http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/ weblog en-us Copyright 2007 Tue, 06 Nov 2007 15:25:43 -0500 http://www.sixapart.com/movabletype/ http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss Wow! I never imagined anyone could dictate a book, letter by letter. Hats off to Jean- Dominique Bauby. I think this man's story is truly amazing but also quite tragic. What I found incredible was how vivid his fantasies were, especially the one about the Empress and food. For me this book seemed to be a cross between Tuesdays With Morrie and The Miracle Worker. What sets this writer apart from the other two is how he describes his miserable condition. By the end of the book I get the idea that he has come to the realization that his existence is just too radical. I was left wondering if blinking out dictation for his book killed him or was he euthanized? http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/11/busting_out_of_the_diving_bell.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/11/busting_out_of_the_diving_bell.html Tue, 06 Nov 2007 15:25:43 -0500 I thought Lying was an interesting read. The first thing that I liked about the book was that it really pushed the bounds of the genre. Of course as readers we like to believe that the writer is being honest but as the writer points out, the truth and facts are not the same. There is a good deal of grey area in Slater's book and that is what makes it so freakishly interesting. Life (as an adult) is filled with gray areas. The skill that we try to master is how to read situations, people, etc... Slater is forcing us to fill in the blanks, figure out what she isn't telling us and thereby, enabling the reader to form a more accurate opinion of who she is. As a writer I found her prose easy to read, and highly relateable. Who doesn't blame their parents? Ultimately, I think that Slater use of a metaphoric lie in her memoir symbolizes something that some people do unconsciously. That is, lie about who they are and how they came to be that way. http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/11/my_favorite_lie.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/11/my_favorite_lie.html Tue, 06 Nov 2007 15:08:34 -0500 “Nations themselves are narrations. The power to narrate, or to block other narratives from forming and emerging, is very important to culture and imperialism…” so begins Edward Said’s, Culture and Imperialism which has a direct correlation with the representation of gender, culture and self in Monica Ali’s debut novel, Brick Lane, published by Doubleday in 2003. Ali has become somewhat of a literary celebrity in London since Granta voted her one of the Best Young British Novelists, before her novel was even published. The popular success of Ali’s novel is in her ability to take the post-colonial situation from struggle to chic, which she does through an exploration of the mind-body interconnectivity of her heroine, Nazneen. What makes Brick Lane, noteworthy is that it provides an exotic variation on the themes of rebirth and sexual awakening. The striking appeal of this book is highly marketable to western audiences weary of post-modern representations of these subjects in popular literary texts. From a psychoanalytic perspective, Ali’s book is about gaining what cognitive scientist; Antonio Domasio would call “strategic social intelligence.” In the novel the main character’s process of self-discovery relates to what “cognitive scientist’s describe as ‘the self as a form of narration.’ That is, as the heroine grows, and learns how to “understand, predict, and manipulate the behavior of others” she is in a sense forming her own narration, finding her own voice and as a result her new found “strategic” social intelligence is what allows her to overcome her economic, and sexual repression and social isolation, the precarious condition that women in post-colonial situations often find themselves in. The main character’s eventual awareness of and responses to her selfhood mark her emancipation. In the novel, the protagonist’s consciousness is at the heart of the story. Nazneen’s growth as a woman is represented through her interactions and observations with the external and internal world and at last by her ability to adapt her behavior to her surroundings. The character’s emotional growth is what guides her release from the struggles of post-colonialism by the resolution of the plot. This effect does contribute considerably to the book’s appeal to Western readers seeking to have their feelings validated. Some may see it as homage to Oprah’s ‘remembering the spirit’ season from a few years back. Others, will make the connection with, Dimasio’s, The Feeling of What Happens, which explores, charts, and define the nature of human consciousness. In Ali’s book, as her main character grows from a teen bride into a wife and mother, the reader witnesses how her perceptions and emotions slowly begin to interact. The deeper the protagonist looks into her self, as her perceptions and emotions mingle, she becomes more able to “evaluate external perceptual information” and unchain the manacles of post-colonial oppression. Throughout the book the main character is defined by being Bangladeshi years after she has left. Nazneen is born into a world where one accepts their fate, and she is taught early on “to be still in her heart and mind, to accept the Grace of God, to treat life with the same indifference with which it would treat her.” It is with this mindset, the young protagonist accepts her arranged marriage by the end of the first chapter to a man, “ with a face like a frog” As she accepts this fate she observes, the men of a neighboring village who are clearing up after a tornado: "burying their dead and looking for bodies. Dark spots moved through the far fields. Men doing whatever they could in this world". And what could Nazneen do, but accept that it was her fate to be married to a man she did not wish to be with. Thus, the first obstacle she has to overcome is the hurdle of being taught passivity as a virtue. Her passivity is more of a hindrance than she is able to realize. By not reacting and allowing herself to acknowledge what she feels, the protagonist is incapable of forming a rational thought. In Domasio’s terms her perceptions are not yet interacting with her emotions. The method Ali employs to sharpen the character of Nazneen is the strife of losing her first born and indirectly witnessing the appalling treatment her younger sister Hasina is subjected to back in their native Bangladesh. Depictions of gender conflict are central to the plot of Brick Lane. Gender repression is what brings the still teenaged Nazneen to London via the marriage arranged by her father to the much older Chanu, who is some twenty years, her senior. Here, the character’s tacit acceptance of her fate is evidence of the victimization of the feminine subject in the post-colonial setting. Her subjugation it could be argued is the result of her unwillingness to accept the vital role emotions play in forming rational thought. Ages gone by, Enlightenment thinkers viewed emotions as antithetical to rational thought. This is a mark of European colonialism, which still pervades her consciousness; rendering her a colonized subject. Unable to speak but two words of English, “sorry” and “thank you”, Nazneen is brought to London as is, situated as an outsider and according to Ali, what has facilitated this are her Bangladeshi roots which have taught her to be subservient in her marriage. Again, since Nazneen does not acknowledge her feelings of being married to a man does not love she is incapable of rationally perceiving the situation that she is in. In isolation the heroine first begins to observes the new world she inhabits: “where the poor could be fat, and people might choose to make themselves more ugly than was necessary, where privacy is hoarded to the point of imprisonment and acquisition is everything. Everyone in their boxes counting their possessions". It is through these initial tactical observations of her new environment the young uneducated village girl will eventually be transformed into a sharply perceptive woman with a strategic outlook of her surroundings. With this new awareness of self and others, Ali’s protagonist overcomes her gender conflict by observing and then out-maneuvering her male counterparts in the novel. Nazneen’s reflections of her past especially growing up with her younger, recalcitrant sister, Hasina, allows Ali to form a narrative for her protagonist. The sister’s correspondence marks the beginning of the heroine’s narrative within the story since it is the medium through which she finally gains a voice. Here, the reader sees how Nazneen, slowly begins to build a ‘self’ through a narrative about her life. Her actions in this instance are specifically centered on the construction of ‘self’. The fact that she omits details of her life to her sister reinforces Oliver Sacks theory that we construct and live our lives as a narrative. Over time Nazneen’s narrative changes, as does her identity. In the letters, Ali’s choice of Pidgin English is used primarily to convey that the younger sister is mostly illiterate, and that Nazneen is also uneducated. A post-colonial/ feminist interpretation of this strategy might argue that their dialogue illustrates the repression endured by both women by culture and gender. Ali may be highlighting the double plight of immigrant women who are subordinated in their native rural communities by their male counterparts dominance and then because of this further disadvantaged in a newer, cosmopolitan setting. Because the education of women is not encouraged in native settings, it becomes twice as difficult for women to communicate (grammatically correct) in a second language. Yet through their very basic exchanges, they demonstrate a fundamental need for literature or narrative as a means of gaining selfhood, and ultimately, representation in society. This is also the way that Ali’s protagonist begins to defy her imperialistic husband who does not recognize her need to learn English, which symbolically “…is the blocking of other narratives from forming…”according to Said. Ultimately, her husband does unwittingly accelerate her selfhood by garnering her work to be done from the confines of their home. Ali’s heroine takes her final steps towards self-realization through her encounters with a young radical that brings the clothes she works on for a local manufacturer. Tailoring, a physical action leads to another physical action, an affair that finally triggers the protagonist’s, to use Domasio’s term, ‘somatic marker mechanism’. Nazneen’s relationship with Karim, allows her to become symbolically aware of her body. This is the culminating act that propels her from being a detached observer to an active participant in life. By the end of the novel Ali has an provided us with an answer to one of early musings of her protagonist from the window of her flat, "You can spread your soul over a paddy field, you can whisper to a mango tree, you can feel the earth beneath your toes and know that this is the place, the place where it begins and ends. But what can you tell to a pile of bricks ?", pick them up and pave a brick lane to take you where you wish to go to. http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/10/the_feeling_of_brick_lane.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/10/the_feeling_of_brick_lane.html Tue, 30 Oct 2007 06:24:44 -0500 When you see water flowing uphill it means that someone is repaying a kindness African Folklore- Gun shots, ambulance, a rock concert, neither, it was the alarm sounding and J.B. drowsily sat up trying to remember where he was, home, bed, time to get up. By the time the buzzer sounded a second time he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Ten minutes after the he had gotten up he had his shorts and a sweatshirt on and was tying his running shoes. J.B from 3D then headed down the staircase, he never used the elevator at 5 in the morning because he thought it was too eerie. He always thought there was something peculiar about the way only country music seemed to be playing at that time. Kenny Rogers made him think of Freddy Kruger. A quick jog down the steps was a good way to begin his warm-up. Once in the lobby he would stretch for a minute or two, greet the doorman if he was awake, shuffle the songs in his I-pod and then be off. Early morning was the best part of the day he thought, it reminded him of so many things, and people, but never about what had to be done. As a dreamer he could hardly afford to live in the present, it was too puzzling. He preferred to drift off into the realm of what was, or what he imagined was, and then what might be. The first song on his play list sounded, Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit, always a good way to begin running the song starts slow then breaks into a frantic bawl, James often thought come to think of it maybe it was a cry for help, but almost every time he heard it also reminded him of fights in school, which were his own cries for help, or at least attention. It was his way of communicating with those around him back then. Back then he got into brawls as it were to make friends, what was it his father used to say, friends betray you, but a win an enemy and they’ll be loyal for life, or was it the other way around? These days James had a lot to be mindful of when it came to friends, having slept with one and working for another who was married to the one afore mentioned. Secretly he was pleased that he was sleeping with his boss’ wife it was just the type of rotten thing he enjoyed doing to someone who he felt was too trusting, or too nice. In his mind he imagined that whenever someone tried too hard to befriend you it was a covert form of emasculation. He either had a hole in his shoe or he had managed to get a piece of gravel in it, whatever it was it centered his attention to the present. Thinking that he could withstand the discomfort since he was almost back home he went on. Of course as he approached the intersection he noticed the walk signal beginning to change. As J.B. set off to sprint across the walkway a car came gunning down the right side of the street and made a sharp turn, he barely managed to stop in time, but the car sped off a red Tercel. The only person he could think of that owned one was his maternal aunt who lived in Miami, as he made his way safely to the end of the crosswalk he thought, was his aunt after him? Did she still drive? Nah it couldn’t be, just a coincidence. Getting dressed for work always seemed to take too long. Once fully awake James felt the need to get out of his apartment. It was a nice enough apartment but once there he often felt isolated from the rest of the world that he would rather judge and manipulate. He liked being part of the world but once there he felt annoyed at it. This was probably the reason he enjoyed silence especially when on a first date. It was Friday and tonight he was meeting a girl named Rubi, for dinner. Ray had described her as hot, so James agreed to go, after all he did have good taste in women. Either her heel was about to break or she had gotten some of James’ gravel in her shoes because the first thing he noticed was her walk. Later on, in his mind the trouble could be traced back to the way she sort of walked, uncomfortably, like she hadn’t practiced wearing her mother’s high heels enough as a girl. Her jeans were tight, almost ridiculously tight for such a nice place he thought, she seemed dressed for a highway diner not at all for a four star restaurant in a cosmopolitan setting but, her awkwardness excited him. As she came closer he realized that she was significantly younger that he was, this alarmed him, he kept thinking Hard Candy. Still he fought the urge to leave and steadied himself. She sat down before he could get up to greet her and immediately began to talk. “Are you a sports fan?” She said. “Sort of, I follow the popular teams, Yanks, Jets, Knicks. Me and Ray Ito go to at least one game a season and watch the big games at home with some Papa Johns and Heinekens.” “Well I guess that’s not so bad, I really don’t like sports guys.” She said James inquired. “Any particular reason?” “Yeah.” She nodded. “The last guy I dated was really into sports, he was an asshole who turned out to be married.” “I’m sorry to hear that” He said. He really wasn’t. In his mind naked images of Rubi in various sexual positions played. James thought the best thing to do for both of them was to nod emphatically and say, “Some guys just don’t know how to appreciate women.” Afterwards he thought he had better say something to make her feel good, the best he could come up with was a cliché, “It was smart of you to leave.” James thought that if he could make her feel intelligent, although he thought she was not, he would most likely get some tonight. What’s the saying, ‘Play a sucker to catch a sucker.’ After dinner they went to a nearby bar for shots of tequila, Patron. After two shots they flagged a taxi down to take them to his place. Passing through the streets at this hour, it was nearly 12, he noticed how clamorous the roads were, a cacophony of cars and with the windows rolled down, people as well. When they turned up his block he pointed out his building to Rubi who now allowed him to extend his arm around her and rested her head on his shoulder. Her hair smelled like apples or strawberries, it was one of his favorite things about women, their sweet smells. ]]> http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/10/useful_enemies.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/10/useful_enemies.html Mon, 15 Oct 2007 15:21:11 -0500 “Nations themselves are narrations. The power to narrate, or to block other narratives from forming and emerging, is very important to culture and imperialism…” so begins Edward’s, Culture and Imperialism which has a direct correlation with the representation of gender and culture in Monica Ali’s debut novel, Brick Lane published by Doubleday in 2003. Ali has become somewhat of an academic celebrity in London since she was voted one of the Best Young British Novelists by Granta, before her novel was even published. The appeal of the exotic is highly marketable in western audiences who are weary of post-modern representations in popular literary texts. Though the narrative of Ali may seem striking at first to Western readers, but it achieves the penultimate success because it is strangely familiar. Brick Lane provides a new variation on the theme of rebirth and sexual awakening through an almost retributive light. Throughout her journey of self-discovery the protagonist, has to overcome the inherent obstacles that women in post-colonial situations often find themselves in, economic and sexual repression and social isolation. Throughout the book the main character is defined by being Bangladeshi years after she has left. , Nazneen is born into a world where one accepts their fate, and she is taught early on “to be still in her heart and mind, to accept the Grace of God, to treat life with the same indifference with which it would treat her.” It is with this mindset, the young protagonist accepts her arranged marriage by the end of the first chapter to a man, “ with a face like a frog” As she accepts this fate she observes, the men of a neighboring village are clearing up after a tornado: "burying their dead and looking for bodies. Dark spots moved through the far fields. Men doing whatever they could in this world". And what could Nazneen do, but accept that it was her fate to be married to a man she did not wish to be with. Thus, the first obstacle she has to overcome is the hurdle of being taught passivity as a virtue. As the plot is developed her character is sharpened through the strife of losing her first born and indirectly witnessing the appalling treatment her younger sister Hasina who did not accept her fate is subjected to back home in their native Bangladesh. Depictions of gender conflict are central to the plot of Brick Lane. Gender repression is what brings the still teenaged Nazneen to London via the marriage arranged by her father to the much older Chanu, who is some twenty years her senior. Here, the character’s tacit acceptance of her fate is evidence of the victimization of the feminine subject in the post-colonial setting. Unable to speak but two words of English, “sorry” and “thank you”, Nazneen is brought to London as is situated as an outsider and according to Ali, what has facilitated this are her Bangladeshi roots which have taught her to be subservient in her marriage. In isolation the heroine observes the new world she inhabits: where the poor could be fat, and people might choose to make themselves "more ugly than was necessary", where privacy is hoarded to the point of imprisonment and acquisition is everything. "Everyone in their boxes counting their possessions". Through these observations we see how the young uneducated village girl gradually transforms into a sharply perceptive woman. Her reflections of her past especially growing up with her sister Hasina does allow Ali, the author to create a narrative for the protagonist, which is created through letters between the sisters. Unlike the seemingly dutiful Nazneen, the recalcitrant Hasina willfully defies their father’s wishes when she elopes with a boy she loves. Having taken her fate in her own hands has proven to be disastrous for Hasina, after her husband abandons her, and being disowned by her father she is left without protection in a male dominated society which has rendered her life meaningless. The sisters’ correspondence marks the beginning of the heroine’s own narrative within the story since it is the medium through which the character finally gains a voice. Ali’s choice of Pidgin English is used mostly to convey that the younger sister is mostly illiterate, and that Nazneen is also uneducated. A post-colonial/ feminist interpretation of this strategy might argue that their dialogue illustrates the repression endured by both women by culture and gender. Ali may be highlighting the double plight of immigrant women who are subordinated in their native rural communities by their male counterparts dominance and then because of this further disadvantaged in a newer, cosmopolitan setting. Because the education of women is not encouraged in native settings, it becomes twice as difficult for women to communicate (grammatically correct) in a second language. Yet through their very basic exchanges, they demonstrate a fundamental need for literature or narrative as a means of gaining selfhood, and ultimately, representation in a society. This is also the way that Ali’s protagonist begins to defy her imperialistic husband who does not recognize her need to learn English, which symbolically “…is the blocking of other narratives from forming…”according to Said. Ultimately, her husband does unwittingly accelerate her selfhood by garnering her work to be done from the confines of their home. Relative domestic economic independence which Nazneen gains through a sewing machine purchased by her husband, Chanu, so that she can do piecework for a local manufacturer plays an integral role in her is her self discovery. Tailoring has permitted her to encounter Karim, who brings the clothes she works on, and is a young radical who inspires her to view herself not just as a wife and mother, but also as a woman, an individual. The passions he excites within her eventually inspire the (re-)birth of a new woman who surpasses him and comes to a new understanding influences all other aspects of her life. By the end of the novel Ali has an provided us with an answer to one of early musings of her protagonist from the window of her flat, "You can spread your soul over a paddy field, you can whisper to a mango tree, you can feel the earth beneath your toes and know that this is the place, the place where it begins and ends. But what can you tell to a pile of bricks ?", create a Brick Lane. http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/10/revised_book_review_of_monica.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/10/revised_book_review_of_monica.html Sun, 14 Oct 2007 17:56:18 -0500 The publication that I am writing for in this exercise is TimeOut New York. I opted to write about a book I read a few summers ago when I was in London. Brick Lane was the author’s first novel which received a good deal of acclaim from the British press yet in the Asian community the reviews were not as glowing, one critic even said it was “dull as dahl” (think lentil soup). I’m guessing that the critic didn’t get up to the part with the older woman and the younger man having an affair ‘cause that was plenty spicy for me. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ If you’ve been to London then chances are that you’ve checked out at least one of London’s famous curry houses. Monica Ali’s debut novel, Brick Lane is named after an actual street in the center of the city’s Bangladeshi Muslim community in London’s East End, where one can easily find a spicy meal but you have to BYOB since they tend not to serve alcohol. The writer who was born in Bangladesh and raised in England since the age of 3 has become a new post colonial voice and her understated prose does at times bring to mind Manil Suri’s, The Death of Vishnu. Ali has received much attention for her first work; she has been distinguished in Granta magazine as one of Britain’s top 20 writers while her first book was still a manuscript. With all the hype surrounding it, this book had a lot to prove. Ultimately, the buildup is worthwhile. Ali’s novel explores the British immigrant experience focusing on a journey of self- discovery. The heroine Nazneen is born into a world where one accepts their fate and those who exercise free will do so at their own risk. Accepting her fate has brought the still teenaged Nazmeen to London via her arranged marriage to a much older Chanu where they reside in the inauspicious Hamlet Towers located in London’s East End and where she will ultimately be transformed from a silent girl from a small village to a strong-minded woman able to exercise her free will. From the point of view of Nazneen the reader gains insight into the mind of a young woman coping with her fate, marriage to a much older husband, and being away from everyone and everything she knows. Her transformation is a gradual process beginning with her casual observations through the window in her flat to willing her husband to take her out to see the famous sights in the city, and eventually to her sexual awakening that comes in the form of a young deliveryman, Karim. Nazneen’s main obstacle is to overcome being a second-class citizen, in the culture in which she lives. This is no small task considering that she lives between two worlds. The predictable world with her husband, Chanu, which will eventually lead her back to Bangladesh while, Karim her alluring young lover, offers her a life filled with excitement. All the while, the calamitous life of her younger sister whom she only communicates with through letters also serves as a warning of what happens to those who carelessly take destiny into their own hands. Hanging in the balance are her marriage, children, and future. Brick Lane paints a poignant picture through descriptions of the heroines cluttered apartment that eventually highlight her pursuit to find her space in the world where she can finally take control. http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/10/book_review_brick_lane_by_moni.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/10/book_review_brick_lane_by_moni.html Mon, 08 Oct 2007 18:31:31 -0500 Lately, I've begun to wonder about whether or not "true" consciousness means being aware of another or even the possibility of another. If we look at this notion of consciousness as a response to stimuli or as a reaction to our environment how then could a single being be fully aware of itself without another to validate its reaction. Certainly, we react to other aspects of our environment, weather, food, shelter, etc. but without another conscious being how is it different from say the way an animal interacts with its surroundings? Last night as I was watching Matrix Revolutions, it struck me that consciousness has to operate on an equal scale. For example, Neo and Agent Smith can only achieve self awareness as a result of their interactions with one another. In a sense it is through conflict that they establish a meaningful dialogue that enables each to know that they know who they are, and what they are capable of. This makes me think of Tarzan, who was raised without human interaction, in the wild. Is it possible for him to be "truly" conscious if all he has never engaged in meaningful dialogic exchange? How would he know that he knows (for certain) who he is? http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/was_the_first_human_conscious.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/was_the_first_human_conscious.html Sat, 15 Sep 2007 13:08:07 -0500 Memories of things we have done or think that we have so greatly influences us who we consciously are or try to be. After reading Lodge's Thinks, the concept of qualia keeps reminding me of another novel I read years ago, Written on the Body in it the narrator claims that the measure of love is always loss. I've always found this to be an accurate measure of something that should be unmeasureable. What about other types of qualia, motivation for example. How could it be quantified? As a teacher and a student I would have to say I'm torn between two answers, the first being the fear of failure and the second the hope of satisfying a basic psychological need for power through accomplishment and recognition. Having a constant wedgie sitting on the fence between these two ideas is as one may imagine not all together convenient. Lately, I think it can be broken down into more basic terms, actions and consequences. A few years ago, the first summer I taught summer school I ended up teaching and learing something about actions and consequences. I was teaching English 8, a senior elective for students who needed to make up a credit in order to meet their graduation requirements. The session ran for thirty days and in that time I gave two tests and assigned one take home essay. By the end of the term, most of the kids passed, and a few failed. Of the latter, almost all of them were habitual cutters and did no to little work. However, there was one student who was straddling the line between passing and failing. Student X was generally a nice person and if I could have given her a grade based on her personality she would have passed. Instead I had to rely on the work that she submitted, one exam that she passed narrowly, one that she failed by only five points and the rough draft of an incomplete essay. This presented me with quite the dilema. Afterall, she was a nice kid but I felt that she didn't really earn a passing grade. Ultimately, I decided to give her a failing grade for the course which meant that she would not graduate and would be unable to start the college which had accepted her, in the fall semester. When September came I almost hoped that she would appeal to me to change her grade but I never saw her again until almost a year later. By then she was working as a waitress at the diner a few blocks from the school, where everyone goes. At first I didn't recognize her but as soon as I did I hoped that she wouldn't be my waitress. Much to my discomfort she walked over to my table and warmly greeted me and asked to take my order. Immediately I thought maybe she was doing it on purpose because she figured that I would be uncomfortable. Maybe she didn't. Either way I felt bad for both of us and wondered if the entire situation was more my fault instead of hers. It's upsetting seeing someone you (think) you know working in a (what you imagine to be) menial job. The first words out of my mouth were, 'I guess this is kinda awkward.' To which she pleasantly responded, 'Hi Mr. Singh, what would you like to get?' Her politeness made me feel guilty. When she returned with the food I gave it a once over just to try and make sure there were no visible signs of anything I didn't order. There weren't and the food tasted pretty good. I left a fat tip. Afterwards, I kept wondering why couldn't I have given her the benefit of the doubt but then, she was the one who neglected the assignment, nevertheless, I knew she was working on it and based on what I had seen her essay would have been a good one. There was a lesson to be learned, there are consequences to our actions. Her lack of motivation was her own undoing. Judging from the diner experience I figure I would go back when I got a chance and check if she was in college. Of course by the time I went back it was a few months later and she was no longer working there. Eventually I found out that she had enlisted in the army. My initial thoughts were that the discipline would benefit her but, everytime I hear about the war cassualties I am filled with despair. There is no way of knowing if she would have joined the army had she passed the class but the fact that I still wonder about it now motivates me to give students the benefit of the doubt. Actions and consequences. http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/reading_thinksreminds_me_of.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/reading_thinksreminds_me_of.html Sat, 08 Sep 2007 16:28:35 -0500 Ever had that dream where you're falling, spiraling out of control? It happens to me almost every night, except it's not a dream, it's life, for me anyway. By the time dusk rolls around I feel my body covered from ear to ass with a warm damp thickish blanket. The shit is everywhere around my eyes, on my chin, and up in my nostrils. I think some of it might even be my own. I take in so much when I feed that it forces my body to push everything else out of my orifices, at once I am ingesting and secreting fluids, deliscious and disgusting all at the same time. By the time I shake it off and find the cave I barely find a new spot on the ceiling to hang from, although it's probably more likely that I dangle. My constant fluttering probably makes everyone else upset but fuck'em I can't help them and I don't want to. After a few days I usually end up having to find a new spot in the cave to hang out in once they realize that I'm the one that drinks too much. I'm always looking for something and somewhere to get a new fix, and somehow I usually find it or it finds me. When they first meet me I'm the type of bat they feel sorry for, but they shouldn't. My hunger comes first and sooner or later they find out. That warm velvet-like liquid is the only thing I'm concerned about. One time a roomate felt sorry for me and shared some of his stash with me because I'd been flapping my wings like a ding-bat and crapping non stop. Well the noise and smell must have done the trick so he let me have some of his warm wet booze, but once I started drinking it's like I become a beast unable to control myself. So when he tried to push me away with his fore-claw I got to thinking that since I'd eventually have to find a new cave anyway why not take all of his drink. As soon as the thought crossed my mind I felt my claw ripping into his soft warm, slightly hairy belly and then my mouth followed. It was exactly what I wanted and I had it and felt so complete. As we fell to the bottom of the cave I knew I needed help because although he was deliscious, I nearly drowned in a pool of shit at the bottom of the cave (disgusting and dangerous at the same time). The sound of countless wings fluttering growing louder and louder and a steely wind starts to hit my body. Every second I feel like I'm going to break and then I realize my left fang is gone and as I lift off to take flight I feel a slight tear in my right wing where it meets my claw. Then as I become more conscious the sensation of pain echoes throughout my body with each flap of my wings. I need to get out of here but I don't know where to go. Dried blood or shit is in one of my ears. I think I can make it but then all of a sudden it starts to happen again. The next thing I know I'm falling, spiraling, and out of control. This is no dream. It's what it's like to be a bat (addicted to blood). http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/what_its_like_to_be_a_bat_addicted_to_blood.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/what_its_like_to_be_a_bat_addicted_to_blood.html Sat, 08 Sep 2007 13:57:01 -0500 David Lodge's, Thinks turned out to be a useful read. I used the Mary the Color Scientist scenario to talk about point of view. I was a bit apprehensive about whether or not they would be interested in the passage, much to my delight they were. They say every teacher get nervous the first day, or do they? Actually, I kept thinking if my little fury friend would make a guest appearance during class, he didn't. Why does it have to be a "he"? There was one response in which a student said yes, and talked about anti-depressants, I thought it was a really insightful comment. http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/my_first_day.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/my_first_day.html Tue, 04 Sep 2007 15:24:09 -0500 After enduring two days of pointless meetings there was finally time at the end of the second day to set up my classroom. This year I have to admit my AP finally kept her promise and gave me a sizeable room which I will meet all my classes in. Of course this almost certainly means that she'll be stopping by every chance she gets. Really, this isn't much of an issue for me she usually likes my lessons, at times I think she likes them too much, always asking for a copy to keep, even when it's not a formal visit. OH CRAP! I'll be busted for having rows again, guess I'll have to double horse-shoe it for appearances sake. Actually, the double horse shoe doesn't look half bad, it even gives the room a nice collegiate feel. Wow, there is actually a lecturn in this room and I think it will be great for modeling public speaking with my sophomores. I'll leave it on the side of the room for now, it might look too formal if I position it at the head and center of the class configuration. Yeah it'll look fine next to my desk behind the door. Sweet, the last occupant left me some tape, I'll be outta here as soon as I put up some of these posters. It's sad that I have to do this, but I guess it creates an atmosphere. This room is unlike all the others I had previously inhabited in the building, there are no chipping paint spots to cover up. Six posters, two of which are of animals, I don't like animals, they must have been on sale or in the pack when I bought them. Animals in a classroom I think remind me of a zoo, I never liked going to the zoo when I was a kid, and thanks to Prof. Chung I now understand why. I liked that class, the people were mostly interesting, the subject matter was fairly complex but I'm sure I got a few brain wrinkles from that experience. Ok, I'll put one poster on each wall and I'll give the animal posters to one of the newbies. Nice, my room is finished, before I leave I'll just sit in the back and take in the view. I like this room. Do better rooms make better students? teachers? schools? MICE! WHAT THE BLEEP?!* Perfect, so I got what I wanted and then some. Did she know? I should have known. Did I scream? Why are people coming into my room? Of course, my little fury friends just ran into the hallway. Is this good or bad? Should I be insulted that the mice left my room? Is this foreshadowing my students reactions? Nah...I don't like animals it's better that they are gone. http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/the_perfect_room.html http://blogs.qc.cuny.edu/blogs/0907N_1599/102/2007/09/the_perfect_room.html Sat, 01 Sep 2007 13:24:09 -0500