It's On!

Some alternatives, from Solipsist and family, to the by-now-cliched, "It's on like Donkey Kong!":


It's on like Pong!
It's on like a bong! (For all the stoners out there. And also for you guys: "It's on like Ding-Dongs!")
It's on like Pokemon!
It's on like Charon! (You know, the ferry guy. . . .)
It's on like mah-jongg!
It's on like Cinnabon!
It's on like Dom Perignon!
It's on like Sean John!
It's on like the Boston Marathon!
It's on like "The Wrath of Khan"!
(Or, for that matter, "It's on like Ricardo Montalban!")
It's on like Jean Valjean! (For you literary types)
It's on like Goldie Hawn!
It's on like a chess pawn!
It's on like Papa John's!
It's on like M. Night Shyamalan!

Or, for a little more variation:

On it like Rihanna!
On it like a bonnet! (Digression: We've actually heard someone use this one; not very intimidating. EOD)
On it like a sonnet! (14 lines of iambic pain!) (Digression: Sounds like something Sleep-Talkin' Man would come up with)
On it like Madonna!
On it like a piranha!
On it like Pocahontas!
On it like Kurt Vonnegut!
On it like Mohammad!

(WOS: "I'm on it like a donut! Ohhhh, that wasn't good. . . .")

A Brief Post, in which We Illustrate and Lament the Fact that Facebook Has Irrevocably Altered Our Perceptions of Nature

The other day, a friend posted her status on Facebook:

"M B just found a perfect wild strawberry."

Several minutes passed before we realized this wasn't a Farmville thing.

Greed Not Good?

A new radio commercial for the California lottery asks, "What would you do if you won millions of dollars?" Nothing overly original/noteworthy there. The responses, though, are interesting. The first "winner" says she would help her brother film his screenplay. Not to be outdone, the second "winner" talks (in sort of gruff tones--probably what a northern Californian imagines someone from Brooklyn sounding like) about how he would use the money to hire celebrity TV chefs to prepare meals in soup kitchens.

Altruism! We remember when lottery commercials evoked the wealth and status that you, THE WINNER, could acquire through the simple wager of a dollar: mansions, yachts, fast cars, loose women (OK, that last one was more implied than evoked. Still). Should we be optimistic about these new appeals to the better angels of our nature? Have we become more likely to crave wealth not so much for what it can buy as for what it can do?

Wouldn't it be pretty to think so.

But we still want a private jet.

Well Begun and All Done: "Wicked"

For information on this topic, please see post of February 22, 2010.

The book: Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West by Gregory Maguire.

Opening line:

A mile above Oz, the Witch balanced on the wind's forward edge, as if she were a green fleck of the land itself, flung up and sent wheeling away by the turbulent air.

Closing lines:

"And there the Wicked Witch stayed for a good long time."
"And did she ever come out?"
"Not yet."


Before it was a family-friendly musical, the story of Elphaba, the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz, was a decidedly less family-friendly novel. Dealing with themes like comparative religion, racial (Animal) oppression, and the nature of Good and Evil--and with a steady undercurrent of suggestive sexuality--Wicked is quite the engaging little work of meta-fiction. Maguire entertainingly fleshes out Elphaba's character, developing a three-dimensional figure of a woman with noble goals (liberating Oz from the Wizard's tyranny, ensuring the rights of capital-A Animals--who walk and talk and have intelligence equal to or greater than that of most humans) if often ignoble methods (terrorism, assassination). Suffice to say, once you read this book, you will never look at Margaret Hamilton the same way again.

So what do the opening and closing lines tell us about the book? Our first image of Elphaba is as a Witch--sans adjective. She is floating, hovering, riding the air currents above the mythical land of Oz, familiar to virtually all readers from childhood memories (although probably envisioned in MGM technicolor rather than through the lens of literary imagination). She is both godlike (high above the ground) and insignificant (a "fleck. . . flung up and sent wheeling"). We are thus introduced to one of the book's central tensions, that between the atheistic and religious imagination, a tension that pulls at Elphaba throughout the novel.

The final lines are the ending lines of a fairy tale within the novel: a story of yet another Wicked Witch. The story's ending is initially presented as a dialogue between a mother and daughter. The mother recites the first line, the child provides the standard response ("And did she ever come out?"), and the mother responds with a teasing, tickling, "Not yet." In the context of Wicked, these lines suggest the nature of Maguire's novel itself: The story is over, the Wicked Witch is put away, but she is always there, waiting to resurface in our imaginations and in our world--and in the imaginative construction of novelists like Maguire.

We have reached the end, but the story can always continue.

(Image from Amazon.com)

An Honor to Be Nominated. . .

. . .but winning would be much better.

Interestingly, despite our general snarkiness towards students in general and towards our students in particular, we actually were nominated for the "Teacher of the Year" honor at our school. Along with about 27 other people. Still, we were shocked. We were even more shocked when we found out, today, that we didn't win! Do they know who we are?

It's too bad, really, 'cause we were all excited at the prospect of making an acceptance speech. Herewith, our preliminary notes:

Thank you, thank you, thank. . . you. . . (wait for people to sit--this may take several minutes--ushers may need to take action).

When one thinks of legendary educators, certain names spring to mind. Socrates. Annie Sullivan. That math guy from "Stand and Deliver." We have to think that these people and others are looking down now from that great teachers' lounge in the sky--Is the math guy still alive? Could we get somebody on that please?--from that great teachers' lounge in the sky and nodding sagely (as how else could they nod?) at each other and saying, "Yes! It is about time! Now our pantheon is complete. Or it will be as soon as the Solipsist drops dead. Heaven forfend that that day comes soon."

When you look at the other nominees, at their combined years of experience, at their degrees, credentials, and gushing student evaluations--when you look at the other nominees, we say, you gotta figure that the Solipsist deserves this.

We're troubled by the award though: "Teacher of the Year." What about all the other years? Were we not the teacher of those years, too? The idea is laughable. Still, we accept this award in the spirit of damning by faint praise in which it is given, and say a humble--well, maybe not "humble"--thank you to all those who supported us, to all those who thought of us, and especially to all those who voted for us. And to those who did not:

ptptghserjghdjhbsgtsgbnsdnbvn!!!!

(The approximate spelling of the noise one makes by expelling air between the tongue and lips while placing one's thumb against one's nose and wiggling the fingers around.)

You are deeply honored. Thank you.

School's Not Out Forever--Or Even for Recess

Recess (noun): temporary withdrawal or cessation from the usual work or activity.

When it comes to elementary school, then, recess--or, as we used to refer to it, "REEEEEE-CESSSS!!!!!!!"--is a withdrawal from teacher-imposed tasks, lessons--activities.

Except when it isn't.

In an effort to minimize disruptive, bullying, and/or selfish behavior, some schools are now employing "recess coaches" to plan and supervise activities during those precious moments of heretofore "free" time ("Forget Goofing Around: Recess Has a New Boss").

How does one become a "recess coach"? Does one major in recess in college? Can one get a an MA, Rec.? Maybe the Solipsist can open a trade school to train prospective recess coaches and clean up on federally-subsidized loans (see yesterday's post).

Speaking as more of a bully-ee than a bully-er, the Solipsist is in favor of schools taking steps to monitor and thereby discourage such activities. We don't necessarily think a rigid schedule of recess activities is necessarily the best solution, though. We think imprisoning bullies in stocks and letting victims take free shots would be a far more effective remedy, but that's a whole 'nother topic.

More importantly, we think that kids need the opportunity to be kids. We think it was Margaret Mead who observed that, "The more complex the mind, the greater the need for play." Or maybe it was Mr. Spock. Either way, though, the point is valid. Kids need unstructured play, and if a rough and tumble recess is the price we pay for mental complexity, we think it is well worth the cost.

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More from the article:

"Last year in Kearney, Neb., the district had a university professor and five students teach recess games and draw in students who tended to stand against the fence." Your tax dollars at work, Nebraska!

"'Before, I was seeing nosebleeds, busted lips, and students being a danger to themselves and others,' said Alejandro Echevarria, the principal [of Broadway Elementary in Newark, NJ]. 'Now, Coach Brandi does miracles with 20 cones and three handballs.'" Miracles, indeed! At first, she had only two cones and one handball! Jesus has nothing on her!

You Get What You Pay For?

"In Hard Times, Lured into Trade School and Debt"

At the community college where the Solipsist works, one can obtain a certificate in Classical/Modern Food Preparation and Restaurant Training. This certificate requires a student to complete 35 units worth of culinary classes. Currently, tuition at California community colleges is $20 per unit. In other words, students' tuition costs for the entire program will be $700. For the sake of argument, double that for books and fees and other costs: $1,400.

Compare those costs to those imposed by Le Cordon Bleu's culinary school in Portland, Oregon: 21 months, $41,000.

Well, you say, that's a specious comparison. After all, Le Cordon Bleu offers a much higher level program, whose graduates will be raking in tens of thousands of dollars per year upon graduation. This is true. They will be raking in tens of thousands of dollars a year: actually, they will be raking in two tens of thousands of dollars a year, the average salary for a graduate being around $21,000 a year.

But, you object, the experience!

(Digression: What is it with you, anyway? EOD)

Chef Kenneth Giambalvo, executive chef at Bluehour: "When they graduate and come in the kitchen, I tell them, 'I'm going to treat you like you don't know anything.' [The program] doesn't really give them any edge."

What's really outrageous about these programs is the sheer number of people who are getting screwed by them. Students either pay outrageous sums for the dubious training or, more likely, take out exorbitant loans. Many of these loans, in turn, come from or are backed by the federal government. That's right, folks: YOU are paying these corporations.

Look, we are all for education, and, of course, we applaud people's desires to learn marketable skills. But it costs as much to send one person to Le Cordon Bleu as it does to provide 30 people with the same training at a public institution. Why is the federal government subsidizing these for-profit charlatans while states slash funding to the bargain basement (in cost, not quality) community colleges? Where are the true conservatives rising up in outrage?