I've got a couple of posts in me that are just dying to burst out like gestating aliens in a body-snatcher B-movie, but I'm just completely jammed with paper grading right now. Be patient, please.
The good news is that our writing test is fast approaching, and the crush of major essay instruction will soon pass. In any case, I promise I'll get something substantial to you later in the week.
17 February 2008
11 February 2008
You Know You Have A Non-Serious Student When...
The opening for an essay on responsibility goes thusly:
Well, at least she didn't spell it "kool."
Recently, I just became president, and it was cool. I had lots of responsibilities and things I had to do. Then I wanted to become a police officer, and then I had even more responsibilities.
Well, at least she didn't spell it "kool."
07 February 2008
Bizarro World
As expected, our 66 year-old principal has decided to retire, though oddly in March instead of the end of the year. He's been the head of my school for 12 years, and has hired all but 15 of the 136 teachers there. Understandably, there is much anxiety about who will take over, and what that might mean.
So I guess that might explain why nerves are a bit frayed, or why the scene at yesterday's staff development session was so bizarre. First, the teacher in charge of the session, just before it started, was barked at by a tall staff member after she said, "M_ _ _, I need you to stick this poster up high on that wall." Apparently he felt he was being bossed around, and screamed about it. Then, another member of my department was chastised by a history teacher when she accidentally cut in line for pizza (it was virtually the end of the rather amorphous line, and she had just spent 30 minutes helping set up the session).
And then, the saga's climax. Let's just say that a teacher was asked to give a testimonial about how her department's collaborative planning sessions over the last three years have begun to yield amazing fruits, and that her talk had been just wonderful. But she should have stopped before her final point, which was supposed to be, I think, that these sessions help one bond with colleagues who one might not normally bond with. Let's also hope that her story was not meant to come out quite this way:
So I guess that might explain why nerves are a bit frayed, or why the scene at yesterday's staff development session was so bizarre. First, the teacher in charge of the session, just before it started, was barked at by a tall staff member after she said, "M_ _ _, I need you to stick this poster up high on that wall." Apparently he felt he was being bossed around, and screamed about it. Then, another member of my department was chastised by a history teacher when she accidentally cut in line for pizza (it was virtually the end of the rather amorphous line, and she had just spent 30 minutes helping set up the session).
And then, the saga's climax. Let's just say that a teacher was asked to give a testimonial about how her department's collaborative planning sessions over the last three years have begun to yield amazing fruits, and that her talk had been just wonderful. But she should have stopped before her final point, which was supposed to be, I think, that these sessions help one bond with colleagues who one might not normally bond with. Let's also hope that her story was not meant to come out quite this way:
Well, first let me say that I cleared this with D_ _ _ _, and he gave me permission to tell this story. A couple of years ago, he and I shared a grading folder on the server. Well, one day he accidentally deleted my entire electronic gradebook, and I was really mad. I mean, I didn't speak to him for an entire year, and really I just had no respect for him at all. But once we started these colloborative sessions, I started seeing how good his test scores were, and how high his kids scored in certain areas, and so then I decided that I could respect him after all.
02 February 2008
Gotta Hand It To Her
If you missed this shot across the humanities' bow on the Wyfe's blog the other day, you should check it out.
31 January 2008
Bound to Have Heard This Sooner or Later
Yesterday, the one and only boy in my yearbook class of 14 finally erupted with this one:
"YOU'RE NOT MY MOM!"
Yeah... I'm not even sure which girl it was directed at, but I just knew that was coming eventually. And the sad thing for the poor guy is that we all just laughed until he had to laugh too.
One day he'll make a really good husband - though today he said he wanted to marry Brittney Spears so he could make her all better.
"YOU'RE NOT MY MOM!"
Yeah... I'm not even sure which girl it was directed at, but I just knew that was coming eventually. And the sad thing for the poor guy is that we all just laughed until he had to laugh too.
One day he'll make a really good husband - though today he said he wanted to marry Brittney Spears so he could make her all better.
27 January 2008
Me Need Male-Bonding
Most of my adult life I have been in educational or vocational situations in which I have been a minority male surrounded by women. There is obviously a lot to be said for this - it helped me nab a hot wife, after all. But I haven't been "on the make" now for almost 15 years, and even in my single days, frankly, I was never one to have been "on the make" too much anyway. Even speaking platonically, there are good things to be said about working more with women than with men, but forgive me, gentle reader, if I occasionally feel a longing for more good, old-fashioned red-blooded male bonding.
Saturday I attended a writing workshop at N.C. State, at the behest of my department chair. It was actually a good workshop and made me re-think a few things I do when teaching writing; in fact, I think I will attend their more extensive "institute" over the summer to earn many continuing education credits. But this workshop consisted of me, and 20 women. Seriously. Plus, it was a workshop. At one point they had M&M's out for one exercise, and at another point they had Play-Doh out. Seriously. I minimally participated in the M&M thing, and just flat out ignored the Play-Doh.
Thus, the plight of the male English teacher.
At school, things are much the same way. Because we have so many faculty members, we all tend to hang out mostly within our own departments. The numbers in my department are something like 16 women and five men, with two of the men being already retired half-timers, and one being only a year or two away from it. This leaves one other man who is just slightly older than I am. He is a very nice, cheerful fellow, and we get along very well and have some fun conversations, but our personalities, interests, and life experiences are simply too divergent for us to be bonding pals (for one thing, I need to be able to talk in-depth about sports from time to time).
So, while I'm extremely pleased with my employment situation at the moment, the one thing I lack is at least one good male-bonding buddy. At a big school, the coaches sort of have their own club, and you never see them or talk much with them. Other male teachers at the school are either simply too far away from my room, or are not in my age group. At my old school I had a couple of perfect bonding buddies, but so far I'm missing out at the new place. Creepily, I feel a certain incompleteness.
Hey, quit laughing.
Saturday I attended a writing workshop at N.C. State, at the behest of my department chair. It was actually a good workshop and made me re-think a few things I do when teaching writing; in fact, I think I will attend their more extensive "institute" over the summer to earn many continuing education credits. But this workshop consisted of me, and 20 women. Seriously. Plus, it was a workshop. At one point they had M&M's out for one exercise, and at another point they had Play-Doh out. Seriously. I minimally participated in the M&M thing, and just flat out ignored the Play-Doh.
Thus, the plight of the male English teacher.
At school, things are much the same way. Because we have so many faculty members, we all tend to hang out mostly within our own departments. The numbers in my department are something like 16 women and five men, with two of the men being already retired half-timers, and one being only a year or two away from it. This leaves one other man who is just slightly older than I am. He is a very nice, cheerful fellow, and we get along very well and have some fun conversations, but our personalities, interests, and life experiences are simply too divergent for us to be bonding pals (for one thing, I need to be able to talk in-depth about sports from time to time).
So, while I'm extremely pleased with my employment situation at the moment, the one thing I lack is at least one good male-bonding buddy. At a big school, the coaches sort of have their own club, and you never see them or talk much with them. Other male teachers at the school are either simply too far away from my room, or are not in my age group. At my old school I had a couple of perfect bonding buddies, but so far I'm missing out at the new place. Creepily, I feel a certain incompleteness.
Hey, quit laughing.
23 January 2008
Second Verse, Close to the First
Tomorrow marks the beginning of second semester, which probably also means a restless night for me. Second semesters don't usually bring out the nerves quite as severely as in August, but it is still tough to anticipate (or to be more precise, worry about) the unknown with complete calmness.
From what others can tell me, it seems my classes have a minimum of "nightmare" kids on the roster, which will be excellent in the wake of last semester's fourth period. But, one shouldn't count one's chickens before they hatch (have you heard that before?). Again, I have two sections of English II, and then Yearbook, which will be tough as heck through March, what with deadlines and all, and then should be a glorified study hall after that until the books come in.
We have new faculty on board in the department, and in one case, a faculty member new to me because she's been on maternity leave. She seems nice, but a little cranky so far, though I guess we all would be in the same situation. Returning to work is one thing, but returning (after only two workdays) and adjusting in the midst of 90 teenagers is a real stress provider.
As always, I'm promising myself to be a real hard-ass this semester, and as always I'm bound to fail in that department. Maybe I can at least be a hard half-ass?
From what others can tell me, it seems my classes have a minimum of "nightmare" kids on the roster, which will be excellent in the wake of last semester's fourth period. But, one shouldn't count one's chickens before they hatch (have you heard that before?). Again, I have two sections of English II, and then Yearbook, which will be tough as heck through March, what with deadlines and all, and then should be a glorified study hall after that until the books come in.
We have new faculty on board in the department, and in one case, a faculty member new to me because she's been on maternity leave. She seems nice, but a little cranky so far, though I guess we all would be in the same situation. Returning to work is one thing, but returning (after only two workdays) and adjusting in the midst of 90 teenagers is a real stress provider.
As always, I'm promising myself to be a real hard-ass this semester, and as always I'm bound to fail in that department. Maybe I can at least be a hard half-ass?
17 January 2008
Gee, Thanks.
The lead teacher from the freshman building told me yesterday she needed to discuss a student with me. Since she only teaches freshmen, and I only have sophomores, and we rarely see each other, I was understandably confused.
Well, turns out she has a Hispanic kid who simply cannot pass the state test for English I, and it turns out that not only is he still learning English, he is basically illiterate in his native language as well. He will be taken to a waiver committee meeting at the county level, and most likely will be allowed to move along to English II, since he is already behind and can pass the English I class (with heavy modifications), but just not the state test.
What she wanted to tell me was that of all the English II teachers, she wanted me to have him this coming semester, and she was passing that wish along to the guidance department.
And so, I am in the rare situation of being ambivalent, or perhaps downright unhappy, about receiving a legitimate compliment. Ah, the teaching life.
Well, turns out she has a Hispanic kid who simply cannot pass the state test for English I, and it turns out that not only is he still learning English, he is basically illiterate in his native language as well. He will be taken to a waiver committee meeting at the county level, and most likely will be allowed to move along to English II, since he is already behind and can pass the English I class (with heavy modifications), but just not the state test.
What she wanted to tell me was that of all the English II teachers, she wanted me to have him this coming semester, and she was passing that wish along to the guidance department.
And so, I am in the rare situation of being ambivalent, or perhaps downright unhappy, about receiving a legitimate compliment. Ah, the teaching life.
13 January 2008
You Put The Load Right on Me
You know that song "The Weight", by The Band, where the narrator comes to town only to seek some rest, and instead ends up dealing with a variety of eccentrics and becomes burdened by everything from dog-sitting to the Devil himself? Well, that was me on Friday.
It was Friday, after all, and my only big duty for the day was to proctor a state geometry exam in the morning, and then maybe, maybe do a little final exam grading of my own, if I felt like it (grades aren't due for another nine days or so). It should have been a peaceful, low-key day. But as soon as I got into my room, before I could even head out for my proctoring, a (now) last semester student was in the doorway, and I could tell she wasn't quite herself. So, I cut to the chase fairly quickly - "Is something wrong?"
"Well, in the last two days I've lost all my friends except two."
"What did you do?"
"I don't know, exactly. Everyone just wants to talk crap about me all the sudden, and one of them said they shouldn't talk to me anymore, and so they aren't."
"Well, maybe things will look much different a couple of weeks from now. And at least you will know who your real friends are by then. Now, I've got to go, but I promise I'll still talk to you next time you stop by, o.k.?"
"O.k."
And, I'm off the the geometry exam. It is scheduled for 150 minutes, after the preliminary pre-test activities, directions etc., but the state allows up to four hours for the test. So, it took 30 minutes to get everyone in place and started, and then, want to guess how long it took the last girl to finish? Yep - 3 hrs., and 50 minutes. That would be a total of 4 1/2 hours, roughly, that I couldn't do anything but stare at the walls, walk about the room, sit for a spell, and then rinse and repeat. I also couldn't go pee during that time, and my bladder ain't so hot.
And there was this: in the middle of the exam, a girl (these were freshmen), raised her hand. I was closest by, and kneeled down to her, noticing she had a stricken look on her face.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I can't do this. I just can't do it"
"What's wrong? Do you need to go to the bathroom?"
"No. I'm having a panic attack [starts breathing rapidly]. I just want to leave."
"O.k. We'll call a principal to come get you. Just put your head down and take deep breaths."
"O.k."
So, I stayed beside her until they came and got the poor thing, and thought about how doubly embarrassing that would be for a 15 year-old.
Speaking of youngsters, the administrator for the exam is exactly 23, and while sweet, is wrapped a bit tightly herself. There is a sort of sad back story for her - she is brilliant, which one can tell after just a short conversation with her. She graduated from this same high school five years ago, and was editor of the yearbook. Apparently she spent much of her senior year crying, especially when it dawned on her, once and for all, that there are mean, nasty people in the world who cannot be changed or reasoned with. She then went on to finish college early, and apparently found time somehow to squeeze in a marriage and a divorce. In any case, she was a bit on edge the entire testing session, but by the end I could tell she was not feeling well. Turned out she had an awful headache, and she was barely able to communicate by the time we were done. She seems like such an interesting, bright person, and yet like a Tennessee Williams heroine, so fragile - only at a much earlier age.
For dessert, I topped the day off by going to luch with colleagues, where I heard about one teachers' father dying when she was in eighth grade and her mother's subsequent emotional disappearance during the ensuing high school years. I heard stories about rampant drug abuse during the teen and college years of another teacher, who also talked about the lonely weekend he had ahead of him. I heard what I would term "soft gossip" about the totally screwed-up lives of a few other colleagues not present. And to top it off, when I returned to school I had to talk with three desperate students whose grades are near failing in my class, all wanting to know what they can do at this late date, and all filling me with a sense of dread when I consider their futures in the adult world. By the end of the day, I simply wanted a long nap, followed by a long night's sleep.
Now of course the pretense of this post is that I am the normal one (even with my pissed-off bladder), surrounded by bureaucratic nonsense, weird personalities, and the emotionally traumatized. Trust me, I'm quite certainly a weirdo in my own right, and I've had my own emotional traumas over the years (though, they never played out in public, due to my certifiable Southerness, which grants me tremendous natural abilities in the areas of repression and stoicism). Plus it's in my nature to listen and try to help others when presented with the opportunity - I can't take much credit for the way I was made. So I'm no saint or martyr. Still, there are days when enough is enough (or is that the Devil talking?).
Anyway, guess what song I dialed up on my iPod Friday evening?
It was Friday, after all, and my only big duty for the day was to proctor a state geometry exam in the morning, and then maybe, maybe do a little final exam grading of my own, if I felt like it (grades aren't due for another nine days or so). It should have been a peaceful, low-key day. But as soon as I got into my room, before I could even head out for my proctoring, a (now) last semester student was in the doorway, and I could tell she wasn't quite herself. So, I cut to the chase fairly quickly - "Is something wrong?"
"Well, in the last two days I've lost all my friends except two."
"What did you do?"
"I don't know, exactly. Everyone just wants to talk crap about me all the sudden, and one of them said they shouldn't talk to me anymore, and so they aren't."
"Well, maybe things will look much different a couple of weeks from now. And at least you will know who your real friends are by then. Now, I've got to go, but I promise I'll still talk to you next time you stop by, o.k.?"
"O.k."
And, I'm off the the geometry exam. It is scheduled for 150 minutes, after the preliminary pre-test activities, directions etc., but the state allows up to four hours for the test. So, it took 30 minutes to get everyone in place and started, and then, want to guess how long it took the last girl to finish? Yep - 3 hrs., and 50 minutes. That would be a total of 4 1/2 hours, roughly, that I couldn't do anything but stare at the walls, walk about the room, sit for a spell, and then rinse and repeat. I also couldn't go pee during that time, and my bladder ain't so hot.
And there was this: in the middle of the exam, a girl (these were freshmen), raised her hand. I was closest by, and kneeled down to her, noticing she had a stricken look on her face.
"Yes, ma'am."
"I can't do this. I just can't do it"
"What's wrong? Do you need to go to the bathroom?"
"No. I'm having a panic attack [starts breathing rapidly]. I just want to leave."
"O.k. We'll call a principal to come get you. Just put your head down and take deep breaths."
"O.k."
So, I stayed beside her until they came and got the poor thing, and thought about how doubly embarrassing that would be for a 15 year-old.
Speaking of youngsters, the administrator for the exam is exactly 23, and while sweet, is wrapped a bit tightly herself. There is a sort of sad back story for her - she is brilliant, which one can tell after just a short conversation with her. She graduated from this same high school five years ago, and was editor of the yearbook. Apparently she spent much of her senior year crying, especially when it dawned on her, once and for all, that there are mean, nasty people in the world who cannot be changed or reasoned with. She then went on to finish college early, and apparently found time somehow to squeeze in a marriage and a divorce. In any case, she was a bit on edge the entire testing session, but by the end I could tell she was not feeling well. Turned out she had an awful headache, and she was barely able to communicate by the time we were done. She seems like such an interesting, bright person, and yet like a Tennessee Williams heroine, so fragile - only at a much earlier age.
For dessert, I topped the day off by going to luch with colleagues, where I heard about one teachers' father dying when she was in eighth grade and her mother's subsequent emotional disappearance during the ensuing high school years. I heard stories about rampant drug abuse during the teen and college years of another teacher, who also talked about the lonely weekend he had ahead of him. I heard what I would term "soft gossip" about the totally screwed-up lives of a few other colleagues not present. And to top it off, when I returned to school I had to talk with three desperate students whose grades are near failing in my class, all wanting to know what they can do at this late date, and all filling me with a sense of dread when I consider their futures in the adult world. By the end of the day, I simply wanted a long nap, followed by a long night's sleep.
Now of course the pretense of this post is that I am the normal one (even with my pissed-off bladder), surrounded by bureaucratic nonsense, weird personalities, and the emotionally traumatized. Trust me, I'm quite certainly a weirdo in my own right, and I've had my own emotional traumas over the years (though, they never played out in public, due to my certifiable Southerness, which grants me tremendous natural abilities in the areas of repression and stoicism). Plus it's in my nature to listen and try to help others when presented with the opportunity - I can't take much credit for the way I was made. So I'm no saint or martyr. Still, there are days when enough is enough (or is that the Devil talking?).
Anyway, guess what song I dialed up on my iPod Friday evening?
09 January 2008
Best Whine of the Day
(During 1st Period's exam this morning, from a girl whose grade hovers between the dimensions of perdition and "passing by the skin of my teeth only by God's grace"):
"This exam isn't fair. It's on all the stuff we read this year."
You got it sweetie. Funny concept, that.
"This exam isn't fair. It's on all the stuff we read this year."
You got it sweetie. Funny concept, that.
06 January 2008
The Weekend That Was, The Week That Will Be
As an introvert, I'm bound by law to dread parties, and so I did all last week before the pending 40th birthday surprise party a friend's wife was throwing him on Saturday night. I've known many of the people who would be there for over 15 years, but have not seen many of them in many a moon. This was further reason, in my twisted reckoning, for dreading the party (although, which is worse - a party where you will not know anyone, or one with people you know, but haven't seen in forever?)
Anyone, much to my chagrin, it turned out to be a delightful affair, and everyone was so warm and friendly and geniunely happy to see each other, including me. Too bad: Wyfe gets to add an "I told you so" to her tally book. Oh, well - I guess she can have her requisite one per quarter.
***
Now, this coming week exams start, and after the non-state mandated exams are given, we will spend seemingly endless days giving the state tests, then re-giving them to those who fail them the first time around. Thankfully, I don't teach any state test courses this year, so I am only giving my own painful exam, and then will be twiddling my thumbs as a test proctor during the morning most of the other days.
Because there are so many kids, and so many of them have test modifications that require separate room settings, our exam period will last a whopping NINE days, to be followed by MLK Jr. Holiday, and two teacher workdays. Then the new semester will start on a Thursday, by which point the kiddos will have largely been away from school for about a week and a half, or more. Can you say Christmas break Part II? Can you say minds full of mush on January 24th?
But I'll not complain, no, no, no! I'll take two weeks where I will be paid only to get grades in, handle some yearbook matters, and plan for the next semester, all without having to deal with the little demons, er, darlings. We should do this more often.
Anyone, much to my chagrin, it turned out to be a delightful affair, and everyone was so warm and friendly and geniunely happy to see each other, including me. Too bad: Wyfe gets to add an "I told you so" to her tally book. Oh, well - I guess she can have her requisite one per quarter.
***
Now, this coming week exams start, and after the non-state mandated exams are given, we will spend seemingly endless days giving the state tests, then re-giving them to those who fail them the first time around. Thankfully, I don't teach any state test courses this year, so I am only giving my own painful exam, and then will be twiddling my thumbs as a test proctor during the morning most of the other days.
Because there are so many kids, and so many of them have test modifications that require separate room settings, our exam period will last a whopping NINE days, to be followed by MLK Jr. Holiday, and two teacher workdays. Then the new semester will start on a Thursday, by which point the kiddos will have largely been away from school for about a week and a half, or more. Can you say Christmas break Part II? Can you say minds full of mush on January 24th?
But I'll not complain, no, no, no! I'll take two weeks where I will be paid only to get grades in, handle some yearbook matters, and plan for the next semester, all without having to deal with the little demons, er, darlings. We should do this more often.
03 January 2008
One of My Puppy Dog Kids
Today, after school, a student who has frustrated me all semester dropped by to make up a couple of tests. Now, she is not a bad kid, but she is of the sort who make me want to pull my remaining hair out from time to time: always expressing how she hates to read and how the books we read are boring, demonstrating little in the way of curiosity or imagination, often angling for ways to quietly communicate with her friends instead of listening to class discussions or readings, too immature and whiny for her age, and generally giving off the whiff (only metaphorically, thankfully) of being a bit of a party girl.
But... she's also one of those kids who, no matter how much I fuss at her, or (sadly) try to ignore her, seems to always want to hang around, or tell me stories at the most inappropriate times in class, or stop by the doorway (distracting me from tasks with another class) while on a bathroom break during another period of the day. She is the proverbial lost puppy dog that takes up with you; you mostly want her to leave you alone, though a bit of you, begrudgingly, is glad she hangs around.
Well, this afternoon, after we discussed why her grade isn't so great, she started telling me all these things about her and her family - when and why her parents split up, why her workaholic dad has been mad at her for a couple of months now and won't relent, how he started trying to buy her off with money after the divorce, her step-mom who has fake hair/nose/boobs, the car accident that almost killed her and her sister last year (hit by a drunk driver) - it was a regular litany of problems. But she also talked about how close she and her mom were, how her step-dad has been one of the best things that ever happened to any of them, and how her step-brother is her best friend. All in all, she doesn't seem bitter, but just wounded. Wounded, but not so inclined to let it drag her down forever, from what I can tell.
She also admitted she doesn't give her best in school, and that she thinks she will have to go the community college route before a university will accept her. I pointed out she still has 2 1/2 more years left before then, and that it would be best to get rid of the laziness now. She and her mom have been talking about this, and apparently have made a deal of some sort to address it.
So, here was a student I didn't think I ever got through to about much of anything, and after today I would say that that is probably not true. She may not ever get over her loathing for reading, which is sad and frustrating, but maybe with maturity she will. If nothing else, she seems to have found me a positive force in her life this semester, and that is worth gold. Plus, I'm thankful, because I certainly learned something from her today.
On second thought, she can hang around whenever she wants.
But... she's also one of those kids who, no matter how much I fuss at her, or (sadly) try to ignore her, seems to always want to hang around, or tell me stories at the most inappropriate times in class, or stop by the doorway (distracting me from tasks with another class) while on a bathroom break during another period of the day. She is the proverbial lost puppy dog that takes up with you; you mostly want her to leave you alone, though a bit of you, begrudgingly, is glad she hangs around.
Well, this afternoon, after we discussed why her grade isn't so great, she started telling me all these things about her and her family - when and why her parents split up, why her workaholic dad has been mad at her for a couple of months now and won't relent, how he started trying to buy her off with money after the divorce, her step-mom who has fake hair/nose/boobs, the car accident that almost killed her and her sister last year (hit by a drunk driver) - it was a regular litany of problems. But she also talked about how close she and her mom were, how her step-dad has been one of the best things that ever happened to any of them, and how her step-brother is her best friend. All in all, she doesn't seem bitter, but just wounded. Wounded, but not so inclined to let it drag her down forever, from what I can tell.
She also admitted she doesn't give her best in school, and that she thinks she will have to go the community college route before a university will accept her. I pointed out she still has 2 1/2 more years left before then, and that it would be best to get rid of the laziness now. She and her mom have been talking about this, and apparently have made a deal of some sort to address it.
So, here was a student I didn't think I ever got through to about much of anything, and after today I would say that that is probably not true. She may not ever get over her loathing for reading, which is sad and frustrating, but maybe with maturity she will. If nothing else, she seems to have found me a positive force in her life this semester, and that is worth gold. Plus, I'm thankful, because I certainly learned something from her today.
On second thought, she can hang around whenever she wants.
01 January 2008
Thoughts on Winter's Tale
"It might signify nothing, and be valuable solely in itself. A dream is not a tool for this world, but a gateway to the next. Take it for what it is."
"What am I supposed to do with it?"
"Nothing. It's like something beautiful. You don't have to do anything with it."
- from Mark Helprin's Winter's Tale
Yes, I'm a day late and a dollar short, but here we go:
Winter's Tale is, in short, about (not necessarily in any order) a man who disappears in a cloud wall and reappears a century later; a magical, heroic white horse; a child's resurrection; the quest for the perfectly just city; a plan to build a rainbow bridge to heaven; a man protected from harm by his dead wife; and the triumph of the sacrificial over the selfish. Oh, and that's not to mention a comically incompetent midget, a fairy tale village, a criminal's quest to build a room completely out of gold, or the fastest consummation of true love you'll ever read about.
This was the third novel of Mark Helprin's I've read in a year and a half, and though I haven't even read any of his short stories yet (he has three collections), it is fairly easy to discern patterns in his style, thought, and tenor. Most importantly - and this is a huge part of why I'm drawn to his work - Helprin is obviously a believer.
Let me parse that out a bit. I don't know anything too specific about Helprin's religious views, except that he is religious, at least in the broad sense. Winter's Tale includes many mystical episodes, and many third-person assertions about the truth of life, natural and supernatural, but I suspect any attempt to hash out a cogent theology from the novel would fail. Helprin is Jewish, but I don't know how devout. What I do know is that his books, while not religious screeds or devoid of the worst kinds of suffering, are animated by belief in life and love, in laughter, in beauty, and in an ultimate Good we can know, if ever so slightly.
This alone will place Winter's Tale in the minority when it comes to acclaimed contemporary novels. In fact, though it apparently almost won the NY Times' designation as "best novel of the last 25 years", it has had many detractors, most of whom, while not disputing that Helprin is supremely talented, point to its untenable (in their minds) story of redemption. Apparently, this reeks of naivity in these wise times of ours.
It may very well be that Winter's Tale, as well as most of Helprin's work, can only appeal to those of us naive enough to believe in happy endings (I hope not - I encourage everyone to try the books).
Then again, maybe one day the last shall be first, and the most appalling naivity will triumph as the highest wisdom. Oh, these happy endings may not necessarily occur on our time schedules (with our finite perceptions of time), but to paraphrase the narrator and some of the characters in the novel, justice works itself out, tomorrow or centuries from now, or in another place.
I'm one of those who are betting on it. But then, I'm one of those who has a taste for reading Mark Helprin.
29 December 2007
I've Had All the Family I Can Stand...
...I can't stands no more! Well, not really, as we had a very nice, and relatively (get it?) stress-free Christmas/grandparent gatherings of doom/travel across the state week. But, even after the best of hostings and visitings, one is happy to be home and unencumbered. For some reason I feel like I wrote almost the exact same thing last Christmas, but I'm too lazy to check right now.
Anyway, a few back-in-town nuggets for you:
1. Our church's Christmas Eve candlelight service was majestic. Right now our church does the big holy day services about as well as they can be done, I think. There is just the right mix between the theatrical and the contemplative, between the joyous and the sober, and between the personal and the communal. And the music, again, was outstanding, including the Handel. I love Bach's oratorios, but not knowing German, there is no way to fully, fully appreciate them. If you are an English-only speaker, I don't see how you can resist picking Handel's "Messiah" as the oratorio. Can we make sure to keep sprinkling "Messiah" throughout Advent, as we did this year, please?
2. Speaking of music, our minister's wife is a sublime soloist - don't know enough to judge whether or not she could have done opera (maybe she did), but if not she has to be darn near that caliber. I have never before seen (and heard, obviously) someone nail the ending of "O, Holy Night" - you know, the high notes no normal person can approach - so well, and yet so effortlessly. It just seemed so easy for her, with no strain at all. She could just as well have been filing her nails while finishing that one off, or so it seemed.
3. I just finished eating a plate of plain rice and green beans, and I feel like never eating anything richer than that for several weeks. I am sick, sick, sick of big meals and heavy food. And all those great holiday Food Network specials from last week? Don't make me gag.
But come to think of it, there are some yummy chocolate-covered peanut butter balls in the kitchen right now...
4. Wyfe thinks we are the only family without three children whose car trips devolve into three-way, every- man-for-himself wrestling matches (driver, perhaps dangerously, included). I doubt it, but perhaps not every family tops the fight off with a Ric Flair "Whoooooo!", as we sometimes do.
5. Both arms, and my lower back, are sore as a consequence of our first three days with a Nintendo Wii. The main culprit? Wii Sports baseball, which I've had to avoid the last two days until I heal up. Next time I think I'll ice down in the trainer's room after the game.
6. Tonight I will finish Helprin's remarkable Winter's Tale, and will report on it either tomorrow or Monday (I almost promise).
Anyway, a few back-in-town nuggets for you:
1. Our church's Christmas Eve candlelight service was majestic. Right now our church does the big holy day services about as well as they can be done, I think. There is just the right mix between the theatrical and the contemplative, between the joyous and the sober, and between the personal and the communal. And the music, again, was outstanding, including the Handel. I love Bach's oratorios, but not knowing German, there is no way to fully, fully appreciate them. If you are an English-only speaker, I don't see how you can resist picking Handel's "Messiah" as the oratorio. Can we make sure to keep sprinkling "Messiah" throughout Advent, as we did this year, please?
2. Speaking of music, our minister's wife is a sublime soloist - don't know enough to judge whether or not she could have done opera (maybe she did), but if not she has to be darn near that caliber. I have never before seen (and heard, obviously) someone nail the ending of "O, Holy Night" - you know, the high notes no normal person can approach - so well, and yet so effortlessly. It just seemed so easy for her, with no strain at all. She could just as well have been filing her nails while finishing that one off, or so it seemed.
3. I just finished eating a plate of plain rice and green beans, and I feel like never eating anything richer than that for several weeks. I am sick, sick, sick of big meals and heavy food. And all those great holiday Food Network specials from last week? Don't make me gag.
But come to think of it, there are some yummy chocolate-covered peanut butter balls in the kitchen right now...
4. Wyfe thinks we are the only family without three children whose car trips devolve into three-way, every- man-for-himself wrestling matches (driver, perhaps dangerously, included). I doubt it, but perhaps not every family tops the fight off with a Ric Flair "Whoooooo!", as we sometimes do.
5. Both arms, and my lower back, are sore as a consequence of our first three days with a Nintendo Wii. The main culprit? Wii Sports baseball, which I've had to avoid the last two days until I heal up. Next time I think I'll ice down in the trainer's room after the game.
6. Tonight I will finish Helprin's remarkable Winter's Tale, and will report on it either tomorrow or Monday (I almost promise).
20 December 2007
Whewwww!
Let me just say that the beginning of the Christmas vacation break from school never ceases to bring joy and merriment - practically, it feels just like it did when I was a kid, with a little less pure giddiness. But only a little less.
I've known for a while that the past few days were going to be a tough gauntlet to run, and I wasn't counting on catching yet another cold virus, or my son catching yet another fever/tummy virus just to throw in the mix. Last Saturday we all drove three hours to South Carolina for the Wyfe's extended family gathering, then drove back Sunday. On Monday I had to stay at school until 6:30 in order to help with the presentation of graduation projects. On Tuesday and Wednesday nights my son and I drove thirty minutes into, and out of, Raleigh because Wyfe was helping narrate a short nativity play at church (and because I thought I had another church obligation which had been canceled, unbeknownst to me), and on top of this have been all the usual school duties. You know, yelling, fretting, losing planning periods, meeting yearbook reps., cramming in reading assignments, piling up things to sift through and grade - all the fun stuff.
So, I am mighty pleased to be officially off the clock for a couple of days. I have just taken a long nap, blown my $30.00 iTunes gift card, and brought my Mark Helprin novel into the den with me. I'll take it.
Give me a day or two for some school-related ruminations to bubble up. Right now I'm blissfully decompressing.
I've known for a while that the past few days were going to be a tough gauntlet to run, and I wasn't counting on catching yet another cold virus, or my son catching yet another fever/tummy virus just to throw in the mix. Last Saturday we all drove three hours to South Carolina for the Wyfe's extended family gathering, then drove back Sunday. On Monday I had to stay at school until 6:30 in order to help with the presentation of graduation projects. On Tuesday and Wednesday nights my son and I drove thirty minutes into, and out of, Raleigh because Wyfe was helping narrate a short nativity play at church (and because I thought I had another church obligation which had been canceled, unbeknownst to me), and on top of this have been all the usual school duties. You know, yelling, fretting, losing planning periods, meeting yearbook reps., cramming in reading assignments, piling up things to sift through and grade - all the fun stuff.
So, I am mighty pleased to be officially off the clock for a couple of days. I have just taken a long nap, blown my $30.00 iTunes gift card, and brought my Mark Helprin novel into the den with me. I'll take it.
Give me a day or two for some school-related ruminations to bubble up. Right now I'm blissfully decompressing.
14 December 2007
Suuurprize, Suuurprize (My 38th)!
(With apologies to Gomer Pyle)
So yesterday my yearbook girls told me I "needed to find somewhere to go for 10 minutes." When I pressed them on it, they said, "It's a girl thing. We can't talk about it with you in here."
"What possible girl things could you talk about that I haven't already heard this semester?"
"Trust us. It's bad. Really bad."
So, I wandered off to eat lunch in the lounge, and it took me about two minutes to figure out they were planning some kind of birthday surprise, since tomorrow (or today, if you are reading this on Saturday) marks my 38th.
This morning before first bell I pretended to avert my eyes or look busy as yearbook kids kept surreptitiously sneaking in the room and heading toward the back - particularly towards the refrigerator. And once third period started, I dutifully went to my computer and turned my back to them - noticing that a couple of them conpicuously darted their bodies back and forth in an effort to run some sort of interference in front of the food assemblage. No, not at all obvious, kids, that you are all WAY quieter than usual. Then, finally, they broke out into song ("Happy Birthday", if you can believe it) and I was able to do my best PoMo/Faux/Ironic "Oh, I'm so surprised!" routine.
Well, what a bunch of sweethearts. And, it was a great spread. I didn't eat much yesterday due to a bad allergy-cough attack, so today I felt at liberty to gobble down two portions of lasagna, some pasta salad, two pieces of cake, a brownie, a cupcake, and a cookie. So there.
Remarkable, really, that they would have remembered my birthday like they did. I mean, I'd only been dropping heavy hints for, oh, 11 days or so.
So yesterday my yearbook girls told me I "needed to find somewhere to go for 10 minutes." When I pressed them on it, they said, "It's a girl thing. We can't talk about it with you in here."
"What possible girl things could you talk about that I haven't already heard this semester?"
"Trust us. It's bad. Really bad."
So, I wandered off to eat lunch in the lounge, and it took me about two minutes to figure out they were planning some kind of birthday surprise, since tomorrow (or today, if you are reading this on Saturday) marks my 38th.
This morning before first bell I pretended to avert my eyes or look busy as yearbook kids kept surreptitiously sneaking in the room and heading toward the back - particularly towards the refrigerator. And once third period started, I dutifully went to my computer and turned my back to them - noticing that a couple of them conpicuously darted their bodies back and forth in an effort to run some sort of interference in front of the food assemblage. No, not at all obvious, kids, that you are all WAY quieter than usual. Then, finally, they broke out into song ("Happy Birthday", if you can believe it) and I was able to do my best PoMo/Faux/Ironic "Oh, I'm so surprised!" routine.
Well, what a bunch of sweethearts. And, it was a great spread. I didn't eat much yesterday due to a bad allergy-cough attack, so today I felt at liberty to gobble down two portions of lasagna, some pasta salad, two pieces of cake, a brownie, a cupcake, and a cookie. So there.
Remarkable, really, that they would have remembered my birthday like they did. I mean, I'd only been dropping heavy hints for, oh, 11 days or so.
12 December 2007
Three Positives
Since I've depressed reader Kathy with the last post, and since this has been a really good week thus far, it seems incumbent upon me to find some positives to report. And really, some have fallen in my lap the last two days.
At my old school, I was always enthusiastic about having a yearbook class because I dreamed of the wonderful crew of kids I was bound to have in there. In reality, there were always a small percentage of wonderful kids, and a large percentage of lazy, melodramatic big mouths who weren't the worst kids in the world, but didn't deserve to be in the class. Mostly this was a function of scheduling issues and a small pool to choose from.
But now, the staff I have is exactly what you would expect: great kids (not angels, mind you, but close) who have earned their ways in, and basically will do anything asked of them without attitude. So, there is Positive #1.
Now, in this class (as well as in my first period English class) is one of the best kids I've ever taught, a hard working, cheerful, All-American girl type if there ever was one - I would adopt her in a minute. For the last eight months, she has been dating a guy she really likes, but yesterday he rather unceremoniously told her some things that made her realize she needed to break up with him. This all happened between 2nd and 3rd periods, so she let her friends know about it after yearbook class started. She got a little weepy for a few minutes, and was certainly depressed, but already she had a calmnss and spirit about her that I've rarely seen out of high school girls in such situations. She had, believe it or not, a sense of perspective about the whole thing, and it wasn't long until she was laughing with those trying to make her feel better. The best I had to offer her was the only piece of chocolate in my desk, but I think that helped as well. Today, she seemed fine - still talking it out a little, but taking things like a champ. So, there is Positive #2.
Of course, in that class of 14 girls, I've had to hear a lot of "Sorry Mr. P's" following all the "men are scum" comments the last two days. I've just kind of camped out at my computer in the corner.
And finally, there was this today, from a conversation among five of the girls in there (ranging from senior to sophomore): talk of a New Year's Day party with everyone in agreement to keep it as mum as possible, because all the kids who drink will try to crash it and ruin everything.
WHAT!!!??? Party talk among in-crowd kids, with the idea being to EXCLUDE those who would bring alcohol? Somebody pinch me. That's definitely Positive #3.
At my old school, I was always enthusiastic about having a yearbook class because I dreamed of the wonderful crew of kids I was bound to have in there. In reality, there were always a small percentage of wonderful kids, and a large percentage of lazy, melodramatic big mouths who weren't the worst kids in the world, but didn't deserve to be in the class. Mostly this was a function of scheduling issues and a small pool to choose from.
But now, the staff I have is exactly what you would expect: great kids (not angels, mind you, but close) who have earned their ways in, and basically will do anything asked of them without attitude. So, there is Positive #1.
Now, in this class (as well as in my first period English class) is one of the best kids I've ever taught, a hard working, cheerful, All-American girl type if there ever was one - I would adopt her in a minute. For the last eight months, she has been dating a guy she really likes, but yesterday he rather unceremoniously told her some things that made her realize she needed to break up with him. This all happened between 2nd and 3rd periods, so she let her friends know about it after yearbook class started. She got a little weepy for a few minutes, and was certainly depressed, but already she had a calmnss and spirit about her that I've rarely seen out of high school girls in such situations. She had, believe it or not, a sense of perspective about the whole thing, and it wasn't long until she was laughing with those trying to make her feel better. The best I had to offer her was the only piece of chocolate in my desk, but I think that helped as well. Today, she seemed fine - still talking it out a little, but taking things like a champ. So, there is Positive #2.
Of course, in that class of 14 girls, I've had to hear a lot of "Sorry Mr. P's" following all the "men are scum" comments the last two days. I've just kind of camped out at my computer in the corner.
And finally, there was this today, from a conversation among five of the girls in there (ranging from senior to sophomore): talk of a New Year's Day party with everyone in agreement to keep it as mum as possible, because all the kids who drink will try to crash it and ruin everything.
WHAT!!!??? Party talk among in-crowd kids, with the idea being to EXCLUDE those who would bring alcohol? Somebody pinch me. That's definitely Positive #3.
09 December 2007
The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy
Our sophomores are supposed to do a mini-research project which helps prepare them for ever-larger research projects as they move up the ladder, until they ultimately get to their big bad senior projects (which are now required in this state for graduation). So (unsurprisingly), all the sophomore English teachers, including moi, are rushing to sneak this project in before the semester is over.
On Friday, I started canvassing my classes on what topics each person was interested in, approving/disapproving the topics and/or giving guidance. Many of them had wonderful ideas which even excited me. One little group of suspected stoners all wanted to do something about Woodstock, or The Who, or some such nonsense. And then there were the black kids.
I know, I know - this gets me into certain territories that dare not speak their names in polite society, but here I go anyway. In my first period class, I have three black boys, and three black girls. Of the boys, one is really an exceptional student, one is middle of the road, and one is, unfortunately, and athlete stereotype who is barely surviving the class. I haven't yet spoken with the first two of these, but the latter kid only knows he wants to do his project on something involving gangs - surprise, surprise. What really intrigued me were the choices of the three girls, all of whom are really bright and the kind of students colleges would be dying to offer scholarships to (one is a little more exceptional than the other two, and might really go far). Well, guess what they want to do research on? Yep - gangs! gangs! gangs! Or, in one case, Biggie Smalls! or maybe Tupac!
I shot down (no pun intended) most of these ideas, only allowing one which was at least formulated into a legitimate research question. What they kept saying in response was, "But this is about RE-A-LITY, Mr. P!"
I didn't have time to debate with them, but if I had, I might have wondered aloud about at what point RE-A-LITY keeps being RE-A-LITY because it is a self-fulfilling prohecy: keep telling yourselves you are all gangsters, or surrounded by gangsters, and maybe you will eventually think you should be gangsters. Here are three intelligent girls with potentially bright futures, yet they watch the same media romanticizing of gang life as the real gang-bangers do. And I could hear in their voices a sense of pleasure in describing the awful RE-A-LITY of gang life that infests so many black communities. Sure, they would deplore it if forced to, I suppose. But that would deprive them, a little, of something they have come to keep a little too close to their hearts. Yes, of course it's real, but it is reality tinged with mythos at this point, and an endless loop of rap/hip-hop lyrics, videos, websites, and magazines both feed and are fed by the romance of the myth.
Now, there is a small percentage of white kids who get swept up in the romance of it all as well, and we all know some of the unsavory names that are given to such folk. But exceptions aside, in describing my reaction to my students, I'm describing racial divides between us. But the racial divides of the 21st century, are, from my perspective, spawning from different sources than from the old days. There may be relationships between the divides of the past and the present, but something new, and nasty is at work these days, and it is affecting us all. I would put it this way: as more and more black youths fulfill the self-fulfilling prophecy of RE-A-LITY, more whites find it easier to write blacks off as "never going to get it."
That is not fair, because there is a prosperous black middle class. But the black middle class isn't being romanticized on music video channels, or showing up on the nightly news.
On Friday, I started canvassing my classes on what topics each person was interested in, approving/disapproving the topics and/or giving guidance. Many of them had wonderful ideas which even excited me. One little group of suspected stoners all wanted to do something about Woodstock, or The Who, or some such nonsense. And then there were the black kids.
I know, I know - this gets me into certain territories that dare not speak their names in polite society, but here I go anyway. In my first period class, I have three black boys, and three black girls. Of the boys, one is really an exceptional student, one is middle of the road, and one is, unfortunately, and athlete stereotype who is barely surviving the class. I haven't yet spoken with the first two of these, but the latter kid only knows he wants to do his project on something involving gangs - surprise, surprise. What really intrigued me were the choices of the three girls, all of whom are really bright and the kind of students colleges would be dying to offer scholarships to (one is a little more exceptional than the other two, and might really go far). Well, guess what they want to do research on? Yep - gangs! gangs! gangs! Or, in one case, Biggie Smalls! or maybe Tupac!
I shot down (no pun intended) most of these ideas, only allowing one which was at least formulated into a legitimate research question. What they kept saying in response was, "But this is about RE-A-LITY, Mr. P!"
I didn't have time to debate with them, but if I had, I might have wondered aloud about at what point RE-A-LITY keeps being RE-A-LITY because it is a self-fulfilling prohecy: keep telling yourselves you are all gangsters, or surrounded by gangsters, and maybe you will eventually think you should be gangsters. Here are three intelligent girls with potentially bright futures, yet they watch the same media romanticizing of gang life as the real gang-bangers do. And I could hear in their voices a sense of pleasure in describing the awful RE-A-LITY of gang life that infests so many black communities. Sure, they would deplore it if forced to, I suppose. But that would deprive them, a little, of something they have come to keep a little too close to their hearts. Yes, of course it's real, but it is reality tinged with mythos at this point, and an endless loop of rap/hip-hop lyrics, videos, websites, and magazines both feed and are fed by the romance of the myth.
Now, there is a small percentage of white kids who get swept up in the romance of it all as well, and we all know some of the unsavory names that are given to such folk. But exceptions aside, in describing my reaction to my students, I'm describing racial divides between us. But the racial divides of the 21st century, are, from my perspective, spawning from different sources than from the old days. There may be relationships between the divides of the past and the present, but something new, and nasty is at work these days, and it is affecting us all. I would put it this way: as more and more black youths fulfill the self-fulfilling prophecy of RE-A-LITY, more whites find it easier to write blacks off as "never going to get it."
That is not fair, because there is a prosperous black middle class. But the black middle class isn't being romanticized on music video channels, or showing up on the nightly news.
05 December 2007
Life Not Imitating Art
So, we finished our romp through The Tempest yesterday, with lots of fanfare from Mr. P. about bridging the Unseen and the Seen worlds through self recognition, forgiveness, mercy, love, etc.
While this was going on, another tempest has been gathering within the class itself. The class includes the only sophomore who was elected to the homecoming court, and she fits so many, many stereotypes, from the overuse of make-up, to the "my need to socialize trumps your need to teach me" attitude, to the paranoia about others "hating on" her, to the soulful singing style well-honed for talent portions of pageants. In addition, the boy she was dating at the beginning of the year is in the class, but he broke up with her early on because "she was crazy!"
Up until now, Miss Priss (who can be sweet, and smart, when she so chooses) has had a couple of stalwart buddies in the class, but something has happened. Last week she was gone four days in a row with a "stomach bug", and while she was away the stalwart buddies, I noticed, were no longer stalwart-seeming when I asked if they had heard from her. And sure enough, this week, she is being roundly shunned by her buddies. We are working on a final Tempest project, and while they all sat on one side of the room, she was conspicuously alone on the other side.
I'm sure whatever she did, she deserves what she's getting. But, ahem, what about that mercy and forgiveness stuff, ladies?
One could point out that, in the play, there is no repentance without pain being inflicted first, so I guess I shouldn't hold my breath over a reconciliation for a while. Or, I could just give in to Wyfe's notion that teenagers are fundamentally pure evil.
While this was going on, another tempest has been gathering within the class itself. The class includes the only sophomore who was elected to the homecoming court, and she fits so many, many stereotypes, from the overuse of make-up, to the "my need to socialize trumps your need to teach me" attitude, to the paranoia about others "hating on" her, to the soulful singing style well-honed for talent portions of pageants. In addition, the boy she was dating at the beginning of the year is in the class, but he broke up with her early on because "she was crazy!"
Up until now, Miss Priss (who can be sweet, and smart, when she so chooses) has had a couple of stalwart buddies in the class, but something has happened. Last week she was gone four days in a row with a "stomach bug", and while she was away the stalwart buddies, I noticed, were no longer stalwart-seeming when I asked if they had heard from her. And sure enough, this week, she is being roundly shunned by her buddies. We are working on a final Tempest project, and while they all sat on one side of the room, she was conspicuously alone on the other side.
I'm sure whatever she did, she deserves what she's getting. But, ahem, what about that mercy and forgiveness stuff, ladies?
One could point out that, in the play, there is no repentance without pain being inflicted first, so I guess I shouldn't hold my breath over a reconciliation for a while. Or, I could just give in to Wyfe's notion that teenagers are fundamentally pure evil.
02 December 2007
A Void
After spending much of last week sick, and then not sleeping well because of the speed-in-disguise decongestant I was prescribed, I've been spending the weekend in various states of napping, errand-running, helping get out Christmas ornaments,and lackluster grading/test making. Motivation has been low, as you might expect, for all but the napping. Really, I've got nothing much for you blog-wise, either.
Well, o.k.,some quick reading blurbs: I continue to make my way through the delightful Song of the Line (I'm a slow reader of poetry), and have picked up Mark Helprin once again, this time with Winter's Tale, which some consider his best. So far, it is quite promising, what with the murderous gang leader who's obsessed with pure, vibrant colors and the thief protagonist whose rejected-immigrant parents set him adrift as an infant in New York harbor on a stolen model sailing vessel. Both books have something immediately apparent in common: an interest, indeed a joyful preoccupation with, eccentrics. Explains a lot about me, I'm sure.
Well, o.k.,some quick reading blurbs: I continue to make my way through the delightful Song of the Line (I'm a slow reader of poetry), and have picked up Mark Helprin once again, this time with Winter's Tale, which some consider his best. So far, it is quite promising, what with the murderous gang leader who's obsessed with pure, vibrant colors and the thief protagonist whose rejected-immigrant parents set him adrift as an infant in New York harbor on a stolen model sailing vessel. Both books have something immediately apparent in common: an interest, indeed a joyful preoccupation with, eccentrics. Explains a lot about me, I'm sure.
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