CSW

Of the three major weeks celebrated in the St. Mark's school year, Catholic Schools Week, in terms of excitement, finishes a respectable third to the Blue-Gold and Spirit Weeks. That's OK, though. The week has settled into a established and focused program for a few years: Mass on Monday, chorus and Buddy School outreach on Tuesday / Wednesday; Teacher-Appreciation Luncheon on Thursday, and fun assembly on Friday, Student Appreciation Day.

I'm writing this as the Friday morning assembly has concluded. The seniors defeated the faculty in the Dodge Ball contest, but not before English teacher, Mike "The Beast" DiGennaro, slew many a taller and stronger foe.





At yesterday's Dancing With the Stars competition at the CSW teacher-appreciation luncheon, Jack "Hammer Time" Baldino and his partner, Nithan Paul, edged Nick Russo and his dance mate, Christina Bookout (OK, I was secretly rooting for Christine Sporay and Val Greene, two of my students). The two programs indicate the types of assemblies that we can hold at St. Mark's that makes us DIFFERENT from public schools. I'm wondering if certain district and union laws and regulations would even allow teachers and students to compete in dance and dodgeball. Anyway, in both cases, a good time was had by all.

Further emphasizing that what makes the Catholic school different was the awarding of yesterday's Teacher Mark of Excellence Award. Ms. Susanne Peiffer, a 1994 graduate of St. Mark's, was honored. Ms. Peiffer developed, organized, and has led the school's summer mission trip for the past three years. The mission takes approximately 40 students into impoverished communities, like Appalachia, to perform much-needed work for two weeks. It also gives students time away from "the real world" to develop their spirituality. Students who return from the mission trip often talk of undergoing "life-changing" experiences.

These are the reasons why we celebrate Catholic Schools Week.

Too Much Information

I caught a few minutes of the newest reality show to reach the planet, The Daly Planet, on The Golf Channel. The show shadows a golfer who looks like he should be selling flooring at 84 Lumber (one of his sponsors) or slugging down a few cold ones at Hooters (another). In other words, John Daly is NOT one of golf's pretty boys.

Daly has been called "a living Country & Western song," a metaphor that I wished I had coined. His life, waist line, and golf rounds have had more ups and downs than (I'll skip the figures of speech) . . . anyone could imagine. Daly won the PGA, a major tournament, in 1991, entering the tournament as an unknown alternate, then crushing drives and pumping his fist to an unlikely victory. He later added a British Open win to his titles, capping one of his many comebacks from alcoholism and bad play that has plagued him his entire career.

Last Wednesday the country song remained the same. Daly's wife began a five-month jail sentence for being a part of a drug and gambling ring over a six-year period. Daly claimed ignorance of his wife's actions, and no one doubted he was telling the truth. As she was being hauled off to court, Daly was playing a practice round in San Diego. He'll be solely entrusted with the care of their two-year old son, John Jr., next week. I can hear Dolly Parton singing, "So keep the home fire burning, your love for me yearning, cause I'll be returning in five months."

Though he doesn't win very often, Daly remains a crowd favorite with Everyman appeal. He travels to tournaments in his Winnebago and camps out on the grounds like a NASCAR groupie. He proudly sports his signature mullet, still slugs mammoth drives, moves quickly from tee to green like a municipal course hustler, and consumes gigantic qualities of Miller Light and Diet Coke.

The Daly Planet shows Daly as we might have imagined, but never really wanted to see. After the ten minutes of watching, I decided that I had seen enough. Cases of beer are unloaded from his plane with his golf geer. He jokes (or does he?) about cracking open a cold one at an early morning promotional appearance. He gives mindless interview after interview to promote his attempt to drive a golf ball over Niagara Falls to promote a new Daly-improved golf course design in Canada.

The vastly popular and quickly fading expression from a few years ago, T.M.I. , applies. I can't wait until Daly is in contention again at another tournament. I'll be watching. But The Daly Planet shall forever go unexplored in my TV universe.

The Truth Matters

Why did I ever create this post about Oprah without putting more thought into it first? Getting carried away with Oprah's blasting of author James Frey, I had a Tom Cruise moment myself (no, I didn't literally jump up and down on my couch). Unlike Cruise, I can wipe out the whole affair by hitting the "delete post" button. But I do enjoy reading the fervent responses. And I wanted to provoke a discussion on truth, not so much a discussion on the merits of the book.

First point of business: now I remember why I've never been a Oprah fan (see previous post). After the Little Pieces fiasco, I'm a little leary of her motives with her Book Club, too.

As an English teacher, I usually applaud any medium that promotes reading. Oprah's Book Club has certainly done that, selling millions of books on its recommendation, like A Million Little Pieces. With the lies uncovered after Oprah's frantic phone call to Larry King Live, Frey alone hasn't lost credibility. The Big O and her Club have taken a stiff uppercut, too. Oprah responded by summoning Frey to the show for a interrogation to get to the truth, to which he surprisingly agreed. Frey was contrite and willing to take the hits coming from not only Oprah, but also from a serious pantheon of writers and critics like Frank Rich, Maureen Dowd, and Joel Stein. Talk about damage control. We ought to appoint Oprah director of F.E.M.A.

On the show, interrogated by Oprah, Frey admitted to . . . lying:

Oprah: I appreciate you being here because I believe the truth can set you free [bad cliche, Oprah]. I realize this has been a difficult time for you … maybe this is the beginning of another kind of truth for you.

James: I think you're absolutely right. I mean, I think this is obvious, this hasn't been a great day for me. It certainly hasn't been a great couple weeks for me. But I think I come out of it better. I mean, I feel like I came here and I have been honest with you. I have, you know, essentially admitted to…to lying.

Oprah: Which is not an easy thing to do.

James: No, it's not an easy thing to do in front of an audience full of people and a lot of others watching on TV. I mean, if I come out of this experience with anything, it's being a better person and learning from my mistakes and making sure that I don't repeat them.

Frey was fried. But later on the show, the panel of experts saw more serious issues behind the Pieces firestorm.

Maureen Dowd cut to the chase: "James Frey very clearly lied to promote his book and I don't think that should get the Oprah seal of approval. It's just very disappointing that the publishing house doesn't care. They're just counting their money. And readers don't care. It's gone to the top of the bestseller list. But somebody has to stand up for truth. This is not a close call."

On the other hand, Joel Stein from Time magazine commented:"It's wrong and immoral to pass off a piece of fiction as a memoir, and I wouldn't do it. You know, I felt like he was a liar and a weasel. But the more I thought about it, I still loved the book. When I found out a lot of it had been made up, it didn't really change how I felt about the text. But it certainly changed how I felt about the author."

Frank Rich quoted Stephen Colbert of Comedy Central, who says we live in an age of "truthiness."

He explained: "I mean we live in this word now where this is just sort of the tip of the iceberg, this memoir, where anyone can sort of put out something that sort of looks true, smells a little bit like truth but, in fact, is in some way fictionalized. You look at anything from Enron fooling people and creating this aura of a great business making huge profits when it was an empty shell, or people in the government telling us that mushroom clouds are going to come our way if we don't invade Iraq for months when it was on faulty and possibly suspect intelligence. Or even things we label 'reality' in entertainment like reality television. It's cast. It's somewhat scripted. You see Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey as happy newlyweds. The reality show is over, they get divorced and split the profits."

Oprah ended the debate this way: "I read this quote in The New York Times from Michiko Kakutani, who said it best, I think. She says, ' This is not about truth in labeling or the misrepresentation of one author. … It is a case about how much value contemporary culture places on the very idea of truth.' And I believe that the truth matters."

Well said, Ms. Kakutani (and I guess well quoted, Ms. Winfrey). Now if we can ever get everyone to agree what the truth is.

You Go, Girl

I've been an Oprah admirer for many years--her rags to riches story is just too good to be true, but it is. She's a talented talk show hostess, actress, producer, magazine and Book Club editor . . . what can't she do? She's a tremendous role model for everyone who has dreams and the talent to go somewhere with them. I don't particularly pay attention about her personality off camera. If she's egotistical, it doesn't interfere with my admiration.

Having said that, I must say that she's not my taste. The few times that I've watched her show, I've found her interviews too "Hollywood emotional" (guests either cry or jump up and down on her couch) and her own on-screen persona a trifle too contrived. For instance, she can morph seamlessly from the uppity Oprah to the ghetto Oprah sometimes within the same sentence. I suspect that she knows it's in her best ratings interest to pander . . . I mean appeal to everyone.

However, it's time to praise Her Divaness for dishing out a double dose of mean whup-you-know- what on author James Frey on today's show. Frey's autobiographical novel, A Million Little Pieces, was an Oprah Book Club best selection and shot up the best-seller lists. After thesmokinggun.com reported that Frey's fantastic life of a rehabilitated criminal was mostly fabricated, Oprah initially defended Frey, even putting in a call to the Larry King show last week. Evidently, after some more fact finding, Oprah realized that she had been duped. So she summoned Frey to the principal's office, where he admitted that he had stretched the truth in order to make his story seem more emotional in order to sell more books. A disgusted Oprah, in no mood for reconciliation, told Frey she had felt betrayed, washing her hands before she threw Frey under the bus before her loyal legions.

I wish I knew more Oprah lingo so I could really get cheezy and end with a typical Oprah moment. You know, like "You go, girl." Instead, I think I'll just go downstairs, bounce up and down on the couch, and proclaim my love for Lady Oprah. I hope no one sees me.

The Perfect Storm

This metaphor might aptly describe Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. In fact, his own "cuckoo's nest" metaphor isn't too bad, either. Kesey borrowed his title from a folk rhyme that has a variety of versions and no known author. See this link for some of the different versions of the rhyme.

Somehow, the image of "The Perfect Storm" came to me when I thought about how to introduce this book to the class. I was playing around with nautical jargon, like how we might escape languishing in the "doldrums" of winter by willfully venturing into the "maelstrom" of this dark but exciting book. I first decided to teach Cuckoo's Nest a few years ago to "wrap up" (what a boring image) our study of prose fiction. It's a book that has everything. A schizophrenic narrator who tells "the truth, even if it really didn't happen." A wild, anti-establishment anti-hero who became the archtype for the stereotyped copies that would follow him. A powerful feminine foil who could teach Big Brother some things about CONTROL. Language full of unique images and unbelievably real description that will make you say to yourself, "Now I know EXACTLY what he means." When all of this comes together in a book, it's a perfect storm. Some of you may not be "up to" the voyage, knowing how safe we sometimes like our plots, characters, language, and belief systems. But we're headed out, full speed ahead. We're going to cast our nets and see if we make a last big catch before we head back into safer, if not shallower, waters for the remainder of the year.

Change Comes Slow in Schoolsville

It wasn't easy convincing the town council to change Schoolsville even a little bit. "Leave well enuff alone," they said. Sure, I'm glad that they think Schoolsville is "well enuff," but you and I know it needs to get linked up to some new, cool, helpful sites, so that we get more visitors than just the "regulars." So I told them, the council, that is, that it wasn't goin' to cost us nothin', and that the links template (of course I didn't use that word, I think I said "hookup" and now you're snickering) was already there. "Go ahead," they said. "Knock yourself out. If it don't cost us no time or money, go ahead and do it. But keep it clean for the young folk." At first, I wish they didn't feel the need to say that. I mean, don't they trust me none? But sometimes things just come out automatically from Schoolsville folk, and they don't mean nothin' by it.

The community here is small in number, but large in spirit. We rarely get cross with each other. I perform many roles. I'm part-time teacher, politician, pontiff, poet laureat, and policeman. And if you haven't guessed by now, we like to keep it clean here for the women folk and children. Um, I'd 'preciate it if you picked up that candy wrapper, please. Thank you, kindly.

So next time you come to Schoolsville, look around. Browse the entries and the comments. Feel free to express your own opinion. It's America, after all, but we live by a higher law, so keep . . . . You know what I'm saying. See, you're already thinking like you was born and raised in Schoolsville. Check out our new links, too. Give me an idea for a link, too, why doncha? Don't be a stranger. You all come back now, here.

Semester Exam--Concepts of Fiction and their application to Johnny Bear and An Act of Faith

Yes, that's officially the longest title of all my blog entries. The song with the longest title is "I'm a Cranky Old Yank in a Clanky Old Tank on the Streets of Yokohama with my Honolulu Mama Doin’ Those Beat-o, Beat-o Flat-On-My-Seat-o, Hirohito Blues" written by Hoagy Carmichael in 1945. He later claimed the song title ended with "Yank" and the rest was a joke.

You've been warned. This test is no joke.

Here's what you should review.

All notes, definitions, ideas, concepts, about art, fiction, dialogue, setting, narrative technique, points of view, description/imagery, characterization, theme, etc. I won't ask specific questions about any stories except Johnny Bear and An Act of Faith.

Know those two stories very well, especially An Act of Faith---look up words, places, expressions, . . . that you don't know. Research some basic background biographical information on Irwin Shaw that relates to the story. For both stories, analyze the setting, narration, dialogue, and plot (for important scenes). Know the points of view and they are important. Be able to discuss themes in both stories. In An Act of Faith, Seeger is told tales of anti-Semitism and experiences it first hand. Note specific examples. Be able to express the importance of the title in An Act of Faith by finding at least five "acts of faith" in the story.

Format--28 true/false; 14 fill ins; six short answers--#'s subject to change, but you have the idea

Good luck

A Summer Song, 1966

Follow this link to my St. Mark's teacher page to my short story, A Summer Song, 1966. The story is based on lots of vivid memories of growing up in the working class, row-home community of Canby Park during that time period. I really did have a 'big' friend named Tommy, more like a big brother. We did listen to his 45s. We did have block parties a few times each summer, where we would lip synch and only dance to the "fast" songs. I do have memories of Tommy getting interested in girls before I did, but the incident that occurs in the story with Maggie McCormick is all made up (though it seems so real, like it might've happened). Anyway, it's my first episode of my new idea for a TV show called The Wonder Years. On my show, I'll tell tender tales from the simpler days of my youth. Now that sounds familiar, too?

What a Tangled Web We Weave

I'm not getting points for originality, I'm sure, with this entry's title. But for an English teacher NOT to use it . . . wouldn't I be missing out on a teaching moment? It's a line often attributed to Shakespeare, but it's from a poem by Sir Walter Scott:" What a tangled web we weave / When first we practive to deceive."

The Internet (no one calls it the World Wide Web anymore) isn't so much tangled as it is wild, as in the Wild West of America's past. Justice and fair play is all relative. Modern gunslingers infect others with viruses, operate phony web scams, hack and steal confidential information. All from the privacy and protection of their homes.

Despite the lurkers and the lawlessness, one, equipped with firewalls, virucides, and a healthy dose of common sense, might navigate the technotrail without serious harm. There are, after all, many reasons that we love the Internet. For me, and I suspect, most people, using the web daily has become second nature, but none the less exciting. Instantly, I can e-mail, IM, blog, read message boards and the news, bid on EBAY, buy books and CDs, etc. Instantly. With the push of a few buttons. Though I'm always wearing my protection against hackers and evil-doers, and I always keep both eyes on the road, careful where I'm about to stray.

Despite the thrill of the speed, I have taught myself patience and have learned some Internet responsibility, learning from the mistakes of a few minor fender benders. I compose, edit, read, re-read my e-mails before I hit the send button. I dispose quickly of spam e-mail and don't talk to anyone on line if I don't know them. I send important e-mails to the "draft" pile and let them chill a day before their final editing. I take care to write meaningful blog entries, and I quickly commend anyone who responds to them with positive comments of my own, even when people disagree with me. I am careful with all of my comments online, adhering to the dictum that you should only say and write in cyberspace what you would say and write on terra firma. I know, that's NOT a very wild approach, is it?

Without speed limits, law enforcement, manners and morals that come naturally when human beings communicate face to face, many people race the information superhighway at Audobahn speeds and New Jersey Turnpike aggressiveness. Or worse still, they lurk to pounce on innocents like predators in a back alley. Be careful. Be safe.

Keep both hands on the wheel and both eyes on the road. This is my web version of a SmartDrive lecture. Note: I started this entry about a month ago. I'm not so prolific that I can knock out blog entries like a batch of Christmas cookies. I've posted it now in case you want to respond for one of your journal entries.

I'm the Piano Man

Of course, today in class you were treated to either Harry Chapin's Taxi or Springsteen's Meeting Across the River. Both narrators were flawed characters, one a stoned cabbie and the another a Soprano wannie-be who's about to do something illegal to make a quick two grand. Other than you're ability to riff on these rock classics, I hope you didn't miss the other point,that being that interesting characters are often flawed ones, their flaws revealing certain inherent weaknesses in the human condition like greed, ambition, jealousy, etc. In many cases, they're aware of their faults, sometimes try to correct them, but fail and fail again or maybe they succeed and amend their ways forever. This doesn't happen in the course of a four-minute song where characters are "static" and don't change a bit, but in YOUR short story . . . . Well, here you have more than four minutes to put these characters to the test, place them into a situation where they are faced with an internal conflict to TRY to change, and depending on your own inclination, they can fall flat on their face or lift themselves out of the mire.

Do I take requests? Someone shouted out for Billy Joel's Piano Man in class today, I think. Sure. I know a little Billy Joel. Imagine this guy's life, playing songs for lovable drunks in a cheap bar--part-time entertainer, part-time philosopher, part-time psychologist. Here's my short story. It's part interior, part dramatic monologue, and I talk to my flawed but interesting customers, listen to their sad stories, and pick certain songs to play to lighten up their otherwise humdrum existences. One of my piano favorites is Hoagy Carmichael's Stardust. Another is Dave Brubreck playing You Go to My Head. Or Antonio Carlos Jobim's The Girl from Ipanema. Before last call every night, I close my show every night with a sing-along to, of course, Piano Man. Come on in to my piano bar and I guarantee that you'll feel better.

Dick Clark Returns

I'll make this brief because I'm not going to say anything highly original or even witty. On the way to work today, flicking through the AM and FM dials, I heard untalented DJ after DJerk after Morning Zoo Creep after Stern sound-alike rip, mock, and mutilate Dick Clark and ABC for his reappearance on New Year's Rockin Eve on Saturday night. The once never-aging Clark, known as America's Oldest Teenager, suffered a stroke in 2004 and was unseen in public for over a year. Clark proved that Father Time hasn't beaten him yet by appearing on the broadcast.

I never thought Clark offered much talent other than a smooth voice and a good smile. And even though he was there when rock and roll began and hosted many great acts, I never much considered him a rock and roller. After all, he was the guy who would call up couples on his American Bandstand show to rate records like they were grading tests. He was foremost, a savvy and shrewd promoter, who developed products that appealed to the ratings demographics before there was such a term, who processed everything silky smooth until everything was homogenized and ultra pasteurized to be successful for a real long shelf life like his American Bandstand, $10,000 Pyramid, America's Music Awards, TV's Practical Jokes and Bloopers, New York Rockin Eve, and his trademark hair-style. Bandstand lasted 34 years. Clark became permanent host 6 days before John Fiorelli belted out his first "waaaaa" to the world in 1956.

It's a shameful sign of the no-talented times in the media when we're not praising Clark's bravery but rather questioning his motives, his vanity, and making fun of his stroke-ravaged voice. No, I wouldn't ever make it point of turning on Dick Clark for my entertainment, but unlike his modern counterparts, I'd never be so angry and offended at anything that he'd said that I'd want to punch out the daylights of my dashboard radio, either.

You did good, Clarkie. Lame morning zoo morons, stay off my radio (there, I think I "like" it even more).