Servons

Recently, I joined some Cate alums at a nearby Barnes and Noble to do some community service work. We worked for four hours in two shifts, wrapping gifts for donations. All proceeds went to Dorot, an organization that provides services for the elderly in the NYC area. I worked with Patrick and Emily, both from Taiwan, who graduated a year before I got to Cate. I never got to meet them in California, but they're a lot of fun and I'm glad to know them now. Patrick, as it turns out, is also the instructor of a yoga class I plan to take next semester. Here's a picture of the crew brandishing various wrapping tools:

Wrapping was fun, but the best part was taking advantage of the 40% discount Barnes and Noble extended to us afterwards. I bought six novels and a guidebook, none of which I really needed, but someone's got to support the flailing publishing industry, right? I felt it was my civic duty.

By the way, "Servons" is Cate's school motto. It is French for "to serve."

Oh Tannenbaum

I have a variety of memories associated with going to pick out a Christmas tree. At least once, the family headed out to a site that allowed customers to actually cut down their chosen tree (unless I'm making this up, which is possible). I recall little mock "Christmas Villages" set up, complete with strings of festive lights, oversized candy canes, and opportunities to take pictures with Santa. Christmas carols blaring from speakers. Cider and hot chocolate for sale. The sharp scent of pine. And against this cheerful backdrop, my brothers and I would subject each candidate to harsh scrutiny from every angle, noting any gaps in the foliage (can we put that side against the wall?) and skeptical guesses at whether this tree was too tall to fit into our living room.

What the tree-selection process in New York City lacks in romance, it makes up for in convenience. Every few blocks, I walk down the middle of a tree lot that has sprung up overnight for the Christmas season.

These lots are often accompanied by canopies, under which one can buy ornaments, stands, etc. They also offer all the pine scent you can sniff for free. But because of space constraints, the trees are, for the most part, imprisoned in tight sheaths of twine. I'm not sure whether a customer can demand to see a liberated tree to judge its shape - I have to think that after rejecting a few possibilities, the tree monger would start to get rather annoyed - so the only real feature of a tree that's readily visible is its height. And let me tell you, none of these trees would have been deemed tall enough to grace the Guadagni living room during yuletide festivities. Despite this, customers can expect to pay for their dwarfed trees about double what I remember my dad shelling out for our lofty centerpieces. More tree for your buck in Visalia. I guess you have to take what you can get around here. And while I hear lots of people complain about the price of, well, everything in Manhattan, they're all transplants. I can't recall ever seeing a native bat an eye when paying for dinner or a cab ride or an event ticket.

That's IT?!?

Last Friday I found myself running errands in midtown, not too far away from Rockafeller Center. As it was a balmy 16 degrees and I hadn't seen the famous tree yet, I decided to walk a few blocks out of my way to go check it out.

(See? Proof - I was there!)

As is the case with so many famous things, they tend to be disappointing in person. The trip to the tree was harrowing and almost not worth it. My route took me right by Radio City Music Hall about half an hour before their matinee show was scheduled to begin, and the sidewalk was packed with tourists and groups of small schoolchildren, many of whom were wearing reindeer antlers or nutcracker hats. I can't stand slow walkers in the first place, and when it's 16 degrees out and therefore recommended that one keep one's pulse racing to prevent frostbite, I came closer than I ever have to knocking old ladies and small children out of my path into into oncoming traffic. (Relax, that's not as bad as it sounds. Traffic in Manhattan hardly moves at all.) Time speeds up when you're having fun, but when you're flirting with hypothermia, it slows to a snail's pace.

The area around the tree, once I finally reached it, was crowded as well. It was really pretty, blah blah blah, but it looked so small. TV cameramen must put their cameras under the tree and shoot directly up, because the thing looks massive on the screen. I mean, it was a big tree, don't get me wrong, and if I'd seen it on Main Street in Visalia I'd have been mightily impressed. But somehow, surrounded by skyscrapers, the poor thing looked dwarfed and sort of bewildered. The skating rink was temporarily closed because an interview was being filmed there. I could have waited until it wrapped up to watch people circling the ice, but I'd had about enough of wind that reached into every crevice of my clothing to poke icy fingers at skin I thought was well-concealed (silly me). So I retreated to the warmth of the subway, got off a few stops later, and bought three sweaters and a pair of gloves.

Oh my god I'm SO New York.

This, at least, is according to Eddie (who was born in Manhattan and was probably not actually as impressed by my cosmopolitan lifestyle as he made it sound).

I met Eddie tonight at an acting school downtown for a "reading." A mutual friend of ours, a guy named Jeremy, is an actor and a would-be screenwriter - that is, he's ironing the kinks out of a script he's been working on for a while called "The Great American Giveaway." To help him figure out what still needs tweaking, about ten people from the acting school he attends did a live reading of the whole thing, and he invited a bunch of us to come watch and give him feedback. Not a lot of that sort of thing going on in Visalia...

About 30 people showed up, which was enough to fill almost every one of the folding chairs in place. The actors sat in front of us in a semi-circle. A woman narrated it (in a movie script, this was pretty important if we were going to understand what was going on) and the others took on the roles of different characters. They represented a range of ages: some looked to be in their early 20's while others were well into their 40's. Amazing how you can tell someone is a professional when they aren't in costume and don't even stand up.

The script itself is a bit tricky to explain. It helps to know that Jeremy travels to Atlantic City at least once a week to host game shows at a casino. He's been doing this for a while, and although it pays fairly well, it's not exactly his passion. (He was a theater major at Ithaca, and while it's definitely a tough industry, I think he has higher hopes even while trying to be realistic.) His protagonist is 10-year casino game show hosting veteran, who's jaded by the whole scene. From what I know about Atlantic City - I've never been, but I understand that feels as though Vegas, a retirement home, and a trailer park collided - I can understand how that could happen. I really enjoyed the script, which was a sort of coming-of-age story about a guy who should have come of age a decade before. It had its funny, ridiculous, and inspirational moments, although the funny moments were the highest in number.

The stereotype (although this is probably more true in L.A. than it is here in NYC) is that every extra, waiter, busboy, and valet is working on a script, and that they're generally terrible. Jeremy fits the profile in that when he's not hosting cheesy giveaways at trashy casinos, he works as a concierge at a New York hotel. His script, however, was actually well-crafted, which was something I wasn't fully expecting. I mean, he's a very funny, clearly talented guy, but I guess my instinct is to jump to certain conclusions whenever someone tells me that they're working on a script or a novel - everyone is working on a script or a novel and 99% of these pieces will never see the light of day (and rightfully so). When I told him afterward that I really enjoyed it, however, I found that I actually meant it. Yes, there are little things that could be improved, but overall, I'd love to see this on the big screen. So please pass the title on to all of the big Hollywood execs you rub elbows with this week.

City sidewalks, pretty sidewalks

(Sorry for the weird formatting)

Midnight's Children

I've done a lot of reading during my first semester at Columbia, but very little of that has been actual literature. Yesterday marked a rather momentous occasion: I completed a novel (Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children) for the first time since October. Considering that I'd get through two novels a week in ideal conditions, this is a pretty drastic change. Still, however slowly I do it, I'm glad I have at least a little time (and inclination) to read something that is beautiful and meaningful in ways scholarship sometimes doesn't appreciate. Here is a quote from Midnight's Children in which Saleem, the protagonist, reflects on his life - a favorite quote from a favorite author (and no, those are not typos - that's Rushdie's gorgeous, jumbled style):

"Who what am I? My answer: I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I've gone which would not have happened if I had not come. Nor am I particularly exceptional in this matter; each 'I', every one of the now-six-hundred-million-plus* of us, contains a similar multitude. I repeat for the last time: to understand me, you'll have to swallow a world."

What a beautiful way to look at self-definition, which is often a challenge for those of us less gifted than Rushdie.

Next on the list: G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday. With any luck I'll have it done by March or so.

*the population of India, Saleem's country, in the 1970's

Heritage: End-of-Semester Reflections

We had to post an entry on the Zankel blog about "our educational journey" at the midway point of our fellowship. I was suprised when I sat down to write that a reflection about administration is what ended up coming out. I don't usually give much thought to administration (despite the fact that my mother is a school principal and my father is on a school board - go figure). Here is what I posted:

More than ever before, I am aware of the importance of the relationship between administrators and teachers in schools. As a teacher, I had always been primarily classroom-focused when I thought about education. Perhaps it was because I felt administrative issues were too far above my head to concern myself with. While I'm still not convinced that, as a teacher, I will have sufficient power to influence the administration (at least, not a larger schools, and not until I gain some seniority), I know that when I'm searching for a job after I graduate I will look long and hard at administrative policies and teachers' relationships with the administration before signing any contracts.

The teachers' union is very active at Heritage, and the school often feels like a battleground. Rather than the administration and teachers working together to achieve a common goal, the provision of a quality education to a very at-risk group of students, I see instead a tug-of-war in which the administration tries to make the teachers do things and the teachers think of reasons why they don't have to. I don’t feel I'm in a position to say who is right or wrong; I've seen evidence that each side has a pretty good argument. However, it's disheartening that so much energy is expended in what seems to me the wrong arena. Trying to stay on top of the kids at Heritage is exhausting, and trying to stay on top of the kids while simultaneously engaging in constant combat with one's coworkers is impossible. Something's got to give, and I’ve heard several of the teacher's comment that the quality of their planning and assessment is suffering.

In addition, few of the teachers seem satisfied with the efforts of the new principal. It is his second year, and I've often heard them complain that he doesn't support them, particularly when it comes to disciplinary issues. Again, I don't feel I'm in a position to point fingers at anyone, nor have I had the chance to hear Mr. D's side of it. He seems to me to be a man whose heart is in the right place, but he reminds me a bit of Obama in that he's young, inexperienced, and has inherited a huge number of problems. All eyes are on him to solve them all, immediately and finally. I can't imagine teaching at a school in which I had anything less than complete confidence in the principal. At a school like Heritage, where the task of education is particularly challenging, it becomes even more important to have faith in one's leader.

Putting the brrrr in "bring it on"

Today it was finally cold enough to test out the cold weather running gear I got for my birthday a little over a month ago. We had our first snow last night (!!!) and when I set out around noon it was in the mid-30's. All of my new stuff held up great, and I was really pleased. Sorry the picture is a bit dark - I used the self-timer on my camera rather than subject any of my hallmates to a sweaty, post-run photo shoot.

Starting on top is a fleece ear warmer my grandparents gave me. It's great because the top of my head doesn't get too hot but my ears stay nice and toasty. My earbuds fit right underneath. Next is a tank top which I already had; in colder weather, I'll put a long sleeved polypro. shirt over it. The green zip-up hoodie is from my parents. It has breathable vents (the gray parts) and several handy pockets. The hood is tight enough to stay on my head while I'm running, although it wasn't cold enough to need it today. My favorite part, however, is the sleeves. At the ends, the cuffs have thumb-sized holes so that part of my hand actually fits right inside the sleeve. You can see it if you look closely at the picture. This really helps, because my cotton gloves (gasp! I need better ones) don't do a great job. Lastly are my tights, which are more insulated than my original pair and go all the way down instead of stopping at mid-calf. They have zippers at the ankle for an even tighter fit, but I won't need those until it gets colder.

It was a good run. It feels really different in the cold and I'm still sort of adjusting to that. I deal with heat better than with cold, and the little gusts of wind that would sneak in occasionally weren't the best. At one point the wind really picked up and my face got pretty chilly. At the same time, it's quite invigorating. Instead of feeling sluggish the way I do on a hot day, the moment I step outside, my survival instincts kick in immediately. If I don't get going and keep going I'll be freezing, so the urge to stop for breaks pretty much vanishes. The trails are slightly less crowded than they are in summer too, and I expect they'll continue to thin out as the weather continues to cool off. And I can safely say, after wandering around midtown for half an hour last night in snow, whipping winds, and 27-degree temperatures, that running in the cold is much better than walking in it.

Bringing up baby

Some of my fondest memories are of going with my dad to pick something up at the clinic over the weekend or after closing. The halls were empty, and my brother and I would cavort around on oversized crutches, maneuver the wheelchairs gleefully fast around corners, and pretend to dance with the real skeleton my dad has hanging from a metal frame in his office. It didn't occur to me until much later that none of this was really typical. Somehow, the skeleton came up once in adolescent conversation, and I was pelted with a chorus of "Ew, your dad has a dead guy in his office???"

I guess we all think our childhoods are pretty normal while we are still working through them. I was reflecting on this today while sitting in my language development lecture. My professor talks about his daughter frequently, providing lots of examples of the speech she produced at different stages of her life among other anecdotes. Today, he told us about studying Hawaiian pidgin on the islands for a month, and, as a sidenote, mentioned that his daughter had taken a class in pidgin and soaked it up like a sponge. She is, I think somewhere around 9 or 10 years old, and spent her formative linguistic years being tape recorded by not only adoring but also inquisitive parents, who both cooed over and analyzed every babble. A slide presented in today's lecture really drove home how weird it is for a kid to have parents who aren't, well, normal. We were learning about different methods of measuring brain waves, something my neurology class has already covered, so I was sort of drifting when this picture appeared 6 feet high on the screen:

Lily probably thinks this is perfectly normal. I mean, everyone's parents stick sensors all over their heads and make EEG images of their brain activity, right? I'd love to be there the day she has the revelation that no, her childhood was a long way from typical.

Talkin' bout my education

Every good teacher learns from his/her students. Today, for example, I learned a great deal from Lorraine, a rowdy freshman at Heritage. I had taught her the word "befuddle" the day before, so it was only fitting that she teach me the useful phrase "dead as" today. For those of you not as hip to urban slang as I, "dead as" is an expression synonymous with "I truly mean what I have just said," or "I wholeheartedly agree." For example:

Dick: Dat movie last night was off da hook!

Jane: Dead as.

Skip: I 'uz up all night and I be tired as fuuuuck. Dead as.

Principle vs. Practice

Below is a blog post I typed up for my fellowship at Heritage. We're required to post on a communal blog once every two weeks or so to keep the coordinators of the fellowship abreast of what we're doing.

"I keep reading that effective methods of teaching vocabulary involve more than just requiring students to memorize definitions. Apparently, even writing the words in sentences isn't even enough. Students should see the word in multiple contexts. They should experiment with derivatives of the word. They should learn about roots and affixes and connect words' structures and meanings to those of other words they've studied. All of this, of course, takes time and lots of careful, explicit instruction. However, from what I've been reading, depth of knowledge is much more important than breadth, making the effort to teach it right effort well spent. Students learn about words when they're instructed in this way (instead of simply learning words), and they gain skills to help them continue to acquire vocabulary in other settings.

"I saw firsthand how important it is to provide students with context and thorough definitions at Heritage. Ms. P. gives the students lists of eight words every week or so. The definitions they learn are purposely brief to make them easy to remember, but often they don’t manage to convey the complexity of a word's meaning. Ms. P. gives the students one or two examples when introducing the word, and then the students complete a vocabulary packet. On this particular day, one of the words was "pretentious." Ms. P. told the students that it meant "fake," and explained that people like Paris Hilton were pretentious, and so were people who had lots of plastic surgery and wore large, flashy jewelry. 'Hey!' yelled a girl from the back row, 'Michael Jackson got a pretention nose!' Sigh."

Local flavor

Spotted today while walking home from Heritage: An elderly Asian couple walking a cat through the park. The biggest cat I have ever seen. On a leash.