basecamp to adventure!

That is the tourism tagline for Blanding, Utah, which is where I'm headed for the 4th of July weekend, so I'm very excited.

Blanding is my dad's hometown. This year is the town's centennial and this weekend my dad's 50th high school reunion. So it's going to be a big family reunion/nostalgia fest (for my dad and his siblings, not so much for me). I will try to escape to hiking as much as possible (and the area around Blanding provides great hiking, thankfully).

Blanding is a funny place. It's small and sleepy and everyone knows everyone else. And even though I've never lived there and only visited a dozen or so times, the weekend will be filled with strange people coming up to me and declaring, "Oh, you must be LaMar's daughter."

I won't be blogging for several days, but I'll try to collect some good Blanding anecdotes for the return.

the decline of higher ed?

Has anyone seen the new PBS documentary Declining by Degrees? It's an investigative report on the state of higher ed, and worth checking out if you haven't seen it yet. The program tries to cover too much, I think, but it introduces some interesting questions. The two issues they seem to focus on are 1) the decline of the social contract that education should be accessible to all and 2) the existence of an unstated "no harm" contract between students and faculty--that both parties have tacitly agreed "I won't expect much of you if you don't bother me."

While I am interested in item #1, I found myself most bothered by #2. The reporter (John Merrow) asserted that the responsibility for remedying this situation lies with instructors (and in small part with the institutions, which he says need to focus more on teaching and learning). About this issue, he primarily talked with profs at 4-year schools, focusing on the distractions of research/ tenure. The assumption seemed to be that if profs did less research and taught more the problem would be solved. But I don't think it's that simple. I've taught at a 4-yr LA and a CC (both of which promoted teaching/ learning over research) and I've felt more of the "no harm" pressure at SLCC than at Knox. The difference? (and mind you, this is an anecdotal argument) Money. Knox had money, the students had money, and they had time to focus solely on education (and drinking, of course). Students at SLCC don't have money. They are working part-time, full-time, raising kids. They are in school to get a better job. I know I'm generalizing here, but whatever the circumstances, many students at the CC are there not because they were unprepared, but because they cobuldn't afford other options (and I actually would like to get more than an anecdotal sense of this). Because of economic pressures, I think students are more likely to pursue credits than education. It's not necessarily that they are disinterested in education, but rather that they are overwhelmed by the obligations of their lives. While Merrow's report focused somewhat on these economic issues, I wish he would have considered more fully how re-affirming the social contract about educational access might provide some remedy to the decline of teaching/learning.

nostalgia--a survey of sorts

I've heard two comments in the past few days that have me thinking about nostalgia. Without going into the contextual details, both comments suggested a link between nostalgia and age: "I am surprised to feel so nostalgic at such a young age" and "Being young, I wasn't interested in nostalgia."

I am a highly nostalgic person and I know that makes me a bit odd (I can precisely remember a moment of nostalgia at age seven: driving home from a family vacation, watching the horizon, thinking about my best friend, contemplating all the fun I'd had over the summer--and feeling sad knowing that time was altered and that we were altered and that those experiences would never happen again. Sometimes I even feel a sense of nostalgia for the passage of the immediate present into the past--in my happiest moments, I'm always a little bit sad because I know the moment is being shifted to an unretrievable past.) Even though I know I'm far more nostalgic than most people, I've strangely never thought much about nostalgia and age--that there's a moment when one becomes nostalgic or that there's a proper age to embrace nostalgia.

So, tell me:

• Do you consider yourself a nostalgic person? If so, how does the nostalgia manifest itself? If not, is there an age where you think you'll become nostalgic, where it will feel acceptable?
• Also, just because I love nostalgic songs and books tell me your favorites (and please, no Proust!). My favorite nostalgic song: Tony Bennett's "Once Upon a Time"

cockroach photographs and the relevance of art

I've been working on an essay that is, in part, about cockroaches and this week I've spent a lot of time looking at Catherine Chalmers' book American Cockroach. It's a book of photographs of cockroaches presented in three chapters: Residents (cockroaches in miniature domestic scenes), Imposters (cockroaches on pretty flowers dressed up like other, "cuter" bugs--if Anne Geddes photographed roaches instead of babies, this is how they'd look), and Executions (cockroaches "dying" in very human, vindictive ways--burning at the stake, an electric chair).

**Note: You can see a few of Chalmers' images and hear some of her comments on an old Studio 360: http://www.wnyc.org/studio360/show040304.html. You can also catch one of her short cockroach films at the Arts Festival this weekend.

Chalmers' work is pretty wild--gross, but strangely thought-provoking. I'm not typically a fan of conceptual art, but Chalmers really had me thinking about why we are so disgusted by cockroaches. In had a hard time looking at the first set of photographs because they so well conveyed our fear of cockroach invasion (huge cockroach antennae peeking out from behind a tiny sink, in wait for the unsuspecting human), but the cutesy outdoor scenes made me noticeably calmer. The roaches in disguise, outside of the house seemed like acceptable creatures. It has me thinking about how we interact with the natural world; the hierarchies we make for animals, bugs, plants; and how we determine what is safe and fearful. But Chalmers' work also has me thinking about the relevance of art.

For me, Chalmers' photographs are intriguing and they do help me to reconsider the cockroach, but I can imagine that someone who is living in public housing where cockroaches might be more abundant, where they might be crowded out of their hiding spaces during daylight hours would find Chalmers' work completely irrelevant, even laughable. There is certainly a class issue connected to her work--the woman, after all, makes her living raising and photographing bugs.

These thoughts, along with the current lisa b./ middlebrow discussion about poetry, have me wondering whether we've made art (and I'm using the word in the broadest of senses) too conceptual to be relevant to a wide range of folks. Creation, expression, even design seem like basic human acts, but often art is limited to certain spheres. I'm thinking about Born into Brothels. The kids taking the photographs clearly had a keen sense of how to interpret the world around them, to make something beautiful and communicative from the world around them. But when they showed their work, who did they show it to? Wealthy white westerners (I realize that part of the purpose was fundraising, but I still hoped to see the art having some relevance for the children's adult family members). I've often heard the argument that people can't contemplate the aesthetic if they are too consumed with meeting basic needs, but I'm not sure I buy it.

Last week, working with my writing group of adult learners (who all, in one way or another, are struggling to meet some basic needs) I realized how common the need to express and create is. One woman, in an uncharacteristic fit of anger, wrote a detailed fantasy about stealing a friend's car, driving out of state, and finding respite and a new start at a roadside cafe. As we talked about the story, she told us how much she had wanted to run away when she wrote the piece. She said, "I guess I ran away in my story." Another woman described a significant change in her life and how at the moment she felt like she was half inside a bottle and half outside a bottle. The writing isn't technically proficient, but it is lovely and meaningful. I think sometimes we make art so conceptual, so sophisticated, that we fail to make it relevant for everyone.

in the realms of the unhip

nothing brings out the dorks like 80's night at a dance club. and if said club has a name like Port O' Call, you're really in trouble.

sigh. I--dork that I am--just got back from 80's night at said club (and believe me, the name fits). Too wired from all the synth-pop to go to sleep, so I thought I may as well blog.

My favorite part of the night: some guy who kept coming right up to me and my sister, then abruptly walking away (was he trying to decide which of us to address? thought we looked better far away than close up?).

The evening led me to several conclusions:

• You can tell how old people are by the way they dance. People my age dance in a slow, long-armed sort of way. People just younger than me dance like they've been plugged in and are short-circuiting. People just younger than that mate on the dance floor.
• Men who want to meet women at dance clubs typically say they've been sent on a mission for a friend (e.g."my friend wanted to meet you, but he's shy"; "my friend needs to learn a few dance moves")
• Bucks Fizz's "I Hear Talk" is the best (forgotten) song of the early 80's
• Bucks Fizz is a terrible name for a band

I am music

Driving home yesterday, I was listening to The World (not in some trance-like metaphysical way, just the radio program), enjoying the world music segment when I realized that while I quite like world music, my cd collection is world-music-less, except for the following:

• Buena Vista Social Club (the everyman’s world music)
• Ibrahim Ferrer (I’m in love with him)
• a Putamayo “summer party sampler” (great for housecleaning) that I got for free back in my music-seller days at B&N

As I was sitting in traffic, I decided that I fear too much world music would suggest a shift in identity, like I would have to start burning incense all the time and drinking yerba mate.

Why, as adults, do we still associate music tastes with identity? It seemed vaguely reasonable to falsely claim love for Skinny Puppy as a teenager in order to cultivate an appropriate goth identity, but now? We all do it, right? While music tastes may no longer be relationship deal breakers, they do provide pause (like the time I found a Spice Girls cd in an ex-boyfriend’s otherwise acceptable collection). And we all have some music preference that we keep hidden. Mine? Barry Manilow (I can sing all the words to Copa Cabana).

education as commodity

Two events today have me thinking about my future as a teacher and education more generally.

First, I received a letter from a recently graduated high school student who wants to jump into my class mid-semester. He is trying to complete his Associates degree by the end of summer (a noble goal) and mistakenly thought that the course would be covered by his AP credits. He stated in his generally well-written letter: “I do not need an A, but just to pass the class.” While the student is clearly ambitious and probably quite bright, the request really rankled me.

Secondly (and perhaps more importantly) I gave my classes a mini-lecture on plagiarism; I even passed out copies of the relevant sections of the college’s Student Code of Conduct. The process made me ill, partly because I hate confrontation of any kind, but mainly because I was angry that I found the lecture necessary. In recent weeks, I have faced several cases of blatant plagiarism. Usually in these cases, I try to trust the students’ good intentions (ignorance of citation conventions, etc.), but this semester folks are handing in texts that were written word for word by someone else. (And beyond the basic dishonesty of the act, what bothers me is that they think I won’t know—that I can’t distinguish their writing from someone else’s, that they don’t think I can do a Google search).

I feel sometimes as though I should stop worrying about what I’m teaching my students or what they are learning and just give them all a gentleman’s C (or is that a B now?); sometimes, it seems like that’s all they want anyway. Teaching required courses, I am used to having some students primarily focused on the hoop they are jumping through, and sometimes I even enjoy the challenge of convincing them that it is worth their time to learn how to write well, but the attitude seems to be increasing. I don’t always feel so cynical; I generally find my students to be smart and engaging and committed to their education. And I should acknowledge that I did a fair bit of hoop jumping in my undergrad years.

But, I can’t help wondering whether students’ occasional bad habits are becoming institutionalized—the norm rather than the exception. Or maybe it’s always been this way and we are just more aware of it because of the abundance of online papermills, policing tools like Turnitin.com, etc. I know I’m not the only one asking these questions, and I’m not sure what I can add to the discussion, but today it feels personal.

Social Security is retro chic?

In preparing for today's class on rhetorical analysis (websites specifically) I was browsing through Rock the Vote. Their current campaign is "I 'heart' Social Security." Number 10 on their list of reasons to support SS: "Because Social Security is retro chic." Huh?


And they have trucker hats! (http://www.rockthevotegear.com/Merchant2/merchant.mvc?Screen=PROD&Store_Code=RTVG&Product_Code=RTV102). That makes me so damn happy.

trucker hats are for truckers

Since I made my students write commentaries this weekend, I was planning to write my own (a good, humbling, teacher exercise to remind me what it feels like to be a student); however, I spent too much time responding to their drafts of last week and I didn't get it done. Even though I didn't get the thing written, I did spend much of the weekend ruminating about my topic of choice: trucker hats.

Who decided these mesh and foam monstrosities were cool? Trucker hats should only be worn by truckers! What I find particularly offensive about trucker hats worn by non-truckers is that they never fit. They are worn with an extra inch between skull and brim (apparently held aloft by hair?). A former student of mine often wore a trucker hat, and I could barely make out her eyes under the puffy cap. If you are not a trucker and you still want to wear the hat, I think it's ok only if you can answer yes to one of the following questions:

• Do you regularly incorporate words like "breaker" and "10-4" into your sentences?
• Is your name Large Marge, Pig Pen, or Dick Simon?
• Do you watch Convoy every Labor Day?
• Have you ever worshipped at a Transport for Christ Mobile Chapel?
• Do you own a copy of C.W. McCall's Greatest Hits? (bonus point if you have it on 8-track).
• Was The Wichita Lineman your wedding song?

Any suggestions for additional trucker hat integrity questions?

See the following website for guidelines on how to construct your own trucker hat and reclaim the trend from the indie hipster mainstream: http://www.blacktable.com/gillin030701.htm

garlic scapes

Today was the first day of the local farmer's market, which in lots of ways is my favorite day of the summer. Too bad today was overcast and rainy (when will it end?!) But it was still a lovely day. Before the rain, I got to sit on the grass and eat my raspberry Berliner (a jelly-filled masterpiece that I only allow myself to eat in the summer--not that I don't find appropriate replacements in the winter). And the lovely, lovely vegetables. I finally decided to get a 1/2 share with one of the local farmers. I'm a big fan of CSA, so it's about time I joined in. And it will be nice getting surprises throughout the summer. What I like most about the FM is that I rarely decide beforehand what to get, so I can spend the rest of Saturday morning looking for recipes.

The market was a bit small today; because of all the rainy weather, farmers got off to a slow start. Regardless, I still found:

• chard, of course--my favorite veg
• salad greens, including some almost painfully spicy stuff
• fava beans (chianti anyone?)
• radishes and parsley
• the tiniest bit of peas (he was scraping the bottom of the bucket and only came up with $.25 worth--good thing I arrived when I did)
• garlic scapes--really, the best part of the market in early summer. So garlicky, so crunchy, so tasty. If you have yet to experience the joy of garlic scapes, you can read more about them here: http://www.maryjanesfarm.com/SimplyMJ/articles/column39.asp

Now I just have to decide what to cook first and what to do with the scapes (frittata, pesto, hummus?)

Along with all the amazing food, the Farmer's Market is great for socializing/ people watching--friends you haven't seen in a while, folks you wish you knew. If I didn't want the vegetables, I would probably go anyway just for the crowds.

Washes and razors for foofoos—for me freckles and a bristling beard. W.W.

Amen, Uncle Walt. Amen.

But what's the female equivalent of a bristling beard?--I may not be willing to go that far.

Ah, Escalante

I just got back from a lovely trip to the Escalante. Good friend D. is moving to Texas, so we decided to take a "farewell" journey. Our original plan was to do a 3-day backpacking trip, but the weather did not cooperate. A lot of rain (and even a bit of snow!) on Thursday night/ Friday morning made the dirt road to our remote trailhead impassable. So, we opted for a shorter trail, closer to town and just off the paved Burr Trail. Despite the ease and accessibilty of the trial, we mostly had the canyon to ourselves (we passed an outgoing group of horseriders on day one and a solo hiker doing an insect study for USGS on day two). The canyon was lovely and wide (easy trekking, but great views). There were also many sidecanyons to explore. We wandered up a few--bushwhacking to a gorgeous arch and scrambling up a few narrow-ish rockfalls. Nothing too dramatic or challenging, but sometimes it's nice to take an easy route.

Oddly, one of the trip's highlights was food. Not Clif Bars and freeze-dried dinners, but a wonderful restaurant--Hell's Backbone Grill. If you ever get to Boulder (UT not CO) you must try it. Because we arrived to rain and ominous thunder/lightning Thursday night, we wimped out and stayed at a motel rather than camping. So, we had dinner at the neighboring restaurant. We liked it so much we went back for breakfast the next morning and dinner the day we got off the trail. I'm so used to eating Navajo Tacos and greasy burgers when I go to Southern Utah, I was thrilled to find this restaurant (which I'd just read a short blurb about last week in High Country News). The food is amazing--mostly organic, locally produced, delicious, and pretty (garnished with tiny edible flowers and the like). Trout encrusted with blue corn and pecans--it rivaled trout cooked straight off the hook. Grilled fennel, snap peas, baby greens. And this chocolate chile cream pot--sigh--perfect texture, just a hint of chile.

It was the perfect backpacking trip, really. Enough time on the trail to get grungy and tired, with a bit of luxury to balance things out.