Every morning I watch the CBC with Heather Hiscox as I'm getting ready for the day. Every morning the CBC plays the exact same cycle of commercials. And every morning I find myself cringing when the 'Immunity FX' commercial plays, asking me: "Do you live healthy?" What gets me here is that live is a verb, which means that to be grammatically correct, it should be modified by an adverb, not an adjective. Thus, healthy should be healthily. Apparently this has become a trend in dumbed-down advertisements as researched in the magazine Mental Floss, which questioned whether we have witnessed the death of the adverb. As an English teacher and concerned member of the human race, this irks me.
And you know what else gets me? Plagiarism. Upon reading the Mental Floss article on the death of the adverb, I stumbled across a Boston Globe article on the same subject, written four years ago. I didn't see immediately that the magazine author had credited his newspaper counterpart for taking some of his words and using them verbatim. Upon a more careful reading, however, I saw that I had been mistaken. However, the brief interlude in which I mistakenly thought I had found a real-live version of plagiarism, outside of the microcosm of my classroom, I was both elated and incensed--elated because I had grand visions of busting this alleged plagiarist for being a complete phony in the writing world; incensed because I have dealt with plagiarism enough times to make me want to smack the culprit for wasting my time and insulting my intelligence. I take it very seriously--maybe a bit too seriously, as Lars pointed out as he mocked me in an exaggeratedly nerdy voice, finger wagging, "police, police, I have found an online plagiarist!"
Another so-called pet peeve of mine may, admittedly, seem absurd to some, but I will call it 'unintentional understatement'. Case in point: I have a mixed classic rock CD that I made years ago and have recently rediscovered. There is a ridiculously powerful, spine-tingling live version of Jimi Hendrix's Voodoo Child (Slight Return), known to many as his magnum opus. Upon finishing with his final glorious guitar riff, a British woman in the audience is heard shouting in her hackneyed English accent "Ohhh, that was reeeeeally niiii-ce!" WTF? Seriously? You just sat and listened to JIMI-EFFING-HENDRIX play and "really nice" is your most fitting description? I hate this woman. Every time I listen to this song in the car, I have to be careful to skip to the next song before I hear her idiotic and exaggeratedly mundane comment, which ends up coming across as more insulting than had she said nothing at all.
Relatedly, I saw an episode of the HBO show US of Tara recently, and upon seeing his love interest in a wedding gown (which she was wearing before she was left at the altar by another man, a cliche I am willing to overlook here) he told her she looked "pretty." A woman in a wedding gown does not want to hear that she looks "pretty." Beautiful, extraordinary, stunning, exquisite. Any of these would do. A woman will take pretty when she is going out the door to work, or as a description of her in a photograph--but not in a wedding gown. I'm not suggesting that the unintentional understater make a concerted effort to suddenly start exaggerating everything--that would also be annoying and come off as disingenuous--but a little more carefully planned feeling and articulation of one's statements would be appreciated.
That's all for now.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Another school year bites the dust
My life is--and will continue to be, for the next twenty or so years--measured by seasons. Accountants count their years according to the annual tax season. Healthcare workers record each new cold and flu season. Retailers and markets tally each Christmas season as another one comes and goes.
My year begins in September, of course, as it has since I was not quite four years old. Every year Thanksgiving just serves as a reminder that we have a looooong way to go before we can take an extended breather. I notice the holiday season, of course, but it doesn't have any added significance other than a short break from work and a reunion with family and friends, who I seem to backburner every time a new school year begins and I forget how to manage my busy time after a relatively lackadaisical summer. I barely blink as March Break comes and goes, a pause that is more like a teaser than an actual holiday, since it is spent catching up on marking and lesson planning. May 2-4 weekend reminds us that our lives are once again soon to change, as they do every year, but we soon forget when we return to school and try desperately to get some of our most apathetic students to care half as much about earning a credit before the end of June as we do for them. And finally, just like the year before, the end of another school year bites the dust.
This one will be a particularly difficult one for me. As I have mentioned before, this time of year is always bittersweet. I really need and feel I somewhat deserve the break offered by my summer holidays, but I will miss some of my students terribly. That might sound pathetic or weird to some people; technically, students are considered "clients" or customers by the school board, and our job is to simply deliver curriculum expectations in a safe and equitable classroom environment. But here is where it gets confusing: our job is also to act "in loco parentis," which means to act in place of parents. So we are to act simultaneously like business people--salespeople hocking the product of education--and family members watching over our young as they move through a significant stage of life under our care.
I take this responsibility to heart. Our teachers' union warns us not to come into physical contact with a student. But if one of my students cries, I offer them a hug, as I hope any decent parent would. And I will likely keep in touch with several of them--the ones I feel are people who could use an advocate in life, or just the ones whose company I genuinely enjoy.
I don't want to be BFFs with my students, but I like the idea that a student would graduate and mature to be the type of person that I would like to see or hear from again. There is comfort in knowing that as my years come and go, measured by each passing June, and my students--also my clients and my pseudo-children--move on in life, that a few will have had a close enough connection to keep in touch. Otherwise, what type of businessperson/parent am I?
My year begins in September, of course, as it has since I was not quite four years old. Every year Thanksgiving just serves as a reminder that we have a looooong way to go before we can take an extended breather. I notice the holiday season, of course, but it doesn't have any added significance other than a short break from work and a reunion with family and friends, who I seem to backburner every time a new school year begins and I forget how to manage my busy time after a relatively lackadaisical summer. I barely blink as March Break comes and goes, a pause that is more like a teaser than an actual holiday, since it is spent catching up on marking and lesson planning. May 2-4 weekend reminds us that our lives are once again soon to change, as they do every year, but we soon forget when we return to school and try desperately to get some of our most apathetic students to care half as much about earning a credit before the end of June as we do for them. And finally, just like the year before, the end of another school year bites the dust.
This one will be a particularly difficult one for me. As I have mentioned before, this time of year is always bittersweet. I really need and feel I somewhat deserve the break offered by my summer holidays, but I will miss some of my students terribly. That might sound pathetic or weird to some people; technically, students are considered "clients" or customers by the school board, and our job is to simply deliver curriculum expectations in a safe and equitable classroom environment. But here is where it gets confusing: our job is also to act "in loco parentis," which means to act in place of parents. So we are to act simultaneously like business people--salespeople hocking the product of education--and family members watching over our young as they move through a significant stage of life under our care.
I take this responsibility to heart. Our teachers' union warns us not to come into physical contact with a student. But if one of my students cries, I offer them a hug, as I hope any decent parent would. And I will likely keep in touch with several of them--the ones I feel are people who could use an advocate in life, or just the ones whose company I genuinely enjoy.
I don't want to be BFFs with my students, but I like the idea that a student would graduate and mature to be the type of person that I would like to see or hear from again. There is comfort in knowing that as my years come and go, measured by each passing June, and my students--also my clients and my pseudo-children--move on in life, that a few will have had a close enough connection to keep in touch. Otherwise, what type of businessperson/parent am I?
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Apparently I'm a jerk
My niece, Camryn, "performed" in her first-ever dance recital this morning, though I think both "dance" and "recital" are misnomers. The kids neither danced nor did they recite; instead, they stood awkwardly on stage, sometimes waving to a mom here or a grandpa there, staring like the proverbial deer in headlights and occassionaly looking into the wings to watch their instructor desperately prompt them on--but of course to no avail. Everyone around me laughed, applauded, and oohed and aahed their approval of what they seemed to believe was a display of intrinsic cuteness but what I can only describe as incompetence. These kids sucked. Even Camryn. At least she smiled, and walked on her tip-toes; but her routine, overall, sucked. After "working" for the past two months they accomplished nothing besides forcing 200 family and friends to wake up at 8:00 am on a Saturday morning.
Oh, and one girl somehow mastered the art of simultaneously picking her nose, scratching her behind, and looking up at the ceiling--a child prodigy.
This experience was a fine contrast to last night, where I witnessed another form of "dancing" altogether: hopelessly awkward--and hopelessly hormonal--teenaged boys stood with their knees shoulder-width apart and proceeded to uncomfortably rock back and forth, as if trying to maintain balance in a canoe. Apparently it's called "grinding." It was a sorry sight indeed--but at least more entertaining than the atrocity I witnessed this morning.
Oh, and one girl somehow mastered the art of simultaneously picking her nose, scratching her behind, and looking up at the ceiling--a child prodigy.
This experience was a fine contrast to last night, where I witnessed another form of "dancing" altogether: hopelessly awkward--and hopelessly hormonal--teenaged boys stood with their knees shoulder-width apart and proceeded to uncomfortably rock back and forth, as if trying to maintain balance in a canoe. Apparently it's called "grinding." It was a sorry sight indeed--but at least more entertaining than the atrocity I witnessed this morning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)