Forward motion: signing up for the rest of my life.

This fall I'm taking a break from the local choir I've sung with since 2000 and will take a memoir-writing class in its stead. Me and memoir? Well, I'm definitely too young to write my "memoirs" in the famous-celebrity sense, but I have to admit the explosion of first-person allegedly-true or partially-true or 75%-lie accounts fascinates me.

I don't have any glorious (or vainglorious) intentions in taking this class. I want to work on my prose skills, and that's about as modest as I can make it. I've made a few forays into what I want to do with the two music appreciation mini-essays I've put on here. Another fervent hope is to keep the writing juice supplied to where it doesn't feel like an insurmountable task to do some on a semi-regular basis. A third is, simply, to dig into some more personal stuff that needs to be written, much of which I wouldn't feel comfortable putting even here, since I know I have some readers.

In the past I have written a few short stories. My fiction skills are, shall we say, underdeveloped. I tip my dusty cap to all y'all who write short stories, because I think they're the hardest thing ever. I have a fondness for the quotidian--an overfondness, actually--and my chief weakness has always been forward motion, making the story frickin' do something on the page. So maybe memoir/personal essays/remembrances/whatever will be a workable way back into prose.

There's something refreshingly workmanlike about writing prose when the writing goes well. Journalists are perhaps the most workmanlike simply out of necessity. But it seems like progress in a prose piece can be measured more defiinitely, or one can set benchmarks along the way a little more readily than with, say, a poem. I don't ever remember setting the goal of writing one more stanza, say, or finding two more unusual end-rhymes before the night was done. Procrastination cuts across all genres, of course, but--I don't know, I equate writing prose to solving a puzzle, in a way. Poetry just doesn't have that feel for me, somehow; it's more like buffing one piece of the puzzle rather than finding out the design of the whole puzzle.

And that's as far as I want to go with that. A theorist I am not.

Progress/regress report: summer term, the end.

Just entered my second set of course grades and am now done! For ten days or so, anyway, then it's time to gear back up for more jollity. Urgh.

Comp II's final grade distribution surprised me a bit, but Comp I didn't so much. Comp I: 2 B's, 5 C's, and 2 D's. Comp II: 6 B's, 5 C's, and 2 D's. No A's or F's in either bunch, which I should count as...something. Both victory and defeat is what it feels like, and a little bit of relief. Comp II, overall, performed much better on the final exam than I predicted, though there was also a 48 and a 51; interestingly, the student who made the 48 managed to pass by .2 point, whereas the 51 student failed by 1.4 points. The passing student was saved by a near-perfect score in daily work, see. Not to sound like a drill sergeant, but it goes to show that turning in work and being dutiful can make the difference.

As hinted, the biggest feeling I have is one of relief. After every semester, the relief is accompanied by an inescapable sense of futility, too. The deepest, most cynical recesses of me maintain it doesn't matter one whit if I modify my course layout, change assignments, or emphasize until I'm blue in the face the importance of keeping up, doing the work, blah blah--that the grade distributions will more or less stay the same. But the optimistic, naive side of me says my main purpose each new semester is to offer the material, offer the roads to success--that everyone who registers for me has a decent chance to do well.

Shouldn't it be relatively difficult to get an A, anyway? Doesn't that grade signify work, skills, effort, and/or results that are above the usual expected levels? And conversely, shouldn't it be relatively difficult to get an F if you at least show up and give it somewhat of an effort? (Is my standard for an F lower [or higher] than it should be?) In any case, it really is difficult to out-and-out fail one of my courses, but a D? Not as much.

Anyway, enough of that. To do before first day of fall semester:

1. Prep this college success course which I've never taught before. I feel like an infant thrown into the deep end.

2. Nail down my developmental English syllabus. Chances are I'll keep the layout largely the same as before, but the tinkerer in me is saying I should save all the punctuation and small-scale stuff for later, say two-thirds through the term--not until they've had a good solid chance to turn in 4-5 pieces. That would mean I'd have to change the nature of my written comments, too--not sure I want to do all that, but we'll see.

3. Buy some new shirts. OK, *a* new shirt. I think upon it and realize I haven't bought an article of clothing for myself in 9-10 months.

4. Mow the gd lawn AGAIN. I can't believe how much it still sprouts even in these dire summer months. But then, we've had more rain this year than last and so far haven't had the triple-digit living hell we had last August.

5. Do something fun during the weekdays--see some area things I haven't seen. The Flannery O'Connor house, for example, remains high on the list. If the Braves were playing better, I'd hop over to Turner Field--still might.

From the immortal Fail Blog.

I like "Buy Get One One" just as much.

Movie-watching meme via seabird78.

A/k/a taking a break from grading. Feel free to steal for your own purposes.

1. What movie have you seen the most times in the theater? How many times?
Star Wars--three times. No Country for Old Men--twice.

2. What was the last movie you walked out of in the theater?
Don't remember walking out ever. I badly wanted to walk out of Hocus Pocus, but I was reviewing it for the student paper.

3. What is the first movie you remember seeing in a theater?
On TV: The Wizard of Oz. In a theater: one of those Disney Don Knotts vehicles, probably The Apple Dumpling Gang.

4. What is your favorite movie soundtrack?
Jackie Brown.

5. Have you ever dressed up as a movie character for Halloween? If so, who?
Yes: C-3PO.

6. What was the first R-rated movie you ever saw? Were you allowed or did you sneak?
Silver Streak. Mom took my brother and I out to the lobby halfway through while Dad finished watching.

7. Star Wars (orig. trilogy) or Lord of the Rings?
Star Wars when I was a youngster. Now, they're all silly.

8. Pacino or DeNiro?
DeNiro.

9. Titanic...did it suck or was it great?
It wasn't great but damn close--and I was surprised how engrossed I was.

10. What's your take on Cassavetes?
Worthwhile in small doses.

11. Favorite John Hughes character?
Ferris Bueller. 2nd place: Edie McClurg's character in the same movie.

12. What movie gives you a boner (or makes you tingle)?
Basic Instinct.

13. What movie always makes you cry like the big puss you are?
Field of Dreams.

14. What's the furthest you've ever gotten in a movie theater? (i.e, second base...)
Holding hands.

15. Speaking of sports metaphors, what's your favorite sports movie?
Tie: North Dallas Forty and Bull Durham. Friday Night Lights is close.

16. (a) Favorite... teen movie?
Then: The Breakfast Club. Now: Superbad.

(b)...Quentin Tarantino movie?
Tie: Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown, for entirely different reasons.

(c)...Bill Murray movie?
Ghostbusters or Groundhog Day.

(d)...romantic comedy?
Recently, Once.

(e)...gangster movie?
The Godfather.

(f)...horror movie?
The Blair Witch Project.

(g)...made for TV movie?
Jesus of Nazareth has its moments.

(h)...director?
Scorsese.

(i)...drug movie?
Requiem for a Dream.

17. What movie have you seen already but will never, ever, ever watch again?
Two gruesome ones: Hostel and The Passion of the Christ.

18. What movie are you embarrassed to really like?
Hustle and Flow. But you watch the sections when they're creating music and try not to be enthralled. That, friends, is what art is all about.

19. What movie should be remade asap?
Robert Altman's A Wedding, directed by Baz Luhrmann or one of the Bollywood filmmakers.

20. What's your favorite musical?
Singin' in the Rain, and the final sequence of An American in Paris. I stood and applauded after the latter--and we were watching it on DVD.

21. For the love of everything that's sacred, please someone stop (insert answer) from making another movie!
Tyler Perry.

22. What movie do all your friends love but you're not that crazy about?
The Matrix.

23. What movie do you love but none of your friends do?
Me and You and Everyone We Know.

24. If you could hump/date/marry any movie character, who would it be?
I don't know...Daryl Hannah in Splash.

25. Best...movie....ever?
Nashville.

26. Book you wish would be made into a movie, and who would direct it?
An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England, directed by Paul Thomas Anderson or Alexander Payne.

We're comin' to your town, we'll help you party down: reading update.

Yeah, I'm a wimp. I got through 10 pages of To the Lighthouse and realized I don't have the presence of mind for it right now. I'd forgotten how much Woolf loves the relative clause--thrilling syntactical ride, but more effort than I can give it right now. So I'll keep it in the long-range viewfinder.

I've turned to the equally thrilling but syntactically easier Stephen Dunn's New and Selected Poems, 1974-1994. And gee, wouldn't you know, he covers material far more wide-ranging than my previous (limited) knowledge of him suggested. Very engaging, straight-up, yet not simplistic--kind of like Billy Collins without the impishness. No, nothing impish about Dunn at all:

Welcome

If you believe nothing is always what's left
after a while, as I did,
If you believe you have this collection
of ungiven gifts, as I do (right here
behind the silence and the averted eyes)
If you believe an afternoon can collapse
into strange privacies--
how in your backyard, for example,
the shyness of flowers can be suddenly
overwhelming, and in the distance
the clear goddamn of thunder
personal, like a voice,
If you believe there's no correct response
to death, as I do; that even in grief
(where I've sat making plans)
there are small corners of joy
If your body sometimes is a light switch
in a house of insomniacs
If you can feel yourself straining
to be yourself every waking minute
If, as I am, you are almost smiling...

***

Alongside Dunn, I'm making my way into a book that covers a year in the life of a marching band in Indiana; it's called (what else?) American Band. Looks promising, and seems spot-on. My high school band wasn't nearly as fanatical (or as accomplished) as this bunch, so the geek in me is fascinated by how esprit de corps can work.

How do I find these books? Bless the Web.

Progress/regress report: summer term, week 6.

This is a tale of regress. We wind down the summer term, finally, and my students are feeling the crunch. This is the time: bleary eyes, mopey faces, downcast expressions.

Research essays have come in for one class, and the other class turns in theirs today. Bad habits have caught up with everyone. In Comp I, I surmise it's easy enough to shuck and jive through my first two essay processes; they're largely narrative and descriptive. But boy, when that research essay comes around, and when they're faced with devising a workable solution to a problem they have some interest in--well, the same old habits (read: bad habits) just can't fly.

In this tiny nine-student Comp I class, five of them turned in their essay on time; one folder I gave back because it lacked all the required supplementary materials. Three more came in yesterday, and one student still hasn't turned in anything; if she doesn't do so today, she gets a big hairy zero.

Of the six essays I've graded, the grades are 85, 84, 76, 67, 62, and 59. A couple of those incurred late penalties, true. But I fully expect the 85 to be the top grade, and I may well see some lower than the 59 before I'm done.

The Comp II research essays are a series of disasters waiting to happen, by and large. I feel it. It's in the air.

Needless to say, this pisses me off beyond all measure. It makes me feel as though I'm not doing my job. Maybe I'm not.

Comp II is where this all comes to a head. I have a few students in there who shouldn't have gotten through Comp I, yet there they are. Comp II is a humdinger of a course: it's writing-based, but the writing assignments are analytical and argumentative and take poetry, fiction, and drama as their texts. So for example, if you're some dude from overseas still learning English as a second language, and you don't have much reading knowledge of literature, and your writing skills are suspect, you're going to have an exceedingly difficult time.

I hasten to add this problem isn't limited to non-native speakers. If your writing skills are suspect, if you don't read much, if your tendency is to do it all at the last minute, if you have little interest in language--all of which is true of, I'd say, 65-70% of our student population--you'll be blown over by Comp II. And Comp I, for that matter.

So the word for today is "frustration."

Childhood albums #2: Spinners, Mighty Love.

"Yes, Thom Bell is the inventor. The Pace Setter. The one the world regards as being different. Because he is an instrument between the physical plane and the spirit plane pulling tunes out of the air like man capturing electricity...Thom has a lot to say to the world and much of it is said through the Spinners. So Talk On Thom Bell--With Your Bad Self."--from liner notes

Mighty Love is a childhood album by way of my dad, who regularly purchased LPs at JCPenney and K Mart, back when department stores had record sections. (Parks Belk, too: I remember bringing home Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes along with a few pairs of underwear, or perhaps a shirt.) Who knows what prompted him to buy it? He and Mom had titles by the Kingston Trio and the New Christy Minstrels, so the Spinners were quite something else.

Now, I think I know what drove him, or what would have driven anyone, to purchase Mighty Love. It’s the same quality that drove me to put their followup, Pick of the Litter, on my Christmas wish list the next year. That quality is warmth, and that warmth is created by the tag team of lead singer Philippe Wynne and producer Thom Bell. Oh, sure, there are four other Spinners, but these two are the money. Wynne knows how to not just caress, but massage, a tune: “Love Don’t Love Nobody” segues into one thrilling chorus (and key change) after another, while on “I’m Coming Home,” he weaves a delectable vocal line around chugging strings and horns. And the signature title tune approaches ecstasy.

The liner notes above may exaggerate Bell’s importance, but not by much. His formula had been well established for several years with such acts as the Delfonics and the Stylistics, but what a delectable formula: layered, close-miked, deceptively simple arrangements, simultaneously lush and filigree-free. To a degree, this is assembly-line music—you get the basic template after a few songs--but so was Motown. The subjects rarely stray from love: finding it, losing it, recovering it. But Bell had the best of the best Philly players at his disposal, a reliable coterie of writers, and Wynne’s voice, so if this is product from a factory, at least it’s great product.

To be sure, Bell’s magic touch was temporary. After Pick, the Spinners began to sound static and packaged. Wynne, ever a restless and cantankerous presence in the group, finally had enough and left, only to record a middling solo album and fade from view. The Spinners carried on and carry on, nostalgia-touring through the glory years, but it’s best to hear the glory years in their original incarnation. Mighty Love is an album of earthly beauty and incredible, graceful peaks, yet it never goes over the top. It’s not just soul music, but soulful music—unflashy yet committed, honest without boasting.

Proof that I'm going to hell.

I apologize in advance. Not only did the young lady and I watch this last night, we DVR'ed it--which means we were actually curious about it. We watched it; we were disgusted with ourselves.

The season premiere of Project Runway somewhat mitigated the, um, bad taste in our mouths.

***

Hurl!, G4's new show designed to make you laugh until you puke, will debut this summer, proving that it's never not funny to watch someone lose their lunch.

So what exactly is Hurl! you ask? Well, picture a large party in a parking lot after dark. Stay with me. Said party is focused around five contestants, attempting to prove their iron stomach prowess. These five warriors must each eat large amounts of a specific staple American food like Chicken Pot Pie or Mac and Cheese or Chili Dogs in a short period of time. The contestants that ate the most food and didn't regurgitate will then move on to a physical challenge. And no, I'm not talking about climbing a rock wall. I'm talking about nausea-enducing feats of bravery like strapping into a gyroscope or sitting down for a particularly sadistic tea-cup ride. I think you're starting to get the idea.

After that round, anyone who hasn't lost their lunch will then be forced to eat MORE, different food--Ambrosia salad, pumpkin pie, etc,-- while still keeping it all in. Then, the final elimination round steps the physical challenge up a notch, tossing in a rogue element of danger. One can only imagine. Hurl!'s release date hasn't been announced yet, but TheFeed predicts that sometime this summer you will be laying down friendly bets over a few beers with your peer group while watching men of similar age and background spew on national television. You're welcome.

Very well then, I contradict myself.

In a recent post, I waxed positive over my increasingly playlist-based music-listening habits and didn't feel regrets for the slow passing of the CD.

And then this weekend, I bought five LPs, one a two-fer: Songs of Kristofferson, The Troublemaker (Willie Nelson), Killing Me Softly (Roberta Flack), The Best of Rod Stewart vol. 2, and 1975: The Duets (Dave Brubeck & Paul Desmond). So which version of me is right? Which era am I in now?

Friday, I read a really persuasive article in a local music rag that made a strong case for vinyl and against music for convenience. It asserted, in fact, that there's no question that sound quality is superior on LPs. I'm not an audiophile, but I would add the sound is definitely warmer. It's just a different listening experience. So even though I can get all the above titles on CD and/or download, I got the vinyl.

But storage and transport are big issues, no question. I have about 150-175 LPs stored in this media cabinet to my left, and apart from this weekend, I've busted out an LP for listening maybe five times in the past 12 months. Since we bought our house, I've gotten rid of so much--books especially. But not my LPs. And I have to be realistic and ask what I'm saving them for. It's true that the listening experience is different and arguably more pleasurable than listening on a computer or CD player, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I don't listen to music overall as much as I used to. I definitely have far fewer occasions to just listen and do nothing else--and that's regrettable.

The old saw is true, though: there's still a boatload of music out there that was never reproduced for CD and likely never will be. I wouldn't know, for example, that Ronnie Milsap was once a Ray Charles-ish soulster before he became a country superstar. The two LPs of his I have from that era (collections on some fly-by-night label called Buckboard) are the only evidence. I wouldn't have known, had I not been browsing today, that Columbia released a Willie Nelson gospel record in '76 after Red Headed Stranger tore the roof off; it had been recorded a few years earlier (clue: Larry Gatlin played guitar and sang backup, and Arif Mardin produced) but shelved. And it's really great--it's of a piece with Stardust and his more tuneful excursions.

Holding an LP is like holding a little bit of music history--it feels like there were hands behind its making. CDs and downloads feel corporate and efficient. I had 45s and LPs early in my life, and I remember more than once kneeling on the floor to watch them spin, like I was waiting for gold to bubble up from the grooves.

So every time I buy an LP now, do I secretly wish to be in first grade again? Do I just wish, perhaps, to preserve something which would otherwise be lost? Is there still something worthwhile in listening to Dave Brubeck on vinyl vs. listening to him on CD or in cyberspace?

More to come, perhaps.

I tawt I taw a quatwain.

Wonderful Billy Collins article from the WSJ on poetry, Looney Tunes, and influences.