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Coyote Mercury Posts

Eeny Meany Miney Moe

December 6, 2007 • • Leave a comment

I’m a sucker for a quiz so I couldn’t resist the Washington Post’s choose your candidate quiz.

You read a series of questions and pick the candidate’s response with which you most agree, not knowing who said it. The problem is that some say exactly the same thing and others use words to say absolutely nothing so a few questions wind up being toss-ups; nevertheless, here are the Democratic candidates ranked in order of how closely my views match theirs:

  1. Dodd
  2. Obama
  3. Edwards/Richardson (tie)
  4. Clinton

Dodd was a surprise, mainly because I know nothing about him, but the others came out much as I expected.

I don’t believe in joining parties, but in these times, I very much favor the Democrats. Still, I figured I’d try the Republican quiz. The ones most likely to offend me least are as follows:

  1. Giuliani
  2. Paul
  3. McCain
  4. Huckabee
  5. Romney/Thompson (tie)

When I watched the Republican YouTube debate last week, I was struck by two things. The first was that nearly all of these guys would be an improvement on Bush, so low has the bar been set. The second was all of them seem destined to lose.

However, I might have to vote in the Republican primary since I live in one-party Texas where the Republican primary tends to be where elections are really decided. So who do I chose? I’m leaning toward Romney just to give me the satisfaction of seeing the Republicans nominate a flip-flopper from Massachusetts whose commitment to rightwing fundamentalist Christianity seems suspect to many an evangelical.

That’s the kind of poetic justice you just can’t make up.

Red-tailed Hawk

December 5, 2007 • • 4 Comments

Yesterday we had one of those bracing cold mornings. The sky was a crisp blue, and frost covered many of the fields along the highway. It’s the kind of morning that seems to bring out the birds of prey.

I see this red-tailed hawk on many of the cold mornings on my way to work. Except when I have my camera. Yesterday, though, I had the camera, and there was the bird, chillin’ on the pole.

I pulled over and shot a few frames from the car before he flew off. I should have driven past him and shot back so the sun would be behind me. I wouldn’t have had to dodge him as much to bring out the detail on his wings. Next time I’ll try not to be so excited about the bird so I can give just a bit more thought to the photography.

They are magnificant creatures, though. It’s easy to just watch the bird and forget the machine in my hands.

I drove on to work, part of me wishing I had his job…

A Christmas Carol

December 4, 2007 • • Leave a comment

I remember my dad reading A Christmas Carol to us as kids. Everyone knows the story, of course, but even knowing how it all goes, I still found myself wondering about old Scrooge and his journey of midnight horror that leads him to warm redemption and the blessings of Tiny Tim.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve been slogging through Dickens’s final work, Our Mutual Friend, as part of my on-going Lost reading project, but when I was filling in for a fellow teacher last week, I noticed a few copies of A Christmas Carol in her room. I started reading it over lunch and found myself drawn in. I finished it over a few lunch breaks and loved every word of it.

Who knew that Dickens could provide such a great respite from Dickens? There’s a special pleasure it rereading those books we knew as kids, in making new sense of the familiar and discovering those things we weren’t then equipped or inclined to see.

It was a great way to start the Christmas season. A tradition, perhaps?

Where I’m From

December 3, 2007 • • 8 Comments

I found this great little writing exercise on Danigirl’s blog. It seems to originate as a professional development project based on George Ella Lyon’s work. I thought it made for a cool post, but the next day one of my fellow teachers suddenly started talking about the heretofore unknown (to me) poet Lyon at an in-service meeting. Well, thought I, that’s some synchronicity for me.

Anyway, It seemed like a cool project to do with my kids, and being the good teacher that I am (and also the kind of person who enjoys these kinds of writing exercises) I figured I should test drive it first…

Where I’m From, an exercise in identity…

I am from maps, from National Geographic and surplus bombing charts of Vietnam used as tarps below our tents.

I am from green soccer fields, orange slices sucked through teeth at halftime and 2..4..6..8…who do we appreciate.

I am from the lonely buoy bell clanging in the bay on open-window summer nights. I am from old forests with forgotten headstones hidden in the undergrowth.

I am from the Smithsonian, concrete bunkers overgrown by jungle, that old monastery on the hill. From birdless gray Octobers and the golden light of northern summer, a fox curled up on the lawn.

I am from the scrub oak, juniper and palms, summer tomato plants and morning glory growing thick on a wire fence. I am from bluebonnets and prickly pear embedded in my palm.

I am from tacos and tamales on Christmas Eve. From Trivial Pursuit and gentleness, from Brushes, Griffins, Tomlinsons and Trouts. From the parrot we birdsat, who never learned to talk, but in our house, learned to laugh.

I am from meals with talk instead of TV, from books and magazines and a telescope pointed at Saturn’s rings.

From books are our friends and may the force be with you.

I am from the King James Bible, New England churches surrounded by three hundred year old graves. From Doubting Thomas and endless questions.

I’m from the cold Narragansett, “King” Arthur’s Illinois basketball court, both sides of the Revolution, and the Valley of the Sun, from home-baked cookies kept in the freezer, tortillas in the ‘fridge.

From Grace who said nothing of her past, from Dorothy who told everything, from Jim whose cursing made me laugh (my parents cringed) and Cecil whose tales I never got to hear.

I am from cluttered closet time capsules, vinyl photo albums, instamatic shots and slide shows of the sea, from treasure boxes and neat ordered files of school projects, drawings, homemade cards.

I am from the Colonial coast, the edge of jungle, the ring of fire, the ruins of Rome, the settled Comanche hills I now call home.

* * *

As a side project, I followed the links from Danigirl back along the trail of meme to see where it began, all the while enjoying the various takes along the way. It goes: Daysgoby to Spanglish to Lolabola to a staff development website.

Here’s the page that explains how to put it together. Give it a whirl.

Friday Hound Blogging: Daphne and the Little Pups

November 30, 2007 • • 6 Comments

Over the years, shy Daphne and has become more doglike. Over Thanksgiving she surprised everyone. My in-laws came and brought their two puppies, (Special Guest Pups) Henry and Lucy. Henry is the little(er) one…

While Joey watched suspiciously and stayed out of the way (it’s hard to see exactly what those little things zipping around all the way down there are) and Phoebe slept, it was Daphne who bounced around and played – yes, played – with the puppies.

She chased ‘em, she dropped at ‘em, she even grabbed a toy and attacked it to show what she’s capable of.

Daphne. Played. With a toy.

It’s hard to believe this is the same dog I once had to pick up and carry (all 55 pounds of her) to the backyard to do her business.

Greyhounds carry baggage heavier than most dogs. It’s good to see Daphne leaving more and more of it behind.

[saveagrey]

Waiting for a Gust of Wind

November 27, 2007 • • Leave a comment

Look up—endlessness and open sky
Naked leafless lungs break blue infinity
Ghosts of birds sing springtime memories
Imagine them in the trees, though all around is endings—
Dying leaves, new spiders’ eggs and spider’s dead decay…
Remember that hummingbird released from a spider’s web?
Up from my hand, he raced straight to South America
Look up—wait for one last gust of wind

Coyote Sticks It to The Man

November 26, 2007 • • 2 Comments

In the interest of promoting all things coyote, I offer a recent discovery: a legal brief regarding a lawsuit brought by Wile E Coyote against Acme:

Mr. Coyote states that on eighty-five separate occasions, he has purchased of the Acme Company (hereinafter, ‘Defendant’), through that company’s mail order department, certain products which did cause him bodily injury due to defects in manufacture or improper cautionary labeling. Sales slips made out to Mr. Coyote as proof of purchase are at present in the possession of the Court, marked Exhibit A. Such injuries sustained by Mr. Coyote have temporarily restricted his ability to make a living in the profession of predator. Mr. Coyote is self-employed and thus not eligible for Workmen’s Compensation.

Mr. Coyote states that on December 13th, he received of Defendant via parcel post one Acme Rocket Sled. The intention of Mr. Coyote was to use the Rocket sled to aid him in pursuit of his prey. Upon receipt of the Rocket Sled, Mr. Coyote removed it from its wooden shipping crate and sighting his prey in the distance, activated the ignition. As Mr. Coyote gripped the handlebars, the Rocket Sled accelerated with such sudden and precipitate force as to stretch Mr. Coyote’s forelimbs to a length of fifteen feet. Subsequently, the rest of Mr. Coyote’s body shot forward with a violent jolt, causing severe strain to his back and neck and placing him unexpectedly astride the Rocket Sled. Disappearing over the horizon at such speed as to leave a diminishing jet trail along its path, the Rocket Sled soon brought Mr. Coyote abreast of his prey. At that moment, the animal he was pursuing veered sharply to the right. Mr. Coyote vigorously attempted to follow this maneuver but was unable to, due to poor design and engineering on the Rocket Sled and a faulty or non-existent steering system. Shortly thereafter, the unchecked progress of the Rocket Sled led it and Mr. Coyote into collision with the side of a mesa.

– Ian Frazier, The New Yorker Magazine, 26 February 1990

Check out the whole thing. It’s a funny bit of satire, and one more reason to root for Coyote. Not only is he unable to get Road Runner, he’s a victim of the Corporate Man.

Oh, and apparently, he did catch Road Runner…

Red River

November 20, 2007 • • 5 Comments

A few months ago, my wife and I were on our way to a party her company was hosting at a downtown club. We had had dinner and had some time to kill so we stopped for a pint at Bull McCabe’s on Red River. We sat at a rickety table on the porch, enjoying the springtime weather and watched people walk up and down the street, drifting from club to club.

The homeless shelter is right around the corner so along with music lovers, there tends to be an abundance of homeless people mingling about the area, often indistinguishable from the music fans until they ask for a handout.

One guy, probably in his mid-thirties, came shuffling onto the porch. He wore a few extra sweaters under a grimy red coat out of which a white cable grew like a vine that terminated in his ears. I wondered if he actually had an ipod under there somewhere.

“Hey,” he said, walking up to our table. “You got any cash?”

My wife and I shook our heads. “Sorry, no.”

He stared at our beers and looked back at us. “What about them?”

I shrugged. “No cash.”

“Can you charge me a beer then?”

“No.”

“Aw, come on, man, you can just get me a beer. I won’t bother you. You can afford another one.”

I didn’t say, yes, I could afford more, and had he asked, I might have bought him a burger, but he just stared at us, clearly annoyed, small muscles ticking beneath his face. “What do you do for a living?” he asked, his voice challenging, likely trying to prove to us that we made enough to buy him a beer.

“I’m a teacher,” I said.

His body language changed with that last word. He relaxed, making me realize for the first time just how wound up and intense he was under all those used-up old clothes. He took a polite step back. “Aw, man, I’m sorry. I won’t bother you. You have a good night. You’re good people.”

He backed out of the bar and smiled at us again as he shuffled down the street, leaving us to wonder what teacher he had had that made such an impression on him that he refused to bother a teacher. I also wondered what would have happened had I been an investment banker.

Sonic, Not Youth

November 19, 2007 • • 2 Comments

I see more and more blogs pimping YouTube. Sometimes I find it sad that blogging, the last great bastion of the written word, the fulfillment of Guttenburg’s dream, the cornerstone of modern freedom, the… okay, okay, so it’s getting laid on a little thick, but does the blogosphere really have to be the new teevee?

Then, because I’m curious, I began to wonder how one puts a YouTube clip into one’s blog. Ever one to be part of the problem, I figured I’d give it a go. Naturally, it’s easy.

So, enjoy a fascinating cover of Sonic Youth’s “Schizophrenia,” a tribute of sorts to Philip K Dick.

Teacher Man

November 19, 2007 • • 2 Comments

I just finished listening to Frank McCourt’s Teacher Man, his memoir recounting 30 years as a New York City public school teacher. I’ve really enjoyed the few audiobooks I’ve read in the past, but this one is especially good, considering McCourt reads it himself. There’s something satisfying about hearing a writer read his own words, and McCourt’s Irish accent, his tired and bemused voice, combine to create the sense of sitting in a pub listening to the tales spun by a wise old drinking buddy.

He shares his agonizing days as a novice teacher who didn’t know what he was doing and hoping his kids – and principals – wouldn’t figure him out, and brings the reader on the long road to experienced and (mostly) confident teacher who has found his niche.

Over time he seems to get comfortable with the fact that those lessons invented on the fly often seem to reach students far more effectively than the ones we plan weeks – ok, days – no, hours – ahead. He begins to understand that storytelling is a worthwhile thing for teachers – especially those who teach writing – to do.

He thinks school should be fun, that students should enjoy it, and that makes him something of a quiet and slightly insecure radical. He feels almost guilty about this, and that tension between wanting to do things the tried-and-true by-the-book way vs. doing things in a way that is honest and meaningful to his students generates the angst that he humorously battles throughout the book.

Listening to McCourt, I found myself smiling as I drove to and from school, remembering my earliest days in the classroom, for I had been in his boat once. When I started teaching, I felt underprepared and unqualified. So I faked it. I told stories and tried to make it fun for the kids.

Now that I’ve been doing this for 9 years, I’ve realized that I can be the strict grammarian by-the-book traditional English teacher, but no one enjoys that. Not me, not the kids. School should be fun. For kids, for teachers. Oh, Kids should learn, no doubt; they should be equipped to think and have the skills they need to survive on their own, but it shouldn’t feel like jail. Of course, I teach in what is essentially a jail, so it’s especially important that my kids feel free, at least when they’re in my room. As McCourt says, there is a line between fear and freedom. Education should push us toward the freedom side of the line.

Anyone interested in teaching or who is a teacher would get a kick out of Teacher Man. Not only is it full of interesting – and often wickedly funny – stories about life in the classroom, it is also one of the most honest portrayals of teaching I’ve ever read. Or, rather, I suppose, heard.