A local newspaper printed a story discussing grade inflation in the NYC Public School system.
http://www.silive.com/news/index.ssf/2010/07/study_hits_grade_inflation_in.html
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
On Creating the Heavens and the Earth
When I was a child, I was always upset that I couldn't draw well. I had all sorts of incredible pictures in my mind. Vast fantasy landscapes with multicolored, talking trees, monsters, superheroes, and a myriad other crazy concepts floated through my brain (and this was WAY before I even knew what drugs were). Alas, no matter how hard I tried I could never get the pencils to do what I wanted, and so every single thing I ever drew ended up as a wadded up ball of paper in a trash can.
Then, enlightening struck. At some point just before high school, I realized I could use words to draw the scenes I had experienced as a child, and immediately began flirting with creative writing. Before I had a computer, I would spend hours with my mom's old electric typewriter, frantically churning out page after page of my soon-to-be fantasy epic until I ran out of correction tape and had to white everything out by hand. I knew that if I could just get it finished, I would rival Tolkien and Lovecraft as creators, and, like them, be a god in a universe of my design.
However, right around that time I discovered the guitar, and everything creative that was non-musical went bye-bye for the next eight years.
Flash forward: It's the start of my sophomore year at Wagner College. I'm still playing guitar relentlessly, and reading voraciously. I had just switched majors from Behavioral Psychology to English Literature because I refused to experiment on hermit crabs (I kept them as pets and loved them. Also, I don't need to make animals do what I want them to do to get my rocks off). Throwing myself deep into the bogs of critical theory, I all but forgot about creative writing and focused instead on unwrapping and analyzing other authors' universes.
Here's the kicker: I find the acts of analyzing literature and writing critical pieces to be on par, creatively, with writing fiction, or poetry, or music. It is certainly a different breed of creativity, but it is nevertheless brought about through the creative process. While I might not be creating my own world in which my original characters live and think and act, I am without a doubt composing an original argument consisting of ideas that are completely mine. These new ideas relate to either the literary work itself or an earlier critical piece with which I intend to disagree, and the creativity comes into play when I begin toying with those ideas to see how they fit into the universe created by the author whose work I'm studying.
I've been told quite a few times that being a literary critic is uncreative, and that being a literature professor is mainly a job for failed writers. First of all, I'm a failed musician, get it right. Secondly, the notion that constructing a critical argument using original ideas is somehow uncreative is both asinine and insulting. Third, insinuating that a college professors, who routinely present papers filled with original research at academic conferences around the country and world, lead "uncreative" lives is beyond absurd.
The bottom line is that being able to spot, analyze, discuss, and understand the behavioral patterns of characters in a novel or how a poem's meter reveals different linguistic or literary conventions of a given time period without doubt qualifies as creative. Taking it one step further and writing about your discoveries so others can argue, discuss, and further your arguments is akin to writing the fantasy novel I always dreamed of drawing.
Then, enlightening struck. At some point just before high school, I realized I could use words to draw the scenes I had experienced as a child, and immediately began flirting with creative writing. Before I had a computer, I would spend hours with my mom's old electric typewriter, frantically churning out page after page of my soon-to-be fantasy epic until I ran out of correction tape and had to white everything out by hand. I knew that if I could just get it finished, I would rival Tolkien and Lovecraft as creators, and, like them, be a god in a universe of my design.
However, right around that time I discovered the guitar, and everything creative that was non-musical went bye-bye for the next eight years.
Flash forward: It's the start of my sophomore year at Wagner College. I'm still playing guitar relentlessly, and reading voraciously. I had just switched majors from Behavioral Psychology to English Literature because I refused to experiment on hermit crabs (I kept them as pets and loved them. Also, I don't need to make animals do what I want them to do to get my rocks off). Throwing myself deep into the bogs of critical theory, I all but forgot about creative writing and focused instead on unwrapping and analyzing other authors' universes.
Here's the kicker: I find the acts of analyzing literature and writing critical pieces to be on par, creatively, with writing fiction, or poetry, or music. It is certainly a different breed of creativity, but it is nevertheless brought about through the creative process. While I might not be creating my own world in which my original characters live and think and act, I am without a doubt composing an original argument consisting of ideas that are completely mine. These new ideas relate to either the literary work itself or an earlier critical piece with which I intend to disagree, and the creativity comes into play when I begin toying with those ideas to see how they fit into the universe created by the author whose work I'm studying.
I've been told quite a few times that being a literary critic is uncreative, and that being a literature professor is mainly a job for failed writers. First of all, I'm a failed musician, get it right. Secondly, the notion that constructing a critical argument using original ideas is somehow uncreative is both asinine and insulting. Third, insinuating that a college professors, who routinely present papers filled with original research at academic conferences around the country and world, lead "uncreative" lives is beyond absurd.
The bottom line is that being able to spot, analyze, discuss, and understand the behavioral patterns of characters in a novel or how a poem's meter reveals different linguistic or literary conventions of a given time period without doubt qualifies as creative. Taking it one step further and writing about your discoveries so others can argue, discuss, and further your arguments is akin to writing the fantasy novel I always dreamed of drawing.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Who Do I Think I Am?
It struck me that I've made an introductory post, an anti-government post, and a chocolaty post about Milton without ever mentioning what gives me the balls to do this. So I'll use this post to talk briefly about my favorite subject: myself.
As the little blurb at the top-right of my page indicates, I am a full-time musician, a full-time graduate student, and a part-time teacher (though tutor is probably the better word, it sounds less professional). Musically, I play guitar and bass in a few different bands. But that isn't really relevant to this particular blog.
No no friends, what IS relevant is my academic past which will hopefully lead me headlong into my academic future. I received a BA in English Literature from Wagner College, a small liberal arts college in Staten Island, NY. Feel free to ask details, but suffice to say I did very well because my professors nurtured the particular interests I had in literature at the time, and as such allowed me to dive deeply into a couple of research projects of my own choosing.
After graduation I took a couple of years off to achieve my dream of being a rock star. Having met Dave Mustaine of Megadeth at a McDonald's in California, I considered my goal fulfilled and decided to return to school to pursue my slightly less realistic dream of achieving a Ph.D and a career in higher education.
I took the required tests (GRE General and Subject Test in Literature in English) and did extremely well on one and not so extremely well on the other (I'll let you decide which is which), resulting in a hearty chorus of "Thanks but no thanks" from every single Ph.D. to which I applied. I spun into a spiral of depression, drinking nearly three cases of Coca-Cola per week while raiding Illidan the Betrayer repeatedly. I also studied Shaolin Kung Fu, in case Illidan or Kil'Jaeden ever became real. Fortunately for them, they remained in Azeroth. Realizing that my senseless beating of bricks was getting my career nowhere, I once again dove into school.
I decided to start smaller, and began pursuing an MA at CUNY College of Staten Island. Two years and $5000 of debt later, I realized that there was no way I could succeed at a school whose English MA program was geared entirely towards training Department of Education "teachers". That isn't to say I received poor grades. On the contrary, 4.0 for four straight semesters (/backpat). However, I found the material exceedingly easy and out of the seven different professors with whom I took classes, six asked, in varying ways, what the hell I was doing at CSI.
I applied to, and was accepted by, CUNY Hunter, a school of much higher repute whose English program would, in all likelihood, result in my being accepted, finally, to a Ph.D. program, provided I put in the requisite work. And so here I am, beginning this blog to document my journey through CUNY Hunter to wherever my road through life leads me.
Oh yeah, in between all that schooling, gigging, raiding, and Kung Fu-ing, I also am responsible for supporting a household. But that's boring stuff. I know you would all much rather read my thoughts on Milton or whatever other nonsense I plan on flinging at you. Excelsior!
As the little blurb at the top-right of my page indicates, I am a full-time musician, a full-time graduate student, and a part-time teacher (though tutor is probably the better word, it sounds less professional). Musically, I play guitar and bass in a few different bands. But that isn't really relevant to this particular blog.
No no friends, what IS relevant is my academic past which will hopefully lead me headlong into my academic future. I received a BA in English Literature from Wagner College, a small liberal arts college in Staten Island, NY. Feel free to ask details, but suffice to say I did very well because my professors nurtured the particular interests I had in literature at the time, and as such allowed me to dive deeply into a couple of research projects of my own choosing.
After graduation I took a couple of years off to achieve my dream of being a rock star. Having met Dave Mustaine of Megadeth at a McDonald's in California, I considered my goal fulfilled and decided to return to school to pursue my slightly less realistic dream of achieving a Ph.D and a career in higher education.
I took the required tests (GRE General and Subject Test in Literature in English) and did extremely well on one and not so extremely well on the other (I'll let you decide which is which), resulting in a hearty chorus of "Thanks but no thanks" from every single Ph.D. to which I applied. I spun into a spiral of depression, drinking nearly three cases of Coca-Cola per week while raiding Illidan the Betrayer repeatedly. I also studied Shaolin Kung Fu, in case Illidan or Kil'Jaeden ever became real. Fortunately for them, they remained in Azeroth. Realizing that my senseless beating of bricks was getting my career nowhere, I once again dove into school.
I decided to start smaller, and began pursuing an MA at CUNY College of Staten Island. Two years and $5000 of debt later, I realized that there was no way I could succeed at a school whose English MA program was geared entirely towards training Department of Education "teachers". That isn't to say I received poor grades. On the contrary, 4.0 for four straight semesters (/backpat). However, I found the material exceedingly easy and out of the seven different professors with whom I took classes, six asked, in varying ways, what the hell I was doing at CSI.
I applied to, and was accepted by, CUNY Hunter, a school of much higher repute whose English program would, in all likelihood, result in my being accepted, finally, to a Ph.D. program, provided I put in the requisite work. And so here I am, beginning this blog to document my journey through CUNY Hunter to wherever my road through life leads me.
Oh yeah, in between all that schooling, gigging, raiding, and Kung Fu-ing, I also am responsible for supporting a household. But that's boring stuff. I know you would all much rather read my thoughts on Milton or whatever other nonsense I plan on flinging at you. Excelsior!
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Someone PLEASE Take Me Down to the Paradise City
Throughout most of my academic life I've avoided poetry from England's Restoration period like the plague (Get it? Get it?? Ahh never mind...). So as I find myself ready to embark upon my latest higher-education endeavor at CUNY Hunter, I realize that I registered myself for a course on Milton. Oh why must I be too proud to drop a class?? And why, WHY must I register for classes drunk?!? (In case you're wondering, the answers to those questions are stupidity and tradition, respectively.)
Now, Milton and I have a rather tumultuous relationship. I'm fascinated by nearly all facets of Paradise Lost, from the Romantics' viewing of Satan as the epic hero (and, much later, Paul Stevens' placement of Satan as one of literature's first anti-heroes), to the more modern viewpoint that the epic is most likely an offshoot of Milton's own revolutionary tendencies. Furthermore, the story of the fall of man is simultaneously one of culture's earliest and most consistently pervasive "official" positions of misogyny, and with my interest in gender theory and feminism, I simply can't avoid interest in anything dealing with the topic. And, of course, given that I'm quite literally in love with the English language, particularly it's rhythms in blank verse, how can I not be interested in what is the first true epic poem composed entirely in that language and meter?
As you can see, all the pieces are in place for me to devour this text with the voracity of a badger in Santa's Little Helper's doghouse. Unfortunately, each and every time I've attempted to read Paradise Lost, I inevitably sigh with confusion, frustration, and boredom somewhere around the bit about a "Heav'nly Muse" singing about something or other (how that reconciles with my decision to get Satan's speech that closes with "That glory never shall his wrath or might extort from me." tattooed on my body is up to you to figure out).
I've made it through Book I on four separate occasions, and Book II twice. I've never once gone beyond that until now, when I've finally reached Book IV. I simply can not account for why this is so. I've read far less interesting works of greater length, including the entirety of Tolkien's legendarily boring The Silmarillion (based in no small part on Paradise Lost), along with dozens upon dozens of dense, turgid prose pieces dealing with everything from Victorian life-writing to whether ideology itself is a self-defeating concept in modern society. Why, then, can I not find the discipline to sit and read one of the greatest works in the history of written English, and, arguably, in the history of the written word, especially when its subject matter is of great interest to me?
I suspect it has something to do with my general avoidance of this particular period of English poetry. Regardless of how influential a work it was, or how subversive/revolutionary it proved to be, or whether it could make or break me on the GRE Subject Test (thank you very much, 2007), it's technically part of the Restoration. That places Milton firmly with the insufferable bore (and accused plagiarist) John Dryden, the so-offensive-he's-funny-then-pathetic misogynist Robert Gould, and countless other court poets who preferred rhyming couplets to anything interesting. Aside from Pope and Swift, most other Restoration poetry actually makes me a little nauseous.
That's the only solution I can think of, unless I'm truly not sophisticated enough to grasp Milton's epic (an entirely possible a preposterously unimaginable scenario). Hopefully this fifth attempt at finishing the epic will succeed, and will provide a decent-enough groundwork with which to begin my studies on the poem in the fall. All I can do is request that my Muse "What in me is dark / Illumin, what is low raise and support..."
Now, Milton and I have a rather tumultuous relationship. I'm fascinated by nearly all facets of Paradise Lost, from the Romantics' viewing of Satan as the epic hero (and, much later, Paul Stevens' placement of Satan as one of literature's first anti-heroes), to the more modern viewpoint that the epic is most likely an offshoot of Milton's own revolutionary tendencies. Furthermore, the story of the fall of man is simultaneously one of culture's earliest and most consistently pervasive "official" positions of misogyny, and with my interest in gender theory and feminism, I simply can't avoid interest in anything dealing with the topic. And, of course, given that I'm quite literally in love with the English language, particularly it's rhythms in blank verse, how can I not be interested in what is the first true epic poem composed entirely in that language and meter?
As you can see, all the pieces are in place for me to devour this text with the voracity of a badger in Santa's Little Helper's doghouse. Unfortunately, each and every time I've attempted to read Paradise Lost, I inevitably sigh with confusion, frustration, and boredom somewhere around the bit about a "Heav'nly Muse" singing about something or other (how that reconciles with my decision to get Satan's speech that closes with "That glory never shall his wrath or might extort from me." tattooed on my body is up to you to figure out).
I've made it through Book I on four separate occasions, and Book II twice. I've never once gone beyond that until now, when I've finally reached Book IV. I simply can not account for why this is so. I've read far less interesting works of greater length, including the entirety of Tolkien's legendarily boring The Silmarillion (based in no small part on Paradise Lost), along with dozens upon dozens of dense, turgid prose pieces dealing with everything from Victorian life-writing to whether ideology itself is a self-defeating concept in modern society. Why, then, can I not find the discipline to sit and read one of the greatest works in the history of written English, and, arguably, in the history of the written word, especially when its subject matter is of great interest to me?
I suspect it has something to do with my general avoidance of this particular period of English poetry. Regardless of how influential a work it was, or how subversive/revolutionary it proved to be, or whether it could make or break me on the GRE Subject Test (thank you very much, 2007), it's technically part of the Restoration. That places Milton firmly with the insufferable bore (and accused plagiarist) John Dryden, the so-offensive-he's-funny-then-pathetic misogynist Robert Gould, and countless other court poets who preferred rhyming couplets to anything interesting. Aside from Pope and Swift, most other Restoration poetry actually makes me a little nauseous.
That's the only solution I can think of, unless I'm truly not sophisticated enough to grasp Milton's epic (
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
The State of New York vs. Intelligence
One of the nuisances benefits of being an in-home tutor is that I get to see all the wonderful standardized tests my students have to suffer through year after year. These include the TACHS exam (for entering Catholic high schools), the city-wide and state-wide tests in social studies, mathematics, reading, and science, the multi-subject regents exams, and, to a lesser extent, the SAT, SAT II, and GRE tests.
None of those tests are necessary. However, I'm forced to teach methods of succeeding on these tests instead of actual knowledge that a child can use in life (like why they shouldn't major in the Humanities). The same problem exists in the schools on a macro level. Teachers are forced to teach for tests instead of teaching critical thinking/research/writing skills that can benefit ANY student of ANY skill level regardless of the field they eventually choose.
This limits both the intellectual growth of the student and the professional growth of the teacher. Imagine, if you will, that you're a biology teacher in a high school. A student asks a question about cellular chemistry, and you don't know the answer. Instead of telling the student that you'll do some research and answer his/her question the next day, you're essentially forced to say, "Well I don't know. But don't worry, that type of question won't be on the regents".
This doesn't mean you won't research it anyway (which, if you're a genuinely arrogant person like me, you would), but you have zero motivation beyond your own thirst for knowledge, and then very limited opportunity to expand your class beyond the specifics of whatever standardized tests your students need to pass to move on.
The end result is a crop of students who may do wonderfully according to the standards of New York state. But what about the standards of the modern educational environment? What about the standards of the myriad fields of interest available to students once they reach the college level? What about MY standards when I'm teaching my supplemental education courses? Why can't I teach a high school student about the Elizabethan world so he or she can better understand Shakespeare, or how and why Victorian England wasn't as prudish as we tend to think?
In short, it's because the state of New York has decided what students need to know, and whenever government decides precisely what people (and yes, students are people too) need to know, we're entering dangerous territory.
I didn't even touch upon the fact that some students are just naturally bad test-takers. I'll leave that for another time.
None of those tests are necessary. However, I'm forced to teach methods of succeeding on these tests instead of actual knowledge that a child can use in life (like why they shouldn't major in the Humanities). The same problem exists in the schools on a macro level. Teachers are forced to teach for tests instead of teaching critical thinking/research/writing skills that can benefit ANY student of ANY skill level regardless of the field they eventually choose.
This limits both the intellectual growth of the student and the professional growth of the teacher. Imagine, if you will, that you're a biology teacher in a high school. A student asks a question about cellular chemistry, and you don't know the answer. Instead of telling the student that you'll do some research and answer his/her question the next day, you're essentially forced to say, "Well I don't know. But don't worry, that type of question won't be on the regents".
This doesn't mean you won't research it anyway (which, if you're a genuinely arrogant person like me, you would), but you have zero motivation beyond your own thirst for knowledge, and then very limited opportunity to expand your class beyond the specifics of whatever standardized tests your students need to pass to move on.
The end result is a crop of students who may do wonderfully according to the standards of New York state. But what about the standards of the modern educational environment? What about the standards of the myriad fields of interest available to students once they reach the college level? What about MY standards when I'm teaching my supplemental education courses? Why can't I teach a high school student about the Elizabethan world so he or she can better understand Shakespeare, or how and why Victorian England wasn't as prudish as we tend to think?
In short, it's because the state of New York has decided what students need to know, and whenever government decides precisely what people (and yes, students are people too) need to know, we're entering dangerous territory.
I didn't even touch upon the fact that some students are just naturally bad test-takers. I'll leave that for another time.
So It's Come to This
I made a conscious effort to avoid blogging for as long as I can remember, mainly because I didn't believe my opinions and thoughts to be important enough for so huge a social juggernaut as the internet. Then slowly, ever so slowly, it dawned on me that if I truly wanted to embark on a career in academia, then I should...nay, MUST...believe that not only are my thoughts important enough to be published anywhere and everywhere, but also that the internet, indeed the very world, would be intellectually poorer without them.
Oddly enough, the very second I began believing that, and acting on that belief, I lost most of my friends. Weird.
Loneliness aside, the fact remains that this blog will be a repository for my ideas on literature, music, culture, and the relationship between the three (with some original poetry sprinkled amongst the ruins).
Now, a couple of guidelines:
1) Always enjoy my blog on a full stomach. This will allow you to avoid my subtle attempts to influence your tastes in music and literature by describing things I think you should like as "mouth-watering", "delectable", and "chocolaty".
2) My blog is both delectable and chocolaty.
As long as you remember both guidelines, you'll be fine.
Oddly enough, the very second I began believing that, and acting on that belief, I lost most of my friends. Weird.
Loneliness aside, the fact remains that this blog will be a repository for my ideas on literature, music, culture, and the relationship between the three (with some original poetry sprinkled amongst the ruins).
Now, a couple of guidelines:
1) Always enjoy my blog on a full stomach. This will allow you to avoid my subtle attempts to influence your tastes in music and literature by describing things I think you should like as "mouth-watering", "delectable", and "chocolaty".
2) My blog is both delectable and chocolaty.
As long as you remember both guidelines, you'll be fine.
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