I've been finding a lot of pennies lately but haven't written anything about them because there is no interesting stories surrounding the fact that I found a penny in front of the coffee shop or whatever. I will say that I recently past up a dime. A dime just doesn't have that beautiful coppery sheen like the penny. And here's the other thing, since I've never explained my self discovery of why I like pennies so much: Pennies are small, generally under-appreciated, deemed almost worthless because of their limited spending value. People even throw them away, or if they drop one, obviously they don't feel it worthy to be picked up (which is good for me but so sad for the penny). The reason I suppose I feel so strongly about this is that I myself am very small. I often feel overlooked and ignored. I feel that my value as a person is assessed by my size, just like the penny. Many times people judge me because of my height. There is a stigma in America that "Taller is better." Taller people demand respect, are more successful, are more attractive, are more intelligent, blah blah blah ... or so we are meant to believe. I hate that phrase "tall, dark, and handsome." And even though my husband is all those things, what about all those short guys out there with so much to offer? I'm just glad I'm a woman who is short, even though I hate words like "cute" and "perky" that go along with describing petite women. As for shorter men, that must be a horrible existence. I myself am attracted to short men, even though I married a 6'3" gentle giant. Actually, there was a guy in my French class this summer for whom I developed quite a crush. He was probably only 5' tall, perfectly proportioned, good looking, smart, nice, etc. But a lot of the other students described him as having a "Napoleon complex." Why must every short guy have a Napoleon complex? My brother doesn't, but he has had to overcome the obstacle of being 5'7". He's quite successful with the ladies and in his career, but he was ridiculed as a teenager. And because he doesn't share a lot, I'm not sure all he's had to endure in his adult life, but I can imagine, as I've had to endure a lot myself. From pennies to petites ... how did that happen?

Well, it's done. The first paper of the semester. Whew! However, I would be more relieved if I thought it was any good. As usual, my argument is clear and the paper organized. But is the argument good? Well, it's in the hands of the gods now. Or more specifically, Charles Sherry. Speaking of Sherry, I think I may be including him in a lot of my future posts, as I find him to be quite intriguing. And as he doesn't have the same charm and electricity of Scruggs (whom I love and adore), I like him. Which brings me to my story: Yesterday while waiting in line for my coffee, Sherry comes up behind me and we begin a conversation. He tells me that he belongs to some sort of list serve (some of the facts may be muddled as he is so soft spoken, he is hard to understand sometimes) of a group of administrators (?) who want to put professional student evaluators into the classrooms who will report to the professor what students are really thinking. I said, "That's ridiculous. If you really wanted to know what they're thinking, you could just ask them." He agreed, but said the people who came up with this idea think that students will not be as honest with the professor as they would with their peers. I didn't agree with this and neither did he. Still, what bothers Sherry most (which doesn't really bother me) is that he feels this would be some sort of violation of students' privacy. And I'm sure a lot of students would agree. It seems they will take issue with and protest anything just to feel they are being heard. Which brings up an interesting contradiction. If students are so eager to be heard, then they should embrace the idea of someone to represent a universal voice on their behalf. The fact is that young people, and the young at heart like Charles Sherry, feel the need to revolt against "the man", Big Brother, and the like. And although our world calls for order and systemization, it's nice to know there are some crusaders out there to stir things up a little.

In yesterday's post, I realize that I was not being completely fair to my beloved professor. My focus and critique should be on the student who keeps reiterating the fact that Sherry is a "harsh grader." What the hell does that mean anyway? Are students so blind to their own incapabilities as to think that if they receive a poor grade it must be due to the professor's harshness? This particular student keeps suggesting to me how to write a paper. He tells me, "Just make sure you're clear and organized." Really? I hadn't thought of that! This from a sophomore who hasn't nearly the experience I have had in writing analytical, theoretical, critical, etc. papers. I know I've only been an English student for little more than a year, but does he honestly think this is my only writing experience? It seems my fellow students have very little confidence in my writing abilities as this is not the first time I've been given such profound advice. I've come to the conclusion that this student, and many others, tailor their writing to how they think the professor will grade. If the professor seems laid back, they will not make as strong an effort as they should. I'm proud to say that I approach each paper, class, professor equally no matter what I assume their attitude to be. If that makes me a better student, so be it. If not, at least I can live with the illusion that I'm a good writer.

I feel the need to write, as I am about to embark on my first attempt at writing this semester and I am extremely nervous. I just feel like I've lost it. The ideas aren't coming as easily and the writing is proving to be quite a struggle. I no longer have the usual confidence I have when going into a paper. I don't know this professor, I haven't talked to him outside of class, and I've heard terrible things about his grading process. I hope to prove these bearers' of bad news wrong by producing an exceptional paper, but I admit I'm a bit intimidated. I have a feeling the professor deems me to be somewhat of a ditz. The very first day, Sherry began discussing the ways of the world and marriage and love and relationships. He kept looking at me rather intently and finally asked if I didn't agree with him. I was taken aback by his bold questioning and as I did not agree with him, I sort of laughed and said, "I guess," or "I don't know," or something equally eloquent. Ever since, the routine has been much the same. He continues to make intense eye contact with me and then ask me questions to which I have no answer. It's become a joke in the class now, as I am the only one he calls on other than the students who eagerly raise their hands in desperation to be heard. He first explained that I sit in the middle and he has no peripheral vision. Then he claimed that I always have a look on my face to suggest that I have something to say. He mused, "Don't look at me like that." When I finally said, "I'm the wrong person to ask these questions," he said, "that's strange, you always look like the right person to ask." It has been suggested that he noticed my wedding ring and since the class discussions seem to be particularly focused on the institution of marriage and the nonexistence of romantic love in the world, I might want to pipe in. I don't think that's it. It's also been suggested that he has a crush on me. I can't believe that's true either. No one has crushes on me. Someone also mentioned that it's just the opposite and he doesn't like me at all because perhaps he overheard a political discussion I was having with another student. I really don't believe that. Nonetheless, I feel I have to prove myself to this professor more than any other I've had. I'm going into this completely blind and hope to come out with a greater insight into the mind of this man.

I feel inclined to express some thoughts that have been manifesting in my mind since the start of the semester. I notice that I tend to understand myself and others more if I am able to convey my thoughts through writing. Yet I fear that my patience for the subject at hand is so thin, that I might abandon all efforts to mete it out. Last semester in college, my second full semester since returning to university, I formed some strong friendships with people I actually find interesting and enjoyable. This is a difficult thing for me to do since I am terrifically shy. However, my anti-anxiety medication has aided greatly in subduing this problem. Now, most of these friends are men, over the age of 25, and either divorced or single. This is not a problem for my husband, nor the other males as they have all met and get along famously (of course this could be a fantastic delusion on my part, but everything seems fine). I did form a bond with a girl last semester who is a Spanish literature grad student from Costa Rica. And although her intellectual level is beyond that of many of my undergrad friends, she is nonetheless, very young and not privy to the ways of the world. Not that I am old enough to have formulated a jaded POV of life, but I've been seen some stuff! ;) And although I am still quite young and full of hope and expectations, I also have a realistic outlook and a mature grasp on life. This brings me to my point. This semester proves to be quite a struggle in terms of social relations. I seem to be thrown into a mix of the standard stock of college students who think they know everything about anything and are not afraid to say so. My dad's dad always quoted the saying, "You can always tell a teenager, but you can't tell 'em much." And although a few of the students are barely out of their teens, this saying holds true. I often wonder what judgements the professors make about such students. Do they, as I, secretly sneer at them and sadly shake their head at the thought that these children are the future? I hope so. Because I feel that if anyone can get through to these kids, its a college professor. Students respect them more than they know and are begging for some guidance, someone to bounce ideas off of who will offer some valid feedback. Professors seem to be the only adults in the world that kids trust and don't automatically assume are full of shit.

I almost declined to write on this subject, as it borders on a diary entry rather than given my highly regarded opinion on life, movies, books, etc. ;). But I just have to vent. I've recently finished a summer school session of my accelerated French course in order to fulfill my language requirement. I speak, read and write moderate Spanish, but with the appeal of French films, I decided to try to learn French academically (as I am also teaching myself Italian at home). My first two semesters in French were great. I had a lot of fun and learned a great deal and just as with Spanish, I find myself slipping into French for some phrases when I speak. However, this summer course, which is equivalent to two semesters jammed into four and a half weeks, was grueling. I really love TA's. I've always had pretty good experiences with them, even though I'd rather have a professor teach my class. And I've always loved summer classes. Things are more laid back, students tend to bond more, and the teachers tend to make things fun. Not this time. I will not mention names, but my French teacher is a middle-aged woman who lived in France for twenty years, married a Frenchman, raised two children in France who refuse any connection to America, and has recently returned to the States and to teaching in this country. That sounded really exciting at first. We would learn so much more about our area of study because we would receive first hand knowledge. But what we really learned is how the French system works, and how petty the French are. For example, we were given a quiz on the second day of class. No one did well and as she was handing back the quizzes, she said that they were so bad, she didn't even record the grades so not to worry. However, she did record the grades and factored them in to our final grade. She lied to us! I mean, the guy that sat next to me received a 3% on it! Ok, so we had weekly role plays where we were to choose a partner and prepare three skits based on subjects provided of which one was chosen. The instructor asked me,"Laura, do you speak fluent Spanish." I said that I used to and asked why. She told me I have a Spanish accent when I speak French. I grimmaced and expressed concerned and she laughed and told me that it was fine, not to worry about it. Then on the following role plays, she docks me based on that accent. And really, it's only one word I say with a Spanish accent: "que"-- pronounced kay in Spanish and kuh in French. Otherwise, she praised me for my accent during regular class sessions. OK, next, we had a rough draft due on the same day as a role play. She specifically informed the class that if we had to choose which assignment to work on, to do the role play because the rough draft would not be graded. The next day, she tells us that we need to do peer evaluations of our rough drafts to be turned in for a grade. Most of us did not have a rough draft, only the brainstorming and outline. She said that at the beginning of the summer session, she had told us that the rough draft and peer evaluation would be counted for a grade. But this wasn't the first time she had changed her mind about something so we took her word for it that it would NOT be graded and then suffered the consequences of her whims. I did very well on the rest of the assignments, receiving A's on the tests, writings, the paper, and one of three quizzes. The rest, I received high B's but every time she would give me my grade update, it was a high B and it made no sense. I expressed concern early on and asked what I could do to ensure an A in the class. She told me the paper would determine that for me and that I had to do well on the paper. I showed her a rough draft everyday and worked on her suggestions every night. She had also told me that the fact that I didn't have the peer evaluation wasn't a big deal as it was only 2% of my participation grade (which was 8% of the total grade). So, I received a 98% on my paper. And going into the final, she claimed I still had a high B. I expressed my confusion and disappointment, but still hoped for a good grade on the final to get an A. After my oral exam Tuesday, I asked about my grade once again. She told me she couldn't give it to me. And I asked if I might speak to her later about it, hoping to "appeal" to her sense of compassion. She misunderstood the word "appeal" and immediately assumed that I planned to officially appeal my grade. She became angry and shut me down then and there saying I had no case, that I am a B student and I had a bad grade on my peer evaluation that was hurting me. This, from the same woman who I talked with many times and who claimed she cared about me and my grade and would consider my interest in my performance when it came time to grade, if need be. I became so flustered that I left. I received my grade yesterday and I have a B in the class. I have to say, that I am completely soured on the whole "French thing." Note to all teachers (my mom also): Being strict is one thing, as long as you're consistent. Do not make false promises and flip flop on issues. And for this particular teacher, get of the power trip. Stop relishing in the fact that you hold the power to make or break a student's career. I will still graduate With Honors without the stupid French A, so know that the only thing that was accomplished is that yet another graduate student has given a bad name to all TA's, not to mention the French.

As you'll notice, I've changed the look of my blog because I love BLACK!  Once I saw a template with black, I said "That's me!"  Ok, on to more interesting subjects.  I've seen some wonderful films on DVD lately, but at the theatre it's been a different story.  Actually, I shouldn't generalize, as I've only seen "King Arthur" since the "Spiderman" incident.  The film was OK.  After reading a few versions of the legend and viewing several adaptations, there was some frustration involving the new version.  Most of this stems from the fact that Jerry Bruckheimer produced the film.  I try to avoid his productions, but as this film starred the lovely Keira Knightley, I could not resist.  Yes.  I admit.  There are just some women for whom I question my heterosexuality and she is one.  So, it didn't bother me that Guinevere is portrayed as a warrior traipsing around in a Xena inspired leather outfit with an abundance of exposed skin covered with Braveheart inspired woad paint.  No, that part was just fine, as were the battle scenes.  In fact, the cinematography was quite impressive.  What bothered me most was the trite dialogue to be expected from the narrowminded, unimaginative writers of Bruck's films.  What a joke!  In fact, this film tried so hard to be "Braveheart" that I had to laugh in parts.  There is hardly any character development, nuance among relationships, or coherent storylines.  The battle scenes would have been much more impressive if they were more violent and graphic like "Braveheart," but instead everything is only indicated.  Anyway, finished with the ranting and raving about the mindless aspects of Hollywood "entertainment," I will shift my attention to more worthy films I have encountered.  "The House of Sand and Fog"-- what a film.  I know that it is based on a book (which I haven't read) but I have to believe this film does the story justice (as did "The Hours" to Michael Cunningham's novel).  This film moved me to tears without such an expectation.  It's not one of those sappy chick flicks that says, "Oh, here's where everyone's going to cry" and they cater to that notion.  This is just pure human emotion being played out on film in a way that ceases hold of the audience and says, "You can't ignore this."  Wonderful performances all around and especially by my new favorite actress Shoreh Aghdashloo who joins my other favorite, French veteran Fanny Ardant.  Next is "In America."  It's fun, moving, bittersweet, honest... The little girls in it blow me away.  They are not your typical child actors who are cute and precocious.  They are acting machines and know how to capture an audience.  Again, I wept, but in a truly joyous moment of the film.  I was just so overcome with emotion.  Now, know this:  I am not someone who cries at any film.  I actually cannot remember the last film for which I shed tears.  Perhaps "Life is Beautiful" from 1997! As for my reading, I have not been able to keep up as I am completely consumed by my accelerated French class.  I have decided to set aside the Dumas book as it became much to painful to spend my summer trying to overlook its misgivings.  I have taken up a new book (new to me) called Surprised By Joy by C.S. Lewis.  My dad loaned it to me last fall when I began to speak of my religious struggle.  I'm hoping this will serve as a support and guide for my personal story.  I still pray to God about it (as my faith in Him has not wavered).  Maybe reading books like I, Lucifer, Angels and Demons, and The Da Vinci Code wasn't such a good idea for a confused, tormented, and fallen away young individual like myself. 

Well, I've been very lackadaisical about posting my penny adventures as well as my reading endeavors. I've been trying to catch up on my DVD rentals and Law and Order:SVU re-runs (I'm totally addicted!) So, I'll post on the movies I've seen recently. I saw Cold Mountain, Along Came Polly, The Butterfly Effect, and finally (!) Bend it Like Beckam, which is my favorite of them all. Growing up as a soccer player, I truly appreciated this film and it made me want to get back out there and kick the ball around. Also, I loved the Indian background, due to my quick study of India last summer. I have a lot of respect and admiration for their culture. The music was great, the costumes were beautiful and it was both funny and moving. Cold Mountain was good, a little slow in parts but definitely worth a watch for the sake of Renee Zellweger's (sp?) performance. She has come quite a long way from Empire Records and even Jerry Maguire. I didn't like Along Came Polly. I just thought a couple of parts were cute, but I tend not to like Ben Stiller movies because he's either acting like a total moron or he's a victime in situations that I don't find humorous (Meet the Parents, Something About Mary). However, the last two films both feature Philip Seymour Hoffman and I think he is a phenomenal actor. Butterfly Effect was surprisingly good. I don't really appreciate Ashton Kutcher's "humor" but the script was intense, smart and the acting was pretty good. One movie I want to recommend to all, which I saw when it was FINALLY released on DVD, is Don't Tempt Me (AKA Sin Noticias de Dios, Sans Nouvelles de Dieu). The movie stars Penelope Cruz in the best performance she's ever given as an angel from Hell, sent to Earth to vie for the life of a boxer with an angel from Heaven. Hell takes place in a dark, dingy, sweaty train station and cafeteria with horrible fluorescent lighting and everyone speaks English. On Earth, everyone speaks Spanish and Heaven is in black and white, 1930's/40's Paris where everyone speaks French. My favorite actress, French veteran Fanny Ardant plays a manager in Heaven who sends the angel because Heaven is struggling for more souls. There is also a whole thing in there about J.D. Salinger and the best part of the film is how these actors are able to speak multiple languages. Simply amazing. The script is so clever and funny and almost like a good Tarantino film (none of this Kill Bill stuff--sorry to those who like it). Think more like Pulp Fiction. Not to be missed is Cruz's dance to "Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting."

I finished The Da Vinci Code last night. It was a great book. All my positive comments of Angels and Demons carry through to this novel. I think A & D is a better book for one reason: Da Vinci seemed somewhat anticlimactic to me. I don't want to give anything away to anyone who hasn't read it so I'll stop there. Still, there are so many great ideas and issues addressed in Da Vinci that it should not be missed. I'm going to try finishing the Dumas novel as well as The Celestine Prophecy which I started last summer, but had to set aside for a while in order to keep up with reading for school. I sold some books yesterday at Bookman's and bought a biography of Sarah Bernhardt. I haven't decided yet if I believe in reincarnation, but if I do, I think I'm her. When I was as young as two years old, my parents used to call me by her name because I was incredibly dramatic about things. That love for drama followed me through elementary school, jr. high, high school, college, and even now. I started acting in school plays in 1st grade and began my first time at college as a theatre major. I soon moved on to art when things didn't work out, but have participated in community theatre to quell my desires for the stage. While pursuing my degree in art, I discovered an artist named Alphonse Mucha, who introduced the style of Art Nouveau to the world. He instantly became my favorite and I have displayed his work in my house. I also have a limited edition lithograph, signed and numbered by Mucha's grandson from the Mucha foundation. I soon discovered that Mucha was Bernhardt's favorite artist and that she commissioned him to design all her theatre posters. He went on to design all her jewelry as well. And the icing on the cake is that she and I have the same birthdate. I can't wait to read more about her to learn what other similarities we have!

Well, I haven't written anything in a while because I was out of town, haven't found any pennies, and have been busy reading. Since my last post, I finished two books and am in the middle of another and beginning one as well. I didn't write anything on The Venetian's Wife because it is such an odd book that is relatively unknown. It's not very long and is full of artwork, collages, designs, etc. It's somewhat of a mystery involving Indian (as in India) art, religion, symbols, etc. It was a quick easy read ... good, but weird. Then I moved on to A Knight at Maison Rouge by Alexandre Dumas (my favorite). The work was thought lost for and has recently been discovered and published with a new translation. I'm thinking "YEA!" Then I start reading it, and it's terrible. Not the story per se, which is a story of Marie Antoinette, with whom I hold a strange fascination. The translation by Julie Rose is disgustingly shameful. She has put in modern colloquialisms, slang, casual speak--nothing like the Dumas to which I've become so attached. I'm still bearing through it for the sake of the story but it's torturous. Meanwhile, I started and finished Angels and Demons in two days. The predecessor to The Da Vinci Code, this book was one of the most intelligent, clever, and searing novels I've read. My love for art and art history is indulged by the many references and descriptions, as well as background and meanings, behind some of the most well-known artists of the post-Renaissance period. And my own and tormented conflict and speculation with religion and the Catholic church (in which I was raised and taught) is brought to light. However, both sides of the debate of religion vs. science are given equal time, care and respect. And both sides make very good points. Unlike what many are saying of Dan Brown's work, I do not find the book to be an attack on religion and Catholicism attempting to persuade people away from the church. I find the story to be purely entertaining, based on some fact and grounded in an intelligent analysis of today's world. Can't wait to start The Da Vinci Code!

Ok, well, I found two pennies yesterday. But what I want to write about is the new book I'm reading ... besides the fascinating texts I'm reading for my Presession Primatology class (we went to the zoo yesterday to observe. I love primates...) Anyway, I've begun reading Glen Duncan's I, Lucifer. I LOVE IT! Now, if anyone is offended by anything connected with religion, spirituality, etc., this book is not for you. Being raised a Catholic who has now "fallen away" I find great pleasure in this novel. I know all the uproar Dan Brown's novels have caused and I plan on reading them soon, but Duncan's book is right up there in terms of a somewhat Catholic/Christianity critique--and it's FUNNY! Told from the point of view of the dark angel, the book is clever, intelligent, witty, and thought provoking. I can imagine the entire text being performed as a monologue for an audience. "Lucifer" speaks directly to the reader in a manner very much like the narrator in Waterland. He trails off, interrupts himself, asks questions seemingly expecting answers. It's great. And he definitely borrows from Milton rather than the Bible itself. I always say that if the men who wrote the Bible really wanted to reach everyone and convince them of a Divine presence and all that, they should have written as Milton did--beautiful rather than dull language, details, interesting dialogue ... the list goes on. And now we have the other side of the story (with modern day experiences as well) in Glen Duncan's novel.

Ok, I found a penny today. A big deal for me, but no interesting story to surround it. The reason I'm documenting it is to tell of my dreams of late. For the past couple of months, I've actually dreamed of finding pennies! Usually in the dream, there is quite an abundance of them and it is so exciting. Last night, I had a dream where I came across a bunch of coins--dimes and nickels as well as pennies. A guy from grade school was there and he was trying to pick up the pennies too. I kept telling him, "You can't pick up the pennies. They're mine." He was telling me that it was free game and that he had an obsession with pennies. I was so angry and told him, "You can't have an obsession. That's my THING. That's what I'm known for and you can't have it!" Weird I know, but it must mean something. I have very vivid dreams and although not all of them have meaning, they still resonate and have a strong impact on my life.

Well, since I still have not begun to embark on my summer reading, all I can write is of my latest penny adventure. This morning while walking to a final exam for school, I was cursing Starbucks for ruining my coffee order and hoping that it didn't serve as a sign for disaster on my test. I like to walk next to parking meters, knowing that people tend to drop change when fishing for money to feed into them. (I've also recently noticed within myself that I walk with my head down and eyes pointed to the ground rather than my former walk with head up and shoulders back). Anyway, this morning it proved to be a good thing because as I was walking by said parking meters, I spotted a penny and as I made my way over to it to pick it up, I saw another, and then another! Now, I do not think of pennies as bringing luck, they just make me happy so it helped to make up for the coffee. Anyway, right after picking up the pennies and continuing on my way, I heard steps behind me. I realized that someone had seen me go out of my way to collect the three cents. I don't usually let that stop me. Unless I'm going to cause a traffic accident I will pick up the penny regardless of who is watching. That isn't too say that it doesn't make me feel self conscious. I tend to receive strange looks and sneers and overhear snickering. I guess people just can't appreciate the value that I feel pennies possess. I stated in my last blog that I believe I have discovered a reason for this obsession and that I would eventually tell it. But it is too soon to present my philosophy on the matter. Till then ... happy penny hunting. Lo

Wow, first I'd like to say that the new design of the blog page is rather posh. Moving on. As you'll notice, this site is about the life of Lo ... me. As described, I will be writing about life, literature, and my obsession of pennies. As I have not yet read any new literature since I created this blog, and have no new incites on life, I will begin by explaining the penny preoccupation. For many years now, I have been excited at the notion of finding pennies. I realize all children are, so this excitement may not seem especially novel. However, I am 27 years old and my infatuation with pennies grows stronger everyday. Just to provide an example of what I'm talking about here, let me take you back a couple of years. I was at the Cleveland airport three summers ago. Standing on the curb outside, on a cold and rainy morning, I espied a penny in the lane where the cars drive up to drop off travelers. The traffic was steady, but I really wanted that coin. I would have to step in a puddle, amongst moving cars to get it. I couldn't take my eyes off it. My husband said, "You really want that penny, don't you?" I smiled sheepishly, and before I knew it, he had leapt out into the road, over the puddle, between moving cars to pick it up for me. That's when I realized that it wasn't just enjoyment or excitement when I found a penny, it was necessary. So, the latest instance of penny finding happened Saturday afternoon. My brother and his girlfriend came in from L.A. to surprise my mom for Mother's Day. We were all out visiting little shops and as we were leaving one of the stores, two pennies caught my eye. I picked them up, disbelieving that I had almost missed them. In the parking lot, I heard another coin drop and my brother was laughing. Apparently he had dropped the pennies for my, recently learning of my obsession. Well, I found that he had dropped a nickel. I picked it up and threw it at him, saying, "I don't like nickels!" It's just pennies. And I've just discovered the reason for it. But that will have to be explained later, as it is time to sign off. Lo

Well...now that I've spoken with the handy-dandy tech support and spent 3 extremely productive hours turning my computer on and off, I now know what's wrong with my internet...nothing (Hmm, Lo, do we sense some hostility?) I will now attempt to recreate my original blog entry about the NCLB Act. Trisha was the only person who had posted before me the first time around and I will try to stay true to that original post. Here goes: While I sat reading the No Child Left Behind Act, I found myself furiously highlighting and bitterly chuckling to myself about some of the language, purposes and goals mentioned. Like Trisha, I was most bothered by Section 301, Title III--Language Instruction for Limited English Proficient and Immigrant Students; however, not for quite the same reasons. Yes, the bill states that students with limited English proficiency should meet the same expectations as native speakers, and without the help of bilingual instruction. As concerned as I am for the children, I am more concerned (on a purely personal level) for the teachers, my mom being one of them. After 33 years of teaching, half of those years in Ohio where there were not very many non-English speakers, she is now taking classes that teach the teacher how to teach these students. If that sounds confusing and ridiculous, it is. Living in the Southwest and so close to Mexico, I realize that our schools are going to have students who speak Spanish. And many people here, myself included, are able to speak and understand enough to "get by." But what happens when a student who speaks Arabic is placed in one of these classrooms? This year, The ESL--or rather ELL (English Language Learner)--teacher would come to my mom's class and sit with the Arabic student and try to relay what was being taught. Not only is her entrance and exit disruptive to the valuable "learning process," but there were constantly two voices speaking at the same time. Next year, there will be no ELL teacher to "help." My mom has been named the "designee" for her grade level, as the teacher who will have ALL ELL students. She has taken 20 "professional development" hours of training, she will need to use different methods of teaching and more visuals like graphs, charts, etc. in order to clearly relay the information. Poor woman's retiring in three years. Things aren't what they used to be. And if all that doesn't sound bad enough and the general concern for teachers is much less than mine, let's consider the students. The ELL student will spend all day, grappling with information in a different language from his own. He will then return to a home in which his parents don't even speak English and the day's efforts will have been in vain. Also, what about those other students in the classroom, who do know English? How are they to compete with the attention of a teacher who is catering toward a non-English speaker. I thought the act was NO Child Left Behind. But these students will be. My other problem with the document is the word "accountable" used several times in reference to teachers, educational agencies, and schools. They will be held accountable for the progress of the students. They will be held accountable for the English proficiency skills. However, parent participation is merely encouraged and promoted. Where's their accountability?

Sorry, don't know why this posted twice.

Ok, I'm the first to enter my blog this round, so I might be setting myself up for embarrassment and ridicule if no one else came away with my same query: Am I missing a couple pages at the end? I truly thought we would find out who this mysterious narrator is. Perhaps it is alluded to and I'm too dense to recognize it. I also found it quite odd that the book should end with the story of Dean Makepeace, as he was such an obscure (please don't hate me for choosing that word) character throughout the novel. He rarely makes an appearance and I can't help but equate the ending with that of a cheap thriller where the villain is revealed in the end to be someone of no consequence. That said, I think I may be projecting a harshness toward this book that I don't necessarily feel. I really did enjoy the book and can identify traces of Hemingway's style in the writing. Last semester, Dr. Scruggs reminded me of the "iceberg theory" surrounding Hemingway's writing. Not having read Hemingway since high school and having failed at that time to invest much in his writing, I had forgotten Hemingway's own confession of his style: "If it is any use to know it, I always try to write on the principle of the iceberg. There is seven-eighths of it underwater for every part that shows. Anything you know you can eliminate and it only strengthens your iceberg. It is the part that doesn't show. If a writer omits something because he does not know it then there is a hole in the story." I see this same theory at work in Wolff's story as well. On the surface, we are to believe that the narrator plagiarizes another's story because he believes it to be his own. Yet, when reading the plagiarism segment, I couldn't help but think that the narrator was indeed, subconsciously, retelling Bill White's story. Susan's story is unmistakably about repression stemming from religion, not just class. The fact that the narrator draws comparisons from her account of taking the bus to the Y and their shared "cigarette-craving," illustrates how much he missed the point. Yes, he knows she's Jewish and must hide it, as he believes to be true of himself. But, as we discussed in class (and I am in complete agreement with Keren), he is not Jewish and truly has nothing to hide. His friends know that he was raised a Catholic. So although he can elicit certain superficial parallels, he cannot appreciate the origin of Susan's struggle--as can Bill. Somehow, I gather that the narrator knows this--hence the "iceberg theory"--and he writes the story on behalf of Bill. When the two boys are together in their room discussing their stories, Bill's own truth of not having written a story is reflected in the narrator's thoughts. He himself has not written a word, yet claims that it is "going...Like gangbusters" (118). Bill returns with his own over-enthusiastic claim that his is "like a house afire. Like crazy. Like nobody's business" (118). The story ends there with no reflection upon the statement from the narrator. Here, I deduce that he knew the truth of Bill, just as he knew the truth of himself--he hadn't written a thing. When he copies the story and substitutes his own name for "Ruth," essentially, he is testing the limits for a response to such a "taboo" story. Upon its acceptance and praise, the narrator seems to have broken some new ground for Bill who hides his identity. Yet, by not using Bill's name, he has not risked anything on his friend's behalf. Here is just one instance where I see Hemingway's "iceberg theory" at work. There are others, but I fear I have written too much already that is based solely on speculation and I may be way off base. For those who think this is crazy, I hope it at least provided a good laugh.

A few pages into my reading of Old School, I was struck by the significance of characters' names, most notably Makepeace and Gershon. After the narrator's encounter with the school janitor, which results in a visit to the dean's office, I referred back to other names to see if they held the same value as the two men. Makepeace seems the most straightforward characterization of his name, especially when he urges the narrator to "clear things up with Gershon" (21), and even the subtle act of leading applause for Robert Frost in what seems to be a moment of uncomfortable silence. Speaking of Gershon, his name became more meaningful with the information of his Jewish heritage and his experiences during the war. Gershon, an Old Testament figure, is paralleled to Wolff's Gershon. The biblical figure is appointed service to the building of the tabernacle. Wolff's custodian leads a life of service as well. Gershon, whose name means "banishment," along with other Israelites, is commanded to leave Sinai. I equate this with Gershon and other Jews being taken from their homes to camps during the war. Perhaps I'm reading too much into it, but it does seem significant that this name over others was chosen. Even the narrator's friends have names that suggest a deeper meaning. George Kellogg and Jeff Purcell possess fairly prominent names: Kellogg calling to mind, among many of that name, the cereal manufacturer. Purcell, I think, referencing the Baroque composer. I have yet to understand the importance, if any, of these names but I think I have a fair analysis of Bill White's name. There seems to be a lot of emphasis on the fact that Bill is Jewish and the narrator's befuddlement at such an idea. He is the "poster Aryan--so blond, so fair, so handsome" (74). Bill is white ... or rather whitewashed. His very name masks his identity and bears his secret. Which begs the question: Why the need for such a secret? The narrator's concern of his own Jewish heritage is an issue as well. Understandably, it is 1960 and people are still feeling the effects of the Holocaust, but how does this concern play into the narrator's story? Perhaps it is an issue of which he will come to terms as he begins to learn more about himself--which is a major preoccupation in the novel, as Vicki pointed out. To quote myself from my first blog entry, the narrator's "views on politics, religion, sociology, psychology, and life in general" seem to be "in a constant state of metamorphosis depending on how the things [he] read[s] affect [him]." From Maupassant to Frost to Rand, and finally to his old standby Hemingway, the narrator seems to define himself in terms of each author's views on life. While I generally agree with Steve F's assessment of humanizing each author, I believe Wolff's purpose is to illustrate the fleeting nature of young people and how they are easily influenced by outside forces. Perhaps the narrator will come to this conclusion that, again as Steve so eloquently stated, imitation is not the surest path to success. On a personal note, I can sympathize with the narrator's investment in an author, his stories and his characters, specifically Hemingway's In Our Time. Each story in the book is filled with such substantial characters and a very subtle but important message is sent, that it is understandably difficult for the narrator to go back to reading The Fountainhead, which seems a shallow story based on the egomaniacal Frank Lloyd Wright. But that's just my opinion.

Well, where to begin? The final parts of Jude The Obscure are so wonderfully replete with issues to discuss that I cannot decide upon which I would like to write. I will first mention that as a sucker for tragic love stories, I could not help recognizing the parallel between Jude and Anna Karenina, but not as the note on the back cover suggests. I find it interesting that the editor should liken Sue to Anna based on the idea that she is "the modern emancipated woman" as was Anna. In the beginning, Sue does seem unconventional and independent; but once tragedy strikes, as the note also tells us, she "proves unequal to the challenge." Anna would have never returned to Karenin, and did not, even after essentially "losing" her child. Here, I find Jude to be much more Anna's equal than Sue. We've talked in class of Sue's inconsistencies, and her final decisions finally prove her to be a quite a capricious woman. Although she vows to love Jude til the end, her actions dispute her claims--especially when she gives in to her conjugal duties to Phillotson. Anyway, back to Jude and Anna Karenina. Just as Anna was left behind by Vronsky, Jude was left by Sue. Anna returns home only to see her son one last time and then throws herself in front of a train. Jude returns to see Sue one last time and then attempts "suicide" by traveling in such a condition. Jude is entirely honest with himself and with others through the story. He wholeheartedly loves Sue and literally lives for her. Everyone--Sue, Arabella, Phillotson, etc.--knows this to be true. But only one person (herself) knows that Sue loves Jude, although others may suspect, because she is continually denying her affections for him. But not to get off onto a completely different novel that we have not read for the class ... I will move onto another topic of interest. Father Time and the other children. I LOVE Father Time. How could you not love such a child in such a story? I really wish there had been more focus on him in the novel because he is the one character who is completely selfless; although suicide is a pretty selfish act, his motives were otherwise. But I was really disturbed by the lack of suffering on behalf of Jude and Sue. Other than Sue's completely justified hysterics at the gravesite, the reader never encounters suffering, depression, madness, anguish, anything in either of the parents. Only remorse for their own sinful ways, viewing it as a punishment for their own behavior. They are still all for themselves. Sue's declaration that she is "glad--almost" because the children "were sin-begotten. They were sacrificed to teach me how to live! -- their death was the first stage of my purification" (363) indicate just how selfish she and Jude are. What matters to them is how they may be affected by a given situation. They cannot help it and I don't dislike them for it, it's simply fact. Perhaps Jude's exclamation to Sue is the reason for her distant approach to the death of her children: "Yours is not a passionate heart--your heart does not burn in a flame! You are, upon the whole, cold,--a sort of fay or sprite--not a woman!" (353). Her dispassionate manner toward Jude extends to her children as well. That she is "not a woman" is likely to most accurate description of Sue. With Phillotson, she feared his touch and would choose death over it. With Jude, her love seems almost platonic. Even though we know she has three children by him, there is not account of her sensuality or physical engagement with Jude. And finally, with her children, she seems to lack a maternal instinct, made apparent with their deaths. It did seem against her nature to accept Father Time so willingly and lovingly when he came to live with them, though. She is indeed an enigma.

Parts III and IV provided me with one conclusion: Women are NUTS! Being one myself, I can get away with such a bold and controversial declaration. Really though, in the world of Hardy's novel women are portrayed in a rather unfavorable light ... however truthful it may be. I need not reference Arabella's behavior thus far, as I'm sure we all agree she is absolutely disdainful. And although some of the class may think of Jude as somewhat dubious, sentimental, or even feeble, he nonetheless earns my sympathy as the only character in the novel to whom I can relate. Sue however, is an enigma (to put it mildly) as noted several times by Jude and by Phillotson. She is, simply, a walking contradiction. Despite her efforts to declare her liberal unconventionality, Sue's actions belie her assertions. Jude even recognizes this. As a "product of civilization," Jude claims that there is "nothing unconventional at all about" her (139). She has, after all, become engaged to one who seems the epitome of conventional, and plans on playing the part of wife and assisting him with the school. However she soon chooses another finds herself questioning the decision after she has done the deed. She acts on a whim so satisfy her needs at the present, without considering the consequences. Hmm ... this does seem like conventional female behavior ... In terms of emotions, Sue is all over the map. With Jude, she runs hot and cold. With Phillotson, she enters into a passionless marriage. I think Phillotson says it best when he states: "He exact feeling for him is a riddle to me -- and to him too, I think -- possibly to herself. She is one of the oddest creatures I ever met" (229). She seems to use both men, not only for her own purposes, but for mere entertainment value in watching them vie for her affections. However, since we do not receive an account of her life with Phillotson before their separation, this is simply conjecture based on her behavior toward Jude. In Jude's company, she speaks freely and naturally, but always ends on an invective note. He finally confronts her when he exclaims "you are never so nice in your real presence as you are in your letters!" Perhaps she is unable partake in an actual loving relationship with a cognizant being. This seems consistent with her attempts to strain herself from Jude. But once she finally does face reality and is truthful with both Jude and Phillotson, she still plays the game, relying on "a woman's natural timidity when the crisis comes" (239) to rescue her, once again from reality. Free from Phillotson to love Jude, she begins talk of returning to her husband! She even uses Jude's marriage as ammunition against Jude. Poor Jude, I feel his pain.