Summer Time Teacher

Just reread some old blogs to reacquaint myself with myself...

I am not particularly inspired by anything, except maybe this new imac- cheese smile.

I'm in Asheville, North Carolina for the summer...learning in class and through the delightful individuals I have met on this journey.

Asheville, NC is a town seeping with a historical richness. It's a history that's multilayered- one that the passer-through, or even the weekend-stayer might miss. We've been on walking tours and sat on panels that reveal a dark history the beautiful mountain town does not readily reveal. I've marveled in the local art shops, the mom and pop bookstores, and draped myself in the blue mountain landscape. Yet there is a peculiar touch pulling at my delight. My class has illuminated the corner of a more private history, drenched in the very strange syrup our nation was founded- you know the syrup Im talkin about. It is a history of slavery, degradation, segregation, and misrepresentation.

My classes have me thinking a lot- duh, right? So much so that I find myself talking a lot- half of the time about nothing and the other half about everything; there's never much semblance.

I've been thinking a great deal about memory and literacy- not in a related sense, but as individual entities. Memory as a type of rhetoric, as a landscape, as a discourse. In my class we are reading African American lit against this idea of memory (when does memory become collective? how do we measure memory against history? what is the space between history and memory? what is truth? when is memory reliable? how do we account for sites of memory? whose memories have more value than others?) questions I've only begun to scratch at.


In my Hip Hop class, we are studying the myriad facets of Hip Hop and Hip Hop culture. Essentially, we are making  a case for it within the classroom as critical text. (Right up my alley, I know.) I'm intrigued by the concept of multi-modal literacies and how to incorporate them more deliberately into my classroom. I am also engaged with the political work, as Kirkland, my professor always terms it, that Hip Hop is up to and how ignoring it, is furthering a white patriarchal divide.

Despite the nebulous haze I am left with after class, after the readings, after the convos, I am left with ideas surrounding my own experience- my own story. How are our stories  predicated on memory and how does our voicing of them offer validity? A concept I will revisit. My brain hurts.

For now, I have some pictures of my trip. 

Yay pictures! Here are some from my tour of Asheville and of my own tour (:

 The best bookstore I ever found! It's a wine bar, coffee shop, and champagne bar. This is what I want my house to look like.

 One of the views from the highway. I almost crashed taking this...

I thought this was a statue for a week. It was only until I saw someone put a dollar in her basket that I saw her move. She's sooo good. They say she makes 80 bucks a day. hmm...can I stand still?

So, we went to 12 Bones- amazing, clog your arteries, but absolutely worth it food. It's where Obama goes when he comes to town! Here's the menya (menu). 

 On the tour, we walked past many places that were demolished during the Urban Renewal Project (1950s-1970s), one of the largest Urban Renwals in the southeastern region. Thousands of people, predominately African Americans, lost their homes; the effect for many was devastating. This is one of the buildings not yet "developed".

 This a mural on the side of the same building- freshly painted! I think it is about a week old.

 Ok, so this is a movie theatre that shows independent movies-it's not your Lowe's or Regal Theatre. It's a small, local stop. But...

There were two entrances to the movie theatre: one "for whites only," the main one, and this one "for colored's only." It's still there, and if we hadn't been on the tour with a tour-guide who told us this, we might have never known. hmm... what's goin on here?

Midday Snack

I realize now that jumping into an entry in the middle of the school day during a free period presents several issues:

One- the frequent interruptions. students, teachers, my own wandering brain.
Two- the fact that I should actually be doing work...

and I am done after number 2 because that issue encompasses them all.

I am inspired today by the idea of writing.

Around 4am, when I woke up this morning, I grabbed my pen and journal and took off. The plot of my stories lately have been somewhat marred by the level of detail I attribute to them. It's like my art teacher would always tell me: get the general outline and then add the detail. Yet, my stubborn ass is always married to the intricate details of things- so much so, that I lose sight of the picture. I am working on ameliorating this issue.

Today in class we are sharing our work.

Students have 10 minutes to write, which for them is like 2 hours, and then they will offer constructive criticism to each other. On the board are my instructions. Next to these instructions is a black and white photograph of a baboon. We can only see its eyes and half of its nose as it is peering into the immediate distance. Its expression is one of concern and  I am struck with the idea of how human-like these creatures are. Not only in their appearance, but in their emotional capacity and their intellectual strength. Students may use this image as fuel for descriptive writing, but if they have a better image in their head, they can go for it. We have gone over the rules for how to criticize and how to receive criticism, both in relation to their own writing and general demeanor.

And yet, the interesting thing through it all, is how much I am learning. As readers, the students question the author's intent, the ambiguity of language, and sometimes the tone of the pieces. I am impressed by their level of analysis and the seeming depth of their pieces. Children are cesspools of imagination and learning how to pull it out has been a joy for me throughout this experience.

Language of Poverty? or Poetry?

Before I begin, I must highly recommend this book!
Decoded,  by Jay-Z

As an avid hip hop head and a reader of anything I can get my hands on- I give it 2 thumbs way up.
Read it for your own enlightenment or just for fun; if you love Jay, have your ipod ready to bump the songs as you read along with his analysis of his own lyrics. And, if you are a teacher, bring it into your classroom. Put it into a context- you will not disappoint.

Recently a colleague expressed her distaste with comments made by other teachers at an English Department meeting. I couldn't attend, but she filled me in during a quick lunch.
English Department meeting conversation went something like this:
         "Our students' vocabulary isn't as good as it used to be," claims one teacher.
         "It's all that darned hip-hop music," suggests another. "They listen to all those hip-hop dudes and it weakens their vocabulary."
         "Ah, yes, it's the language of poverty seeping into our language," another quips.
They reach a consensus that " these hip-hop dudes" are responsible for this elusive "language of poverty" and the meeting progresses.

hmm... besides the inherent ignorance in the claims, I have other problems. The beauty of language, like any other aspect of culture, is that not only is it true to its environment, but it evolves. I feel as English teachers, we should all be in agreement on this notion. Zora Neal Hurston's language is riddled with colloquialisms and regional dialect that may be troubling for some readers, but overall add a richness and a sincerity- and isn't this one of the reasons why we love her so? Our beloved Shakespeare created thousands of new words- words that could have easily been pushed aside as doggerel, but we use them today. Some of his gifts were words like "dwindle," "frugal," gloomy," and "hurry".


Writers, which is what many of these influential "hip-hop dudes" are, partake in the creation and evolution of our language, whether stiff teachers like it or not, and our students pick up on it simply by being products of our environment. It is the writer's job to report, to record, to express. There is a value in this idea before we even consider the content. To ignore it, to snub it, or to shake a dismissive hand its way is the equivalent of living on an island and clipping the ropes of your only boat; eventually, your resources will dwindle and you'll die. Our existence and our intellectual growth is predicated not only on our ability to adapt, but also on our ability to work and move in this world together.


I'm afraid that meeting was missing an important voice- a voice that is often silenced in academia. The language of hip-hop is one that teachers, especially English teachers, cannot push aside. The language of hip-hop is singularly one of the most influential languages of our time. The language of hip-hop helped define a generation, helped create a voice for a large group of the voiceless, and began carving the path for a necessary untold American story. For Jay-Z it's the voice of the hustler, but I see it as the voice of a large portion black America. I view many hip-hop artists as poets, and to ignore them in schools would be to ignore a poetic movement.

I'd say it's time for everyone else to catch up. It's not a weakening of vocabulary that's the problem, it's our inability, in academia, to keep up with the times.

I think Jay-Z's interview at the NY Public Library demonstrates this friction of different worlds rubbing against each other, which is what my Department meeting showed as well. As Jay-Z sits between Cornell West and Paul Holdengräber, we can see this clearly. Both Jay and Holdengräber work to understand each other with a gentle acknowledgement of their own ignorance and appreciation of their differences-

perhaps not a bad way to look at "hip-hop" language in school.


Watch this interview. Read the book.
It's important; it says more in words and in picture than I could ever say.

Feed Yourself

Natural. Raw. Real.

I am inspired today. I think the less words the better. Art like this is an exclamation point.

Our Deepest Fear

 ...is that we are powerful beyond measure.

Last year, I tried to force my students to memorize and recite Marianne Williamson's poem. Not a single student did it, and I am not even sure what I was trying to accomplish. I realize the irony of it all now. Still, the words resonate with me: 
It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us...And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.


The message is beyond important. I often feel this sense of liberation when watching others showcase their artistic gifts.

I stole the contemporary version of "Four Women" from a blog and then felt the urge to watch Ms. Simone's original. The sense of empowerment is inexplicable. I'm always awestruck by talent and simultaneous social outreach.

Sip it slowly and enjoy.











Today, I received an email asking me to recount my community service. After staring at a blinking cursor for longer than I would have liked, I realize I need to get my ass in gear. All this preaching I do to my students about serving others, and I have been slacking- profoundly.

And so, after watching too much youtube and internet browsing, I have come across a website in need of eyes other than my own. Time to get to action. 

http://www.jdcy.org/index.html

Aschobi! I love thee!

Check out these designs. It's just what we all needed.

Wear with confidence & creativity & you're ret to go!
http://www.aschobi.com/shego.php

random

love this girl's voice

Watch Paramore - Decode (Live) on MTVMusic.com