Shit List No. 4 (and then some)

1. M. Night Shyamalan. You bastard. I sacrificed 90 minutes of my afternoon to watch The Happening. I'm still not convinced it's not a comedy. What makes it worse is my undying love for Mark Wahlberg. Now I don't even know about him. Did you write this while drunk?

2. Tyra Banks. This might be a tad harsh, but you are a ridiculous, hypocritical, insane bitch. Both your shows are terrible. I'd rather watch court tv. I will not "kiss your fat ass."


3. Waiting. So I was supposed to get this sweet job, and I didn't. Hearing the ladies in charge tell me how delightful I was and how much they enjoyed meeting me did not take the sting out of this rejection.

4. The Supremely Idiotic Court for banning the death sentence for child rapists. If they don't deserve to be put down, I don't know who does. Other than equally evil people.

5. The large and elusive mystery bug that refuses to let me sleep. I'll find you, jerkface.

6. Gas prices.
6a. The fine folks at Ford who so generously are now offering employee pricing on their gas-chugging trucks. Don't try to fool me into thinking you're helping us all out in these tough times--you just can't unload the things anymore. If you wanna help me out, make my payments less.

7. Myself for not being a more positive person. For bitching. To this end, I add some non-shitty things. Happy things.
- being in a great relationship
- my awesome family and friends
- puppies
- The Colbert Report
- naps and daydreams
- Krav Maga class
- new beginnings

shine a light

My house has a strange temperament that seems to cause light bulbs to burn out quickly. In addition, at least two or three burn out at a time, so we buy new bulbs fairly often. If you're like me, you stand in front of the light bulbs aisle and look back and forth between the cheap-as-dirt traditional bulbs and the more pricey and environmentally friendly, "energy-saving" bulbs. In the end, you buy the cheap ones and slink to the checkout, hoping no one judges you for not doing your part for the environment. I recycle like a madwoman, I don't buy bottled water, and I don't litter. And I turn off lights and conserve as much as I can, so why do I feel guilty for not buying these bulbs?

If you're in my same boat, there's something you should know. Please take 5 minutes and watch Rep. Ted Poe (a fine example of a Texan, one I am proud of) explain this to Congress. Then tell someone else about it.

Showdown of the Southwest Movies: There Will Be Old Men.

I'm coo-coo for acronyms.

So many months ago, Christie and I went to see a movie. "There Will Be Blood," she said. "It's won all kinds of awards. I vaguely remembered something with oil and Paul Dano screaming in a preview. We ended up at "No Country for Old Men," the flick my boyfriend wanted to see when I stubbornly dragged him to "Cloverfield" (see Moxie's Summer Entertainment Preview). I had heard virtually nothing about the actual plot, just that it was good. Perhaps "Old Men" in the title had stifled my interest. Christie and I ended up at NCFOM once she heard that TWBB was rather gorey and/or violent (it's not). A few nights ago I finally saw TWBB, so here is my analysis on the two.

Both these movies are set in the Southwest and came out last year--NCFOM especially would be great at the drive-in outside Lubbock. The panoramic shots would seem to extend beyond the silver screen, blending into the big sky and scrubby desert spiked with mesas. TWBB is based on Upton Sinclair's 1927 novel, titled "OIL!" I could see how it'd be a good novel, especially if you appreciate Sinclair, but NCFOM is clearly the winner in this killer cowboy filmfest. Here's why:

1) Actors--Daniel Day Lewis sounds like James Bond and looks like Tom Selleck (neither of these are bad). The killer in NCFOM has a horribly awesome haircut and is named Chighur (pronounced "sugar"). Paul Dano holds my heart in his teenage hands. Bottom line--Tommy Lee is the old man for which there is no country. He is wrinkly, real, perplexed, and just a good old dude who can't understand the brutality of the modern world. Oh, and if that's not enough, um...WOODY HARRELLSON's in it. Meow. Only a few men can pull off the white jeans look.

2) Weaponry--close call here, you be the judge: bowling pin or compressed air tank. I call it a tie, but (spoiler here) because Daniel Day Lewis screams "I'm finished!" after using said bowling pin on his enemy and it's the last scene, I will call it even. The air tank is fucking brilliant though.

3) References to Title--ok, a major pet peeve of mine is when actors actually say the title of the movie as part of the dialogue. Example, "Dude, Where's My Car?" TWBB is guilty, although in an unexpected way. NCFOM is the best kind of innocent. The title's meaning becomes fully clear after viewing and pondering.

4)Quotes--*note: TWBB seemed to have a lot of utterances answered with silences. Ok sometimes. NCFOM had a variety of characters from the dopey sidekick cop, the lovely but also old wife of TLJ, and the old coot who lives out in the country--all of whom avoid being cliches and carry on great dialogue.
NCFOM:
Llewelyn Moss: If I don’t come back, tell mother I love her.
Carla Jean Moss: Your mother’s dead, Llewelyn.
Llewelyn Moss: Well then I’ll tell her myself.
TWBB:
H.M. Tilford: How's your boy?
Plainview: Thank you for asking.
H.M. Tilford: Is there anything we can do?
Plainview: "Thanks for asking" is enough.

5) Female roles--pretty much aren't any in TWBB. Carla Jean in NCFOM is only person to refuse to play Chirghu's crazy mind game. Hands down.

6) Soundtrack--here TWBB has the edge. Very Kubrick-esque music, made me think of the Shining.

7) Bonus point--NCFOM involves a transponder. TWBB has a big oil fire, but NCFOM has a car chase.

Good scenes and final statements:




Final Score: No Country 6, There Will Be Milkshakes 2. Paul Thomas Anderson's epic story of family and greed is no match for the Coehns' psycho-killer and a suitcase full of money. If you need further convincing, go fill up your gas tank--I don't want to see a movie about oil.

Next time: Battle of the Bags--Baghead vs. The Strangers.

Discussions you probably don't have at your job

I have been working in a self-contained middle school classroom for the last 6 weeks, working with emotional and behaviorally disturbed kids. Although this has provided many interesting stories, I haven't written about it much due to confidentiality issues. But today I just had to share.

It started with two boys (we'll call them Dustin and Kendrick) working in the room on separate assignments--Dustin had to write out some strategies to deal with his lack of verbal control (he told a bunch of classmates who wanted to jump him that he'd rape them if they touched him, possibly the result of living on the street for two years with his crackhead mom) and Kendrick was working on his science lesson. His reproductive system science lesson. I was complacently reading a book when he asked me for a synonym for "anus." Caught slightly off guard, I said, "Umm..." trying to pick a non-slang term while the rotund and religious TA gasped and the other kid pipes up--"ass!" Kendrick laughed and then said, "Oh, I know--penis." I looked at the other kid, who looked as puzzled as me. The TA turned five shades of red--she normally says "fanny." She urged us to move on conversationally but I stopped her. "No, Patty. They need to know the correct terminology." God only knows what kind of situational confusion confusing anus and penis might cause Kendrick in the future.

"Kendrick," I said carefully, "the anus would be referring to your rectum--there's a synonym. Your butt, in other words. Your penis, well..yeah."

"Nuh uh!" he yelled. Refusing to believe me and Dustin (Patty cringed at her desk), he went for a dictionary.

"Anus: The opening at the lower end of the alimentary canal, through which the solid refuse of digestion is excreted." He looked up triumphantly. "See?!?"

Dustin laughed. Patty began praying. I leaned in closely and said calmy, "Kendrick? Do you have solid refuse passing through your penis?"

He blinked once. Twice. "Oh. I get it." I ignored Dustin's hysterical giggles and resumed reading.

It was a long day. Dana and I drank a few beers and watched the spelling bee. That took me down a notch.

The Creek: a Crapshoot.

I've written several times about Bull Creek. Today Dana, Bella and I got there early, round 11am, before the onslaught of families, dog-owners, river rats, and stoners arrived. We got comfortable in our stone ledge castle, jumping into slightly smelly but refreshing water and climbing back up the rock wall to dry in the sun. These two signs made me laugh a little, the first for a missing parrot and the second admonishing us to keep Bella on a leash and pick up her poop.








Some days at BC are heaven--you meet the coolest people with the best dogs, share a beer, and relax. But sometimes you see things that make you doubt the inherent goodness of humanity. I sensed trouble when what appeared to be a pregnant man, two googley kids, and a miserable-looking woman stumbled up the creek bed. He had some of the worst tattoos I'd ever seen: baby footprints (presumably his own offspring, which if you think about it metaphorically is just said) on his chest, just off matching shamrocks on his "pecs." A paint splatter surrounded by the words "Got Balls?" on one shoulder, a Notre Dame leprechaun on the other. His back was covered with a horrible mess of green, orange, and black--nothing discernable. Now I'm not going to judge a person for getting bad ink...much. However, he was dragging a sweet and terrified puppy through the water--he later pushed the poor thing off the rock, its claws extended like a Halloween cat and panic in its eyes. His lumpy wife (who most likely wore baseball caps with pony-tails through the back and glasses with snazzy white sneakers to look "hot" in her pre-child years) carried a bag in one hand and held her cigarette aloft with the other as she yelled profanities to her hapless boys. Later when Dana and I jumped in again I commented on the shame of litterers, saying we always carried out twice as much trash as we came with, and she agreed wholeheartedly as she flicked her butt into the water. I growled, wanting to steal the poor puppy and give the children to Oprah.

Nevertheless, the sky was big and blue and full of sun, and we exulted in it. Bella drank some beer and we read Redbook, learning the secrets of happily married women, recipes, and 21 spicy sex moves we already knew. The creek banks began filling up, looking like shantytowns in some spots with large families with grills and chairs setting up shop. An older guy, probably early 40's but the kind that probably lies and says 30's, began jumping in next to us again and again, doing backflips and climbing up higher to show off, egging his 6 year old to do the same. I gasped when the back of his head skimmed the rock wall, and giggled inwardly later when he gulped a mouthful of pee/dog water.

By two, the place was packed, and my drinking was constantly interrupted by having to give two persistent and incompetent middle-school girls a hand in climbing back up the wall. We decided to split, slightly incredulous at what shitheads some people are but still in good spirits and happy the day was still young--only 2pm.

Keeping with the day's theme of recreation and leisure, PBS had on a documentary called Great Old American Parks. Here. Watch.

Moxie's Summer Entertainment Preview

Dear Blog,

Sorry I haven't written. Between graduation and the subsequent loss of student loan money plus the spiraling out-of-controlness of American society, I've found it difficult to get my thoughts in order. I graduated last weekend, the parents came down and met my friends and Mark--went better than I expected. I'll be leaving the ATX in a few more months to set up shop with honey in west Texas, something I'm deliriously excited about. The times, they are a-changin', but change is good.

Until I have some solid thoughts on anything solid, here what I think of the summer entertainment lineup. First, TV: TV by and large is total crap. Aside from a few worthy shows, it's insulting, especially the commercials (that's a whole 'nother post). Two upcoming shows have at least induced a quizzically raised eyebrow:

90210. Jebus. Has it been 18 years for real? I was 10 when the original aired? From the looks of it, Jennie Garth has fared the best by nailing a 3pm sitcom with the slightly cross-eyed Amanda Bynes, unless you count Shannen Dougherty's Charmed as success. From what I can tell, the only appeal to the show is that it signals a transition tv time between horrendous daytime court and talk shows before the news and primetime come on. The remaining members of Snobbery White High or whatever high school that is can be found on milk cartoons.

Try not to get distracted by the eyebrows or the asymmetrical eyes:


The new onslaught of CW teen "talent" have updated names--Daphne, Dixon, Annie, etc. There seems to be more of a multi-cultural inclusion as well. Before you start judging, keep in mind that I've been home by myself all night with nothing to do. And I'm grumpy, so shut up. What's next, Saved by the Bell: Redux? Melrose the Second Place? I'm all for recycling, but this is ridiculous.

Another show that intrigues me in a sick kind of way is Swingtown, from CBS: "From the director of "Big Love" and "Rome," SWINGTOWN peeks into the shag-carpeted suburban homes of the 1970s to find couples reveling in the sexual and social revolution that introduced open marriages and women's liberation." Here I thought we couldn't get any sluttier. Although I'm attracted to the 70's context (as I'm sick of shows set in nowadays, as nowadays is all janky), I have a bad taste in my mouth watching these commercials, which keep showing up on my five channels of television. It tastes kind of like latex mixed with salt and shame.

Movies I'm looking forward to:





1. Batman--starring the dead and beautifully tragic Heath Ledger. I bet I'll cry.
2. Get Smart--hell yeah. I love Steve Carrell, and I loved watching the original on Nick at Night as a kid, starring Don Adams. Here's a clip of it featuring another of my heroines, the great Carol Burnett:



Decidedly Stinkers:
1. Sex in the City, the Movie--I'm a devoted fan, don't get me wrong. But here's the thing: if she gets married, it's kind of a sell-out as to her character. If she "chooses New York," not a damn person will be surprised. If he runs out on her, I'll just be depressed. I've seen all the seasons many times over, I don't need to spend $8 to see a longer version of an episode.
2. The Strangers--I don't like movies that feature people with bags on their heads.


Boy, it feels good to write again. I'll cut things off there, 2 tv shows, 2 good movies (hopefully), and 2 bad. I'm out of mixer drink so I either need to drink the vodka straight or go to bed. As I am working tomorrow, I imagine the latter is better.

Happy long weekend, hope you don't have to drive anywhere...

Design

I like Smagorinsky, and liked his piece with Michelle Zoss and Patty M. Reed about vocational classes such as interior design or shop and the status they're given in schools, compared with more legit and brainy activities like reading and doing math. They spend some time discussing motive--a topic tragically overlooked in many classrooms. It was the same way when I was in high school--vocational ed kids were the ones who weren't good at doing school, and were unfairly considered academic losers. In reality, they were probably learning a lot more useful stuff and having a lot more fun than us nerds stuck in Calculus (which I have NEVER used and suffered considerable agony to half-learn), and most likely making a lot more money than I will be. Clearly schools need to get their priorities crooked and look at, as the authors say, the value of cultural and psychological tools as well as traditional literacies. Plus it was great to listen to students excitedly problem-solve and think through their projects, rather than the resistant attitude we often see from students.

Hmm, I wonder where these negative connotations come from:

I will be honest--I did not enjoy the Burn and Parker article, although the decisions, process, and editing of film is interesting to me, especially after working with the Alamo for several years and being part of the conversation on new and innovative flicks. An article dissecting the grammar of film seems unnecessary for some reason--maybe because the kids I work with have nothing resembling access to a production like this. Grammar of regular old print text is boring in of itself, especially when teased apart from language as a sentence-diagramming worksheet chore. I can't quite put myself in the right frame of mind to evaluate methods of studying "digital moving image texts." I don't know if it's because the authors are Londoners (seems like context is an important enough idea to be wary of research done outside America) but that was one of many terms and phrases used in Digital Inscription and Animation that sounded weird in my head. Thus, I couldn't really get it. Maybe it was because I read this article last or maybe I am just out of patience after working in a BD unit for the last week and broke for the last two, but phrases like synchronic syntagm, diachronic syntagm, spatiotemporal grammatical system, interpersonal metafunctionand spectatorial grammar just get on my nerves. I know that's not a very academic attitude, but it's my blog and that's my opinion. However: my interest was piqued by Eisenstein's theory of montage I think the idea of the montage is a more useful framework in approaching many aspects of life and education: a collection, the impact of connected images, peoples' thoughts and stories--a montage does more to capture the complex context of a seemingly-simple theme or idea.

Like the Brits' article, Jody Shipka's piece was...nice...no really, it was good. But again--for the vast majority of schools I've visited in this urban, diverse city are so far out from what she was able to do with her students: "I have been inviting students to chose [sic] (that's right, there's a typo) their mix of materials, methodologies, technologies and rhetorical strategies for the past nine years." That's great if you don't have to deal with TAKS testing and were allowed to do what you want as a teacher. It's a great article--I particularly liked the American Museum of Greed project, but I wanted to put it in Mr. Pat Forgione's hands.

Bezemer and Kess focus on the effects of text and image in curriculum from the 30's, 80's, and our current digital age. By starting out with a clarification of important concepts (mode, medium, site of display, frame), this piece becomes a good foundation for Shipka's and the Brits' type of work. The appealing and artistic vibe of this line of study is the emphasis on transformation--the changing and rearranging process, the unfixed-ness of the final product, the flux and flow of building and rebuilding one's world. The real education of adjustment, the shades of meaning, rather than a fixation on an absolute answer. Although this sounds like absolute hippie talk, the kind of nonsense coming out of a New Age Music teacher's mouth, these analyses of transduction/transformation and social repositioning were done on math and science textbooks, as well as writing.