Syllabus Completus

It is done.

Hallelujah.




12 Days til the Burn!

Children of Privilege

My final day of summer classes I was leading a discussion with my students--mostly high school juniors and seniors--regarding the need for social change in America. One girl commented that it was no good just "giving people stuff" (like health care!!!) because then they wouldn't be motivated to work.

I have heard this argument before. I'm sure greater minds than mine have found a suitable response. (At some point I am going to have to find out).

This argument bothers me, especially coming from kids from prosperous families wearing designer clothes and who only bother to get jobs in order to buy more stuff.

I think my response at the time was, "Really?" Nicely vague and open-ended, hoping to encourage a dissenting voice. But no. They were all in agreement. Social programs (somehow we had slipped from a discussion of health care to welfare) were a slippery slope and once people were given help, they'd never be motivated to work again.

So I asked them if they knew what it took to earn a living in this area. Did they even know how much it cost to rent a place of their own?

Blank stares all around.

Imagine this, I told them. In a few years, you will be in college or graduating college and getting your first job. What happens when your job doesn't pay for the basic necessities of life? Then what?

I gave them the example of a friend of mine. At 25 years old, her job at the bookstore didn't even cover the cost of renting a room. Just a room. Not an apartment. And that doesn't include the cost of food and transportation and clothes and... oh, yeah... fun stuff.

What did she do? they asked.

She moved back home with her mom, I replied.

What happens, I asked them, when that is no longer an option, for whatever reason? What happens when you can't meet the cost of living, but don't have a place to go?

I could see comprehension slowly dawning on some of them. But only some.

Class was over so the discussion ended there. But I got to thinking how 20 years ago, my sister was able to move out of the house at 19 years old and rent a 2-bedroom condo with her girlfriends. It was cramped: they had to double up, two girls to a room. But they could afford to share the rent at $200 each, plus additional expenses. These girls were not college graduates; they were working various jobs in business and retail. But they made it.

I don't think young people today have the same options. And sadly, I don't think they truly realize how very limited their options are.




15 Days til the Burn!

Postcards from the Labyrinth

Today was my last day of teaching the 7th and 8th grade book clubs. We brought in snacks and movies to celebrate. I was surprised--pleasantly--that they chose to watch the older Labyrinth over the more recent Stardust. (The first question they ask when I tell them about a book or movie is, "When was it made?") They were shocked when I told them the movie came out when I was a teenager. I had a hard time convincing them that I used to look like Jennifer Connelly. (Have I really changed all that much?)

Even as I pressed play, I had my reservations. I thought, These kids are too sophisticated. They'll hate it and end up mocking one of my dearest pieces of nostalgia. But I was wrong. They were enchanted. They loved the goblins. And Hoggle. They thought the Goblin King was played by Michael Jackson. No, I told them, that's David Bowie. Is he dead? they asked. No, he's still very much alive and enjoying an active career. (They found that less likely than believing in goblins and skipped past the singing bits). There were some tense moments. "I'm going to have nightmares!" one boy exclaimed. There was laughter--not mocking, but from genuine pleasure.

As I watched them from the back of the room, huddled together in the dark, fidgeting and commenting (and then shushing), no more able to keep their thoughts to themselves than their hands and feet, it occurred to me that there is a remarkable similarity between children and goblins. Perhaps the reason why a 22-year-old movie can still have such appeal is related to how keenly children enjoy having that part of themselves reflected back at them off the screen--that maddening, mischievous, magical part.

And as for me? Well...

"Through dangers untold, and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City..."

I am no longer that naive, lost young girl. I made it there sure enough. Come to think of it, it could be I never left. Maybe if I stick around long enough, the goblins will make me their Queen.






23 Days til the Burn!

A Midsummer Night's Posting

My summer so far...

In Birthdays
My son’s 16th birthday was spent at BayCon over Memorial weekend (Actually, his birthday is May 30, which usually falls on Memorial weekend, but didn’t this year...). Brave soul that I am, I allowed him to invite two or three buddies to accompany him. So while I pecked away at my final term paper back in our hotel room, he and his friends ran amuck in the Santa Clara Hilton: “boffering” (beating each other with padded weaponry); picking up on chicks... er... making new friends with girls in bizarre costumery; and conducting a variety of experiments testing the nature of reality. Of the latter, one example involved (I am told) a trail of Mentos leading between the doors of two adjacent elevators in the effort to trap a Japanese businessman in an endless loop at 6:30 in the morning (the experiment failed, lacking the appearance of said businessman). Another involved a conversation Jared overheard while resting/hiding under a table during a brief respite from an elaborate game of hide and seek. The conversation, between a man and a woman, discussed the topic of reality. Unable to resist, Jared poked his head out from under the tablecloth and, quoting our favorite SF radio show Ruby, said, “Reality is what everyone agrees is real; what everyone agrees is not real, does not exist.” The man said, “Good point!” And Jared retreated back into his hiding place. You see, things like this can happen at a science fiction convention without anyone batting an eye. And *that*, I think, says more about the nature of reality than a stack of philosophy books.

My 41st birthday (July 26) was spent in my home with good friends old and new. We drank wine and ate tasty things and talked about travel and writing and other creative projects... Along with completing another Darkover novel, finishing up her own science fiction trilogy, and editing a second volume of Lace & Blade, Deborah is also actively supporting Live Long n Marry, Afghans for Afghans and Mother Bear projects. (These are truly wonderful grass roots organizations– click on the links to find out more)... While still maintaining the Joseph Mazzello fan club and website (which he originated back when Joseph was a wee lad), Mike is working on a new screenplay. (I can’t wait to read it, Mike!)... Guy’s wife Danielle and daughter Camille just got back from a trip to Mexico: part Spanish immersion, part art studio/museum tour. At an aquarium, Camille was actually lowered into a tank to feed the sharks! Way to go, Camille! Now Guy and Danielle are headed off to Sweden... Pete will be heading back to Singapore on business once again, while his wife Chris continues teaching music and a wonderful new dance form combining flamenco and belly dancing. (I have to take this class!)... Tony will be continuing his percussion training in the Fall, which gives our band such wonderful rhythm and keeps us all in synch... And Isabel, my Cabaret sister, is always on the lookout for another show to display her fine singing, dancing, and acting talents... But I have to say the prize for the evening went to Guy and the original limerick he read in my honor... ;-)

In Books
For the summer book clubs I’m teaching, I’ve read (and recommend highly!):

Whale Rider by Witi Ihimaera
Under a Blood Red Sun by Graham Salisbury
Seventh Son by Orson Scott Card
Goose Girl by Shannon Hale
This Boy’s Life by Tobias Wolff
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
A Separate Peace by John Knowles
Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin

Of the above, it’s hard to pick a favorite– they were all wonderful– but if I had to pick one it would be Goose Girl, the one based on the Grimm’s fairy tale (of course!).

For myself, the little casual pleasure reading I’ve done has included:

Finishing Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel by Susanna Clarke
Starting Declare by Tim Powers (actually almost done with this one)

The former I couldn’t put down; the latter I’ve had to put down again and again. I can’t tell at this point if it’s just my schedule interferring with it, or if the book just hasn’t engaged me all that much. Fascinating premise, though.

I really should be studying. Really, really.

In Film
After a semester of Middle East studies, and watching films like The Battle for Algiers, and The Prisoner, and Until When..., I just haven’t been able to embrace my usual preference for foreign and indie films. So when I do get out to the movies, it’s been to see lighter fare: Iron Man, Indiana Jones, Wall-E, and The Dark Knight. I do love comic book heroes. And I’ll never tire of really well done animation.

In Music
Shadow Opera is doing great! We’ve been practicing new songs and keeping the old ones sharp. We had one really nice gig at Clos la Chance winery in San Martin in June which went really well. The crowd was very attentive and gave us some great feedback. One guy (a David Bowie fan) even ran in from the parking lot when he heard us playing his favorite song! (Ziggy Stardust, of course!) Later, when I sang Five Years, I dedicated it to him. We’ve done other smaller gigs– one at the bookstore and the other at community park– but the audience was somewhat lacking. We’ll be on a hiatus in August while Guy and Pete are out of the country, but hopefully we’ll get back to performing once September rolls around.

Hitting Things With Sticks– Who’d have known this was so fun? While Jared has been back east, I’ve sat in for music lessons with his guitar instructor. He’s teaching me some basic percussion. I joined the group session last Thursday and got to play along with the other students in a band setup. What fun! And I could actually hold the beat. What a surprise! I really should have done this as a teenager– puberty would have been so much more tolerable if I could have taken out my frustrations on clashing cymbals and other clickety-clackety things. This could be dangerous though... I think I’m getting a fever... and the only perscription is: MORE COWBELL!!!

On a classical note, I’ve managed to see the San Francisco Symphony twice this summer, once at the Flint Center in Cupertino and once at Cesar Chavez Park in San Jose. The Flint Center performance was a Cello concerto. I loved Lutoslawski’s Mi-Parti (1976)– It sounded like it could be part of a movie soundtrack for Star Wars or Harry Potter. I could *totally* picture Luke Skywalker stepping into the tree on Dagobah in Empire. Considering the time period, I wonder if John Williams was influenced by Lutoslawski. Mi-Parti was followed by Janacek’s Taras Bulba (1918); but the highlight of the evening was Dvorak’s Cello Concerto in B Minor, Opus 104 (1895). The beautiful Alisa Weilerstein played the lead cello. She was amazing. For a moment, when she first came out and faced the audience, you could tell she was aware of us, she took us all in. But as soon as she began to play, you could tell she was somewhere else entirely, transported into her music. And she took us along for the ride. It was as if the music came alive and the notes were dancing and swirling in the air around her. Her performance was so captivating, we completely lost track of time. Suddenly, it was over, and the audience was on its feet cheering. Brilliant!

The concert in San Jose was lovely as well– a Tuesday afternoon in the Park with Verdi, Dvorak, and Tchaikovsky:

Verdi Overture to La forza del destino
Dvořrák Allegra con fuoco from Symphony No. 9, New World
Tchaikovsky Andantino in modo di canzona from Symphony No. 4
Tchaikovsky Finale: Allegro con fuoco from Symphony No. 4

I was talking with my bandmates about this recently– How artists see music. Some artists say they see it in colors, others as language or mathematical formulae; some, like Tori Amos, meet actual personalities in these sonic shapes. Me, I see landscapes. When I listen to music, especially classical music, but other kinds of music as well, it feels similar to when I’m sitting in an IMAX theatre with the camera skimming over the surface of some intricate geography– but I don’t see colors or definition, just a sonic impression, like a bat’s sonar, perhaps. It’s easy to get lost in it; sometimes I don’t want to come back. ;-)

In Scholarship
In June, I attended the Children’s Literature Association’s annual conference, held this year in Bloomington, IL. I submitted a paper discussing Icelandic children’s literature, and was invited to join their international panel focusing on Iceland. The other two scholars were from the University of Iceland– Anna Heida Palsdottir and Dagny Kristjansdottir– and they told me later I was this big mystery: Who else could possibly know about Icelandic children’s literature? Was I Icelandic? ;-) I felt a bit like Cinderella. We went to lunch and I told them about my trip last summer.

I had a wonderful time and met many scholars from all over the world: Iceland, Russia, Greece, Canada, Ireland, and all over the U.S. I met award-winning author Peter Dickinson from England. And I had the good fortune to get reaquainted with my friend Susan from my trip last year. We booked a room together– and after my crazy (mis)adventures with the delayed flights and losing my cell phone, it was such a relief to arrive and find she had my bed all ready and a note telling me there were snacks in the fridge. ;-) (Thanks, Susan!)

(Note to Self: Next time, pack lighter, wear running shoes, and put cell phone in the *inside* pocket...)

In Teaching
As I mentioned earlier, I’m teaching summer reading courses for an SAT prep school. My students range in age from 11-16. I like the junior high kids the best. They are so full of personality. They are both maddening and enchanting at the same time. And they can’t shut up to save their lives. Really. I’ve threatened them with all manner of torture and punishment; nothing works. One of them, the youngest, said to me one day, “Don’t you just love us, Miss Tanja? Haven’t we changed your life?” Yes, Justine. Absolutely.

In Writing
Last semester, my short story “The Kindly Ones” and my long poem “Denmark, On My 40th Birthday” each won first place in the English Department’s Phelan Awards.

Also, I am now a regular contributor to Bookbird, an international children’s lit magazine. I submit what is called “postcard” reviews (about 150 words). My first review should be coming out in the Fall issue. It’s pretty exciting. *International* publication. Wow.

Now if only I can get one of my stories published...

So that’s it. That’s the update. Until next time...



29 Days til the Burn!

The Pen is Mightier than the Sliderule

I am amused... and unamused.

I have taken up a graduate assistant position in the Engineering Department as one of my new "jobs." The professor needed someone to help grade papers for his tech writing class (to the tune of 100 pages per week--eeek!).

Now the upside of this is that I get exposed to some really neat ideas. I mean, I'm just not going to be reading about Albert Borgmann's focal things and practices, Cognitive Radio, Stretchable Silicon, and Trojan Particles in an English class. That part's brilliant, just fantastic.

However, I am also forced to endure some of the most torturous use of the English language I have ever witnessed. To whit, a random sample: "Technology, generally, means application of science and knowledge like designs and productivity but it becomes to like, now a days, industrial or commercial objectives which leads human life to a agonizing critical position that never ends til one realizes the diminutive gap between technology and contemporary society or forthcoming life."

I don't even know where to begin deconstructing that sentence.

On the other hand, there is something gratifying, and more than a little amusing, about my having some influence (positive, I hope) on the writing skills of these future Engineers. To paraphrase the words of the great Dolly Levi, "Knowledge is like money: It should be spread around encouraging young things to grow."

Elegant Solutions

Earlier this week, I accepted a freelance job transcribing a DVD of a panel of experts discussing the latest challenges faced in the microprocessing industry. Although taking these extra side jobs requires a tremendous time commitment for which I get paid relatively little, it's good resume fodder. And I actually enjoy it.

These people are speaking my language, and yet I have no idea what they are saying. Okay, I have an inkling of what they're saying. It's hard to grow up in the Computer Age and not pick up a little jargon along the way. But still. Their meaning hovers on the very edge of my understanding. And I am fascinated by that.

I am listening to these guys talk about microarchitectures and software ecosystems, multicores and multi-threading, user parallelism, homogeneous and heterogeneous programming models, acceleration differentiation, platform characteristics and virtualization layers, codestreams and discreet processors.

Are you listening? Do you hear what is happening? This is the sound of language evolving. This is the sound of words stretching around new meanings, expanding to encompass new concepts, shifting to fill our need to communicate. This is the sound of language doing what it was meant to do.

Amazing, isn't it?

How to Speak Russian

So I managed to pick up the Russian pianist from his hotel last night without mishap. It's funny, the promotional images they send for these artists are always a few years younger, a little more glamorous. I was not prepared for the faded, world-weary musician who stepped off the elevator. I don't know what I was expecting... a little more sparkle, maybe... a little more glamour. Add to that, after living in London for seventeen years, his Russian accent was almost nonexistent. His English was very British. But his conversation gave him away.

"London," I said. "That is one place I would like to visit."

Immediately he launched into a diatribe against the government. "They waste money," he said, "and every day they chip away at the individual's personal freedom. It's just like living in the Soviet Union during the 80's."

"How disturbing," I said.

"It may go differently after the next election, but I don't think the Tories have much better to offer."

"I suppose it is the same here," I said (always the diplomat). "It doesn't seem to matter which party we vote for."

He disagreed. "That Obama," he said. "He's got a brain. He will make a difference."

Interesting.

I should have known a Russian would want to talk politics. I was completely unprepared.

He also wanted to know where I got my Russian name. I said that I thought it was from that Russian movie that was popular back then, but I couldn't remember the name. It was Doctor Zhivago. Duh.

It's a wonder I made any kind of good impression at all. But he was gracious. And very polite. He would make this little bow whenever I would hand him things.

Funny how people are perceived differently depending on the circumstance. The theatre staff thought he was arrogant and snobby (they used other, less gracious descriptions) because he asked them to leave the auditorium so he could rehearse. They were just trying to clean the place, but they're supposed to have that done by 5:00pm. Granted, we were there a few minutes early, but they still should have cut him some slack. He is the Artist, after all. I guess maybe not everyone understands the artistic personality; I completely get that he needed to be alone to concentrate.

Around 6:00, Peter, our piano tuner, showed up. He's English, and well, what do you know, they got along splendidly. I popped in to the hall just to see how things were going, and Peter commented that he thought the artist was a lovely fellow, very nice. Likewise, the pianist commented to me that he thought Peter was very professional, did very good work. Mutual respect within the trade, you know. And perhaps it was just nice for both of them to hear the voice of home. Or the familiar. Something like that. Lord knows it's difficult to be a stranger in a strange land. Later, I saw them both out front, smoking cigarettes and speaking intently with one another. It was a quarter to seven, the audience was arriving, and the pianist wasn't even in his suit yet. I have never seen that happen before. I don't know if the people coming in even noticed him or recognized who he was. Anyway, I was glad to see he had made a connection with someone. I hope he felt welcome.

This was a chaotic night. Most of the board members were out sick or out of town. We were a skeleton crew with a full house. Somehow we managed to pull it off. Teamwork. What a wonder. After making sure that the pianist had someone to give him a ride back to his hotel, I left after intermission so I wouldn't have to drive back too late. Bum tire and all.

I am still waiting for my minions to fix my tire. The tires are on order. I am not pleased with the wait.