can be let down from time to time; it's the love that can still grow through disappointment that makes it.
I had to listen to The Photo Album three times in a row yesterday just so we could temporarily reconcile our differences, and it was worth it, but please: in the words of the Beatles, "Don't Let Me Down" again. Seriously, if you give me a Maladroit or a Wake up and Smell the Coffee or worse, I don't know what I'm going to do.
All right, so here's the verdict, and I'll write again if I change my mind, but I'm heartbroken.
Ben Gibbard wrote the soundtrack for my early 20s, and now it looks as though I may need to find the rest elsewhere.
I finally went out the other day and bought myself a copy of Narrow Stairs. Yes, bought it, which makes me even more entitled to have an opinion, on top of the fact that I've been with them shortly since the very beginning (thanks to Mary Carradine), and even though my friends overwhelmingly tried to pressure me to download it, I wanted to support my favorite band, even on its first major label release.
Ben and the rest of the band seem to have lost their mojo. More than that, they have lost their musicality and sentimentality. Granted, I am writing this after listening to the record just once, but that was about all I could handle.
I recently advised a friend to give it another chance, and I will, too, of course, but let's not kid ourselves: Narrow Stairs is no Plans or Transatlanticism. It's not even a Photo Album. There's nothing to make you suspect this is the same band that gave us "Styrofoam Plates" or "I Will Follow You Into the Dark," or "Song for Kelly Huckaby." There's no "Company Calls" -- not even an "I Was a Kaleidoscope."
Is this what happens? Because I am sadly reminded of a few other depressing moments in music history. This is like Death Cab's Green Album: They will gain a new audience, but what about the true fans? What's in it for us?
Granted, Gibbard's tenor is still as sweet as key lime; drummer Jason McGerr remains on time; Chris Walla can still play guitar with the best of the rest of the high and mighty; Nick Harmer, same: But where's the magic?
Where's the sincerity? Where's the reflection? Where's the breaking your heart and putting it back together? Putting you right back in some lost place, or speaking your thoughts from the back of your mind and playing the notes as you think them? Where is the deeply human, tragic yet hopeful element? Where?
It's rushed, it's repetitive, and it is too lyrical. Where are the bridges? Where are the musical breakdowns? Where are the interludes, the real intros and outros? And what the hell would you call the ending of track 10? Honestly. Who thought that was a good idea -- please don't tell me anyone at Atlantic. Someone there must know how to record.
A few years ago, I read a blog Chris Walla wrote. It was a letter to Bjork, a break-up note after her latest release.
Well, shame on you Chris. And Ben, and Nick, and Jason.
I'm not quite breaking up yet. I'll wait and see. I'll be patient and kind, like love should be. I know that with the truest love you can be let down from time to time; it's the love that can still grow through disappointment that makes it.
I had to listen to The Photo Album three times in a row yesterday just so we could temporarily reconcile our differences, and it was worth it, but please: in the words of the Beatles, "Don't Let Me Down" again. Seriously, if you give me a Maladroit or a Wake up and Smell the Coffee or worse, I don't know what I'm going to do.
Labels: Ben Gibbard, Death Cab, Music
Friday, June 06, 2008
Freedom of (Dis)Information?
Dear Obama supporters, fellow Democrats, and those who may not support Obama, but might be concerned with truth and the widespread dissemination of information through the mass media:
With advancements in technology, to even consider the boundless impact new information has and how far it can travel in so little time is, for lack of a better word, mind-boggling.
(Just a few weeks ago I felt 13 again when my cell phone suddenly stopped working. Between saving money for a new one and then ordering one and then waiting for it and then having to get a proper charger and then to charge it took weeks; I was for once in a long while reminded of what it was like to grow up in a time before any of this existed, or at least, was accessible. I found during this time how much I had grown to rely on it, but was still able to live without it.)
In everything beautiful, there is ugliness, or so the I Ching says, and I tend to agree; which is to say that in this seemingly positive and awesomely limitless supply of information, not only do some important things get lost in the shuffle, the truth invariably at times does as well, and information as well as disinformation are prominent. It is up to us as consumers to discriminate: to turn a fine eye toward these goings on, and sometimes it is difficult to know whom or what to trust.
Who wrote this blog? Where did this email originate? Who do they work for? Where did they get their education? What do they represent? Who is their source? Is this a reliable source?
Where is this information coming from? It's hard to know what is what -- just look at what's going on with the Scott McClellan situation, and all these reporters sitting on their thumbs going, "I did a great job reporting what I was told"; or using the words "Puzzled" and "Disgruntled" over and over again, as seen on CNN and YouTube, and regurgitated and laughed at by many on The Daily Show. Aren't these "journalists"? Educated writers? The word writer implies one would have a vocabulary, yes? And opinions. Well, where are they? Where is the accountability? Where is the integrity?
The pointing fingers continues. Can the media be blamed for recycling a watered-down version of the truth? Jon Stewart pointed out the inherent deviance in not "lying", but leaving out parts, and rightfully called it deceit.
Well, I could really spend some time here remembering what was not said, what questions were not asked, and how during the time we went to war the only way one could find a less muddy picture of anything was to read, read, read. Not take things on face value, not read one newspaper, that's it; not believe what you heard politicians say on TV; not to only believe what one source said a politician said; or what one commentator said about what a reporter said about what a politician said.
To close our eyes and imagine the most unthinkable conspiracy would have been closer to the truth than what so many of us got; and anyone who tried to see anything else besides what was all over every publication was accused of being a kook.
And now the country is in such shambles that the best and worse is to come, the best being that someone like Barack Obama can politically get as far as he has gotten. Because people are at a place where they want to hear something real. Where they are tired of lies, tired of complacency, and starving for inspiration and hope.
Barack Obama pledges to bring us hope and then work with us to deliver the things for so long Americans have been denied, like healthcare and good education.
Still, yet another obstacle we must confront is that some in high places, and others who are understandably jaded irreparably in the climate of crisis this country has been in and all the tolls it has taken economically, politically, and spiritually, who are perpetuating negativity, disbelief, and false accusations out of -- who knows? -- I suspect and prefer to believe they are equally frustrated and are trying to do what is right.
What we should charge to do -- whether and Obama supporters or not -- is to seek the information out for ourselves.
But in addition, those of us who would like to see Obama get elected need to be prepared to fight fire with fire. Perhaps "fire" isn't the right word, but we need to be ready to counter these prevailing lies with the truth. Let's inform ourselves so that we may be armed with the words, information, and sources to defend our beliefs. We are only going to need to work harder to fight the system from tearing our hopes apart with all the rumors -- rumors that Obama doesn't care, or that he's racist, or has Muslim extremist hidden agendas (yes, I've gotten several emails forwarded to me from anonymous sources about this).
So, what I'm going to do is fight back. I'm going to read it all. I'm not going to simply ignore these absurdities. And then to every bulletin, every email, every negative piece of utterly ridiculous press, blog, or hearsay, I'm going to take something positive, informative, and true and fire it right back at the source.
Dear Obama supporters, fellow Democrats, and those who may not support Obama, but might be concerned with truth and the widespread dissemination of information through the mass media:
With advancements in technology, to even consider the boundless impact new information has and how far it can travel in so little time is, for lack of a better word, mind-boggling.
(Just a few weeks ago I felt 13 again when my cell phone suddenly stopped working. Between saving money for a new one and then ordering one and then waiting for it and then having to get a proper charger and then to charge it took weeks; I was for once in a long while reminded of what it was like to grow up in a time before any of this existed, or at least, was accessible. I found during this time how much I had grown to rely on it, but was still able to live without it.)
In everything beautiful, there is ugliness, or so the I Ching says, and I tend to agree; which is to say that in this seemingly positive and awesomely limitless supply of information, not only do some important things get lost in the shuffle, the truth invariably at times does as well, and information as well as disinformation are prominent. It is up to us as consumers to discriminate: to turn a fine eye toward these goings on, and sometimes it is difficult to know whom or what to trust.
Who wrote this blog? Where did this email originate? Who do they work for? Where did they get their education? What do they represent? Who is their source? Is this a reliable source?
Where is this information coming from? It's hard to know what is what -- just look at what's going on with the Scott McClellan situation, and all these reporters sitting on their thumbs going, "I did a great job reporting what I was told"; or using the words "Puzzled" and "Disgruntled" over and over again, as seen on CNN and YouTube, and regurgitated and laughed at by many on The Daily Show. Aren't these "journalists"? Educated writers? The word writer implies one would have a vocabulary, yes? And opinions. Well, where are they? Where is the accountability? Where is the integrity?
The pointing fingers continues. Can the media be blamed for recycling a watered-down version of the truth? Jon Stewart pointed out the inherent deviance in not "lying", but leaving out parts, and rightfully called it deceit.
Well, I could really spend some time here remembering what was not said, what questions were not asked, and how during the time we went to war the only way one could find a less muddy picture of anything was to read, read, read. Not take things on face value, not read one newspaper, that's it; not believe what you heard politicians say on TV; not to only believe what one source said a politician said; or what one commentator said about what a reporter said about what a politician said.
To close our eyes and imagine the most unthinkable conspiracy would have been closer to the truth than what so many of us got; and anyone who tried to see anything else besides what was all over every publication was accused of being a kook.
And now the country is in such shambles that the best and worse is to come, the best being that someone like Barack Obama can politically get as far as he has gotten. Because people are at a place where they want to hear something real. Where they are tired of lies, tired of complacency, and starving for inspiration and hope.
Barack Obama pledges to bring us hope and then work with us to deliver the things for so long Americans have been denied, like healthcare and good education.
Still, yet another obstacle we must confront is that some in high places, and others who are understandably jaded irreparably in the climate of crisis this country has been in and all the tolls it has taken economically, politically, and spiritually, who are perpetuating negativity, disbelief, and false accusations out of -- who knows? -- I suspect and prefer to believe they are equally frustrated and are trying to do what is right.
What we should charge to do -- whether and Obama supporters or not -- is to seek the information out for ourselves.
But in addition, those of us who would like to see Obama get elected need to be prepared to fight fire with fire. Perhaps "fire" isn't the right word, but we need to be ready to counter these prevailing lies with the truth. Let's inform ourselves so that we may be armed with the words, information, and sources to defend our beliefs. We are only going to need to work harder to fight the system from tearing our hopes apart with all the rumors -- rumors that Obama doesn't care, or that he's racist, or has Muslim extremist hidden agendas (yes, I've gotten several emails forwarded to me from anonymous sources about this).
So, what I'm going to do is fight back. I'm going to read it all. I'm not going to simply ignore these absurdities. And then to every bulletin, every email, every negative piece of utterly ridiculous press, blog, or hearsay, I'm going to take something positive, informative, and true and fire it right back at the source.
Labels: 2008 Election, Obama
response to ... http://www.filmschoolrejects.com/news/ten-chick-flicks-guys-can-like-too.php
1. Iron Man was better than at least 75% of this list.
2. No one wants to watch Father of the Bride.
3. I haven't known any men who were into Titanic or Pretty Woman, and that's okay with me.
4. I know it's been said but ... Terminator?
5. Knocked up is a man movie wrapped up with a chick flick's happy ending. It's appreciated by both, but is primarily crass -- hilarious, but still.
6. One more comment -- there are many better films that could have been referenced here. I suppose hot nude scenes could be one way to bring more men to see certain films they might not otherwise, but feel like this list lacks
1. Iron Man was better than at least 75% of this list.
2. No one wants to watch Father of the Bride.
3. I haven't known any men who were into Titanic or Pretty Woman, and that's okay with me.
4. I know it's been said but ... Terminator?
5. Knocked up is a man movie wrapped up with a chick flick's happy ending. It's appreciated by both, but is primarily crass -- hilarious, but still.
6. One more comment -- there are many better films that could have been referenced here. I suppose hot nude scenes could be one way to bring more men to see certain films they might not otherwise, but feel like this list lacks
Labels: Movies
