Maybe I Think Too Much

Marvels of the Midlife Universe

2011-09-03T07:23:00.008-04:00

Men want to be superheroes. The lucky among us who shoot baskets, perform to capacity crowds or manage hedge funds are of course among the minority. The rest of us perpetually wait for the grand moment when our super powers will be dramatically revealed. We usually expect or hope that they kick in around the magical age of 40 after the vigorous training of years 1 through 39 have passed. The unfathomable wisdom of this fourth decade of our lives however, is not without a sense of irony. Without a doubt, we do transform. But, like Bruce Banner (aka The Hulk) could attest, it is never in the way we expect. Like Banner, many of us spend at least the first 20 years of our adult lives trying to tame our beastly impulses knowing fully well that after that time passes, the monster has still not left the room but at least he's wearing a tie. For example, if someone told me 20 years ago that I would be a teacher etcetera, etcetera.

Women on the other hand, are born with instant consciousness of their super abilities. It begins the moment they learn to say "dada" which works on fathers in the same way the word Shazzam! affects young Billy Batson. It is the serum that transforms ordinary men into super soldiers assigned to protect their little girls to the death and beyond. But if the soldier has super hearing during this critical period, he can actually pick up his beloved princess telling him that although she appreciates his protection, she would really like him to teach her to take care of herself so she can someday conquer half the world and get her man to conquer the other half whenever she gets tired or bored. I realize that this makes her sound more like a super villain, but I guess it just depends on your view of Beyonce'.

If I could give my fiance' a superhero name it would be "The Womb"; ABLE TO GIVE BIRTH TO TWO AMAZING CHILDREN!" And while the world stands stupefied waiting to hear the remaining list of her abilities she would roll her eyes and place her arms gently akimbo and with subtle sarcasm say "Did, you really think I needed to say more?” And after the 23 seconds it takes for the moment to wear off, a reporter would ask: "well is there any thing special you can do with your womb besides the obvious?" And in the 23 seconds it takes to deliver her already calculated response her brilliant smile would remain impenetrable, her eyes a shade browner, a shade more serious and her tone as pleasant as a summer breeze and almost sing the words "honey even superman had a mama". Her other most vital super power would be boldly present, yet, undetected as she uses it to melt every heart in her path.

I have recently become inspired to explore my own super powers and attempt to find a name that suits them. So far I came up with Stress Man, The Worrier and The Mortgage Man which only sounds appropriate when preceded by the question: why are we always so damn broke”?, which would be immediately followed by “why the hell do you think?” which could only be uttered by my fiance' and would perform the double duty of answering my stupid ass question and calling out my full superhero title for theatrical effect. Needless to say, I didn’t choose that one.

Then, I decided to be The Watcher. My powers would be to watch things, let them unfold, and most importantly just shut the f*** up and listen because I might actually learn some shit. But then I realized that "The Watcher” was already taken. So I decided to go with: Justshutthef***upandlistenbecauseyoumightactuallylearnsomeshit Man. Both my name and my super power were revealed to me the day I miraculously stopped repeatedly asking my self the question: How did I get here? The only things in the known universe that would be able to limit my “just” powers are birthdays, Christmases, Valentine's Days and 362 other days whose names escape me. During these days, all of the watching must be replaced with actions. These actions of course would be worthy of the super hero title. But as I mentioned before, this transformation takes time. In fact, I’m not sure if my transformation is quite done. In the mean time stay tuned for the next episode as well as my new Justshutthef***upandlistenbecauseyoumightactuallylearnsomeshit Man t-shirts. They will be ready just as soon as I can find a way to fit all of those words into a cool emblem. Merchandising is everything!

Worth Explaining

2010-12-11T19:38:00.004-05:00

There have been many cases where I have felt like the enemy in my own classroom. The first time I felt it was early in my teaching career at a school in the Bronx. A student was talking loudly during a lesson. All of his classmates were clearly listening to him and not me. When I reminded him that class had started, he replied, “I was explaining something” and all of the students glared at me as if I was the one who was out of line. Who knows? Maybe I was. After all, I was engaging in the same struggle to be an explainer as he. But in that scenario I lost, because he just continued with his explanation, the rest of the class continued listening, and I was confronted with the sobering realization that the lecture is a dying art in New York City public schools.

But there is a part of me that refuses to believe this. It’s the part that was inspired by my 9th grade English teacher Mr. Everett with his cool Clint Eastwood like voice and disposition, which whispered “Make my day” to any freshman that would dare to be a distraction. We couldn’t quite describe what it was that compelled us to respect him. Maybe we were intimidated by the fact that he had so much self control, confidence and above all, patience of which was mostly displayed in the way he carefully chose every word he said with grace and precision. He created a sense of foreboding in his students, leaving us to question what a man with so much patience would do if he was ever pushed to lose it. So we all just gave him the floor whenever his gentle but firm voice suggested it and his strong presence demanded it. I once learned the consequence of violating the unspoken rule against speaking out of turn when I made fun of a student named Jason as he joyfully gave Mr. Everett an account of his dance filled weekend at the local club on the other side of town. I interrupted the conversation with an incredulous question “Jason you can dance”? Instantly, as the words recklessly leapt off my tongue I knew I’d screwed up, because I could hear Mr. Everett taking a breath as he carefully loaded his response to my ill-advised critique from his expansive lexicon and became a verbal Dirty Harry. His icy reply was “Mr. Knight are you implying that this student can’t dance because of his color?”, If so, your classmate and I find that extremely insulting and beneath you”. I was speechless because he was not only right, but his approach was completely unexpected. And, as an added bonus I learned what the word “imply” meant. Although I didn’t change my beliefs about my classmate’s dancing ability, I learned the valuable lesson that there was a time and a place to express my unsolicited opinions. His class was not one of them.
In the current landscape of public education however, Mr. Everett’s approach would seem to be pretty close to impossible.

Mr. Everett had a poetic approach to teaching that the students in my classes fail to appreciate. There are many reasons to consider why students would be non-responsive to his brand of reasoning, like parenting (or the lack of), socio-economics, etc. But the most present factor I encounter daily is a competitive drive to be seen, heard and acknowledged, by any means necessary, no matter how many times they are removed from class, their parents are called, or they are suspended. Most of them are willing to hazard the risk of punishment because the prize they are after is self-esteem. And the only obstacles to this goal are their fellow students and me and my “boring” rants about analyzing elements of plot in short fiction. Even my better students who actually focus on the lessons have a tendency to rudely cut off their peers during class discussions just to be acknowledged for giving the correct answer. I have tried the Everett approach once or twice when this has happened. But the deep sigh, purposed glare, and carefully selected reprimand only resulted in half-hearted apologies followed by repeat offenses 10-20 seconds later (Yes, I have timed them). Other students who find alternate more effective methods of getting attention like farting, belching, or cursing, all of which are done loudly, are too numerous for me to take the calculated approach of my former teacher. In the past I have resorted to yelling, but this is merely a temporary solution. One could argue that my students are enthusiastic and their energies should be redirected and harnessed. This responsibility of course lays with me, the teacher, but the major lesson my students retain daily, is that in the urban class room, only the strongest and the loudest survive. The competitive atmosphere that these factors create is my biggest obstacle to maintaining order in my classes.

Since I have been teaching I have heard many approaches to the growing rambunctiousness in public school class rooms. Many of these models such as backward design, ramp-up and the workshop model all have one major goal in mind which is creating a student centered environment in which the teacher is just a facilitator and the students run the class. Although this is a noble concept, there is also a major flaw. Although students have the ability to take control of any class discussion or activity, they lack the discipline to use this power to a constructive end. In response to this dilemma we teachers set up rules such as “The One Mic” rule which states that only one student should speak at a time. There are also the Socratic seminar and “accountable talk” models which require that students willingly participate in meaningful discussions which address open ended essential questions like “What is a hero?” or “What is self-awareness?”

These approaches create major problems. One is the student who has barely reached the first level of knowledge on Bloom’s Taxonomy. This is a student whose entire academic career before high school was in environments where “right answers” were all that mattered. Often in scenarios like this, the teacher must be diligent in helping students engage in a level of thinking that goes beyond the gold star. So, in high school, students are often introduced abruptly to a form of instruction which asks them to find their own answers to varied levels of teacher questioning. This is one example of differentiated instruction which on paper is supposed to address various learning styles and levels of the student. Students however, become very frustrated because all they want is the answer sans the bells and whistles which educators refer to as the learning process.

Another issue is that in this current environment where older and more experienced teachers are feeling a growing pressure to retire, inexperienced teachers who are new to the daunting task of addressing multiple learning styles, levels, and not to mention egos can easily be bludgeoned into submission with the ever present question “but is this right”? Or “What we gotta’ do”? Incessantly asking a teacher these questions even during tests is customary for this new breed of student. When my students ask those popular questions, I usually ask them what they think. This approach has had some pronounced effects on my class room environment. I have been cursed at, accused of being a bad teacher and even complained against formally. I have become abruptly aware that teachers must perform juggling acts to maintain integrity, please their students and keep administrators happy. On one hand, the teacher who does not address the constant outcry for right answers during his lessons can quickly lose favor with his students which results in disciplinary problems. On other hand, he will also lose equal favor with administrators if he cannot show that he has used every measure possible to address the needs of students and use this data to transform them into critical thinkers.

In one of my classes a student who was unprepared for a test stormed out of class because he didn’t think he should be required to take it. His only reason for his absences was cutting school. I am of course charged with the often tedious task of calling his parents to see why he cut and inform them of all of the work he missed, only to be met with a tone and familiar voice which informs me that the number has been disconnected. Another student who decided to talk and disrupt his peers during an exam was removed from class and sent home. He has since filed a complaint against the school for unfair treatment which is still pending. In reality, students in my classes only want to be “taught” on their terms. The so-called student centered approach is producing a self-centered pupil who is not shy when it comes to accusing his teachers of being inept. And if you don’t believe him, he’s got the poor grades to prove it. The pressure that is imposed on everyone involved in the educational process gives students their pick of scapegoats to justify their own failures. While everyone is fighting for their jobs, they just run amok, fully aware that when they are punished they can blame their behavior on the parent who is too over worked to pay them any attention, the teacher who is stressfully trying to manage 29 other egos, or the dean whom they claim just doesn’t like them. The conflicting interests held by teachers who want autonomy in their classrooms, politicians who want favorable statistics and administrators who want to keep their schools open have made way for a new kind of school environment to emerge.

It would seem that in the midst of all of the problems facing us in education, teachers, administrators, politicians, and of course parents all have some explaining to do. But maybe the time for explaining has come to an end. We are all aware that schools and class rooms are not perfect worlds. But I can recall a time when every effort was made by faculty, students, staff and parents to make them at least seem that way. I can also recall a time when I did not have to be yelled at to strive for perfection, when it didn’t matter whether or not a student liked their seat or whether the teacher “talked too much”. The irony in all of this is that the innovators of this new student centered approach all share these memories. Could it be possible that we are doing more damage than good when we grant autonomy to children who are frighteningly aware that it is an illusion in every other facet of the system that is selling it? Maybe I’m just too old school, but I have decided that teaching is still possible. And maybe the old kind of explaining in the class room is all that I need. There is a little voice in my head that keeps explaining to me, that I should not be afraid to go ahead and make someone’s day, because carefully chosen words can still inspire.

Patience: Bold as Love (revised)

2010-11-01T01:18:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I am astounded by the level of patience that it takes to do my job. I am an educator and bold enough to call myself a beacon of light to some and humble enough to admit that I am a mere distraction to others. I face many challenges in my week from both students and faculty, but every once in a while I can look past my ego and reach an epiphany. It is these times when I realize that young people today are challenged with issues that would rival Job’s. The earthquakes that plague their lives come with aftershocks that would rattle the foundation of the average individual. For example, this past week one of my best students was placed in foster care because of sexual abuse. Yet in the midst of this upheaval she still remains as pleasant and resilient as ever. Unfortunately, she does not represent all of my students. Some drop out of school for seemingly lesser problems on the surface but may face issues just as severe.

My friends and associates often tell me that my profession is admirable and that they could never amass the level of patience that is needed do what I do. My reply to them is if you think I’m patient, you should meet some of my students. I have also been told by many who know me that this profession is the perfect fit because I have always possessed (allegedly) the required resolve needed to fill the task of being a teacher. I guess that makes me a virtuous man because after all patience is a virtue right? Sometimes I’m not so sure.

With this in mind, I decided to consult my dictionary on this enigma called patience. What is it about it that makes it so (pardon the expression) damned virtuous. I decided first to look up the word virtue. I found that virtue is defined as ‘moral excellence, goodness or righteousness’ I then looked up patience and found it defined as ‘ the quality of being patient, as the bearing of provocation, annoyance, misfortune, or pain, without complaint, loss of temper, irritation, or the like.

I must admit these definitions made me feel a little uncomfortable. Although I’d like to think that I aspire to be patient, I don’t think that it comes with such virtuous aspirations. In fact, in many cases the patience that I exhibit comes from apathy as a means of self preservation. I would even venture to say that many of us in our work lives possess similar safety mechanisms to keep from going over the edge. (If you have any doubts about this think about the next time you are having a drink after work and venting about the job or the next time you find yourself counting the days until your next vacation).

The question that still remains is how do we reach the virtuous part of our patience? Does it even exist? I’m not sure if I will ever find the answer to this question but I came closer recently while playing my guitar. I decided after 10 years of procrastination and fear to try my hand at learning two of my favorite Jimi Hendrix tunes: “Axis: Bold as Love” and “Little Wing”. Anyone who is a guitar player and appreciates Jimi’s music would probably say that the very thought of learning these songs could be quite overwhelming. I can’t really say what it was that motivated me to venture on this path of “hammer ons”, B minor 9ths and intricate embellishments. They always intimidated me in the past. The only thing that I can say is that from somewhere inside of me the patience materialized. It came without self judgment or regret of past attempts. I just took a deep breath and allowed myself to learn each song as if I was learning them for the first time had all the time in the world to do so. In essence, it came from a genuine love of the music and an overwhelming desire to do more than just listen, to become an active part of it.

I went to work the next day with an extra pep in my step. When my students and colleagues asked me how my weekend was, I smiled and told them it was time well spent. And occasionally when I came across a student who decided that he wanted to disrupt my class by talking out of turn, coming in late, or asking to go the bathroom in the middle of my lesson, my patience was transformed from an act of survival to an act of love. I think in those moments I discovered patience as a virtue. I realized that what I had done was revolutionary at least as far as my little world was concerned. All it took was for me to first be patient with myself use it toward something I loved in order to find patience for the rest of the world. As I think back to this time I am wondering if I should learn to play chess or learn another language or take up jigsaw puzzles as a hobby. Would these things make me more able to handle a room full of high school freshman? Could activities like this help republicans and democrats govern better? Could kicking a soccer ball help the Israelis and Palestinians stop fighting in Gaza? Could playing ping pong end the war in Afghanistan? How much does Barack Obama love shooting hoops? And if he is shooting the rock right now is he working on some shot that he never had the time or patience to work on in the past after a busy day in the oval office as a means to unwind? I wonder what would happen on his next day at work if he finally hit that shot.

Guest Post by Autumn

2010-10-07T18:38:00.002-04:00

Don't be too scary for Halloween!

Dope at 40? (revised)

2010-09-15T20:07:00.006-04:00

Dope adj.- A word that describes something that is extremely cool, such as music, clothes, people, etc.
-The Urban Dictionary

A girlfriend from my thirties once offered me as a consolation prize for my unrequited love the following phrase: “You’re gonna’ be dope when your 40”. Well that day has come thank you very much and my birthday gift is a beautiful baby instructions not included. What was included however, was the responsibility of insuring that hope is an essential part of his and my daughter’s life for the rest of their days. Am I dope? Well I guess it depends on whom you ask.
My father once told me that he took 40 very hard. I suppose it was because he always wanted to be rich and famous. He was once an actor, singer and model. None of those things proved fruitful in his life and there is an unwritten rule somewhere that says in the quest to become rich and famous 40 is the cut off. Another woman I dated once told me that we Americans are shamefully preoccupied with fame and fortune. Is this not the case in other countries? On some level I understand my father’s pain but presently I don’t feel it. To his credit, I share his passion for the arts but I am under the sobering realization that their primary purpose in my life is to keep me from going insane. Although fame and fortune would be welcome, I value time most of all especially when it grants me the permission to create and be uninterrupted by the realities of a practical life. It is in those rare occurrences that I truly feel dope.
Today I stared into the eyes of my son of 5 days. In them there existed the wisdom of 40 eternities. I know that sounds corny but since I’m his dad and he’s my first son I guess I’m allowed. Needless to say I was humbled to say the least when he appeared on the scene, which really made me, put this whole 40 thing into perspective. I am 40. Big friggin’ deal! This is what his eyes say to me.

There are times when I am afraid because I don’t want him to experience the same failures I have. What do I tell him when he meets his first bully? What advice do I give him when someone breaks his heart? But in the midst of my panic his eyes tell me that he has faith in me and that he and I will both figure it out. Am I dope? It’s too early to tell I think. The journey has just begun. Whether I am dope or not remains to be seen. Swagger is a mere illusion.
One of the hardest things I have witnessed as an adult is the moment when my parents became real people. I believe that my parents were better at creating the parental illusion than I could ever hope to be. All I have ever known how to be is naked to the world. Is this dope? Or is being dope about the façade that so many have become experts at creating? I want my children to be genuine. Am I setting them up for failure in this life where the genuine are always victimized? Would it be better to just make them dope? I wonder. And if so how the hell do I do that? There are so many questions.
I want my children to be warriors. I want my children to win. I want my children to be better than me. This is my truth and whether or not it is dope is of little concern. In my thirties being aloof was the seat of my charm. This no longer works for me. When I stare into the eyes of my son I realize now that being constantly aware of the world around me is the only way that I can ensure his safety. Am I dope? When I look at my daughter I see a brilliant but sensitive young woman who can do great things if I am a real presence in her life. Am I dope? My daughter continues to amaze me every time I am able to drop all of the futilities of adult life and give her my full attention. When I do this I am met with nothing short of brilliance. My son has a power that is beyond my comprehension. Although he cannot yet speak verbally he has communicated to me the essence of love and understanding since the first day I saw his beautiful face and cut his lifeline. If I was forced to define what dope is I would say that the embodiment of dopeness lies in his unwillingness to complain and face this life head on no matter what the consequences. I am truly inspired by his arrival. Am I dope? Who cares?!?

Honestly I don’t know what my former lover meant by that statement. Perhaps she foresaw a person that was more confident, self aware and introspective. Truthfully it doesn’t really matter. In the final analysis, we all have improvements that we must make. Being 40 does not make me the perfect man (just ask my fiance’). And although I am a better man now than I was then, what is most important is that in both cases I was a good man. Whether or not I am dope is purely subjective now. The only thing that matters now is that in the epic that is to be told about the generation to come I must do my part. Let the teller of the tales to come sort out the dope.

Da Plug

2010-08-31T15:53:00.003-04:00

This post is dedicated to my good friend Tai Allen for winning the National Poetry Awards 2010 best album - for easy readin'. I just wanna say congrats to Tai and ahem by the way I'm on it too. Be sure to check out the excerpts at the bottom of the page.

cheers

song: http://vicelounge.com/taiallen_neverfall.zip
song: http://vicelounge.com/taiallen_loveis.zip
video: http://vimeo.com/12173167
--

Happy Thoughts

2010-08-12T23:50:00.003-04:00

This past weekend I had the opportunity to get away from New York for a while and take a ride down south to Virginia Beach. The wonderful thing about excursions such as this is that often you come back a little more self aware than when you left. It would be elegant and Kerouac-ish if I could say that such profound insights came from some meditative state while watching foliage go by on the road, but this was not the case. My discovery came from a friend and it was not elegant, profound or poetic. It was just an honest insight from a good friend who happens to be dealing with the death of his mother who happened to be his best friend. He simply told me while I was in the midst of one of my infamous self absorbed rants that I complain too damn much. He also asked me one of the most honest questions that anyone has ever asked (or at least this time I listened) which was "don't you have any happy thoughts"? So this post is an ode and apology to my good friend for having the patience to put up with my selfishness and helping me to look for those happy thoughts every day for the rest of my life as if my life depended on them.

Happy Thought #1: 8/10/2010 My washing machine broke down and instead of getting stressed about it and using money I didn't have to buy a new one, my fiance and I managed to find a repair man to fix it for a fraction of what I would have paid for a new one. Cha Ching!

Happy Thought #2 8/11/2010 On this day I finally reached my weight goal of 210lbs since 3 months ago when I discovered that I was 240lbs and my 7 year old daughter affectionately nicked named me Belly Man! I lost a total of 30 lbs. Do I hear underwear model in my future?

Happy Thought #3 8/11/2010 On this day I discovered that Laurence Fishburne's daughter is a porn star. Not sure if this qualifies as a happy thought because it is at someone's expense, but I'll be damned if it doesn't make me more aware of my role as a father and what an honor it is to have such an esteemed title. Oh and also what can happen if said awareness ever starts to wane. My prayers go out to the both of them.

Happy thought #4: 8/12/2010 Tonight I made dinner for the fam. Cooking is probably first among the many talents that I will discover as I become more domesticated on my journey to the great beyond.
Also, its cool to know that there are at least 3 people in the world who actually approve of what I whip up in the kitchen ( CJ will get his in the form of breast milk; Da Ninny rules!) By the way, tonight's dish was penne and vodka sauce ala Craig. RECOGNIZE BITCHES!!!

Thanks again to my friend Paul for offering me a therapeutic option to dealing with life's little curve balls.

Be good to each other out there!

love and light
c

Something in the Gatorade?

2010-07-13T18:30:00.002-04:00

Old school sports fans would argue that there was once a time in the golden age of sports when a great player stayed with his team. He and the team were bonded and if someone spoke the name of that individual they knew it was just like saying the name of the team because both were interchangeable. Then players like Shaquille O’Neal (5 championships), Kevin Garnett (1 championship and 1 finals appearance in 3 years) entered the stage. These players and the recent events of Lebron James, Dwayne Wade and Chris Bosh have shown us that this is no longer the case or is it? It would be easy to bash these individuals as many have done for their alleged disloyalty to their respective teams but let’s take a moment to really examine exactly what their collective efforts will mean for the NBA.

Now I’m no expert but I am old enough to remember the dynasties created by the likes of Larry Byrd, Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan. Byrd and Magic were fortunate enough to walk in to an organization that already had a rich history of winning. Upper management did most of the wheeling and dealing that was needed to keep these team’s winning traditions intact. Jordan’s situation represents probably the best example of having a dynasty built around him but everyone knows that his opinion greatly influenced how his team was constructed. This was the case because no one in Chicago including the owner Jerry Reinsdorf wanted to see him go. In other words, measures were taken to keep him happy. I wonder if Cleveland’s owner Dan Gilbert with all of his scathing criticism even considered this valuable piece of history or was he just being…well cavalier when considering James’s happiness as a player. Is it possible that with all of his wealth and promises of prosperity that he forgot that the most important thing to a player with championship potential is to actually become a champion? Let’s face it in every superstar athletes tenure time is of the essence. First steps become slower, verticals become shorter and aches and pains take longer to go away. History has shown that great players need other great players to win. When I look at the Cavalier’s roster I personally don’t see a great among them other than Anderson Verejao possibly.

Now it could be argued that Gilbert gave his best efforts at building a team around James that best complimented his strengths but the performance of these players and the look on Lebron’s face at the end of their playoff run was the most telling of all that it just wasn’t enough. Lebron’s actions are indicative of a man who no longer wishes to wait for destiny or the team owner to get it right. The efforts of him and his new teammates are exactly what owners have been doing for years; taking destiny in their own hands. To accuse him of cowardice, selfishness and quitting is just wrong.

Wade, James and Bosh’s actions represent a new trend in not just basketball but in sports in general. They have in essence taken the game and moved it to a new court, revealed the true power of free agency and made owners like Gilbert painfully aware that they are not the only ones who can have meetings, which decide the future of a franchise. Old school fans that have become owners may argue that Lebron James and his cohorts have no respect for the simpler times when owners controlled everything. Well things are not so simple anymore. The natives have become restless and down right disobedient. I guess there must be something in the Gatorade eh Dan?

Dope at 40?

2010-07-02T03:22:00.004-04:00

Dope- A word that describes something that is extremely cool, such as music, clothes, people, etc.
-The Urban Dictionary

A former lover in my thirties once offered me as a consolation prize for my unrequited love the following phrase: “you’re gonna’ be dope when your 40”. Well that day has come. Today I am officially 40 years of age. My birthday gift; a beautiful baby boy 5 days old and the responsibility of insuring that hope is an essential part of his and my daughter’s life for the rest of their days. Am I dope? Well I guess it depends on who you ask. My father once told me that he took 40 very hard. I suppose it was because he always wanted to be rich and famous. He was once an actor, singer and model. None of those things proved fruitful in his life and there is an unwritten rule somewhere that says in the quest to become rich and famous 40 is the cut off. On some level I understand his pain but presently I don’t feel it. To his credit, I share his passion for the arts but I am under the sobering realization that its primary purpose in my life is to keep me from going insane. Although fame and fortune would be welcome, I am a much bigger fan of time when it grants me permission to create uninterrupted by the realities of a practical life. It is in those rare occurrences that I truly feel dope.

Today I stared into the eyes of my son of 5 days. In his eyes there existed the wisdom of 5 eternities. Needless to say I was humbled to say the least. Today I am 40. Big fuckin’ deal! This is what his eyes say to me. In my heart and mind there is fear because I don’t want him to experience the same failures I have. What do I tell him when he meets his first bully? What advice do I give him when someone breaks his heart? But in the midst of my panic his eyes tell me that he has faith in me and that I will figure it out. Am I dope? It’s too early to tell I think. I am 40 and the journey has just begun. Whether I am dope or not remains to be seen. Swagger is a mere illusion.

One of the hardest things I have witnessed as an adult is the moment when my parents became real people. I believe that my parents were better at creating the parental illusion than I could ever hope to be. All I have ever known how to be is naked to the world. Is this dope? Or is being dope about the façade that so many have become experts at creating? I want my children to be genuine. Am I setting them up for failure in this life where the genuine are always victimized? Would it be better to just make them dope? I wonder.

I want my children to be warriors. I want my children to win. I want my children to be better than me. This is my truth and whether or not it is dope is of little concern. In my thirties being aloof was the seat of my charm. This no longer works for me. When I stare into the eyes of my son I realize now that being constantly aware of the world around me is the only way that I can ensure his safety. Am I dope? When I look at my daughter I see a brilliant but sensitive young woman who can do great things if I am a real presence in her life. Am I dope? My daughter continues to amaze me every time I am able to drop all of the futilities of adult life and give her my full attention. When I do this I am bombarded by nothing but brilliance. Am I dope? My son has a power that is beyond my comprehension. Although he cannot yet speak verbally he has communicated to me the essence of love and understanding since the first day I saw his beautiful face and cut his lifeline to comfort of the womb. If I was forced to define what dope is I would say that the embodiment of dopeness lies in his unwillingness to complain and face this life head on no matter what the consequences. I am truly inspired by his arrival. Am I dope? Who cares?!?

Honestly I don’t know what my former lover meant by that statement. Perhaps she foresaw a person that was more confident, self aware and introspective. Truthfully it doesn’t really matter. In the final analysis, we all have improvements that we must make. Being 40 does not make me the perfect man (just ask my fiance’). And although I am a better man now than I was then, what is most important is that in both cases I was a good man. Whether or not I am dope is purely subjective now. The only thing that matters now is that in the epic that is to be told about the generation to come I must do my part. Let the teller of the tales to come determine my dopeness.

Enough about me...

2010-05-24T22:40:00.003-04:00

It's Devasha's birthday. I just made her taco's for dinner. Since she is pregnant and loves to eat. I think her birthday was a success. And me? Well I'm feeling fine and little less intense thank you very much. I guess that's what doing for others does. It makes you less intense. Not sure how long I can pull it off though. The less intense thing I mean. But all things considered this day is not about me so who cares. Happy Birthday Devasha...

A Different Type of Word (revised)

2010-04-20T20:36:00.002-04:00

It is becoming apparent to me that much of my writing whether through linguistic analysis or otherwise is anecdotal. In keeping with this trend I begin with a situation, which occurred last year in my classroom. One of my students who was habitually late to class would often argue that he saw no reason why it was such a big deal to be on time. In hindsight, I would attribute our differences of opinion to age and possibly class. Although I am unsure if there are any studies which explain class and its relationship to time orientation, there are studies that would attempt to explain the language exchanged in our debates. For the sake of comfort I will focus mostly on the sociolinguistic elements of our conversation, how they affected my perception of my student, and how other elements, which occurred after the conversation, produced a different affect. My hope also is for the reader to see how the use of the “N” word, which continues to be controversial among African Americans young and old, has played a significant role in my evolution as an educator and student of the English language.

Consider the following statement: “Mr. Knight ‘yous a diffr’int type a nigga”. One noticeable linguistic element here is the use of the term “yous” which in some non-standard dialects is used as the 2nd person form of the word “I”. In this example however, it is used as the first person since he was only addressing me. Another feature of this sentence is the use of the letter “a”(pronounced uh) which replaces the word “are” and acts as a contraction for the phrase “you are a” as in the more standardized form of “Mr. Knight you are a different type of Nigger”. Other acceptable statements which would convey the same meaning are: You a’ diffrint’ kinda’ Nigga, You a diffrint’ type nigga’, You a diffrint’ kind nigga” and “You a diffrint’ konna nigga”. In my experience through personal usage and as a witness in other urban settings these different variations of the phrase are interchangeable. These examples are consistent with Peter Trudgill’s findings which report that in most localized English dialects there is a great degree of variation as opposed to standardized forms where there is little (40).

The last obvious element is of course the use of the “N” word, which possesses a sordid etymology that would be unnecessary to explain. This is what my student said to me after several classes where I pleaded my case why he should be on time. Initially his statement, which seemed to be an indication of dismissal or disbelief of the very notion of promptness, was an insult for two reasons. The first was because our difference in age. Although the use of this term between African Americans is long standing, those in my age group especially those who are college educated use it sparingly at best and only in select company. I can recall old episodes of television shows such as “Sanford and Son” and “The Jeffersons” where “nigga” was used only for dramatic or comedic effect. Enter the 21st century. It is now used frequently especially among urban youth. The effect however, has been diminished. The second reason I was offended was that his statement at the time seemed to be an extreme form of disrespect. It was in my opinion a glaring violation of a social relationship between teacher and student that I refused to acknowledge as dissolving or nonexistent.

This episode gives credence to Fernando Penalosa’s statement that “language varieties survive because of their functional differentiation, and their status derives largely from the functions they serve”(83). In this case, although I was fully aware of the function of the “N” word as a term to indicate companionship (as in my nigga) or as a gender identifier much like guy or dude, my age and preoccupation with class and status only allowed me to hear its negative connotation.
It seems that in our linguistic frames of reference my student and I were on familiar ground. However, because we differed fundamentally on the usage of this one word, a breakdown in communication occurred. In this instance, we both felt disrespected. Because of one simple phrase and others similar in style I dismissed the very notion that he may have never been exposed to the value of promptness at least in the classroom setting. It is possible that I was desensitized because of the homogeneous language styles and over usage of the “N” word throughout the school to receive any viable messages. The fact that he was a new student could have also been a contributing factor to his slowness to adjust to the lateness policy.

Whatever the case, our failure to see eye to eye on the issue of lateness was essentially due to the problems presented by standardization of the language and its rejection of the “N” word as profane. Each time my student was late I reminded him of the lateness policy conveniently placed on my bulletin board. Although this act was supposed to follow the “unifying function” of language referenced by Penalosa ,which addresses an adherence to the standardized form (87), my student in turn, responded to the formalized lateness policy with more lateness and colorful language, which is referred to as the “separatist function which preserved his integrity as a separate class” (87). It is only when I decided to have a series of “real” discussions with him in which I tried to give real life examples of the consequences of tardiness that he began to respond. For example, I asked him how he would feel if he lost a job or if someone he loved was hurt as a result. After these conversations his lateness was not as frequent but he still referred to me as “a different type a nigga”.

After this series of events I only had a chance to speak to this individual one final time. He seemed more at peace with his surroundings. Although he had not quite beaten the lateness problem, he was getting better. His lateness had decreased from 20 minutes after the bell to 5. When we spoke he said that he had a better understanding of what I meant and we had reached the “frame of reference” (87) function within our communication, which equally served us both even though he was no longer in my class. Later that night, he was killed in a gang related incident and I learned something new about language.
I realized that beneath all of the rules and theories of language, communication is always waiting to be utilized. Using the frame of reference style that Penalosa spoke of allowed me to see my student (whose name was Jalal by the way) as a person and not a dialect or a language variety.

The word he frequently used, started out as black (negro). It was transformed into an utterance that was used to enslave. Eventually, it developed a beat and became music to urban youth everywhere. To them, the definition of nigga was always black. They were never made to watch Alex Haley’s “Roots” on T.V. or be exposed to any of the historical resources that would cause violent responses to its usage. In fact, it would be safe to say that their exposure to the word has been more in a hip-hop context then any other. Because of my historical relationship to the word, I still cannot embrace it even with its new spelling. But despite the protests of older generations against it, it is as resilient as the spirits it was created to break. I find it interesting that throughout the last 3 decades nigger has become a different kind of word, creating a different kind of standard in a different kind of world. I have even considered the possibility that my student Jalal was paying me a compliment when he referred to me as such. It would be a shame if I let it be buried with him and by my own pompous.

With regard to 'literary competence'

2010-03-04T10:47:00.003-05:00

The following is a paper I wrote for my linguistics class. Give it a read if it suits your interests.

"When a speaker of a language hears a phonetic sequence, he is able to give it meaning because he brings to the act of communication an amazing repertoire of conscious and unconscious knowledge"

-Jonathan Culler

It is perplexing at times to think about the many obstacles that exist in today's hyper communicative society. To some it would seem that the more we are given access to communication the more we fail at conveying the essence of a message. As a teacher of language arts I have become increasingly aware of the challenges to creating what Jonathan Culler refers to as literary competence. The obstacles faced by myself and many of my colleagues in (unwittingly) teaching this concept stems from deficiencies in the experience and lack of conventions in this area which Culler states are necessary to achieve it. I would venture further to assert that the experiential and conventional requirements needed to achieve literary competence are often missed due to an overwhelming reluctance amongst students to expand their worldview.
The starting point of a worldview [emphasis mine] for the speaker of a language according to Culler begins with respect to a particular grammar (131). When a new grammar is introduced as in a poem or another language, the reader references his experiences and conventions of his language to give it meaning. This is the basis for the dilemma that rears its head daily in the classroom. Students bring forth their own conventions and language that are steeped in violations to the “standard”. In many cases these violations of Standard English are not viewed as violations at all by the student and any corrections to the conventions set by them are met with reluctance and even hostility. For example, I once referred to a student’s missing homework excuse as one of many ‘smokescreens’, which he often uses to alleviate himself of the responsibility to turn them in on time. He responded with a frown and asked me what I meant by this statement and why I had to always ‘talk that old people talk that no one uses anymore’. After several attempts to explain the term with no success, I was forced to rely on a colloquialism that everyone in the class found entertaining because it was much more familiar to their standard of speech. In another example, while attempting to quiet down a particularly disruptive student, I was met with a dismissive request to ‘chill son’ which was her way of telling me to relax coupled with the use of the colloquial ‘son’ which could be translated as buddy, man or any other phrase appropriate to her peer group that would function as the object of her request to tell me to loosen up. This request of course had the opposite effect which led me to remind her that I was not her son. This dialogue is particularly notable because there were several dynamics in our interaction that occurred simultaneously. First, because we were both aware of what she meant by the use of the word ‘son’ I became offended because of the lack of respect exhibited against me as the adult. She on the other hand was offended because my response implied that I was pretending that I did not know what this word meant in the context in which she used it. What she was reluctant to acknowledge was that although I knew what she meant, it was still perceived as disrespectful because she addressed me by her use of the word as a peer and not as an adult. This was further illustrated when she replied to my response by saying ‘Mr. You are in our hood so you talk how we talk’.
Both of the examples described here illustrate the reluctance to accept the conventions and experience which creates Culler's particular grammar required to achieve understanding and relies on what he refers to as mastery of a literary system (132). The two individuals in these examples possess reluctance and hostility to the previously established conventions represented by me the teacher and in an effort not to betray the conventions, which they are establishing themselves outside of the classroom, are compelled to resist them. What I have observed as an educator is that this resistance is a defense mechanism created in response to a history of learning delays, which result in low self-esteem and as result standard English even in an established colloquial sense is not considered ‘real talk’. But that is a topic for another essay.
One way that I like to begin any unit on literature is by first introducing my students to the essential questions and themes of which will be present in what they are reading. For example, in a world literature class where we are currently studying The Odyssey, students were asked to write a short journal on what it means to be prepared for a journey as Odysseus needed to be on his long journey home. In this exercise students were asked to examine one of three quotes concerning the theme of preparation from John F. Kennedy, Confucius and the rapper known as Nas. Because of their familiarity with Nas many of the students picked him. The Nas quote was as follows:

‘I never sleep because sleep is the cousin of death’

One student’s response to this quote contained the following response:

“I agree with what Nas is saying in this quote because people die in their sleep all the time. My grandmother was one of them”.

The response here illustrates a point in which Culler uses Blake’s ‘Ah! Sun-flower’ as an example. He states that anyone who knows the language of English can interpret the words of the poem, but there is some distance between an understanding of the language and the thematic statement of the work’(132). The same thing occurs in the interpretation of the Nas Quote. Even in the presence of background information provided to show that all three quotes provided were centered on the theme of the importance of preparation, there was still difficulty in inferring that Nas was using the word ‘sleep’ as a metaphor for being prepared or aware. This example does not illustrate a lack of intelligence of the student in question, but it does show how his lack of literary competence even from a familiar milieu could be exploited by lack of experience in using the word sleep in any other context other than laying one’s head down and resting for the night. In hindsight, the realization is achieved that even using something as familiar as hip hop with certain students for purposes of teaching literary competence requires the references to be both current and familiar. In cases such as this utterances of literature come closer to achieving what is referred to by Culler as a ‘rules of significance’ which are defined as significant attitudes toward some problem concerning man and his relation to the universe (134). The student’s lack of competence in the situation described shows a failure to recognize sleep in the example as a problem faced by many who in this context sleepwalk through life and lack the preparation needed to be successful. In this case, sleep is more the cousin of a metaphorical death than the absolute death inferred by the student.
In addition to the timeliness and familiarity of literary references needed to promote literary competence there are also other solutions to the current dilemma that should be addressed. New practice in language arts must be developed in which media is integrated not just for the sake of having it in the classroom but to actually address our emerging society which in many cases places little or no value in the concept of process. This is of course very difficult in an age where many place a high value on efficiency. The ever-shortening attention spans of many of my students demand a more abbreviated 3.0 version of literary competence. The question then becomes how this new system will integrate knowledge of conventions and the reverence associated with them, which creates experience. In other words, can respect for literature be generated if the very process of learning it is accelerated? In an ideal sense, this new approach would have to be a system in which there is a constant stopping and starting of literary knowledge in which the words of literary masters are thrust into a digital format to address short attention spans of the multi-tasking masses and slowed to real time to influence their appreciation of it. As I skim through Cullers essay, I realize that I am doing this exact thing. But there is also a looming reality that my ability to process information in this way is bolstered by a real time education obtained from a pre-internet where there was more cohesive relationship between the learner and the learned. But again, this is a topic for another paper.

Craig's Comic Book Rant to be cont'd (again)

2010-01-30T12:23:00.005-05:00

I was sitting in a workshop this morning which addresses various techniques of intervention to use with problem kids. Admittedly, today's session was a bit boring until it began to address the kinds of kids I deal with on a daily basis. The profile presented showed a kid who is in essence following the road of a sociopath. The presenter went on to explain that this type of kid is often the hardest to deal with simply because his behaviors are almost never followed with any feelings of remorse. For example, in the least extreme case this student may be a thief. His response to such an act would be that the individual he stole from should not have left his valuables unprotected, therefore alleviating himself of the blame. This of course struck a strong chord in me because this is the type of student that I encounter everyday. It also brings insight to why all of my rants and appeals to these individuals are often met with blank stares, interruptions and wise cracks. It was also noted that these individuals exhibit these behaviors as a coping mechanism to deal with the many traumatic events of their lives...a fact that was very evident to me before I took this class. However, it does not negate the fact that it would behoove the individual to always be aware of the causes.

Now here is where it gets real: I could not help but realize that many of these individuals have no problem admitting their crimes if given the right amount of publicity when doing so. When I witnessed the thief in question intricately describing the strategies of his many capers it reminded me of an episode of 20/20 where a mass murderer in infinite detail tells the interviewer about his many heinous crimes. My question then was are we teaching this generations future sociopaths? My instructor then replied that although many of our students do indeed possess sociopathic tendencies, they don't all have to be criminals. And to further illustrate her point she said "A sociopath doesn't have to be a criminal...he could become Dick Cheney or any American CEO. A very sobering thought indeed!

Now what does this all have to do with comics? Anyone who is familiar with the whole Batman saga knows that he himself could be considered a sociopath in his own right. He dresses in a bat suit and through techniques of extreme violence and intimidation guards Gotham City. His arch nemesis the Joker on the other hand uses the same techniques to keep the city in constant terror. These characters are in essence two sides of the same coin. Which brings me closer to the frightening realization that as I sit in my classroom from day to day in front of groups of potential future sociopaths, I have been given the charge and the dilemma of influencing them to become batmen and batwomen as opposed to future jokers. Laughable? Maybe. Maybe I've just read too many damn comic books. But one thing is certain. We live in a country that is 5% of the world's population and 25% of its prison inmates. This is appalling! If a man in spandex and a cape can help me cope with such a fact then so be it.

I encourage everyone to be safe, be caring and be well.

2010-01-04T09:51:00.003-05:00

I was having a drink with a friend a few nights ago and we got to talking about my latest upcoming adventure in fatherhood. He said that in a conversation with one his friends she used the phrase "game over" when he informed her that my fiance' and I were having a new addition to our family. I have to say that I was slightly annoyed by this at first but after mulling it over in my mind over the past few days, i decided to take her statement as a compliment. I became reassured that in this world of individuals who wish to be forever 21, every aspect of life is a game.

So let's say for sake of argument that my newest status as a future father of 2 completely takes me out of "the game". Does this mean that I am no longer a "player" or does it mean that the game for me has merely changed? Her statement made me realize that I am actually at the advance stages of the game on a level where most either lose immediately or don't even bother to participate. Unfortunately we live in a society where many are still playing on level 1 in a contest that is no longer relevant to their lives. In other words the old guy or girl at the club is very much like the ace at Ms. Pac-man when everyone else has moved on to Grand Theft Auto. Now don't get me wrong I am far from a master. But neither was Michael Jordan at first. My parents weren't master of the game either. But they are still together and I am thoroughly impressed. So that being said. Here's to all of the couples out there young and old who are still striving to be masters of the game.

But other than that it was cool

2009-12-31T02:54:00.001-05:00

My family and I just returned from seeing the movie Avatar and I have to say that in spite of being thoroughly entertained I was also slightly disturbed. And as I write this blog I find myself still trying to work out why. So in an effort to make this discovery I will begin with the obvious. Everything about this movie from the smallest detail had “ginormous budget” written all over it. I will admit from my pedestrian point of view that most of the money was tastefully spent. This movie my finance’ likes to remind me was the most expensive movie ever made. This and the fact that I couldn’t get tickets to see it until tonight are what really made me want to see what all the fuss was about. When I finally saw it I began to realize that it was not only quite entertaining, but it was also an exercise in audacity (more on this later). I reached this conclusion right around the first half hour when the plot was revealed. I thought to myself this is Dances with Wolves in outer space. It was the story of how one colonist with a moral dilemma decided to take pity on a thriving yet clearly different civilization from his own. In the process he falls in love and decides to save it from his evil countrymen who are only concerned with the profit that comes from robbing the land of its natural resources at the expense of the mortal and spiritual lives of its inhabitants. Sound familiar?

With that being said however, I have to give respect where it is due. Cameron did an excellent job of including all the ingredients of a good science fiction story. He demonstrated yet again that there is and always will be an ongoing struggle between the forces of industry, the military and science and the values of simple folk. Of course the savior of this civilization always finds out that these simple folk aren’t that simple at all. The problem that I always have with these stories is that savior always ends up being braver, nobler and in the end more spiritually enlightened than the men of the society who have lived there for centuries. He also in the process emasculates the native who is next in line for the coveted position of leader AND gets his girl to boot! Maybe I’m just being picky here but there seems to be something slightly wrong with this motif.

These are some of the obvious splinters that I stumbled across on the road to deciphering this flick. However, the most disturbing blow that Cameron and his cohorts dealt was one that many won’t even feel. If the devil has any thing to do with Hollywood, (and those of us who believe in the devil know that he does) he is most definitely gloating right now at how often humanity chooses comfort and entertainment over change. I overheard two guys having a conversation about the movie at its conclusion. They were questioning the morals of a film which motivates its viewers to cheer for the “good guys” when in fact the good guys happened to be aliens from outer space slaughtering American soldiers. These people prior to viewing this movie probably didn’t know the amazing parallels it would make to real life soldiers in real life wars and will probably choose to conveniently forget by the time there heads hit their pillows. I also had a conversation that was directly aimed at me at the end of the movie. Some random stranger announced “I guess since the natives in this movie stood up for themselves everything’s ok now” and as a response to the confusion on my face explained that she was of course sarcastically referring to the bloody history of colonialism in this country. As I listened I found my self wondering how much of her sarcasm might be the remedy for a guilty conscience. At this point when I began to acknowledge my own sarcasm internally, I reached the conclusion that she and I were no different than the people having the first conversation. We have been given the luxury of dealing with the atrocities of war via Hollywood and in 3D! And whenever we find it necessary we can and will forget. Which is why Hollywood can audaciously release a movie which indirectly gives the message that maybe every once in a while Americans do some fucked up shit but since they only really want to be entertained with special effects and shit it won’t cause too much controversy. And even if it does all anyone will ever do is talk or maybe blog about it. The devil is always in the details but his greatest trick has always been to convince us that they don’t exist. I mean after all Avatar is just movie right?

WTF!!??

2009-11-30T11:14:00.006-05:00

This is something I picked up on Salon.com. I'm interested
in what folks think. I think how I feel is pretty obvious.

Editor:
Updated: TodayTopic:
Facebook Sunday, Nov 29, 2009 18:01 PST
Facebook, the mean girls and me
At 34 years old, I finally feel like a popular seventh-grader. How sad is that?
By Taffy Brodesser-Akner

I sit at my computer and wait for Barbara, who once poured yogurt on my head in front of the entire field hockey team, to tell me the details of her breakup with her current boyfriend. While I wait, I chat with Alison, who, years ago, stole my pants during gym and cut a hole in the crotch area, and who needs advice on how to sleep-train her baby. Still, while all this is going on, I play online Scrabble with Rachel, who, when I was 12, told everyone I had faked getting my period for attention.

I am someone with a life. I have a career, a son, a husband, an active volunteer life, and many current and real-life friendships that need maintenance. I have a work deadline in three hours, plus dinner isn’t ready. The laundry remains unlaundered. Why, then, am I sitting at my computer, concerned to distraction over the activities of the people who were cruelest to me during my formative years?

They weren’t always horrible to me. I loved fifth and sixth grades. I had a clique of friends, complete with secret nicknames, passed notes, knowing looks, friendship bracelets, friendship pens, friendship songs. We moved through the school as a group and took turns slumber-partying at each other’s houses.

We traded the title "best friend" regularly among different pairings in our group. Nancy and Barbara had spent two weeks together in Nantucket over the summer, and though Nancy and I had been best friends prior to that, apparently they had decided that their time had come to be best friends. They made this announcement to me via conference call the week before school started. I took it OK; after all, I’d been meaning to get to know Amy better.

Late in sixth grade, something changed, and I wasn’t a part of it. One day, all my friends came in with matching training bras. “I didn’t know we were getting bras,” I said. They looked at each other, a shared glance I used to be on the comfy side of, and my heart sank with the unspoken answer: We weren’t. They were.

Seventh grade began, and I found out we had grown out of things like changing best friends. I met a girl named Emily who had transferred to our school. After a good day of getting to know her, I asked if she wanted to be best friends. “You’re such a loser,” she spat. I looked around one day, and my group of friends had wandered away. Adults like to generalize and say things like, “Aren’t kids cruel?” But we kids, the ones who are left out in the cold, have a role in what happens to us. Not necessarily a fair one, but the facts of our unpopularity are not mysterious. We get fat, we say the wrong thing, we wear outdated clothing. Me, I was too needy. Long after my friends stopped needing superlative titles to know how much they meant to each other, I still did.

I did not go quietly into that lonely and unpopular night. Each morning, I tried to assume a casual air of friendship. Big mistake. My efforts backfired, and my former friends’ apathy toward me turned to hatred. Soon, I was not just ignored at school. I was tripped as I came out of the shower. People made flatulent noises when I sat down in class. My locker was magic-markered with the word "loser." We are tempted to remember this behavior and make light of it. Oh, it couldn’t have been that bad, we said. But I remember it well. It was that bad.

Now, all these years later, there’s Facebook, allowing us to put the past to rest, to erase the mystery that used to be inherent in the subject of wondering whatever happened to those people you once knew.

After accumulating college friends and ex-boyfriends, as we all do when we join Facebook, I took a chance and looked up Barbara. With the nervousness that accompanied me on every bus trip to school following my fall from grace, I pressed the button that would send her a friend request. Immediately, I received confirmation: She had agreed, finally, to be my friend. Brave now, I found Alison, then Amy, then Nancy. I was euphoric. Here I am, back in the inner sanctum. I sort through their pictures, their posts, their lives. I cheer their triumphs, their babies’ birthdays, photos from their ski trips. I cobble together the story of how life has been since we knew each other, deliberately, forcefully forgetting how it was we parted.

I check their updates and their statuses with eagerness each day. Like an addict, I am euphoric when I am practicing my addiction, remorseful and self-hating when I’m not. I am shocked at how easily I have forgiven these people. I am filled with the warm light of acceptance; I am wrapped in the cozy blanket of belonging.

In my imagination, my old clique’s renewed friendship tells me that they know they were wrong, that they were just being cruel. They’re sorry, they say with every LOL or emoticon. We were wrong, they say when they press the "like" button on my status update. If I’m honest, I bet they don’t think about it. I bet they regard me as a name that is familiar -- a new person in their lives, more than an old one.

There is no way to go back in time and undo things -- not the insults, not the humiliations. We can pretend some events never happened, though we are always still a little plagued. But, sometimes, we can also find a way to make what happened in the past right. I’m not saying you can do that with everything that haunts your past. But some things, you can. Maybe the way women in the '90s took back the word "bitch," calling themselves and each other by the ugly slur so that it wouldn’t hold power when men said it, maybe that’s what I’m doing with my former friends.

Why do you need to be loved by people who rejected you a hundred years ago, asks my husband, though I have explained it. He believes I have Stockholm syndrome, that I have fallen in love with my torturers. I tell him that these are just old friends, that I’m over it, that it’s nice to be in touch with a piece of my past. But I’m not exactly over it, am I? What I am, though, is someone who has finally found a way to put my life’s ugliest social chapter to rest. Maybe I didn’t come by it the honest way -- through a true reckoning with my past, a fearless inventory of what happened that year and why I can't get over it. But who is to say that we shouldn’t try to find peace any way we can? Who says it always has to be so hard?

Whatever my intention was when I contacted my former friends, it’s different now. I no longer want validation; I no longer am testing the waters to see if they now find me worth their time. These women are not who I thought they’d be. They’re people having a hard time in the economy, people who are struggling through their days, their relationships. I don’t have enough in common with them to think that, had we not fallen out, our friendships would have survived. But here, now, I am someone who also struggles with these things. I have stretched across a social divide that was narrower than I thought, and I found community where I least expected it. Am I pathetic? Maybe. But what I also am, finally, is a popular seventh-grader. I think of my younger self, eating her lunch alone, wondering when this agony will be over. I wish I could tell her I haven't forgotten about her. I wish I could tell her I've made it OK.

What if...

2009-11-15T22:00:00.004-05:00

What if a person could gain intimate knowledge of his neighbor by the simple act of sniffing his arse. I know it sounds kind of odd, but we have become a nation that is so completely obsessed with decorum in the midst of utter chaos, that it would be interesting to see how we would react if we could suddenly bring peace to the world by simply mimicking cats and dogs. And since I have never seen a poodle drop a bomb on a pit bull, I would say that they must be doing something right. I know it sounds crazy but what if sometime in 1000A.D. some king decreed that arse sniffing was uncivilized and that those who were caught doing it would be burned at the stake. I think that would be enough to make me walk upright. And maybe this king made this decree because he knew that performing this act would be the alternative to war and atrocities which would bare him more profit than peace on earth and decided that he and his knights would be the only ones worthy of the infinite wisdom that arse sniffing yielded. Therefore, it is possible that every high official in government who went to an ivy league school was in an arse sniffing fraternity and if they were ever caught sharing their arse sniffing secrets would be assassinated. Who knows? Maybe Kennedy was an arse sniffer who decided to blow the whistle on the whole arse sniffing conspiracy and was silenced in Dallas on that fateful day.

Just think if arse sniffing was legal, women would be sayin' shit like: I'm sorry, I don't arse sniff on the first date. And men would be sayin' "but I bought you dinner at an expensive restaurant, I think that deserves at least one arse sniffing"!? When applying for jobs, employers would not only require references and a credit check but a healthy sniff as well. (of course any use of tongue would be considered sexual harassment). On prom night fathers could put away their shot guns and sniff their daughter's dates instead. But would they? Absolutely not!

It seems that most of the masses are quite content with their mediocrity. Everybody says that they want infinite peace and wisdom but they'd rather not have to sniff arse to get it. What is confusing about this realization is now I don't know whether or not to be proud of the masses because of it.

The Word

2009-11-13T13:25:00.000-05:00

Yesterday A student asked me why he had to learn English "if that's what we speak". It took me a day to articulate it but I came to the realization that speaking and writing is how we not only survive but evolve as a species. And since we speak English it is essential that we speak and write it well. If we cannot successfully express ourselves than we are subject to insanity. Nations live and die by the word. If we were never given the chance to hear King, Kennedy or Obama speak, they would only be mere men instead of the icons they have become. There are some who say that actions speak louder than words but people are called to action by the words of passionate and articulate men and women alike. Even if the words are "boy you ain't ever gonna amount to nothin" there are those who will be motivated to prove otherwise. Positive words just make such motivations easier to realize.

This goes out to all of the hard working people out there who sometimes can't find the words to express the fear, frustration and uncertainty that you feel in these challenging times. I personally have faith that you will find them. And when you do, make sure they are motivated by hope and love.

Here's to you and here's to "the word".

'nuthin tragic...just news

2009-11-12T15:54:00.000-05:00

If there is an art to being a grown up, I still have yet to master it. About 4 months ago when Devasha and I were finally closing on our new home it seemed as if our moment of Zen was approaching, but then the bills came and the promise of future bills followed. It was as if the issues that come with adulthood tapped us on our shoulders and with a wink and a smile informed us that the fun was just beginning. The good news is that nothing tragic has happened (knock on wood). Now don’t get me wrong. I am in no way wishing for tragic events to unfold. I am only acknowledging the fact that with the issues that come with home ownership one must always be mindful that stress is what comes with trying to make house a home. Anguish is what comes when that mission fails. There is something surreal about getting an astronomical bill for something that you have never had to pay for like water. The good news is that I now have a greater appreciation for water. My friend Sol put it best: “This stuff is just news…if it ain’t tragic news, it’s just news” even if it means I have to pay a high ass water bill, it’s just news; even if it means that because of said water bill I can’t buy the treadmill and the new snowboard equipment I wanted, it’s just news. . He also reminded me that sometimes even the most beautiful news can come with its own brand of stress. Hint: It’s the kind of news that can make a person both excited and terrified at the same time and takes 9 months to arrive (ok I will now pause for applause). Lucky for me all I have to do is to be stressed. The other stuff is all on Devasha (bless her heart). Maybe she can write her own blog on that subject. I’m sure she would do a much better job than I could ever hope to.

The last time I embarked on this journey to fatherhood my stress was from a more selfish place. I wondered how I could handle all of the challenges of being a father and still maintain a sense of self. My daughter Autumn came on the scene when I was sure I was on the road to being a rock star. I was hell bent on making every moment an adventure whether it was traveling, meeting new people or taking more personal journeys internally with the help of a cookie or two. I have since learned that being a dad is a quest unlike any I have ever experienced. Every moment I live now no matter how mundane is a fight against mediocrity. The demons, goblins and fire breathing dragons that I battle now are fiercest when I am most fatigued. Only a dad can know how tough it is to help a child with her homework after a long day’s work when all he wants to do is crack open a cold one and watch T.V. In fact, I’m STILL working on that one! Lucky for me we have a DVR. Now if I could just keep the cable on everything will be golden. And if not, it’s just news.

Comic rant to be continued...

2009-10-12T00:16:00.002-04:00

Every angel is a potential devil whenever the devil calls him a bitch ass. Whenever I read a Superman or Batman comic I find The Joker or Lex Luthor in so many words taunting their enemies with the same idea: "The two of you are bitches because you are too scared to do anything for yourselves". And whenever you do you end up feeling extremely guilty about it. Even though Bats plays this rouge/playboy role, secretly he's not really having any fun at all. The funny thing is The Joker knows that somewhere within his arch enemies' heart there is some regret that he can't live a normal life. So he taunts him and in so many words calls him a bitch every time. I think I would laugh my ass off if some writer in the comic universe allowed The Joker to call him a bitch. It would be classic because most readers know that this is what he was thinking and doing all along. Lex on the other hand would take a much more refined approach. He'd probably never say it but his assistant Mercy probably would.

Ok so I guess it's evident now that I have a fixation with super heroes. I guess the most interesting thing about them is that in reality they're not that super, especially when you put them in the most modern of contexts. In this land of smart phones and i-pods which have made people almost sinfully self absorbed, a heroes story would grow to be a little insignificant, especially after CNN is done with it. I guess this why I'm so fascinated with comics. It takes a special kind of writer to create characters such as these specifically because they are freaks. And the most freakish thing about them is their undying optimism even when the enemy calling them a punk ass.

The Genius of Imperfection

2009-10-01T11:54:00.000-04:00

"Better to rule in hell than to serve in heaven"

- J. Milton Paradise Lost

Let us assume that there is a god. Let us also assume for the sake of argument that this god is a perfect god. From this premise it could be deduced that in an imperfect world populated by individuals who each in their own unique way fall short of perfection, our very existence is an act of genius (more on this later). As I gaze across my classroom observing my anxious students toiling through an exam this notion is quite evident. Every day I watch these young men and women who have been labeled special ed. struggle with the fact that they are not perfect. Because of this often debilitating concept their study habits, concept of time and outright desire to attend school suffers on a daily basis. This is all because somewhere during their development someone informed them of their imperfections in very harsh ways. In fact, they are constantly informed not only by outside influences but in their subconscious minds. I have one student in my 8th period class who blatantly, reports to class late, and when he arrives makes it his mission to be especially disruptive. When I asked him the reason for this destructive routine he replied that he might as well have fun now because he may die tomorrow. He is only 15.

What this student unwittingly described is the dilemma of human existence on a very basic level. Imperfection has been the engine that drives us since the invention of the wheel. It constantly places us mortals on opposite sides of a dichotomy where we are forced to strive for our highest good or be content with mediocrity. For example, each day I wake up and do 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups to start my morning. This routine stems from my drive to be as aesthetically perfect as possible. Although I know that this is impossible, I achieve solace in the very process of it because helps me feel a sense of order (even if it is an illusion) to my life. Some would say that this is a fruitless venture because sooner or later age will catch up to me and I will eventually look like a man who has become comfortable with his own physical existence, which is a solace of a different kind. On a larger scale this example could also be applied to a monk who meditates for hours at time and lives a life of temperance and necessity. This type of existence is of course a far cry from the average person whose mind is steeped in western thought. We could also apply this example to the more (ahem) respectable professions of our society such as medicine, law or finance. At the purest level, the major element that these professions share is that not only do they have the ability to inspire but to deter as well almost unwittingly. For example, the drive and discipline that is needed to be successful in the professional arena is of no consequence to my 15 year old student. In fact, in his mind, it is all just a waste of time.

The genius of this dichotomy is that societies have been run by it for centuries. Our society, which is probably one of the best examples, is predicated on the pursuit of happiness [or perfection] and the contentment of mediocrity. Those of us who pursue perfection/happiness get to manipulate those of us who don’t. Although he may be fully aware what side of the dichotomy he is on, what my student doesn’t know is that his reluctance to reach perfection creates a crisis. Crisis is a by-product of mediocrity and is what fuels the engine of this society. The crisis of illiteracy is what pays my salary and could potentially pay the salaries of the alternative school that may accept him if he continues on his current path, the public defender who could potentially defend him if he decides to commit a crime, the staff of the penal system if he is convicted and countless others whose primary purpose is to serve and profit from the imperfect. And since we are all imperfect someone always gets paid.

On a more personal level, i.e. my obsession with push-ups, we also stand the risk of disillusionment and boredom when we don’t pursue personal goals of perfection. We then fall into the routine of creating our own personal hells in which issues of self-esteem and lack of self-actualization come in to play. It is possible that my student has learned how to make the best of his hell. It is possible that he is the classic example of the Miltonian demon in the above quote who is content with his current position in life. It is also possible that many of us have become slaves to the pursuit of perfection and if you asked him, he is free. If so, then I suppose this perfect god of ours truly blesses the imperfect perfectly.

What happens after I watch Californication

2009-09-28T01:14:00.003-04:00

Writing takes courage. I needed to say this more to myself than anyone who happens to be reading this blog. Once a person utters the words “I am a writer” he becomes immediately responsible for the title. This means that he or she is expected be an authority on any subject that he writes on even if the subject happens to be himself. The reason why this is especially frightening to me is that I can be criticized on anything under the sun via this blog especially since the very title of it suggests that what is on my mind incessantly is indeed every thing under the sun. But I can live with the fear.

So here I am again, naked to the three readers I have, (myself being one of them), attempting to get passed fear, the only thing in the world that has the ability to compel me to or stop me from writing. In fact, I have realized through writing these thoughts that I have never even dared to call myself a writer until recently, when I wrote something which forced me to make the claim [of writer] in my own defense of being viewed as a faker. I was forced to say to myself “I am a writer and sometimes we upset people”. That’s what writers do sometimes. We can even upset our friends when really all we are being is honest. A friend told me once that all writing is is being honest. Sometimes I feel like I’m lying everywhere else and this is the only place I can be honest. And I’m starting to think that many of us haven’t made the claim on a great deal of things we love to do for fear of disappointment and rejection. This is why we (or I, whichever the reader prefers) “half do” a great deal of things.

Damn. All that from watching Californication.

a moment to acknowledge

2009-09-23T15:19:00.002-04:00

A Different Kind of Nigga'

May 5, 2009

Two weeks ago i had an argument with one of my students about being habitually late to my class in excesses of 20 minutes or more. He appeared to be in disbelief of the fact that I had the nerve to charge him 5 points off his final grade for each infraction. During the conversation he looked at me with the same kind of smirk basketball players use when they believe they have been unjustly charged with a foul and said "Mr. Knight, you a different kind a nigga". Someone suggested that this be the title of my memoirs. I'm not sure if I would go that far, but the situation is worth noting. Normally I would connect this anecdote to a larger point, but today...I got nuthin'!

Comments? Suggestions? Be my guest

I spoke to this young man two days ago. He was late again to another teacher's class as I happened to be leaving. I asked him if he was working on the problem. I will admit to paraphrasing but the general gist was that the importance of his puntuality was starting to sink in. He seemed to be more adjusted and at peace with his surroundings than last semester. Two students approached me today and informed me that he was shot to death later that same day. I remember taking offense to the his previous description of me but now I think that it will forever mean something more. I now know that our brief acquaintance will be a constant reminder that teachers are not the only ones who teach in the classroom. Our students have just as much power to influence as we do. It is possible that he was paying me a compliment. So I will take this time now to thank him for helping to shape me into a different kind of teacher.

R.I.P Jahlal Lee

Thoughts on 911

2009-09-11T11:23:00.001-04:00

I remember walking through the village as the smell of change in the form of smoke informed me that things in this country would never be the same again. There was a sense of disbelief almost surreal heavy on my soul. I remember the need to call family and friends just to let them know they were in my thoughts and to see if they were ok and being frustrated because all the lines were down. I still experience these feelings 8 years later since the towers fell. It’s funny how these thoughts always find a way to creep in to my lessons during the first week of school. For the past three years I have used the poem First Writing Since by Suheir Hammad to illustrate the emotions that could have been possibly felt by people who some may view as the enemy. It’s funny how every time I use this device it brings me up close and personal with the reality that there really are no enemies in war…only victims. This year I decided not to use it because it always proves to be just emotionally charged enough to tip me over the edge of composure. I guess testosterone took over this time. I guess I should get to know my students a little more before I allow them to see me struggling with these emotions in the middle of class when they find their way to the surface as they always do. People around me are just as confused if not more, when they do, especially since I didn’t personally lose anyone in the attacks, although there were some close calls. Maybe I’m just a softy to feel this way every single year. But to deny these feelings would be far worse.

May God bless you all.

Thoughts Triggered in the Wee Hours

2009-09-05T08:20:00.000-04:00

It is now 5:58 A.M. and I am bright eyed, bushy tailed, and ready to begin the new day. The only issue is that I have not slept. I have spent most of my evening thinking about guns, the upcoming school year and a series of miscellaneous occurrences from my past respectively. Since sorting out this stuff is always so much fun, let’s begin.

Guns: I’m discovering now that since 40 is now within reach enough to give me a wedgy, mortality feels slightly more real. Never before have had I thought about security and safety in the wee hours of the morning as I have as of late. I must have run through at least 10 to 15 different scenarios tonight of what I would do in the event of a break in. I have always thought that the very presence of a gun is what brings violence in to ones life. Now I find myself wondering if it would be foolish not to have one (legally of course). I am becoming increasingly aware that I have a family and a home to protect. Lately this instinct to protect my family feels ten times more intense. I must admit that it feels slightly hypocritical because I know it is also attached to something materialistic, but it exists nevertheless. And the raw truth of the matter is that I have never been so driven to protect what is mine (i.e.: home, family) than at this moment in time.

School year (a.k.a job, a.k.a bread and butter, a.k.a my half of the mortgage):

Last year I pelted out quite a bit of ramblings about change. I am realizing with each passing day that there is always change to spare. I wonder if Mr. Obama really knew the weight of the word and what it would mean to the average citizen in this country when he uttered it so many times during his campaign. Its latest manifestation has appeared in the halls of my current work place in the form of a new principal. I’m not sure what this will mean accept that it probably won’t be comfortable. Change on many levels is making many of us uncomfortable. I suppose the fact that I’m not alone in this scenario is in its own ironic way…comforting.

Miscellaneous: The third head of the three headed beast that won’t allow me to sleep this morning comes in the form of bullies who got the best of me when I was a kid, former bosses who did the same and a host of one-liners that I wish I had said to old ex-girlfriends who escaped with slithers of my self-esteem which took years to replace. Currently I can’t think of any of those one-liners but I think that I am coming closer to the realization as the wedgy grip on my mortality tightens what happens now pretty much trumps all that shit. It is quite possible that the hand gripping that wedgy has nothing to do with my age. Maybe it’s all those memories that bring us closer to death. Maybe those embarrassing and shameful moments that we won’t let go grip us by our briefs and pull us back in time while the present stands there shrugging its shoulders wondering why we keep lagging behind.

It is quite possible that this new principal might remind me of a former boss…or maybe not. And in either scenario I won’t have to recreate the scene in the movie Lean on Me when the disgruntled teacher turned over a desk to avoid striking his principal crazy Joe Clark because I have a bona fide teaching license and can always find another job. It is also possible that the crime rate may drop to a respectable level at least on my block and I won’t have to become a gun toting masked vigilante. And maybe the next time my fiancé irritates me I’ll just let it go because I’ll realize that when my ex did it, she was just an evil bitch and my fiancé’ is not out to get me even though she might be getting on my nerves. I guess the lesson that my current delirium is trying to teach is that metaphorically or otherwise it’s not always wise to come out guns blazing especially in this illusion of decorum. There are times however, when moments of clarity do apply.

Wish me luck and good luck to all of you…all three of you. ;-)

better than cookies

2009-08-26T22:05:00.003-04:00

Just when I think I'm having a moment of brilliance, something even more brilliant happens. Tonight I finally convinced the subject of the last entry to read this blog. As soon as she sat down to read, my 6 year old daughter Autumn walks in, grabs the computer and proceeds to read it aloud. Now that's remarkable!

And when that was over I ate cookies

2009-08-26T21:34:00.003-04:00

Today I was depressed. It's funny how one little argument with your one and only can dictate the tone and rhythm of your day. I slept a lot, woke up in hazes where I just sat and stared for 30 seconds or more, went to the bathroom, answered several of my daughters questions concerning the world and returned to bed to sleep some more. After I decided to call her and talk about this was when I finally woke up and officially started my day. One little argument created all of this. I think that's remarkable! Now here's the part where the black neo-mammy chick jumps into this little stream of consciousness of mine and says "That's the power of love baby!"(or cookies.)But I guess in this case she's right. Especially since in my commercial she finally drops that damn Pinesol bottle!

Really this time...

2009-08-22T20:27:00.001-04:00

Happy Birthday Tai!!!!! Hope your day is everything it should be.

big love

c

Random and not so random voices

2009-08-20T23:40:00.003-04:00

Often when I find my self in doubt about what my life is worth or what my purpose is, some random voice out of nowhere lets me know that I have all the elements of a sweet existence. I only notice these voices when I shut up, listen and pay attention to the details.
I'm developing a growing appreciation for these voices, especially when they are random and unsolicited. I am aware that my preference for the random and unsolicited makes my desire to write in this space a slight problem because nothing about blogging is ever random or unsolicited. Nevertheless, any voices random or otherwise are always welcome.

Blogging is cool.

2009-08-16T23:54:00.003-04:00

I went to see G.I. Joe tonight. It was ok I guess. Once you got past all the action packed cliche's, Marlon Wayan's painfully over played role of black sidekick who would do any thing for his BFF who happens to be the hero of the movie; who also happens to be a larger than life god who can do virtually any thing and live; who also happens to have the demeanor of a man that should be taken seriously even when he's joking and who also happens to be white. But like I said, once you got passed that it was cool.

As I sit here writing I'm feeling a sense of pride because I finally decided to connect this computer in a place within my new home that actually feels like I'm really in my new home. It's my own little nook where I can sit calmly and churn out all of these random thoughts/rants with complete confidence... well maybe not complete but they will be churned nevertheless. To be completely honest, I don't know where this desire to think out loud will ever take me besides away of boredom. Perhaps that is the only place I need to go. I actually started this blog out of a desire to go there. And during my journey I also found some other kinda scary stuff(see earlier postings). Here's the part where I get cryptic: Sometimes things in movies in a very sneaky way hit very close to home. What's ironic is that I'm almost ashamed to admit that I actually get to be the occasional hero in this place that my words created. Here i can make Marlon Wayans disappear.

I wanted to name this" 40 is bitch" but I'm only 39.

2009-08-03T02:17:00.002-04:00

I'm sorry I jumped the gun but I've been feeling quite mortal lately. As I sit here in my bedroom unable to sleep I'm realizing at this very moment that at this ripe old age I have been both blessed and cursed with the insight that enables me to fear the future and the insanity to face it anyway. I guess I thought I had at least a year to feel this way but as I said before I jumped the gun. I'm somewhere in between what the fuck am i doing and dude just go with it. Is there word for this? Maybe someone will tell me or maybe it's a secret held dear by a clandestine group of people who will only reveal it when I'm 40 or older like them.

btw please no midlife crisis jokes I'm trying to be poetic here!

And Lastly...

2009-08-03T01:32:00.001-04:00

But not Leastly, Happy Birthday Tai. I love you brother.

c

an addendum...

2009-08-03T01:27:00.002-04:00

To [Oops! I almost forgot]:

#6. People can be assholes at times. When at all possible ignore this flaw.

It will make your life a helluva lot easier.

"Nigga ain't nobody 'gon know what you sayin!"

2009-08-03T00:33:00.003-04:00

I hold your footsteps in my memories
multitudes of me
once sleepwalking
all want you.

In this now
my entire experience
is you.

I want you...

grant me this

grant me now

grant me u.

one random thought that became just one verse...

2009-07-20T23:15:00.003-04:00

Do you have a light to light my way
through these dark and cloudy days
do you have some change to spare
to pay the fare to get me there

Sometimes it seems
I'm the only one who feels the need
to see the son
But in my heart I know its not true
'cause in their faces all i see is you

Sometimes its hard to remain unchanging
in this ever changing world
its seems I'm the only one remaining
who feels the need to touch a hand
and look into eyes that understand

my truth
is you.

Oops! Almost Forgot

2009-07-08T16:58:00.003-04:00

July 1st was my birthday. My best friend Moisses from high school used to make fun of me when I would do what he would call in his best Walter Cronkite voice "The Year in Review" Damn I said Walter Cronkite I must be getting old. Anyways here it goes.

1. This year I learned that although it is important to continue to have faith in people they can still disappoint you. If one stays mindful of this then they have a greater capacity for forgiveness of the dissappointer and the disapointee. I'm still working on the latter.

2. Laughter is soooooo important. Still working on that one.

3. My mom's favorite phrase during my youth up was "Fuck the Dumb Shit! I guess she was right.

4. I'm 39 now and this will be my last official year as a "thirtysomethinger". I could cram a whole bunch of stuff into this year in an effort to get it in before I'm officially 40. But that would be dumb. I'm just happy to be alive.

5. I used to watch thirtysomething when I was about 17. I remember being so intrigued by the lives of the white middle class folks in that show whose lives had absolutely nothing to do with my experience at the time. That's the magic of TV I guess. I guess the fact that I just bought a house makes me middle class. But I'm not white so I'm still a little curious about the connection. I think I might rent all the episodes on netflix just to see what all the fuss in my imagination was about.

Ok there it is. This has been yet another year in review. I'm Craig Knight and that's the way it is.

R.I.P Michael Jackson

2009-06-25T19:00:00.002-04:00

I just learned that one of the greatest pop stars to ever grace a stage or screen has passed on to the great beyond. I always wondered where I'd be, what I'd be doing or how I would feel on the day he passed. I can honestly say that I feel nothing but gratitude that I was able to witness his greatness and be a part of the generation that spawned him. May he finally rest in peace.

A Humble Request

2009-06-10T10:37:00.003-04:00

Here I stand five days away from payday, surrounded and drowning in the muck left by the indifferent, under achieving and disillusioned…broke and aggravated. There is a burning in my belly bordering between gas and exasperation. Lately, I have been greeting each day with a gritted tooth smile. Good mornings are still customary in my little world even among the aliens that do not share this custom. Needless to say, I need a reason to smile today…just today. I will take care of tomorrow. To the best of my ability I will treat all suggestions,jokes,funny stories etc. equally without pomp or judgment. Consider this a loan of sorts. I’ll hit you back on payday.

Spike Lee: One of the Family

2009-06-08T14:17:00.003-04:00

Submitted this one on Wheresmars.com which is a site dedicated to the celebration of Spike Lee as one of the founders of the Black Arts Movement in Brooklyn USA. Feel free to check it out.

http://www.wheresmars.com

As a New Jersey transplant, I received my first understanding of this place called Brooklyn from watching Spike Lee movies.

I was introduced to a neighborhood unlike any I had ever seen: from the quirky ramblings of Buggin’ Out; to the gentle nurturing of Mother Sister. It was the first time I experienced blackness as a thing to be admired for its beauty and diversity and constant state of flux, with jazz and hip-hop as the soundtrack of our multifaceted lives.

Spike Lee was to the 1990’s what James Baldwin and Langston Hughes were to the page during the Harlem Renaissance. With the urban landscape as his canvas, he painted our flaws and triumphs with equal honesty. Lee in essence allowed us to laugh at ourselves without shame and at the same time aspire to improve our conditions.

This is a quality every Brooklynite — in his own right — strives to achieve. It is an essence evident in the general attitudes of its citizens which to the outsider can be perceived as chauvinism.

If one has any doubt, I dare to criticize the Knicks in the presence of Lee or any other fan. What the outsider may not know is that these people (to quote Bowie) ‘are quite aware of what they are going through.’ But, to be criticized by anyone outside of family would be considered an unmentionable act.

Spike’s genius is in his knowledge of this unwritten law which he has thrown down on to the American landscape, like Moses, to be shared not only with his Brooklyn kin, but with his extended family throughout the Diaspora.

There can be no doubt that Spike Lee’s work has been woven into the fabric of Brooklyn culture. The honor of having a day in his namesake is long over due.

moments of clarity (revisited)

2009-05-28T13:15:00.001-04:00

I wrote this one a while ago when I was still doing that myspace thing. I'm not sure why I'm rehashing it. It could be because there are an increasing number of kids carrying guitars in the halls where I teach (which I am told is my fault). Or it could be that I recently broke a string. I don't know I guess I'll figure it out later.

It's about 1:15 in the morning. I just came home from an open mike in a place called Kili on Hoyt Street in Brooklyn. I've been drinking. I think that my performance was on fire! But, as I mentioned earlier, I've been drinking. Now anyone knows that when you've been drinking (or other fun "ing" words) your view on life can sometimes become very clear. My friend Mikel likes to call these moments "moments of clarity"; like when you wake up and discover that the job you've had for years really does suck and you wasted 20 years. It's kind of like that. I had a few of those moments tonight. However; they may or may not be considered as tragic as the one I just mentioned in the example. This of course would depend on the reader's choice of "ing" activities prior to reading this.

Moment 1: While in the bar, I had a conversation with my friend Sharrief about how I named both of my guitars after my deceased grandmothers. Their names are Lilly after my paternal grandmother Lillian Downing and Mattie after my maternal grandmother Mattie Ruth Patterson. I was not hit with this moment of clarity until I took the stage and started to play. Somehow during a spell of egotism as my surface self was sensing the admiration of the crowd and thinking "damn I'm kickin' ass up here", my insecure self was reflecting on a conversation that I once had with a producer regarding my playing. He told me that he loved my songs but when I played them he could sense that I had not yet gotten to know my instrument. He felt that my songs would be more felt if I developed more of an intimacy with it. I remember thinking that what he was saying sounded a lot like masturbation. Fast forwarding to tonight, the moment of clarity came when I realized that he was right...that is about the guitar part but I digress. Although there is a chance that he could have just been planting a self fullfilling prophecy in my brain, it didn't make the moment any less powerful or any less prophetic. So I guess (he says reluctantly)he deserves my thanks.

Moment 2: This is the part where the "ing" thing counts. After my performance I also realized that I often feel these voids of intimacy when playing the very guitars that bare my grandmother's names. And then I realized that just like I don't know my guitars I never really knew my grandmothers either. I loved them both, but I never got to know them them as people. Anyone who sees this connection might also see the tragedy here.

Moment 3: In the cab ride home I started thinking that maybe there was some kind of deep revelation that I was stumbling upon. Maybe this connection with my guitars meant that I had to start calling my parents, aunts and uncles and getting information on my grandmothers so that some black history month movie of the week moment would happen and the spirits of those great women would jump into my guitars with each bit of knowledge and turn me into a supernatural Robert Johnson type dude. But then the moment of clarity came when reality yanked me out of the daze, shook its head at me and said "nope dat ain't it". I realized at that moment that if any of those women were alive today they would tell me that the only way I'm going to get to know my guitar is by picking it up every day and playing it.

I guess maybe I did know those ladies after all.

Stars and Role Players are We

2009-05-27T13:57:00.000-04:00

In his post-game interview after last night’s loss to the Orlando Magic, Lebron James explained that their problems in these playoffs are primarily with Dwight Howard who is a beast to guard in the paint. Any attempts to defend him there thus far have resulted in 3 point plays, monster dunks, or passes to his supporting cast who have exhibited stellar shooting. In essence, although James may be every bit as great as they say he is, he cannot do it all. Factors such as fatigue and pressure to make big shots night after night can sometimes take their toll. Another factor that was mentioned is that his supporting cast must also make big shots if they have any chance of winning.

Personally, I have never hit a three pointer to win a game, but I think I have an idea of what Mr. James and the Cavaliers are going through. The events that occur in their locker room from this point forward will either be the stuff of legend or mediocrity. Whether they win or lose, their conversations will either forever bond them or send them on their separate ways. It is important that in these challenging times that we go back to our locker rooms also. The discussions that we have with each other in our own personal huddles are far more pivotal than any playoff game could ever boast. Through communication defeat becomes nothing more than change. Change must sometimes be handled as a team.

The playoffs have been great so far and it would be safe to say that many of us are living vicariously through the heroes of these contests every night. My hope is that the rest of us mortals can show the same kind of strength, resolve, and dignity that Lebron James has shown even in defeat. It is important that we use our God given talents as both role players and stars to make the adjustments we need to experience the victory of full and happy lives.

This blog is dedicated to the two stars in my locker room that have played pivotal roles in my life.

Definitely Not Your Mom's Antichrist

2009-05-19T14:59:00.000-04:00

Evil over the past decade has been associated with two things: The Bush administration and its enemies; followers of the Islamic faith. In a recent interview in Interview magazine Yusuf Islam (aka Cat Stevens) one of the biggest pop stars of the late sixties and seventies made some interesting observations about the future of the world via the book of Revelations. Islam who converted to the religion of the same name almost 3 decades ago stated:

“There’s a common threat facing all of us—Christians, Jews, and Muslims—and it is the Antichrist. It’s a very deep subject, and it’s a horrendous thing to contemplate. Someone will appear who is, in fact, the opposite of what he appears to be. Some people will believe in him, and that’s really frightening”.

Although I’m not exactly big on the Bible I have watched enough apocalyptic themed cinema (i.e.: The Omen’s 1 through 3, The Seventh Sign etc.) and listened to enough Bob Marley and Peter Tosh to at least be scarcely aware that these are times of great tribulation. It seems that presently there are so many tragedies going on in the world such as the economy, swine flu pandemic and wars in the Middle East that according to sacred text we should be somewhat suspicious of any man wielding the flag of salvation. Is it possible that these texts, movies and music inspired by them have been written too well? I can recall vivid accounts of an aunt of mine reading them and becoming inconsolable afterward. I can also remember hearing my mother’s passionate rants that Ronald Wilson Reagan whose name mathematically emblazoned the numbers 666 was indeed the Antichrist. Since I never knew her to go to church except on occasion, these observations frankly seemed laughable.

Imagine the irony and utter shock if this fabled figure spoken of so many centuries ago presided over our current administration. I know I and many other black folk would probably be thinking ‘Damn! Why it always gotta’ be a black man!? Again, this concept seems laughable but should be noted because there is a great mass of people who want and need for him to be successful. History has unfortunately shown us that in times of great need and peril many of us have the tendency to act irrationally. Therefore, it would behoove us all to be critical as well as patient for progress to become a reality.

In the same interview Yusuf Islam when asked about his feelings about America; the same country that once denied him passage because he was suspected of being a terrorist said the following:

“America was my home for a very long time, and it’s a fascinating, pioneering country that many people look to. In the recent past it hasn’t been doing very well, but there’s a great new hope now with the election of Obama. America took a very big leap there and proved that it still has the edge as far as being able to do things many other countries may find difficult”.

What’s scary here is obvious or laughable depending on which side of the fence the observer happens to reside. I’m sure many republicans out there have already circled in red ink the text in question. The inspiring thing here is that even with a message as scary as Armageddon in mind Yusuf Islam was still able to suspend it long enough to consider hope in the present day. In the final part of his interview when asked about the difference between knowledge and wisdom he said:

“Knowledge is a thing you can carry around with you, but you may not apply it. Some knowledge is indiscriminate, and it can be damaging. I recently found a wonderful definition of wisdom: It is that thing which results in the maximum good and the least harm”.

Let us all hope, pray for and in our daily lives practice wisdom.

Love, Truth and Chrisette Michele

2009-05-19T00:04:00.000-04:00

Tonight at approximately 11:20 pm I was having a conversation with my fiancé about Chrisette Michele’s new CD. What was remarkable is that we were both listening and agreeing that this woman had just become our favorite artist. I’m not sure but maybe it’s because she is Gemini and I’m a Cancer that we hardly ever agree on anything musically…or anything else. But our tastes in music are distinctly like apples and oranges. Tonight however, we somehow achieved synchronicity.

As Chrisette’s magic was being weaved from my fiancé’s I-phone (a gift I gave her which has been nothing but a distraction ever since) produced conversation in the room I thought to myself how amazing the lyrics were in a song where she tells a man to say whatever he wants about her as long as he says goodbye. When I mentioned how hard core that statement was she said “She (Chrisette) speaks the truth and that makes it ok…and I can’t think of anyone better to have the truth with than you”. Needless to say, that shit kind of blew my mind. I immediately thought about how ugly the truth could get especially since neither of us is perfect. But I also thought about how beautiful the truth is and could be. So what she was essentially telling me was that she loves me enough to take them both. Kudos to Chrisette Michele for resuming us on the path to truth and love.

Barack Obama: Mack or Machiavellian?

2009-05-13T19:29:00.000-04:00

I have a friend who once said that any man who handles his conflicts in public is essentially no man at all. I’m paraphrasing of course but I guess the point of his comment was that there are two types of men: the strong and tactful type and (to use a more pedestrian term) the bitch. To most, the latter of these is often associated with femininity although many men have presented paradoxical examples of strength through acts that exemplify manhood. For example, a man who attends a tea party whose guest list includes Barbie, Dora the Explorer and his five year old daughter would definitely not be considered a bitch despite the fact that the act itself is uncommon among many males. My friend was referring of course to the ilk that often resort to beating their chests over petty matters such as cash, women to whom they are not committed or other trifles. It must be the stress of the current economy that has increased my encounters with such individuals lately. I suppose there are many who could be blamed for their resurgence but at this moment one man comes to mind: George W. Bush.

It doesn’t take a historian to know that our former president had some deep seeded bitch issues which originated with his daddy George Sr. and later manifested in his foreign policy. Many would agree that the problem is that Mr. Bush possessed an ill defined concept of diplomacy. When I think of past leaders of the free world in general I assume that their Ivy League training which echoed the voices of Machiavelli, and Richard III, was often dinner conversation. The subjects of these conversations made an art out of avoiding “bitchdom”in this sense. They all shared a similar philosophy when it came to leadership which was to be angels in public and demons in private when it came to both national and their own security as leaders. One thing that many leaders of old shared in common was that the use of force (at least in public) was not always necessary. Was Mr. Bitch…excuse me Bush paying attention? If he was, how would the Iraq/Afghanistan situations look today?

Enter: Barack Obama. Many would agree that he was elected because people want change in this country. There are also those who want to go back to the good old days when America was “the greatest country in the world”; when diplomacy was king and foreign annoyances like Osama Bin Laden could be taken care of efficiently by the time the Knicks game was on and dinner was being served. Could Obama with his slick intellectual swagger be the guy to restore this sense of security? Although this remains to be seen, I’m pretty sure that he at least knows who Machiavelli was. Although the term Machiavellian in modern society is a pejorative term, it is no secret that he was if nothing else a realist about the inner workings of modern day government and politics. So it is understandable if our current president avoids this association. I wonder if he at least saw the classic blaxploitation movie “The Mack”(check youtube if you are unfamiliar) in which the main character Goldie in my opinion exhibited diplomacy 101 when he told Pretty Tony ... ‘we can settle this like you got some class or we can get into some gangsta sh*t’. This scene despite its ‘pimped out’ theme suggested that it is important to be a gentlemen and a scholar even in times of conflict. With this in mind, Barack Obama does not seem like the ‘bitch type’ at all which is a plus. With all of the factors which could cripple this country at stake I wonder: Is it possible that we have a “Mack” in office? Only time will tell.

wuz eatin' cookies when I wrote this so 'scuse me if it goes astray

2009-05-06T00:25:00.001-04:00

I just had…A moment of clarity that may haunt me in the morning but while I’m being completely honest I must admit that this blog is a cancerian shrine. I mean everything about it says cancer, the moon child, the moody bastard who takes himself wayyyy too seriously. Even the name itself implies this. Every thing written on this space in some way shape or form suggests that I somehow think more than the average individual a point which in itself suggests self absorption yet…I feel compelled to write it all down anyway. I am truly a cancer. The trick is... accepting it.

A Different Kind of Nigga'

2009-05-05T16:42:00.000-04:00

Two weeks ago i had an argument with one of my students about being habitually late to my class in excesses of 20 minutes or more. He appeared to be in disbelief of the fact that I had the nerve to charge him 5 points off his final grade for each infraction. During the conversation he looked at me with the same kind of smirk basketball players use when they believe they have been unjustly charged with a foul and said "Mr. Knight, you a different kind a nigga". Someone suggested that this be the title of my memoirs. I'm not sure if I would go that far, but the situation is worth noting. Normally I would connect this anecdote to a larger point, but today...I got nuthin'!

Comments? Suggestions? Be my guest.

What the Flux??!!

2009-05-01T17:43:00.000-04:00

Last week while playing hooky from my job I happened upon a street vendor that sold rare DVD’s not sold in stores. Among these treasures was the Silver Surfer cartoon which was dropped from the Fox network after 1 season. I watched in delight as Galactus the devourer of worlds made his way across the galaxy with the Surfer as his guide. Oddly enough this animated fantasy stimulated some thought about my own world. In my case however, the surfer is my landlord Paul who is selling the building and Galactus is the juggernaut influx of new tenants and buyers who permeate my neighborhood in Bedstuy. In essence, the change that I spoke of in previous blog posts has literally reached my door step. I will be moving in about 3 days.

This theme of change does not only involve my living situation. It has also affected my job and even the bar where I go on Tuesdays to unwind and play guitar. The school where I work is undergoing massive restructuring and the bar now has a new owner. This sudden awareness of change has hit me on all major fronts; home, work and entertainment. It is astonishing how rapidly these milestones have taken place especially since it was only a short time ago that I was speaking of it only as a passive observer. All of the speeches I heard and literature I read that have echoed these sentiments could never have captured the essence of what I am experiencing at this very moment. Galactus has arrived and he is hungry. But at the moment as I experience this state of flux as pieces of my world begin to unravel and float into space, I am calm and composed. But the wraith of the planet eater is nothing compared to my fiancés’ who does not share in my calmness or composure and will surely wonder (loudly) what the flux is going on if she found me blogging instead of packing. Therefore, I will embrace the changes to come and the boxes with open arms.

Congestion

2009-04-20T03:04:00.000-04:00

I can’t sleep. But I guess that is obvious. Tomorrow I begin working again because I have come to the end of my much anticipated spring break. My chest hurts. In the past two hours I have tossed and turned in my bed unable to identify the exact source of my anxiety besides the obvious which is of course all the stress associated with my job. I have a sneaky gnawing suspicion however, that my job is not the only reason why I’m sitting here typing away at this ungodly hour.

There is some stuff that I think I left unattended. And although the reasons are difficult to articulate they remain here in my chest…heavy like emotional congestion. I wonder if Robitussin makes a medicine for this kind of cold.

I suppose that I must be on the verge of some kind of break through or breakdown depending on which half of the glass one focuses on. And I guess the challenge that I face as a human being/artist/writer is to confront it the best I can without fear. Another writer friend of mine told me that no matter what I should always tell the truth. I have always admired people who could do what she said. Although I’m not sure if I am one of these people yet, I’d like to think that my current path is leading me there. I remember thinking once that when I grew up (as a writer) I wanted to be Sherman Alexie. I don’t know or maybe I just haven’t paid much attention to any other writers who are quite as honest as he is. I wonder what he writes about at 3 in the morning when he can’t sleep.

The funny thing about congestion is that it is not pretty. And all of that truth that I’m supposed to be writing about is all green and slimy. And the thing that is scariest of all is how people might react to all that nastiness. Hence it remains in my chest unattended for now. Anybody got a cough drop?

The Aftermath or The Sky is Falling.

2009-03-31T15:11:00.000-04:00

If I was watching all of this from some celestial place like Mount Olympus or heaven I would be most entertained. I would be able to see from that aerial view that it was the experience and knowledge that I gained that was most exquisite. All of the emotions felt during that journey were of no consequence in the end…

For the successful man, the goal of history is not to know a set of events and dates, but to get to know the men and women behind those events and dates and learn from their mistakes and triumphs…

I have been thinking…Again. I realize that this comes as no surprise to anyone who follows this blog but today I find myself wondering if my cousin’s warning about thinking too much was indeed a valid one. My current thought process is the result of a recent visit from the state of New York concerning my school’s status on the Schools under Registration Review list a.k.a. (S.U.R.R.). Anyone who works in the school system knows that this is not a good thing. I am still trying to process what happened here. The only thing that I can articulate is that it feels very quiet; kind of like ground zero after the planes hit. Some may think that this description is a little dramatic but I can only speak from the purest of emotions when I describe what occurred after the army of suits left the building.

On the week prior to the states’ arrival there was a feeling of tension in the air. It was as if everyone knew that there would be bad news…they were right. I have decided not to go into the particulars of what they reported because frankly it was too much to remember. But one thing I can recall is that from my vantage point in the back of our huge auditorium, I could not see the state representative. But from the tone of his voice as he flayed at the very culture of our school and its faculty, I pictured a man wagging his finger and shaming a room full of adults…It wasn’t pleasant. Another thing that I can remember is that during his tirade I could also visualize a little man in my head next to a chalk board. On this chalk board there was line drawn in the middle with boxes on either side. One side was for things that I was guilty of doing. The other of course was not guilty. Honestly, I cannot say how often he checked the guilty box but the fact remains that I was indeed responsible for some of the infractions that he mentioned. So what now? Honestly, I am not certain. But one thing that experience has taught me is that sitting around waiting for this thing to blow over is the worst thing that I could do.

I am curious how others feel about this. We are living in time in our country’s history when everyone’s usefulness is being tested. In this era of scarce resources every individual’s character will be evaluated. Misfits will be outed and everyone will have their opportunity to play judge or jury. But in the midst of all of this I have decided to burn a candle of optimism. I am hopeful that people will begin to talk to one another face to face instead of behind each other’s back. And I am also hopeful that love and honesty will prevail. Naïve? Maybe. But in spite of my naïveté I am certain that although this is probably not the most that we have ever needed each other in our history, it still does not mean that it is any less urgent. What has happened here in my little world is only a small example of what’s to come.

The Tower of Babel and the 6 People Involved

2009-03-24T18:40:00.000-04:00

After the debate generated from my last entry I decided to take a breather from the political side of things for a while. Although I still faithfully watch CNN and other news programs with a healthy interest, I have come to realize that some people just want to engage in a little small talk from to time. Hey, what can I say? I ain’t mad at those folks but as the title of this blog suggests, small talk just ain’t my thing. That said, I still maintain that any discussions had in this forum have the capacity to teach even when the original intent of the message is completely pushed aside. With this in mind I decided to do a little research on the art of communication. The following is a theory of communication from Osmo Wiio in which he states:

“No form of communication is simple. Because of the number of variables involved, even simple requests are extremely complex. Theorists note that whenever we communicate there are really at least six "people" involved: 1) who you think you are; 2) who you think the other person is; 3) who you think the other person thinks you are; 4) who the other person thinks /she is; 5) who the other person thinks you are; and 6) who the other person thinks you think s/he is.

We don't actually swap ideas; we swap symbols that stand for ideas. This also complicates communication. Words (symbols) do not have inherent meaning; we simply use them in certain ways, and no two people use the same word exactly alike”.

I must admit that Wiio’s theory has forced me to confront the notion that maybe I originally retreated to the realm of cyberspace because I have become somewhat disheartened with the rigors and disappointments of human communication. I would even further admit that last week’s debacle momentarily made me somewhat disenchanted with my current form of communication; not because of differing opinions but because it seems that the goal of reaching understanding was never achieved. But I digress.

When I began blogging it was at time when I felt extremely over stimulated and under attack in the midst of a growing population of individuals whom I felt had much to say but no time for authentic interpersonal connections. I decided that maybe a more effective way to get any message out would be in a forum where there would be no distractions. I would blog passionately with one goal in mind: to send a message and have it received completely unmolested. Oh how naïve I was! If Wiio’s theory of communication is correct however, no one is to blame. A pessimist would suggest that the advances we have made in communication are simply another attempt to build yet another tower of Babel. However, the higher the tower gets the more true understanding is lost. But like Wiio also states ‘There is no way to not communicate’. Even reluctance to interact suggests something. So I have decided to leave the waters of my own personal Walden Pond, dry my self off, and re-engage in the conversation…Even if I am the only one talking and/or listening. But as always other talkers and listeners are welcome.

p.s. I thought Jukka Korpela’s analysis of Wiio’s theory was quite interesting. Maybe others will also.

Wiio's laws: Communication usually fails, except by accident.

Wiio's laws are "humoristically formulated serious observations about how human communication usually fails except by accident". Here's a quick summary (excerpted from Jukka Korpela's detailed analysis):

Communication usually fails, except by accident.

If communication can fail, it will.
If communication cannot fail, it still most usually fails.
If communication seems to succeed in the intended way, there's a misunderstanding.
If you are content with your message, communication certainly fails.

If a message can be interpreted in several ways, it will be interpreted in a manner that maximizes the damage.
There is always someone who knows better than you what you meant with your message.
The more we communicate, the worse communication succeeds.

The more we communicate, the faster misunderstandings propagate.

In mass communication, the important thing is not how things are but how they seem to be.
The importance of a news item is inversely proportional to the square of the distance.
The more important the situation is, the more probably you forget an essential thing that you remembered a moment ago.

Disclaimer

2009-03-18T07:31:00.000-04:00

In my classroom I often use anecdotes from my life to express larger points about the day's lesson. In some cases I have used this same strategy in this blog to discuss current trends which I feel are driving American culture (ie: reality television and its affect on creativity, people's preoccupation with technology and gadgetry etc.) . All of the themes that I cover are written with the hope of stimulating thought and provoking conversation even if the discussions sometimes get controversial. Although the subject matter is sometimes political, this is not the sole purpose of this blog in general. The world is a place full of diverse peoples who bring with them many diverse ideologies. I am interested in reading about all of them if this is possible. Therefore my ultimate goal for writing this blog is to give my self and anyone who contributes the opportunity for growth and understanding. The views expressed here are never personal.

ps. I would also like to take this opportunity to apologize to anyone who has felt misrepresented in this forum.

Regards,

Cknight

Semantics, Sensibilities and Sensitivity

2009-03-16T14:01:00.000-04:00

What happens when people stop being nice and start getting real?
-The “Real World” season 1

Last week in my 8th period class I had yet another confrontation with one of my students. This student who has a history of belligerence was going about his usual routine of non-compliance when I asked this question: “Are you and I going to get along in this class or are we going to continue to butt heads everyday?” The student then replied: “I ain’t no butt head…Don’t call me no butt head!” As laughable as this may seem, it represents in many cases how we as Americans react when we feel that we have been personally insulted. Most of us are dealing with beasts that are caged and pacing back and forth somewhere in our psyches, just waiting for the right opportunity to pounce any victim who dares to stick their hand in our cage. This beast does not listen to logic and has no use for logical discourse. It only wants to attack.

Ironically I was reminded the next day during my weekly snowboarding trip that although many of us have learned to contain the beast better than most, there is always a chance that someone might unwittingly open the cage. This moment happened when a seemingly benign conversation came up about the recent controversy surrounding the New York Post and it’s political cartoon which some allege was directed toward Barack Obama. The driver on this trip stated (I’m paraphrasing) how ridiculous he thought the whole debate was because presidents all throughout history have been subject to criticism in the press and that Obama was not exempt. He also stated that it was silly that people thought that this cartoon was offensive because in the past even president Bush was depicted as a primate. He went on to say that it was ridiculous for anyone to associate the gorilla in this cartoon with Obama since he did not write the stimulus bill. He only signed it. This was the point at which the beast in my cage began to emerge. The argument which followed later however is irrelevant because I consider this individual a friend therefore, a tirade highlighting all of the reasons why I felt he was wrong is not necessary. It is necessary however is to display what I learned from our discourse.

1. Each culture that makes up this country possesses a set of sensitive and inherent triggers derived from history. These triggers can at any time impede the progress of the country to move forward. For example, no matter what the intent of the New York Post cartoon was, it set off a trigger in African Americans because for generations since slavery we have been compared to the primate. Although some of us have transcended this insult, many of us still feel the pain especially when it could possibly be used to insult our first African American president whom I’m not ashamed to say I am quite proud. Also, when I think of all of the faces of older African Americans who openly wept after the election I cannot help but think that they are the ones who actually experienced Jim Crow. Some of them can actually remember a time when voting was a life threatening experience. My grandfather who is my last remaining grandparent remembers. I wonder how he feels about the New York Post cartoon.

What I learned: In hindsight, I see my friend’s point. Why should Barack Obama be exempt from criticism? If we start excusing every thing that he does and when attacking him starts to become a taboo then we begin to approach a dangerous realm reminiscent of the fascism that this country fought in the not so distant past. It is possible that because of my friend’s Jewish background that my defense of our president might have sounded too much like the kind of support that another leader in the 1940’s might have received. These triggers are real.

2. Because everyone possesses these triggers, it is helpful when opinions are expressed in the appropriate setting. Although there was slight tension between my friend and me when this debate happened, it was completely healthy and beneficial to us both. I am confident that we both walked away a little more enlightened then we were previously. However, I cannot help but think about other situations when the same differences might not have been so neatly resolved.

What I learned: When our discussion ended we both agreed that the reason for our debate was that we both came from two unique backgrounds with different sets of issues. We also expressed that we have both been in somewhat awkward situations where we might have been outnumbered by the dominant culture and been forced to be diplomatic when we would have rather come out with our guns blazing. For example, he is a white male who moved to Bedford Stuyvesant right before its current gentrification boom. During that time he was subject to all sorts of insults designed to either discourage his choice of residence or to test his metal. I on the other hand, have been the subject of backhanded insults by some of my white counter parts which were designed to measure my level of intelligence or to see whether I was A. the type of ‘angry black man’ who was insulted by everything or B. the type of man who was only interested in getting along with folks and would turn a deaf ear to their coy banter. The bottom line is that in the hood whether it is Bed Stuy or Benson Hurst, no one cares about the type of discourse that we had the opportunity to engage. In most cases people just start pulling their triggers and letting metaphorical bullets fly. And there are some that would agree that this type of response is the best because it leaves little room for bull. Again, one must know their audience.

It is no secret that in the world of commerce, it is essential that no matter how many times during the course of our day that we are insulted we must maintain certain amount of decorum or be reduced to the level of lawless cowboys who settle our differences with six shooters. The insults that we feel most passionate about are mostly rooted in personal tragedies that we had to endure from our past. In a world that is so concerned with the present we may sometimes be unaware of the ripple effects of the past. Although there are many of us who possess the awareness needed to deal with some of these issues, there are others among us who find comfort in the simplicity of ‘hood thought’. And for some of us these roles are interchangeable. At the root of it all is raw emotion. Despite our social, financial or cultural backgrounds we have all been blessed and cursed with the ability to feel based on our life experiences. If enough of people feel a certain way it might behoove the rest of us to consider that these emotions have not been formed in a vacuum. In the case of the New York Post, maybe a simple apology and attempt at understanding would have gone a long way.

Who Will Dare to Watch?

2009-03-09T16:17:00.000-04:00

About three months ago during the previews of the much anticipated film The Dark Knight, Legendary Pictures gave movie goers a glimpse of the next highly anticipated comic book inspired film that was waiting in the wings. That film of course was The Watchmen. The stunning visual effects and haunting Billy Corgan vocals were enough to peak the interest of this comic book nerd. However, when I was finally able to see it, a litany of reactions resulted. The first thing I remember thinking after the opening scene was this not your ordinary Hollywood comic book movie. After further thought, I decided that it may or may not be successful for four reasons:

1. The movie stuck to the original story more than any movie of its kind in my experience.
I have seen just about every comic inspired movie that has been made in the last 5 years and none of them were able to escape the firm grip of Hollywood’s manipulative hand. I hate to say it but I now understand why big movie execs often opt to change a few things to make a film more palatable to main stream audiences. Although I don’t necessary think it makes them better, it does address the fact that Americans get bored or scared quite easily (more on this later). Is it because the current trend of media that passes for entertainment today has shortened our attention spans?

2. It was extremely wordy. I have never seen this much dialog in a comic inspired flick. It was as if I was really watching a live action graphic novel without the text bubbles. Please note that the book which inspired this film was the most celebrated of its kind for a reason. Its courageous handling of themes like the pathology of costumed heroes, their role in a modern society and the various ways in which governments would undoubtedly manipulate their power was ahead of it’s time when it was written 25 years ago. Therefore, in my view the dialog was necessary. In the view of the mainstream consumer however, I would venture to say it was just overkill. I could hear the moans and groans in the climax when the character Dr. Manhattan decided to explain why life really did matter and why he decided to be its salvation. In his soliloquy this character revealed in my opinion the raison d’être for the story as a whole. The unexpected ending then of course further asserts his point that life is most essential when it is seen for its uniqueness and aesthetic value. Dr. Manhattan points out that these values are profound because often they are produced from the harshest and most impossible circumstances. He later proves as all of the heroes do with their indiscriminant violence that any part of humanity outside of this paradigm is expendable. Kind of deep for a comic book movie…right?

3. The running theme of human nature and its discontents was extremely heavy for a mainstream film. This movie was chock full of harsh criticisms of American culture, especially the urban squalor that was often expressed by the film’s narrator Rorschach. Throughout the film, he vocalized his contempt for the city and it’s penchant for feeding upon itself. His example of inner dialog throughout the film which was first introduced in two other Legendary Pictures releases; 300 and Sin City was brilliantly executed because it translated the character’s mental state much like an actual comic book. However, judging from the reactions around me, this was just another annoyance.

4. It was dark...very dark. The Watchmen is not a movie for the optimist. This point in my opinion is what makes it truly revolutionary. What has made films such as Superman, Spiderman and the Fantastic Four so popular is like their predecessors they have always focused on some boogie man who is external to our collective consciousness. Older comics even went as far as depicting actual villains such as Hitler and the Nazi Party in their features. Although The Watchman also presents the Soviet Union as an external villain they are only a smokescreen. The true enemy presented in contrast to the old paradigm is the darkest part of the human psyche; the most fearful part of ourselves that wants to be kept safe from harm without being privy to all of the dirty details that go into keeping us that way. I wonder in this age of war and its atrocities if Americans are truly ready for this kind of entertainment.

Frankly, this was a movie that was just way too heavy for the layperson who only wants to be dazzled with loose story lines and gaudy special effects. Yet, I still have confidence in its intellect. I am not saying that the mainstream wouldn’t get it. I am simply saying that in these bleak times most people would rather stick with what is safe. The fluorescent lights of cell phones, idle chatter and incessant fidgeting of some of the watchers of these watchmen suggested that the mainstream’s attention span is too short at this juncture to observe the insights they have to offer. My hope is that many will be patient enough to see its message. If the fate of this movie is bleak however, it will not be because it sucked. It will only be because it was ahead of its time.

The Great Black Hope

2009-03-03T16:04:00.000-05:00

It is the year 2009 and our once thriving example of capitalism is now looking quite mortal. People all over the nation are beginning to feel the slings and arrows of uncertain economic times. Many political analysts have considered the idea that our once great nation will eventually take a backseat to other economic powers on the rise such as China, India or the European Union. I must admit that I was one of the people who possessed that fear. I also must admit however, that whenever such fears reared their ugly heads there was also a sense of incongruity that gnawed at my subconscious. It was a little voice that whispered “why are you so worried about where this country stands in the world economy? After all, you have always been poor; therefore you really don’t factor in the grand scheme of things”. I guess I could blame this line of thinking on all of the speeches I read from revolutionary speakers such as John Henrik Clark, Louis Farrakhan and of course Malcolm X. One quote that comes to mind is from the latter. In his speech the message to grass roots, Malcolm X said:

“If the master said, "We got a good house here," the house Negro would say, "Yeah, we got a good house here." Whenever the master said "we," he said "we." That's how you can tell a house Negro. If the master's house caught on fire, the house Negro would fight harder to put the blaze out than the master would. If the master got sick, the house Negro would say, "What's the matter, boss, we sick?" We sick! He identified himself with his master more than his master identified with himself”.

During my college years when I became more aware of literature like the above example, I found myself struggling a great deal with the concept of patriotism for a country that historically has been so cruel to African Americans. Therefore, when I found myself during those years at games saluting the flag or rooting for the home team while watching the Olympics the question in the back of mind was always why? I suppose I reconcile this conundrum with good old fashioned hope which is ingrained in the minds of every American who has been educated in this country. It is a hope that is so powerful that even in the most horrible of conditions there are many of us who still believe that we can make it.

When college ended I was forced to do some soul searching. Many of the questions that plagued me concerning how I would define patriotism still haunt me today. But even now that I struggle with what it means to be a patriot, I do know that it exists. The little boy in me who recited the pledge of allegiance in grade school still lives. Thomas Friedman helped me to discover this when he said:

“No other country can substitute for the U.S.,” a senior Korean official remarked to me. “The U.S. is still No. 1 in military, No. 1 in economy, No. 1 in promoting human rights and No. 1 in idealism. Only the U.S. can lead the world. No other country can. China can’t. The E.U. is too divided, and Europe is militarily far behind the U.S. So it is only the United States ... We have never had a more unipolar world than we have today.”

After reading this quote my first reaction was relief which was immediately followed by embarrassment. Had I become so indoctrinated with the competitive nature that is so characteristic of America (especially in the last administration) that it did not matter whether or not we were actually going to get through this crisis? In that moment it seemed more pertinent to me that we were still running the show, no matter what the cost. The fact that the whole world is watching with baited breath as we face our greatest challenge of the decade should not be in any way comforting even if we still are considered “the greatest country in the world”.
I have since gotten over my embarrassment and my temporary chauvinism. I have decided to be the same hopeful citizen of this country that I was as a child. It is this same hope along with stern criticism that motivated Martin, Malcolm and of course Barack Obama. These individuals knew that even with the brutal history that this country possesses it still has the potential for greatness. It is not the kind of greatness that is measured by military strength or monetary might, but that which is measured by valuing all of its citizens for their talents which in the end will help us get through these tough times. It is these principles alone which point me in the direction of patriotism. I will be watching closely to see where we are headed. And I too will be hopeful.

Hell is other people before my morning coffee

2009-02-26T10:49:00.000-05:00

“Hell is other People”
-Jean Paul Sartre

This morning around the end of my 2nd period class I was witness to a lover’s quarrel between two of my students who are currently on the outs. During this spat one told the other to go to hell. I attempted to end this debacle armed with my cup of coffee and the quickness of wit which the right amount of caffeine can sometimes yield. I immediately told the class to take a deep breath and exhale. I then explained that no matter what is going on in one’s life if they can complete this action than there day really isn’t that bad. Corny? Maybe. But it worked. From that point on, every time these two attempted to continue with their argument one of my students would immediately inhale and exhale loudly. The result of course was laughter.

Although this situation ended well, my student’s aggressive request for her ex to visit the land of fire and brimstone suggested to me that he could not have gone without taking her with him. In fact, if we applied the Sartre quote to this situation she was already there waiting for him. In (reflective) reality she should have told him to “come to hell” because the hell in fact could not really exist unless the two of them were involved whether as lovers or friends.
This quote from Sartre further asserts my point:

“The "Other" (meaning simply beings or objects that are not the self) is a construct of reflective consciousness. One must be careful to understand this more as a form of warning than as an ontological statement. However, there is an implication of solipsism here that Sartre considers fundamental to any coherent description of the human condition.[20] Sartre overcomes this solipsism by a kind of ritual. Self consciousness needs "the Other" to prove (display) its own existence. It has a "masochistic desire" to be limited, i.e. limited by the reflective consciousness of another subject. This is expressed metaphorically in the famous line of dialogue from No Exit, "Hell is other people."

I am often blown away when I apply this philosophy to the stresses that I experience in my daily life. When I actually give myself the deserved solitude needed to think about the many “demons” that exist in my life who contribute to my own personal “hell” experience, it is easier to realize the vital role I play in my own salvation. The postal worker who gave me attitude, the train conductor who closed the subway doors just as I was approaching or the payroll secretary who marked me a minute late are all individuals who contribute to my reflective consciousness. In my solitude however, they can all disappear. I can also transform these individuals into angels simply by maintaining a positive attitude and being more time conscious. Again, I am aware of how corny this sounds, but what if everyone took the time to think about it.

I was recently given a warning from my cousin about the dangers of thinking too much. I accept this warning with both love and respect. But there are times like today that remind me that there is some virtue in recognizing the bold examples of wisdom that life can offer. A hokey experiment like today is proof that all the new age books, documentaries and movies that I have consumed over the years actually have some relevance when applied without pretense. And yes sometimes stimulants such as caffeine can help too. With this in mind, I’d like to take the opportunity to thank Jean Paul Sartre, Iyanla Vanzant, Deepak Chopra, Oprah Winfrey, The Dali Lama and Dunkin Donuts for their help in today’s observation.

Echoes From The Black Box

2009-02-24T03:47:00.000-05:00

The more I write the more it becomes evident that I am an absolute weirdo. There are times (like now) that I find myself thinking of things that should no longer have relevance in my life. Random thoughts involving ghosts and phantoms from my past never seem to go away completely and always find a way to creep up at the oddest of times.

The person who comes to mind right now (at 1:33 in the morning) is a woman I once knew briefly. In fact our acquaintance was so brief that by any legitimate standard our “relationship” was really no relationship at all. I would even go far enough to say that we barely knew each other. Let me be clear. This is not some moment of lamenting over the one that got away. She and I never even had that conversation. Although I would be lying if I said that I was not attracted to her. I was young and in my twenties and frankly, there were many times more often than not when I found myself attracted to many. She knew this which is probably why we never even became friends.

I met her in the 90’s when I was an idealistic poet. Although I’d still like to think of myself as idealistic, a poet is something I have not been in quite some time. She is still a poet/writer and has earned many accolades. During those times when I wrote much more than I do now I have to admit peoples’ perceptions of me was what drove me. I loved going on stage every week and spinning twines of verbiage which I spent days prior perfecting hoping to be rewarded with a rousing round of applause once it reached the stage. In hindsight, I see clearly how shallow I must have seemed to some, but I can honestly say that during those moments on the stages of the Brooklyn Moon or the Nuyorican Poet’s Café I really felt as if I was part of something that was larger than life. I felt like a genius in the company of other geniuses. She was among those few whom I deemed as such. I had great respect and admiration for her.

I remember one night after a performance at the Nuyorican I had an opportunity to walk to the train with her and some other folks whose names escape me. We walked for a few blocks making small talk about the night's showcases, the sound system, etc. until we reached a part of the journey which became very awkward. It was as if she pulled out a sword and sliced away all pretenses when she abruptly uttered the words “I hope you don’t think you are coming home with me because you’re not”. Needless to say the proverbial bubble was burst. There was nothing left to do accept deny the notion and make my way home. I suppose it would be stupid for me to “front” as if the thought had not crossed my mind, but in my own defense I have to say that it was no more than a passing idea that would go through any man’s mind when given the opportunity to talk to an attractive female. It was no where near the point of a full fledged mission by any stretch of the imagination. However, her direct approach to the notion left little room for any other interaction outside of a hello and some possible small talk in the days, months and years that followed.

It is not as if this sort of thing hasn’t happened before in my single life which seems eons ago. It is no secret that for every moment of triumph that exists in the life of a young “player” there are equally as many if not more times when he will crash and burn. I suppose these memories are kind of like my own personal black box which has been recovered from my own personal wreckage. What is unique about this situation is that my plane never even left the runway. It actually exploded before I even thought about boarding. Honestly, it’s quite laughable. Part of me wants to blame it on my friend Tyren who was considered a notorious player back then. It’s quite possible (at least my ego tells me) that my guilt by association with him is what really killed my chances with her. But that isn’t really relevant. What is important is that she has gone on to accomplish many of the things that I had always hoped I would in writing. She has written poetry which I have taught in my classroom that was so moving I literally fought back tears in the middle of my lesson. I have even had the opportunity to tell her this only to be met with a blank stare. As I reflect on her reaction to my recounting of this, It was if she was saying duh! "it's poetry dummy it's supposed to make you feel something"! I realize now that during the time of our acquaintance when I was merely performing poetry, she was using it for a greater purpose that I am only now beginning to understand. At the very least, it was a way and a means for her to navigate through the often murky landscape of identity and gender in a land where such concepts can be landmines waiting to explode. Somewhere inside of me I believe I understood that then, but it would be some years later that such insight would make its way to the surface; like in my classroom on the third anniversary of 911 a half a breath away from tears.

I suppose this blog entry is an open apology and a thanks to her; an apology for ever giving her the slightest impression that I would undermine her or her mission as a writer; a thanks for bringing me deeper understanding of myself. It is often that the most humbling moments in our lives are the ones that give us the most wisdom. If I had the opportunity to have a drink with her I would toast to the unlikely friendship that we could have shared somewhere in our past.

Craig Knight Unplugged

2009-02-12T14:25:00.000-05:00

Lately I have been struggling with the question: What is my place in this emerging tech-oriented society? One of the things that I try to do with this blog is to address trends which affect us often beneath the surface. Lately, I have been on the sidelines observing this burgeoning technocracy and frankly, I have some concerns. I have considered the possibility that the current boom of social networking sites, new fangled media devices and personal gaming gadgets that are woven in the fabric of our culture are merely here for our convenience and entertainment. I could possibly be just thinking too much as the title of this blog suggests. However, I feel that it is necessary to pull the coattails of the users of this media and offer a different view. I have also considered the fact that I am no more exempt from this analysis anyone else.

I suppose I could blame my suspicion of technology (which often borders on neo-luddism), on my college background as a dual major in communications and English. I am quite aware that the very notion of a criticism of technology using a blog as my canvas could be considered somewhat hypocritical by some, but it doesn’t exclude the fact that cyberspace is where it would reach the largest audience. I am also fully aware that on a mainstream level this analysis could be considered fascinating by some and nauseating for others. It is because these thoughts as they live and breathe in my mind are the result of what happens when George Orwell, Alvin Toffler and Ray Bradbury smoke a bong with Marshall Mcluhan and Thomas Friedman while watching The Matrix. Needless to say, I can’t help myself.

It would be redundant to rehash the behemoth that the internet has become. But the examples of its influence on the masses are either so subtle that they continue to go on undetected or the exodus of its users from the world of human contact has become so overwhelming that many simply don’t want to get left behind no matter what the cost to human relationships. I am not ashamed to say that I have personally experienced the effects of its influence. And to be fair, there are others who feel that when used correctly this mode of communication can only enhance the way we relate to one another in the world. Acknowledging the many opinions abounds on this subject I only have my personal experiences to build upon. Lately they have been quite scary. For example, domestic squabbles as a result of my interactions on sites such as Myspace and Facebook as well as other examples have caused me to take necessary breaks from the cyber world when needed.

The sudden accessibility of old high school crushes, friend requests and public comments which in the past were prevented by filters determined by human fate or God’s will (whichever you believe) have now been accelerated by search engines. Interaction with past acquaintances or even something as personal as one’s inner dialogue (ie: what are you doing now?) can now be made available with a few keystrokes or a simple click of the mouse depending on how much an individual user’s ego would compel them to share. This new technology empowers the individual on a level that has never been possible in human history. What does one do with all of this information? And how reliable is it in the landscape of the human spirit?

According to McLuhan, this type of contact skews relationships with the natural world. In his view, (paraphrased) involvement with the media only allows us the opportunity to experience fragmented versions of the world around us. The deeper we immerse ourselves in any medium the more we are presented with facsimiles of our individual selves. A practical application of this theory can be seen daily in my classroom. One example that I see often is the adolescent male who is so immersed in the life and character of his favorite rap star that he feels compelled to spew out his lyrics in public places with the aid of his I-pod despite the effects that such outbursts have on the people in his general proximity. A more profound example of this same phenomenon is when this behavior also occurs without the aid of any device at all, which suggests that once the individual feels comfortable enough to do his Jay-Z impersonation without hearing the scrutiny of the outside world he can then give himself consent to cease to care when the headphones come off. Therefore the behavior that is learned with the aid of said device takes on a somewhat warped life of its own. I will of course acknowledge that this theory might just come from watching too many science fiction movies, but it’s still something to ponder. Another more palatable example however is from a recent holiday party where in every corner of the room attendees at this gathering could be seen gazing at laptop screens or other media devices checking Face book and viewing videos on You Tube instead of actually interacting with each other. Again, I could be thinking way too much or social contact as we know is in a drastic state of flux.

Given the amount of power that the media provides to the individual, in my opinion it is necessary that certain moral and social checks and balances be put in place. However, such regulations can only be enforced by the individual since the internet is a free system that flourishes in the public domain. Here in lies the dilemma. The person who tells us when we have been spending too much time in cyberspace is the same person who should tell us when we have been watching too much TV, eating too much ice cream, or when we have had too much to drink. When we are young this person is of course our parents. When we grow older they are replaced by little voices in our heads that I am not sure aren’t being jammed by netware. In essence, the internet is becoming an extension of our collective conscience. It would behoove us ask ourselves when social networking, gossip, chat rooms and other sites become more than just guilty pleasures. There is one place where we can begin: When we find ourselves spending more time on Facebook or any other site then actually talking to face to face with our loved ones, it is time to unplug.

Patience: Bold as Love

2009-02-09T16:09:00.000-05:00

In my self absorbed state; when the challenges that I find significant seem to be all that matter, I find myself astounded by the level of perseverance that I have achieved in order to do my job. I am an educator; a beacon of light to some and a mere distraction to others (depending on the day). I face many challenges in my week but in my most patient state when I’m not so egoistic; epiphanies often find their way to the surface. At this very moment of clarity I realize that the youth of today are challenged with issues that would rival Job’s. The earthquakes that plague their lives come with aftershocks that would rattle the foundation of the average individual. Often I am told by friends and associates that my profession is admirable and that they themselves could never amass the level of patience that is needed do what I do. I tend to agree. I have also been told by many who know me that this profession is perfect for me because I have always possessed (allegedly) the required patience needed to fill the task of being a teacher. I guess that makes me a virtuous man (he writes with a slight smirk on his face), because after all patience is a virtue.

With this in mind, I decided to do a little research. What is it about patience that makes it so (pardon the expression) damned virtuous. I decided first to look up the word virtue. This is what I found

1. moral excellence; goodness; righteousness
2. conformity of one's life and conduct to moral and ethical principles; uprightness; rectitude.
3. a particular moral excellence. Compare cardinal virtues, natural virtue, theological virtue.

Needless to say, reading these definitions made me feel a little uncomfortable. Although I’d like to think that I aspire to be virtuous most of the time, I don’t think that on most days my patience comes from such aspirations. In fact, in many cases the patience that I exhibit comes from apathy as a means of self preservation. I would even venture to say that many of us in our work lives possess similar safety mechanisms to keep from going utterly insane.

Therefore, the question that still remains is how do we reach the virtuous part of our patience? Does it even exist? I received the answer to this question recently while I was sitting home noodling on my guitar. I decided after 10 years of procrastination and fear to try my hand at learning two of my favorite Jimi Hendrix tunes; Axis: Bold as Love and Little Wing. Anyone who is a guitar player and appreciates this man’s music would probably say that the very thought of learning it can be quite overwhelming. I can’t really say what it was that motivated me to venture on this path of hammer ons, B minor 9ths and embellishments. They always intimidated me in the past. The only thing that I can say is that from somewhere inside of me the patience appeared. It came without judgment or regret. I just took a deep breath and allowed my self to learn each song as if I had all the time in the world. In essence, it came from love I possessed for his music and for me.

I came in to work today with an extra pep in my step. When my students and colleagues asked me how my weekend was, I smiled and told them it was time well spent. And occasionally when I came across a student who decided that he wanted to disrupt my class by talking out of turn, coming in late, or asking to go the bathroom in the middle of my lesson, my patience was transformed from an act of survival to an act of love. I think in those moments I discovered patience as a bonafide virtue.

True Players For Real

2009-02-02T11:24:00.000-05:00

When asked about his thoughts after the Arizona Cardinals claimed the lead in the fourth quarter of Super Bowl XLIII, Steelers head coach Mike Tomlin said: “I figured that if they were going to score then that was the best time for them to do it.” Tomlin was of course referring to the time that was allotted to his team to rally and come back to win what turned out to be a pretty impressive display. The humorous thing here is that I didn’t even plan on watching it. I figured maybe I’d watch a little of the second half which by that time would probably be a one sided blow out. Much to my delight, I was wrong. I was instead able to extract yet another interesting tidbit of wisdom from one of those lucky individuals who have been blessed with the insight that comes with love of the game. I began to think to myself; Is it possible that all of the people out there who have dubbed themselves “true players for real” (with Puffy’s approval) were right? Let me explain.

In many of my conversations with sports enthusiasts and non-enthusiasts alike I have tried to explain one thing: What makes moments like Santonio Holme’s game winning catch so amazing is that such feats are unique, unscripted and will never happen again in quite the same fashion. Some would argue that men are drawn to these moments of intestinal fortitude because we are obsessed with immortality. I can’t help but think how enraptured I would be as an elderly man if I was given the opportunity to reflect upon such instance in my life.

What Tomlin’s post-game remarks made clear was that true players in the game of life spend their whole lives thinking and preparing for history. When the Cardinals scored, instead of panicking he viewed it as an opportunity to do something amazing whereas most would view it is as a crisis. Santonio Holmes probably daydreamed all through out his youth about that amazing grab that he made with 35 seconds left. It is astonishing to think about the number of individuals among us who have this same game winning mentality even when the accolades are not always as numerous; the single mother who must figure how to juggle multiple responsibilities driven by the single goal of making it to the next day; the struggling student who has multiple assignments due at the end of the semester; the president who has inherited the seemingly impossible task of leading a country out the worst financial crisis since the great depression.

All of the people mentioned here would not choose any other fate then the one which they are experiencing at this very moment in time because if they are fortunate enough to reflect back on such times they would realize that they were given the opportunity to be the best that they could be. The accolades are just icing on the cake.

Spare Change

2009-01-20T10:14:00.000-05:00

I could begin this blog by stating the historical significance of this day but that would be stating the obvious. There are of course theories abound on the long term effects it will have on the masses. No matter what the effects are, they all will amount to one thing; change. As I reflect on recent days before this one I can see a time when Tupac Shakur and Biggie Smalls were the role models of the time. Many looked to these individuals to set the standard on black masculinity. But today my purpose is not to judge these men but only to make observances in hindsight of the power that they possessed. Whether they chose it or not they were given the mantle of the role model. This meant that no matter what choices they made good or bad they were under the watchful eyes of the masses. All of their deeds were used to gauge the climate of the black male in society. In their own ways they were agents of change in America. Their actions in the media in many cases translated to the actions of all black males in this country.

Today we have a new agent of change and his name is Barack Obama. He has been given the almost impossible task to lead this nation out of darkness. This means that all of his assets and short comings will be under a very powerful microscope. In light of this it is important that everyone who supports him be concious that he cannot do the job alone. The change that he so eloquently speaks of in all his speeches should be practiced in the every day lives of each and every American. For example, I just recently learned in a small but profound way how I can be a part of the critical mass that evokes change in this country. This past weekend in all of my celebration of president Obama's inaugaration, I went way over my weekly spending budget. Although I am happy for this man and what he means for this country i didn't get the true message until I was forced to use my credit card for cup of coffee. I was so intoxicated by the reality that he would be our next president that I used poor financial judgement in the midst of an economic crisis as if he would personally bail me out. I realized then that it would do him a huge disservice if I relied on and blamed him for all of my triumphs and tragedies in the next four years.

There is much that we can do to make Barack Obama the greatest president in the history of this country. His true strength is in mobilizing us to make sure this comes to pass. But he cannot do it alone. We help him by helping ourselves. I for one will be aware of this with each sip of my morning coffee from now until payday and beyond.

The flow according to Kobe

2009-01-17T01:31:00.000-05:00

When asked how he thought the game was going at the half Kobie said: "well we tend to push the tempo a bit at home and lay back when we're away so I'm just adjusting to the flow". I took a minute to see why that quote lay still in my head. It struck me but i didn't really know why. Then it slowly began to materialized that this is one of the things that separates Kobe from the rest. What struck me was that up until that point I hadn't really heard another player since Bird or Jordan give a first half analysis in such a way. I mean most players will give you their pedestrian analysis of the game sans all of the nuances that the true lover of the game would express. But then there comes that special player who proves it in both their play and their lifestyle. Kobe understands that the game is rythmic and that it has an ebb and flow . Only true lovers of the game would describe it this way. What makes him unique is that he has been blessed with an ability which is matched with love. Most of us are not blessed in this way on the court or anywhere else for that matter. And if we are blessed we are usually not aware that we are. I guess it this awareness that makes professional athletes so special. While the rest of us in the herd are still trying to figure it all out, these men perform amazing feats which are fueled by concrete proof that some deity exists that has given them gifts that help them to excel in an arena where pure rapture exists. I have a deeper understanding now why these individuals are the closest thing to gods that we have ever seen. When we think about how many movies we have seen and stories we have read about angels, super heroes, and extraterrestrials, none of us has ever seen a man fly until we met Mr. Erving, Mr. Jordan and Mr. Bryant. I wonder after the next great war will the rewritten books of the Bible, Illiad and Oddessy, include these men.

Then...Something unexpected happened in the second half. As I was watching the game wondering what philosophical analysis Kobe might make at the end (after of course scoring the game winning shot). The "flow" that Kobe was talking about changed. The Lakers lost to the Magic 103-108. The person who actually got the post game interview was none other than Dwight Howard who is ironically nicknamed "superman". The first thing he said when asked about his analysis of the game was "before I do that I would like to thank God for the win". 'nuff said.
- Show quoted text -

yours truly (The Hater)

2009-01-10T05:10:00.000-05:00

January 10, 2009

Dear whoever wants to read this,

Recently I have been doing some soul searching. See, there was a time when I once fancied myself a writer, artist, romantic and all around lover of all things that exemplified life in its purest form. Something happened along the way. I got older. Things became more simplified. Essentials such as work, family and rent conveniently took the place of the daydreaming and journaling and musing that I did ten years prior. Fears replaced ambitions. And I began to find myself surrounded by similar individuals with similar fears which surrounded us all like little boxes. Every once in while I find out what happens when I attempt to leave my box. The results are often amusing. Other times they are not amusing at all. Lately for me it has been the latter. Maybe I have finally hit a midlife crisis of sorts. My new found interest in snowboarding has convinced my father that this is the case, and who knows? Maybe he is right, but that is another topic for another time. Whether he is right or not I am certain that the world is changing on me and lately I’ve been having some trouble adjusting. Although this discovery has been and is continuously made every day as I am bombarded with cable T.V., text messaging and facebook, today it profoundly reared its ugly yet again in a seemingly harmless conversation about reality television. It came to me in the form of two phrases: 1. “It’s really not that deep” and 2. “You are a hater”.

Now although I am quite aware that if put into the context of every day language these two phrases really are not that deep and I according to modern definitions really am a hater. But the thing that I hate (and the older definition applies here) is the marginalization and dismissal that is inflicted on the individual who has views about art, culture, politics and life in general that are different from the mainstream. Let me explain. In a conversation that I was having with some of my coworkers someone mentioned that they recently started watching the new season of “The Real World”. Since I really don’t fancy reality television all that much, I just listened as these individuals went on and on about the transsexual on the show and another character who is a guitar player. Since I too am a guitar player one individual who noticed that I was silent assured me that I would love this person because she has seen me on occasion carrying my guitar. I must confess that because of other situations in which this type of association was made I was slightly annoyed; a fact which I made politely clear after this person made the observation. In fact I even went as far to say that usually when people tell me that I would love something based on loose associations made between me and others (ie: Bob Marley, Wyclef and even India Irie!) it makes me unfairly critical of their suggestions. She then replied “well it’s really not that deep maybe you’re just a hater” (I’m paraphrasing). Another co-worker then chimed in and cosigned on her comment. It was then of course made official that I according to my coworkers am officially a hater. And before I knew it I was conveniently rendered mute and dismissed from the conversation which of course went on without me.

Now don’t get me wrong I realize that this whole dialog may seem like some hyper sensitive tirade from two phrases that the average individual may deem as harmless. But I still feel compelled to explain myself when I feel that I am being oversimplified. It is because we live in an age of oversimplification that I am sensitive. It is because many of us are too over stimulated for the beauty of details that I am sensitive. It is because the age of poets seems to be fleeting that I am sensitive. We are living in an age where the packaging on a product is what matters most and not its contents. I do not wish to be a product. Perhaps this is why I’m not a famous guitar player. Perhaps now that I have taken my own time to think about this artist on “The Real World” I might now give him the chance he deserves to inspire me. Perhaps his world is different from mine and I might learn something from it. But I live in a world too. I am just doing my best to make sure it stays real.

Yours truly “the hater”