I Know When to Stay In?

This is the time of year when we usually dedicate ourselves to watching new movies to prepare for our annual Oscar weekend. But sadly, going to the theater still seems fraught and somehow less enjoyable than it once was. 

I'm hopeful that sad situation will change, though, because watching the many nominees we have been able to in the comfort of our living room is just not the same as seeing them on the big screen. Maybe that's why in addition to watching 30-year-old Groundhog Day on Friday, last night we watched 27-year-old Titanic, which also holds up nicely.

In fact, the movie was way better than that dumb exhibit we went to today, which was just a big rip-off. The so-called "experience" ended up being a rehash of all the same old well-known stories and information, staged in an unfinished office space and organized around large-scale photos and second-rate artifacts, most of them from other ships. It was an enormous disappointment and a huge waste of time and money, just as I intuited back when I first heard of it. 

Groundhog Day

Happy Groundhog Day! 
Happy Groundhog Day! 
Happy Groundhog Day! 

I posted the above greeting on the daily agenda for my English classes yesterday. "Does anyone know why I wrote the same thing over and over?" I asked, but none of my students had ever even heard of the movie Groundhog Day, and so they were unable to get the joke.

"It's from an old movie," I explained, "where a weatherman reporting on the groundhog gets stuck in a time loop. No matter what he does, it's always Groundhog Day whenever he wakes up."

"Is it good?" one kid asked me.  

I paused before answering. "I haven't seen it in a really long time," I confessed. "I think it was funny?" I shrugged and moved on with the lesson, but the conversation stayed with me.

"I know what we should watch tonight," I told Heidi when we got home after school. "Groundhog Day!"

She groaned but agreed to the plan, and so after dinner, we settled ourselves on the couch and turned on the TV.

"What year was this made?" Heidi asked, examining the hair and the clothes and the cars. 

"1993!" I answered, for I had already looked it up. "The same year I started teaching."

The movie was a little slow to start. Bill Murray's unpleasant character was not entertaining, and reminded me of a lot of cinematic jerks from back then: Dan Ackroyd in Trading Places, Val Kilmer in Top Gun, James Spader in everything. I actually nodded off after the first two wake-ups, and Heidi poked me and told me to go to bed. "No, no," I insisted, "I'm awake now."

 I was, too, but Heidi went to bed anyway and I watched the rest of the movie alone. 

And although I wouldn't go so far as this reviewer, who calls the film "a spiritual and philosophical masterpiece" and compares Phil Connors to Siddhartha, I would say that, despite being a bit dated and Phil's initial tiresome snarkiness aside, the movie is warm-hearted and entertaining with more than a few laugh out loud moments. 

But I don't need to rewatch it any time soon.

Same Old Story

As I've written before, I have been fascinated by the story of the Titanic since I was a child. Back then the ship was still lost and had seemingly vanished forever. It wasn't until I was in my early 20s that Robert Ballard and his crew located the wreck, nearly two-and-a-half miles below the surface. 

After that discovery, the Titanic became a huge industry; exhibits of recovered artifacts were everywhere, and I attended quite a few. The popularity of the ship was helped along by the 1997 blockbuster movie and then rekindled again in 2012, the 100th anniversary of the sinking. Back then, we went to a great exhibit at National Geographic, but as I made my way through the galleries, I realized that there wasn't much information that was new to me. I knew everything I cared to about the disaster. 

So when a few months ago I received an e-mail about a traveling exhibit on Titanic, I summarily deleted the message. And when our district added a required common text for sixth graders that was an excerpt from a survivor's account of the sinking, I explained to anyone who cared to listen that my objection was not made out of ignorance or disinterest, but rather relevance. Why should we teach every single kid about a random tragedy that happened over a hundred years ago? Don't they have enough bad news in their lives without adding to it?

But, as the saying goes, I don't really run anything except my mouth, and so I a couple of weeks ago found myself teaching about the Titanic. (And, as it turned out, writing raps about it, too.) Of course, the recent catastrophe of the Titan sub had brought the ship back into public attention, and the kids were fairly engaged by the grim tale. Although I still felt like studying the topic was a bit of sensationalism and rubber-necking, I also remembered what an interesting story it is, and while planning my lessons, I watched some new videos about recent explorations of the wreck with new technology. It's amazing to me that it's been nearly 40 years since it was found. 

Oh, and that exhibit? Well, I got an email that it's been extended a few weeks, so this Sunday? We're going.

Helping Helpers

A friend texted to ask if we could stop on the way home to help move her old couch to the curb and carry her new(ish) couch in from her truck. 

So 4:45 PM found us struggling a little bit under the weight of an old-fashioned claw foot settee, trying to maneuver it through the storm door and down the concrete steps of the stoop and the walkway without stepping on the two tiny papillons she was doggy day caring for. Meanwhile, she held her own mini cockapoo to keep him from escaping, and three other dogs yapped impatiently in the backyard. Just then Heidi bumped her end forward a little too fast, causing me to stumble slightly. 

"Would you ladies like a hand?" a voice offered. It was the postal carrier coming down the street. "There seems to be a lot going on here," he continued.

"Yes please, strong guy," I laughed, holding my end steady while he placed his neat stack of mail on the hood of the truck before stepping in to relieve me.

"You all seem like pretty strong ladies yourself," he replied as he and Heidi moved quickly to the curb and deposited the couch. "But there's nothing wrong with getting a little help."

Nothing at all.

School of Life

Our team of sixth-grade teachers had a conference with a student and his parent this afternoon. The student is a good kid, but impulsive and silly at times. Other kids really like him, too, so he has the knack of spreading disruption in class at times. And, like many eleven-year-olds, he has a hard time accepting responsibility for his mistakes.

After we described the situation, his mother was having none of his half-baked justifications and excuses, and she gave him a firm scolding, right there and then, making clear her expectations for his conduct in school. 

In truth, it was a little uncomfortable to hear, and I waited for the right moment to step in, when she had said her piece and we could refocus on strategies to help her son be more successful. After I spoke, she allowed the conversation to be redirected, but before we entirely shifted gears she told her son one more thing. 

"You are surrounded right now by people who love and care for you. We all want the best for you, but the world is not like that," she shook her head. "The world does not love you. The world does not like you. You have to learn to make better choices now, so you won't..." 

She trailed off and my breath caught at the implications of her unspoken warning to this very young man of color. The stakes seemed so much higher then, the mission so much more urgent.

Old Habits

When I was a student, I was a terrible procrastinator; I needed the urgency of a deadline to make me get started on even the biggest project. As such? I spent many late nights and even a few all-nighters getting my work done at the very last minute. 

Quality-wise, I often felt it was a trade-off. The pressure inspired me and I came up with a lot of stuff from who knows where, not all of it bad. Of course, time to edit, revise, and polish my work would have been nice, but back then everything had to be typed on a typewriter or written by hand, and so those stages of the writing process were time-consuming and laborious. I probably would have stuck with an early draft even if I'd had more time.

These days, I find myself in a similar situation at the end of each quarter. For example, I finally finished grading the last of the argument essays today, which was a good thing, since grades are due at midnight. But happy ending! I'm all finished and ready to head home.

After 50 years or so, what's the point of changing now? As awful as it was to have all that hanging over my head, the liberation of having it done is kind of exhilarating.

No Favors

Since Heidi started teaching social skills around ten years ago, we always say that it's the adults in our school who could really use the curriculum. Why narrow it down, though? Our subsequent awareness of social interactions has become a comical lens on so many everyday interactions.

Take today for example. Since it was a grade prep day, we were working at home. Our dog walker came by as usual to pick up Lucy, but since we were her, she stayed to chat a while. "What's the bread for?" she asked, nodding her chin at the pair of sourdough boules cooling on a rack. 

"Oh, I bake bread almost every week," I told her. "It's easier to make extra than to scale down the recipe, and it doesn't cost much, so I give away a couple of loaves weekly."

She nodded and looked down at her phone.

"Those are spoken for," I continued, "but if you have any interest, I can hook you up next week."

"Huh?" she said.

"The bread," I gestured. "Would you like some next week?"

"If you're baking it," she shrugged, "I guess I could take some."

"I'll let you know," I said.