Posts
.
The character you come as should be fictional. Historicals are fun, of course, but fictionals allow more latitude . . . that's Spanish (or French) for "attitude."
Poetic licenses are issued en bloc for the ladies. Not everyone wants to be Mrs. Harker. Lord Greystoke's lady's wardrobe leaves all manner of "latitude."
Has anybody else read Ahab's Wife by Sena Jeter Naslund? More latitude. The opening line is "Ahab was not my first husband, nor was he my last." Oh, dear me. And to keep going in that vein, need Ishmael have been a single man?
.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Friday, June 12, 2009
LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN MASQUERADE
---------------------------------------------------------
OK; I cannot not do this.
----- LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN -----
---------- MASQUERADE AND WHATEVER --------------
Friday night, 17 July, 7 PM till Midnight. Since some of my students access this blog and my FB, this gathering is for high school graduates only.
R.S.V.P
You must dress the part of a character from the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Oh, you must dress the part. Of a member or conceivable member, of the League. Drac is not a member. Jack is not a member. Wilhelmina Murray is a member, though; isn't she.
If you do at least some of your homework for this one, it will make it that much more fun for everybody that shows up. For instance, I haven't read subject book yet, though I have seen the video three times. And I have caught direct or indirect connections to the works of Haggard, Stoker, Stevenson, Wells, Verne, Doyle, Fleming, Twain, Wilde, Melville, and Leroux. What did I miss? I know there's more.
Lick up the history . . . the Belle Epoque, European colonialism in Africa and Asia, the incredible mechanization of warfare, Jack the Ripper's spree in London's East End . . . and what did the posters on the warehouse walls advertise in the movie? Did anybody catch those? Those have to be good.
And who is not there you ask? Hmmm? Lord Greystone? Holmes or Watson? The original Phantom? Rudolf Rassendyll? Rupert of Hentzau? Where are Hector Servadac and Professor Aronnax? Carruthers and Davies? Professor(s) Lidenbrock/Hardwigg and his(?) nephew Alex? Where is Tom Swift? Richard Hannay? Captain Dan Reid?
The directions this thing links make me salivate. O! Be still my trembling heart! Victorian steampunk, tophats, swirling gowns, capes, uniforms . . . oh! oh!
Bring food; we're not as good with the loaves as Elisha, and I prefer sardines, personally.
Ours is a dry house; therefore BYOB. We will have ice and tea and Dr. Pepper. (This is not Kansas, Dorothy.)
Juried (paper ballots) will determine award of silly-assed prizes for the best/most appropriate costume. Ditto for the most obscure potential member of the League. You must bring documentation of your bona fides for membership in this category.
Details will unfold here as they are figured out.
RESPONDEZ, S'IL VOUS PLAIT
------------------
OK; I cannot not do this.
----- LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN -----
---------- MASQUERADE AND WHATEVER --------------
Friday night, 17 July, 7 PM till Midnight. Since some of my students access this blog and my FB, this gathering is for high school graduates only.
R.S.V.P
You must dress the part of a character from the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Oh, you must dress the part. Of a member or conceivable member, of the League. Drac is not a member. Jack is not a member. Wilhelmina Murray is a member, though; isn't she.
If you do at least some of your homework for this one, it will make it that much more fun for everybody that shows up. For instance, I haven't read subject book yet, though I have seen the video three times. And I have caught direct or indirect connections to the works of Haggard, Stoker, Stevenson, Wells, Verne, Doyle, Fleming, Twain, Wilde, Melville, and Leroux. What did I miss? I know there's more.
Lick up the history . . . the Belle Epoque, European colonialism in Africa and Asia, the incredible mechanization of warfare, Jack the Ripper's spree in London's East End . . . and what did the posters on the warehouse walls advertise in the movie? Did anybody catch those? Those have to be good.
And who is not there you ask? Hmmm? Lord Greystone? Holmes or Watson? The original Phantom? Rudolf Rassendyll? Rupert of Hentzau? Where are Hector Servadac and Professor Aronnax? Carruthers and Davies? Professor(s) Lidenbrock/Hardwigg and his(?) nephew Alex? Where is Tom Swift? Richard Hannay? Captain Dan Reid?
The directions this thing links make me salivate. O! Be still my trembling heart! Victorian steampunk, tophats, swirling gowns, capes, uniforms . . . oh! oh!
Bring food; we're not as good with the loaves as Elisha, and I prefer sardines, personally.
Ours is a dry house; therefore BYOB. We will have ice and tea and Dr. Pepper. (This is not Kansas, Dorothy.)
Juried (paper ballots) will determine award of silly-assed prizes for the best/most appropriate costume. Ditto for the most obscure potential member of the League. You must bring documentation of your bona fides for membership in this category.
Details will unfold here as they are figured out.
RESPONDEZ, S'IL VOUS PLAIT
------------------
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Just Keep Breathing
My last post was back in December . . .
I.
I went back and checked my PineWoodDerbyWorkshop calendar -- in December and January I had over 650 kids (and an equal number of parents) come through the workshop in my home. Most Americans have a garage back there. That's boring. I'd rather be designing and creating something with my hands.
"What the hands learn, the mind can't forget."
I have hung wall cabinetry on two sides of the shop (donated by a generous Universe), and I am able to start stashing the twenty bazillion things that accumulate in any woodshop in those instead of on shelves that eat floor space. I have built workbenches that girdle the space, and I have the bench tools mounted on those, and I have a large work table in the middle of the area for inital design and final assembly. Next I'll rearrange the ceiling lighting to be more task-supportive.
Last night I went out to the shop and designed and built a rocket-propelled pinewood-scaled car. It has humongous (2 1/4" diameter) foam rubber tires, and it will track down a braided wire cable for about a hundred yards before it will parachute-brake to a stop. What I'm doing is setting up a parameters-kit for kids to be able to construct/assemble at summer camp without power tools.
Then I finally cut the prototype "oak" tree cutout to epoxy to the doors throughout our house. When we bought this house, lo these many years ago, the renters that moved out holed many of the doors. Well, we've patched the holes, but it looks tacky. I want to try giving the doors a visual/tactile texture with oak silhouettes applied in quarter-inch layers. I think this will come out well.
II.
School is "interesting." What a wonderful euphemism.
I love to teach English, especially literature. If you can hook a student/kid on the stories, the techniques for reading analytically, the reason for reading analytically, and the techniques and reasons for writing analytically will follow in the course of desire for self expression. In my personal opinion (how's that for CYA?!) TAKS is incredibly counterproductive. Our system jams kids into stressful, overcrowded situations, enforces draconian crowd control, tests them like lab rats, changes it metrics at irregular intervals, then vulns itself and its teachers asking why it doesn't work.
As a CADD teacher, I can demonstrate how to assemble a drawing, why to draw it, and how to assemble a set of drawings. Then I have community professionals come in and show how a person can change his world - and make a decent living - by exercising this skill.
Hmmmmm . . .
Seventh Period I now teach English IV to graduating seniors, including several who are ESL. To satifsy State form-fillers, I am required to assign specific writing assignments to the entire class (can't single out those who are being tested - no, no, no) and turn that in, entire and unmarked, for someone who knows nothing about these kids to evaluate.
Hmmmmm . . .
Oh, well; I have taken the king's shilling, after all.
But at least I get to share The Taming of the Shrew and Macbeth.
The guy I am replacing moved to become Head Coach out in Anna. He's a Coyote now, not a Trojan. When I walked into his class a couple of days before he left, he was reading aloud to his class . . . these kids were attentive; they were listening; they responded to his questions and prompts. Damn! He was good. And he was/is a good guy.
What tickles me the most is that we had only met, really, once before. He brought his son to my PineWoodDerbyWorkshop to build a racecar. You just have to love it.
III.
WindWalkerCamp International will be starting operations on our 45 acres in Missouri this summer! June 14th is opening day.
I have always wanted to have kids from all over the world come to this camp . . . I want to share the riches of America with the world, and I want to enjoy the riches of other cultures as well. The Universe is proving me with international campers right here, right now. And it is providing me an avenue for telling folk about this camp. More as it develops.
Pictures soon.
Benedictete!
Moondog
I.
I went back and checked my PineWoodDerbyWorkshop calendar -- in December and January I had over 650 kids (and an equal number of parents) come through the workshop in my home. Most Americans have a garage back there. That's boring. I'd rather be designing and creating something with my hands.
"What the hands learn, the mind can't forget."
I have hung wall cabinetry on two sides of the shop (donated by a generous Universe), and I am able to start stashing the twenty bazillion things that accumulate in any woodshop in those instead of on shelves that eat floor space. I have built workbenches that girdle the space, and I have the bench tools mounted on those, and I have a large work table in the middle of the area for inital design and final assembly. Next I'll rearrange the ceiling lighting to be more task-supportive.
Last night I went out to the shop and designed and built a rocket-propelled pinewood-scaled car. It has humongous (2 1/4" diameter) foam rubber tires, and it will track down a braided wire cable for about a hundred yards before it will parachute-brake to a stop. What I'm doing is setting up a parameters-kit for kids to be able to construct/assemble at summer camp without power tools.
Then I finally cut the prototype "oak" tree cutout to epoxy to the doors throughout our house. When we bought this house, lo these many years ago, the renters that moved out holed many of the doors. Well, we've patched the holes, but it looks tacky. I want to try giving the doors a visual/tactile texture with oak silhouettes applied in quarter-inch layers. I think this will come out well.
II.
School is "interesting." What a wonderful euphemism.
I love to teach English, especially literature. If you can hook a student/kid on the stories, the techniques for reading analytically, the reason for reading analytically, and the techniques and reasons for writing analytically will follow in the course of desire for self expression. In my personal opinion (how's that for CYA?!) TAKS is incredibly counterproductive. Our system jams kids into stressful, overcrowded situations, enforces draconian crowd control, tests them like lab rats, changes it metrics at irregular intervals, then vulns itself and its teachers asking why it doesn't work.
As a CADD teacher, I can demonstrate how to assemble a drawing, why to draw it, and how to assemble a set of drawings. Then I have community professionals come in and show how a person can change his world - and make a decent living - by exercising this skill.
Hmmmmm . . .
Seventh Period I now teach English IV to graduating seniors, including several who are ESL. To satifsy State form-fillers, I am required to assign specific writing assignments to the entire class (can't single out those who are being tested - no, no, no) and turn that in, entire and unmarked, for someone who knows nothing about these kids to evaluate.
Hmmmmm . . .
Oh, well; I have taken the king's shilling, after all.
But at least I get to share The Taming of the Shrew and Macbeth.
The guy I am replacing moved to become Head Coach out in Anna. He's a Coyote now, not a Trojan. When I walked into his class a couple of days before he left, he was reading aloud to his class . . . these kids were attentive; they were listening; they responded to his questions and prompts. Damn! He was good. And he was/is a good guy.
What tickles me the most is that we had only met, really, once before. He brought his son to my PineWoodDerbyWorkshop to build a racecar. You just have to love it.
III.
WindWalkerCamp International will be starting operations on our 45 acres in Missouri this summer! June 14th is opening day.
I have always wanted to have kids from all over the world come to this camp . . . I want to share the riches of America with the world, and I want to enjoy the riches of other cultures as well. The Universe is proving me with international campers right here, right now. And it is providing me an avenue for telling folk about this camp. More as it develops.
Pictures soon.
Benedictete!
Moondog
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Words of the Day
"Pastafarianism"
"Steampunk"
WindWalkerCamp will open for campers 14 June. Stay tuned.
Peace, y'all.
"Steampunk"
WindWalkerCamp will open for campers 14 June. Stay tuned.
Peace, y'all.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
QUIDDLER COMPETITION
QUIDDLER is one of the funnest games in the world (quoth the English teacher; and yes, dammit! I said "funnest".) Several months Zak and Lauren were in town and they and Austin and I got into a game wherein Zak said, "Why don't we keep a list of all the words we come up with and write a short story with them to see who wrote the best?"
So we did.
Below are those compositions, anonymously presented, of course . . . we will have open balloting for one week from today. It's like Chicago politics: "Vote early; vote often."
Composition A
The lazy yid slumped at the helm like a soggy yarmulke on a pile of sock. Needless to say he tracked a slow, sloppy course and left lax and torn every fid and clew about the ship. A nicotine haze covered a drunk moon quark-dim with sleepy light and even the zoea below swam on their hands and knees. The pilot's tin jug, calico'd from pure UV and salty air sounded every bit like the bony rasping hiccups of the ghosts that haunt these waters. Though they were generously rationed rum, this distant son of Abraham preferred his ale from the agave. He'd spilt this night no less than a quart of the clear bier on his beard so it smeared, in fact, to his gut and to each rib. It was said his ship sailed queer, surely the dud of the fleet, the admiral's ire and constant gripe.
Even now she was well hind of her convoy through this perilous range that had found more than a few ships with crews even more bold than hers and of greater unity laying on the sea floor like sox in the hamper. Indeed, this was no river Om. The sea was confused with deep troughs and every man braced his rack, clingy, like a pauper to the pew. "Oh to man the rails of one of the admiral's doves," he thought. "For sure a far cuter cutter than this flaccid frigate." It was, he mused, as if someone had tried to chisel a mum but instead had pulled from the lathe a wooden weiner, such was his ship. Had she legs, they'd be knock-kneed, had she an arse, she'd be dragging it. "Bah," he sighed, "a right pile of matchsticks."
Composition B
Small bells on the shop door jingled as we entered Om Gourmet Grocery in the university town of Athens, Georgia. OGG is just one of the thousands of small businesses in America that have been forced to become more innovative as the state of the economy worsens. Luxury items are the first sector to decline in economic straits. The store, where you might once have come for a quart of cold pressed olive oil, a wheel of rich European quark, a tin of rosewater lozenges, a case of specialty Yorkshire ale, or an amber jug of organic agave syrup, has now downsized their luxury import inventory to make room for stock that will appeal to a more frugal consumer base. Shop owner Martha Hind says, "More of our customers are mending torn clothes rather than buying new, and embarking on small-scale home improvement projects themselves rather than hiring professionals, so we're actually expanding our grocery to include more non-food items, like tools and textiles. We've even had requests for a lathe by some local DIY enthusiasts! So, we're listening, and trying to respond."
Even armed with her flexible business strategy, Hind worries that they can't hang on much longer, and is frustrated by a perceived lack of leadership from Washington. "Frankly, I feel like the President is, well, sitting on his arse -- going along with a bailout plan that rewards the corporate fat cats who created this problem in the first place... I'd like to think this new pile of candidates have a plan for us average Americans, but honestly, I don't have a lot of faith in them either."
We asked each of the candidates, on the trail in Athens before their final debate, for some reassurance that their leadership plans will put the worst behind us.
Staunch White Sox fan Barack Obama employed a sports metaphor in his answer. "What we have here is a ballgame with no referee! And the Bush administration's economic policies have turned out to be a dud in terms of protecting the American people. But, let's be clear -- now is not the time to gripe, or try to stoke our partisan ire. Now is a time for unity.
Dem running-mate Joe Biden added that we should be wary about the big rescue bill Congress has passed. "It's like throwing cigarettes at a nicotine-addict... I don't think it's sound policy, and my friend John is trying to push it through without taking any time for review or dissent. At odds with his own party, all he can do is lurch and clank from one position to the next. And John, if you're listening -- just because you can see the bank from your house doesn't make you an expert on the economy. Haha... Listen folks, I've known John for 35 years. Don't worry, he can take a good rib now and then.
GOP candidate John Mccain, heretofore mum on the subject of the crisis, told us, "My friends, Washington has become too lax in its oversight of wall street, allowing greed and corruption to cripple the system. If we don't take bold action, we'll be watching what's left of our crumbling economy carried out on a funeral bier. Additionally, we must cut pork barrel spending, and my friends, I know how to do that. Just recently, 'that one' asked for a 3.2 million dollar earmark for researching the DNA of crab zoea! My friends, this is ridiculous and it's got to stop!"
Governor Palin's response? "What we have to do in order to shore up our economy is create job creation under the umbrella of job creation which will allow us to create new jobs. Also, with trade missions and the global threat, we must seek to try to stop Ahmadinejad from being such a weiner. If, God-willing, John McCain and I are so blessed and so privileged by the American people to serve, we will seek to let the doves of the free market fly up and shield us, ya know, from those harsh, clingy UV rays of Fannie and Freddie who would seek to bring harm to us and our allies. As Ronald Reagan said so wisely, "'A yid in the pew is cuter than a ghost with a beard.' And that is what I would seek to tell the American people in this time of crisis. Also, fid." In an attempt to clarify Palin's queer statement, we contacted Palintologist, Tina Fey "Oh -- that's classic Palin gibberish." Fey remarked. "It's what I call a verbal 'pile of sock.' Her words have no pairing or relationship with reality, and that doesn't seem to bother her. Trying to interpret what she's saying is like trying to match a pile of single, mateless socks. Frustrating. Annoying. Senseless. Don't even try." In short, none of the candidates have a definitive plan for untangling this clew of economic anxieties. Luckily for them, no matter what they say (or don't), studies show that most Americans will go with their gut on November 4th rather than their opinion on the range of platform issues. On our way out of the shop, we asked one more patron who he thought would be best suited to lead. "Bah!" He smiled, shaking his head, "I'm waiting until 2012."
Composition C
It is an ancient Yid
And he boldeth one of them.
‘By thy long beard and pile of sock
Now wherefore gripest thou me?’
‘The Tin Queer’s pew is opened wide,
And this is range of rib ;
Lax sox are torn, the wiener set :
May'st hear the clingy clank.’
He ires him with his skinny gut,
‘There was a lathe,’ quoth he.
‘Hold off! un-jug me, grey-beard arse !
'Eftsoons his ale dropt he.
He clews him with his cuter fid--
The Wedding-Ghost stood mum,
And jingled like a uv’s child:
The Mariner hath his quart.
The Wedding-Ghosts sat on an agave
They cannot choose but hear;
Oh spake on that ancient Unity,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
The quark was cheered,
then bier was cleared,
Merrily did nicotine drop
Below the dud, below the doves,
Below the zoea top.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor om nor motion ;
As idle as a painted hind
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And fey damned boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very pile did rot:
O Bah!That ever this should be!
If slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
OK, Friends and Neighbors.
There you have them.
One of the players wussed out and would not be persuaded to grave upon the tablets of your minds.
Read On!
(Or off.)
More later.
Benedictete!
So we did.
Below are those compositions, anonymously presented, of course . . . we will have open balloting for one week from today. It's like Chicago politics: "Vote early; vote often."
Composition A
The lazy yid slumped at the helm like a soggy yarmulke on a pile of sock. Needless to say he tracked a slow, sloppy course and left lax and torn every fid and clew about the ship. A nicotine haze covered a drunk moon quark-dim with sleepy light and even the zoea below swam on their hands and knees. The pilot's tin jug, calico'd from pure UV and salty air sounded every bit like the bony rasping hiccups of the ghosts that haunt these waters. Though they were generously rationed rum, this distant son of Abraham preferred his ale from the agave. He'd spilt this night no less than a quart of the clear bier on his beard so it smeared, in fact, to his gut and to each rib. It was said his ship sailed queer, surely the dud of the fleet, the admiral's ire and constant gripe.
Even now she was well hind of her convoy through this perilous range that had found more than a few ships with crews even more bold than hers and of greater unity laying on the sea floor like sox in the hamper. Indeed, this was no river Om. The sea was confused with deep troughs and every man braced his rack, clingy, like a pauper to the pew. "Oh to man the rails of one of the admiral's doves," he thought. "For sure a far cuter cutter than this flaccid frigate." It was, he mused, as if someone had tried to chisel a mum but instead had pulled from the lathe a wooden weiner, such was his ship. Had she legs, they'd be knock-kneed, had she an arse, she'd be dragging it. "Bah," he sighed, "a right pile of matchsticks."
Composition B
Small bells on the shop door jingled as we entered Om Gourmet Grocery in the university town of Athens, Georgia. OGG is just one of the thousands of small businesses in America that have been forced to become more innovative as the state of the economy worsens. Luxury items are the first sector to decline in economic straits. The store, where you might once have come for a quart of cold pressed olive oil, a wheel of rich European quark, a tin of rosewater lozenges, a case of specialty Yorkshire ale, or an amber jug of organic agave syrup, has now downsized their luxury import inventory to make room for stock that will appeal to a more frugal consumer base. Shop owner Martha Hind says, "More of our customers are mending torn clothes rather than buying new, and embarking on small-scale home improvement projects themselves rather than hiring professionals, so we're actually expanding our grocery to include more non-food items, like tools and textiles. We've even had requests for a lathe by some local DIY enthusiasts! So, we're listening, and trying to respond."
Even armed with her flexible business strategy, Hind worries that they can't hang on much longer, and is frustrated by a perceived lack of leadership from Washington. "Frankly, I feel like the President is, well, sitting on his arse -- going along with a bailout plan that rewards the corporate fat cats who created this problem in the first place... I'd like to think this new pile of candidates have a plan for us average Americans, but honestly, I don't have a lot of faith in them either."
We asked each of the candidates, on the trail in Athens before their final debate, for some reassurance that their leadership plans will put the worst behind us.
Staunch White Sox fan Barack Obama employed a sports metaphor in his answer. "What we have here is a ballgame with no referee! And the Bush administration's economic policies have turned out to be a dud in terms of protecting the American people. But, let's be clear -- now is not the time to gripe, or try to stoke our partisan ire. Now is a time for unity.
Dem running-mate Joe Biden added that we should be wary about the big rescue bill Congress has passed. "It's like throwing cigarettes at a nicotine-addict... I don't think it's sound policy, and my friend John is trying to push it through without taking any time for review or dissent. At odds with his own party, all he can do is lurch and clank from one position to the next. And John, if you're listening -- just because you can see the bank from your house doesn't make you an expert on the economy. Haha... Listen folks, I've known John for 35 years. Don't worry, he can take a good rib now and then.
GOP candidate John Mccain, heretofore mum on the subject of the crisis, told us, "My friends, Washington has become too lax in its oversight of wall street, allowing greed and corruption to cripple the system. If we don't take bold action, we'll be watching what's left of our crumbling economy carried out on a funeral bier. Additionally, we must cut pork barrel spending, and my friends, I know how to do that. Just recently, 'that one' asked for a 3.2 million dollar earmark for researching the DNA of crab zoea! My friends, this is ridiculous and it's got to stop!"
Governor Palin's response? "What we have to do in order to shore up our economy is create job creation under the umbrella of job creation which will allow us to create new jobs. Also, with trade missions and the global threat, we must seek to try to stop Ahmadinejad from being such a weiner. If, God-willing, John McCain and I are so blessed and so privileged by the American people to serve, we will seek to let the doves of the free market fly up and shield us, ya know, from those harsh, clingy UV rays of Fannie and Freddie who would seek to bring harm to us and our allies. As Ronald Reagan said so wisely, "'A yid in the pew is cuter than a ghost with a beard.' And that is what I would seek to tell the American people in this time of crisis. Also, fid." In an attempt to clarify Palin's queer statement, we contacted Palintologist, Tina Fey "Oh -- that's classic Palin gibberish." Fey remarked. "It's what I call a verbal 'pile of sock.' Her words have no pairing or relationship with reality, and that doesn't seem to bother her. Trying to interpret what she's saying is like trying to match a pile of single, mateless socks. Frustrating. Annoying. Senseless. Don't even try." In short, none of the candidates have a definitive plan for untangling this clew of economic anxieties. Luckily for them, no matter what they say (or don't), studies show that most Americans will go with their gut on November 4th rather than their opinion on the range of platform issues. On our way out of the shop, we asked one more patron who he thought would be best suited to lead. "Bah!" He smiled, shaking his head, "I'm waiting until 2012."
Composition C
It is an ancient Yid
And he boldeth one of them.
‘By thy long beard and pile of sock
Now wherefore gripest thou me?’
‘The Tin Queer’s pew is opened wide,
And this is range of rib ;
Lax sox are torn, the wiener set :
May'st hear the clingy clank.’
He ires him with his skinny gut,
‘There was a lathe,’ quoth he.
‘Hold off! un-jug me, grey-beard arse !
'Eftsoons his ale dropt he.
He clews him with his cuter fid--
The Wedding-Ghost stood mum,
And jingled like a uv’s child:
The Mariner hath his quart.
The Wedding-Ghosts sat on an agave
They cannot choose but hear;
Oh spake on that ancient Unity,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
The quark was cheered,
then bier was cleared,
Merrily did nicotine drop
Below the dud, below the doves,
Below the zoea top.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor om nor motion ;
As idle as a painted hind
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And fey damned boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very pile did rot:
O Bah!That ever this should be!
If slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
OK, Friends and Neighbors.
There you have them.
One of the players wussed out and would not be persuaded to grave upon the tablets of your minds.
Read On!
(Or off.)
More later.
Benedictete!
Monday, October 27, 2008
Goals
- I have lately been considering my life and my goals.
I am not a formal school teacher at the core of my being. I am a daddy, a loving husband, a teacher, a student, a wandering spirit.
I absolutely must get back into the forest, onto the plains, out on the water, up in the sky again before I go out of my rabbit-assed mind.
Some of the goals I have written down - and lost track of with the press of events - include
1. Own and pilot a DC-3. Fly the airplane to Europe and back.
2. See Macchu Picchu.
3. Own and wear a hair-out leather coat made from the hide of a cow from my own ranch/farm.
4. Learn to play the cello.
5. Play in a recorder consort again.
6. Get back into the sky - in a square parachute now. Those look like easier landings than the ones I made in my round rigs.
7. Buy and drive another TR-3, a sweel little small-mouth -3. They only come convertible-topped.
8. Write and publish a book on the educational values of camp and travel the world promoting the book - and the camp.
9. Get a blue frapped rope with a square knot tied in it tattooed around my left ankle.
Come play with me in my camp in the Ozark foothills.
We'll have archery, riflery, raku pottery, rockets, model airplanes, quilts, haka, ukuleles, lumberjacking, butterfly collecting, mountainbiking, canoeing, arrowsmithing, flint knapping, homemade ice cream, homemade root beer, tree houses, trebuchet contests, stargazing, sundialling, birdhousing gardening. Just kind of fun stuff.
I'll stop with those right now; my wings are pushing too tightly against my shirt to let me type . . . I'm going to go fly.
Pax, y'all. And love.
The Academy of St. Martin in the Fields
Driving the truck to work Thursday morning last week (I'm hauling a lot of projects back and forth to my woodshop up there - I have access to bigger tools there), Christoper Hackett, the d.j. on the NPR station announced free tickets for caller number two.
When he mentioned "free tickets," I was already digging, deep, friend. The light had just turned red; I had the number preprogrammed; I punched the button; the light turned green; I missed it; the guy behind me swerved around my parked behind and turned to the right in front of me . . . and I was caller number two.
Kathryn and I have a date tonight to hear some wonderful stuff at Caruth Auditorium on the SMU campus . . . I love their music.
We're debating whether to wear starched western shirts and blue jeans or Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes. This is the day after spending two nights on an air mattress in a tent at Ladybird State Park in Fredricksburg - that's where we slept during the permaculture workshop. That weekend's sleeping arrangements were a blast from the past. Mariachi music from the north, giggles from the south, and capture the flag from the west across the creek. At different, unholy hours during the night aircraft landed and took off. With the dawn came the heady (so to speak) aroma, not of woodsmoke, but, shall we say, of someone burning rope. Return with us, now, to the '60s.
I'll let you know how the evening went, but I absolutely love live music, and St. Martin's is chamber-orchestra. Bliss!
Pax, y'all.
When he mentioned "free tickets," I was already digging, deep, friend. The light had just turned red; I had the number preprogrammed; I punched the button; the light turned green; I missed it; the guy behind me swerved around my parked behind and turned to the right in front of me . . . and I was caller number two.
Kathryn and I have a date tonight to hear some wonderful stuff at Caruth Auditorium on the SMU campus . . . I love their music.
We're debating whether to wear starched western shirts and blue jeans or Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes. This is the day after spending two nights on an air mattress in a tent at Ladybird State Park in Fredricksburg - that's where we slept during the permaculture workshop. That weekend's sleeping arrangements were a blast from the past. Mariachi music from the north, giggles from the south, and capture the flag from the west across the creek. At different, unholy hours during the night aircraft landed and took off. With the dawn came the heady (so to speak) aroma, not of woodsmoke, but, shall we say, of someone burning rope. Return with us, now, to the '60s.
I'll let you know how the evening went, but I absolutely love live music, and St. Martin's is chamber-orchestra. Bliss!
Pax, y'all.
Permaculture Workshop
Kathryn and I went to a Permaculture workshop in Kerrville this past weekend. That was a mind-blowing experience.
I was surrounded by barefoot Ph.D. hippies who knew more about the way the biome works than anybody in business casual ever taught me. I loved getting knee-deep into discussions about rainwater catchment and storage systems. Seriously into specifics. Gawd! It was great!
We also checked out sumac berry tea, raw food lunch, alternative-building systems, natural-building systems (not the same thing), earth plasters, worm farms, alternate cattle breeds/heritage breeds. Lots of stuff.
Google "permaculture." There are options in the world.
Pax, y'all.
I was surrounded by barefoot Ph.D. hippies who knew more about the way the biome works than anybody in business casual ever taught me. I loved getting knee-deep into discussions about rainwater catchment and storage systems. Seriously into specifics. Gawd! It was great!
We also checked out sumac berry tea, raw food lunch, alternative-building systems, natural-building systems (not the same thing), earth plasters, worm farms, alternate cattle breeds/heritage breeds. Lots of stuff.
Google "permaculture." There are options in the world.
Pax, y'all.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Just thinking
I have been teaching school for fifteen years now.
That's longer than I have done anything except be married to Kathryn.
Before that I spent eight years in the Navy.
The entire time I have done those things, I have been thinking about how to set up the best summer camp in the world. Not exclusively, just parallel processing.
Today I was standing at the front of my classroom -- and these are good, sweet kids who enjoy the work I assign them to master a valuable skill -- and, looking out the windows on the back wall (west wall) I could see the raggedy-assed gray clouds scudding above the trees. The greens of the trees included that bilious tint from light that had filtered through cloud. I could hear the creak of the windows as the wind tried to push them through the brick wall.
I wanted to breathe deeply, but all I could get was the recycled, processed exhalations of 2200 kids and adults. I wanted to feel the wind tugging at my shirt and pinching my cheeks, but 72 degrees of mechanically-handled air circulated through my small, enclosed world, ignoring the fluctions of sun and shadow. I wanted to celebrate the faint warmth of weakened sun in the blustery wind chill . . . and there I stood in unchanging 72 degrees, short-sleeved in October's sixty-two degrees.
I have to get outside!
That's longer than I have done anything except be married to Kathryn.
Before that I spent eight years in the Navy.
The entire time I have done those things, I have been thinking about how to set up the best summer camp in the world. Not exclusively, just parallel processing.
Today I was standing at the front of my classroom -- and these are good, sweet kids who enjoy the work I assign them to master a valuable skill -- and, looking out the windows on the back wall (west wall) I could see the raggedy-assed gray clouds scudding above the trees. The greens of the trees included that bilious tint from light that had filtered through cloud. I could hear the creak of the windows as the wind tried to push them through the brick wall.
I wanted to breathe deeply, but all I could get was the recycled, processed exhalations of 2200 kids and adults. I wanted to feel the wind tugging at my shirt and pinching my cheeks, but 72 degrees of mechanically-handled air circulated through my small, enclosed world, ignoring the fluctions of sun and shadow. I wanted to celebrate the faint warmth of weakened sun in the blustery wind chill . . . and there I stood in unchanging 72 degrees, short-sleeved in October's sixty-two degrees.
I have to get outside!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)