I took my Journalism 1 students for a walk around our college-style open campus in order to do some observational writing. And, okay, it was gorgeous outside on Valentine's Day Friday with the bluest of blue skies, chirping birds flitting from palm tree to palm tree, and low attendance on what was yet another senior skip day.
About 25 of my 36 students were present in third period, and we shuffled along the outdoor catwalk, down the steps to the courtyard where some JROTC kids dressed in grey t-shirts and blue gym shorts had an informal soccer game going in a grassy area.
"Listen to the birds chirping," I said. "Look at the JROTC kids."
Some of them listened and looked around. Some jotted notes on paper. Some pretended to jot notes on their phones. Some chatted, chewed gum, waved or shouted hello to friends walking by in the distance.
As we returned to the building, we walked past the ESE room for special needs students, past some foreign language classrooms, then math classes, and the restrooms. A tall boy with broad shoulders and bushy, curly dark hair stood still in the middle of the hall facing our shuffling, chatting, texting, gum-chewing group as we approached. He didn't move at all as we came upon him, so my class had to split to walk around him on each side. As this happened, the boy raised his hands up as if soliciting high fives, and my students all obliged as they walked by, not breaking stride or even pausing in their conversations as they did so.
After we passed, I asked one girl, "Do you know him?"
"No," she said. "He's one of the ESE kids."
It was my turn to make an observation now. You know what? These kids are pretty freaking nice. And this wound up being the perfect way to mark Valentine's Day.
Monday, February 17, 2014
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Getting stoked about the Olympics
I don't mind that the event analysts for the Winter Olympics sound like they're at the X Games or on a Red Bull commercial (which is pretty much the same thing). No, it's perfectly fine if they're "stoked" about someone getting "lots of air." What's driving me nuts, though, is that I would like them to actually explain what the heck is going on in the events.
The announcers need to remember that most of the audience for the winter games only watches downhill or short track or moguls once very four years. It's fast, it's pretty, it's fun. But we need the analysts to tell us why the big, swirly, twirly jump that looked fabulous to us was actually so awful that it has knocked that competitor out of his dreams.
During women's downhill skiing, the announcer kept mentioning "a lot of terrain." Over and over she kept saying that phrase like it was a big challenge: "Now that she's past the turns, she needs to deal with a lot of terrain." But isn't skiing on a lot of terrain like swimming in a lot of water? What did she actually mean? Is the snow not as deep as it should be? Are there fewer moments when the skier is airborne? Is the terrain not as smooth as it should be?
Watching the moguls, I saw men ski as fast as they could over severe yet oddly uniform bumps. Their progress was interrupted at two designated spots by little ramps up which the competitors flung themselves, spiraling upside down and into all sorts of astounding configurations. The announcer for this event employed the word "Oh!" with different levels of emphasis as the only clue to the skier's success on each jump.
As in: "Oh!" (Happy inflection.) "He really laid out!" (This must be a good thing.)
Or: "Oh!" (Upset inflection.) "He's out of the running for a medal now." (This is very bad.)
But both jumps looked the same to me. Tell us what the difference was, announcer guy!
One educational moment came when a man stood between two different skis stuck upright in the snow. He explained that the long, skinny ski is a downhill ski and the short, fat ski is a slalom ski. He then said that the downhill ski doesn't turn easily whereas the slalom ski "can turn on a dime and give you back nine cents change."
Um, what? I started trying to figure out this metaphor. Let's see. A dime is 10 cents, but it's physically the smallest coin but a penny is less but actually larger so if you if you turn on a dime and get nine cents...oh, forget it.
Maybe I'll be able to follow it all better if I have a Red Bull.
The announcers need to remember that most of the audience for the winter games only watches downhill or short track or moguls once very four years. It's fast, it's pretty, it's fun. But we need the analysts to tell us why the big, swirly, twirly jump that looked fabulous to us was actually so awful that it has knocked that competitor out of his dreams.
During women's downhill skiing, the announcer kept mentioning "a lot of terrain." Over and over she kept saying that phrase like it was a big challenge: "Now that she's past the turns, she needs to deal with a lot of terrain." But isn't skiing on a lot of terrain like swimming in a lot of water? What did she actually mean? Is the snow not as deep as it should be? Are there fewer moments when the skier is airborne? Is the terrain not as smooth as it should be?
Watching the moguls, I saw men ski as fast as they could over severe yet oddly uniform bumps. Their progress was interrupted at two designated spots by little ramps up which the competitors flung themselves, spiraling upside down and into all sorts of astounding configurations. The announcer for this event employed the word "Oh!" with different levels of emphasis as the only clue to the skier's success on each jump.
As in: "Oh!" (Happy inflection.) "He really laid out!" (This must be a good thing.)
Or: "Oh!" (Upset inflection.) "He's out of the running for a medal now." (This is very bad.)
But both jumps looked the same to me. Tell us what the difference was, announcer guy!
One educational moment came when a man stood between two different skis stuck upright in the snow. He explained that the long, skinny ski is a downhill ski and the short, fat ski is a slalom ski. He then said that the downhill ski doesn't turn easily whereas the slalom ski "can turn on a dime and give you back nine cents change."
Um, what? I started trying to figure out this metaphor. Let's see. A dime is 10 cents, but it's physically the smallest coin but a penny is less but actually larger so if you if you turn on a dime and get nine cents...oh, forget it.
Maybe I'll be able to follow it all better if I have a Red Bull.
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