Fan Mail from A Troll

(Pardon the formatting, wordpress is having some fun with me)
Got this email about a month back:
I saw  your site and was filled with wonder. Do you need an event planner and fundraiser? As I am both I also have experience with volunteers. I currently work with homeless families as well as homeless individuals suffering with the HIV virus.

I would love to work with you as your are doing amazing things with small ones!

Sincerely,

Ed Snowden

Although I felt like somebody might be sadistically playing with me, sending exactly the kind of email I’ve been waiting for, signed with a famous and controversial name, I wrote:
Thanks for your kind words.  We could certainly use an event planner and fundraiser.  Where are you located, Ed? 
Then these two: 
On Sun, Aug 4, 2013 at 1:59 PM, Ed Snowden  wrote:
Hi  I am in NYC.
Thanks for getting back to me.
All the best,
Ed Snowden
On Mon, Aug 5, 2013 at 2:06 PM, Ed Snowden wrote:
Hi I am in NYC.

Thanks for getting back to me.

All the best,

Ed Snowden

A few days later I took another step into the troll’s trap:
The coincidence of your name being the same as the young man’s who revealed the NSA data-harvesting and surveillance program has given some at our organization pause.  I’ve been told this coincidence has to be some kind of prank by a friend, a misguided attempt to poke a little fun at an organization with a successful program that is currently hanging on by a thread.

 
I prefer to think that you are experienced in event planning and fundraising and have some kind of links you can send showing some of your work.  If you send me some samples of your work I will be glad to have a look at them.
Troll:
 
Never mind. This has been my name for eons I am named for my dad and grand dad  and the fact that it bothers you means I should keep looking for work, I am an excellent fund raiser and event planner but I have no time for what my grandmum would call “foolishness” I wish you well.  
Still acting with characteristic (and foolish) good faith, I wrote:
No offense intended, Ed, though clearly it seems to have been taken.  I didn’t say the coincidence of your name bothered me, in fact, I think the other ES did a brave and important thing.  I merely passed on a concern and asked you for some examples of your work.  If you read the second paragraph you will see my hope, and good faith, expressed quite clearly.  
To which the troll replied:
Thank you for your response. I am not offended merely annoyed. 
I think your program sounds amazing but I think I should keep looking for an organization that will allow me to make a difference as that is what is most important to me!
 NYC is a big town with oodles of places that need skilled volunteer and event managers so I shall keep looking.    Again thank you for your kind reply.

(Ms.) Ed Snowden 

As I am out of kind replies, and the (Ms.) before its name would make me hesitate to offer a well-intended bitch slap, I leave this up here, for whatever grotesque value it may have to someone.

Whole Brain Teaching

I came across a remarkable video yesterday, a clip that troubles my already troubled mind.   It is a good thing that people are looking for innovative ways to engage and teach children, but take a look at THIS VIDEO and see if you have any concerns with what’s going on in this third grade classroom.

I’ve cued it up to 3:41, just before the enthusiastic and charismatic young teacher, a rising superstar in the WBT firmament, lays out the rules of Whole Brain Teaching.  They are as follows:

Follow directions quickly;

Raise your hand for permission to speak;

Raise your hand for permission to leave your seat;

Make smart choices;

Keep your dear teacher happy.

Turn to your partner and say “that was awesome!”  and the eight year-olds chant in cadence “That was awesome!!!”  And got a point for their enthusiasm and quick obedience.  With enough points, and few enough demerits, they will earn an extra sixty seconds of recess.

Nothing wrong with these rules, I suppose, but…. watch the video.

Meantime, there is a head to be banged on a wall, in that same child-like cadence.

Take A Break, it’s Broken

The dilemma’s got sharp horns.   I’m desperate for a break, a week off, not to worry, not think about the toils of the immediate future.   Everyone I know is on vacation (except for my sister, back in her stalag in South Florida where the six year-olds return early).

Push a rock this big and heavy up a hill, how does one take a break, exactly?  

My resting pulse is 59, lulling me to think the bike riding is helping heart and lungs.  The blood pressure monitor lights up with the rictus, snake eyes, silent killer, smiling that deadly smile.

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Hard Boiled

I work alone.   I don’t flinch when somebody takes a swing at me, they don’t often connect.  I live largely in my head, except when I am carrying out projects with elementary school kids.  These projects are now a small forest of trees, but not bearing fruit yet.   It will be a colorful orchard and many smiling guests will visit, happy faces smeared with fruit, or it will be a scary, dark, wild place people sometimes glimpse from low flying airplanes.

The point is, you can’t shake me.   I know who I am, I know who you are.  If I have vowed not to fight it doesn’t mean I am not still strong.

Here’s the thing, though.  Maintaining a mild disposition is only one part of the equation, apparently.  The other half is some scary math, 152/88 in the blood pressure monitor.  The doctor turned pale as he got the reading, told me to take a few slow deep breaths.  My blood pressure had never been nearly this high.  The second reading was the same, my own readings since have been worse.

Being hard boiled, you know, a good thing and a bad thing.  Now I have to view this as a wake-up call.  Climbing 50 flights of steps a day, walking five miles a day, riding the bike, these things won’t help me unless I also lose ten pounds and start sleeping more.  The old friend who wondered how I sleep with the ridiculous pressure on me to succeed in an unlikely undertaking was a prophet.   I assured her I slept fine.  But her concern was a wake-up call, how can I have restful sleep with no money coming in?  So my sleep is more often than not sporadic.

“What the hell is this?” asks an irate client, already waiting four hours in my waiting room where the clients are stacked like cord wood, “your stinking diary?”

I have learned to not answer rhetorical questions from angry people who are likely imaginary.

I have a friend with a charming, brutal mother.  He’s got kids of his own, is a highly responsible and well-respected man who performs heroic services for people in need. Because his mother is brutal as well as charming, her propensity to lash out with a hard slap cancels her charm completely for him, understandably.  There’s nothing funny about her otherwise humorous throw away line after the slap, if your face is stinging and you’ve done nothing to earn the red hand mark on your face.  His success in dealing with her is that he stews for a much shorter time after spending a few hours helping her out.

Like my mask of mildness, and my soaring blood pressure, my friend’s success is laudable but ultimately minor.  Once I understood the atrocities my father had experienced as an infant, all through childhood, I was no longer confused as to why he was a monster.  The only question is why he wasn’t somehow even worse.  Not to say he wasn’t bad enough, thank you, but he could have vented in even more destructive ways.  Not to say he wasn’t wonderfully destructive.

I imagine my friend sitting down with his mother and smoking a peace pipe.  I imagine being there, filling the bowl, puffing once or twice to keep it lit.  Picture this charming woman with the dark sense of cruelty-tinged humor, getting real laughs out of her son.  Feel the relief of the child, to finally be able to see his mother as something more than a rash creature to be angry at.

“You seem a bit off your game today,” says one of my 43,000 followers.

True.  It’s probably just the silent killer, stalking me, getting ready to turn a vise in my chest.  I’d better eat another plum and take a long, slow walk.

Who are these people?

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Creativity

You may not consider creativity very important, but think of a world without it.  No music, comedy, repartee, great food, no movies, books or even articles, no television worth watching, no mischief, nothing worth laughing at, no cause for that deep cry that is lurking always.

Creativity is mandated by educational bureaucrats nowadays as a possible remedy for the torpor of failing school children poised to leave schools in record numbers.  We now hear terms like “critical thinking”, “higher order thinking” and “problem-solving” bandied by these dead souls.  All of these involve creativity– you have to imagine possibilities that are not in front of you and then imagine where those possibilities will lead.

The kind of creativity I love involves a certain amount of spontaneity.  It is play.  John Cleese captures a great deal about the conditions necessary for it here.  The five factors he talks about are:  place, time, time, confidence and humor.   If you are too serious your fingers are stiff, you will not play fluidly unless you surrender to the joyfulness of playing.  Singers often smile as they sing, it helps to relax the face and vocal chords.

For young children, who are naturally creative when given the slightest chance to be,  I’ve reduced the formula to this:

Have fun and help each other.

You can’t have fun if people are bothering you.  Don’t bother anyone.  If you can’t help, don’t hurt.

When it’s time to be quiet, be quiet for a minute or two.

Cleese locates the creativity, you need a space to do it.  How about a room filled with art materials and a camera stand to shoot frames?  With a recorder to make soundtracks and a computer to assemble the animations.

Cleese discusses the importance of a time set aside, a time with a beginning and an end, ideally about two hours later.   He points out that it takes up to a half hour to leave the pressures of life outside and begin to play.  With luck you will play 90 minutes or so.  Then play must end, as play always does, because it doesn’t feel like play forever.   This is exactly what happens in the animation workshop.  For ninety minutes the kids have all the time in the world.

The other aspect of time is patience, taking your time, having a block of time you can use for play or to dream up ideas for play.  You cannot be creative while watching the clock, just like you can’t productively meditate keeping an eye on time.  You have to let things develop in their time, comfortable with not much happening sometimes.  Asked what she liked best about the workshop, the Idea Girl said “it gives you plenty of time”.    

Confidence is necessary, because if you think you can’t dance, or sing, or draw, or animate, you probably won’t be able to.   What gives a person confidence?  Another one smiling and giving a thumbs up when the idea is presented.   What takes away confidence?  A logical asshole positing failure as a real possibility at every stage of an undertaking.  There is no shortage of such superior, logical creativity underminers.  They believe they are speaking the truth and this gives them license to piss on things they have no insight into.

The last part, humor, well, what can we say about that poop?  A laff clears the mind, and it can come from many places.  I try not to laugh as I picture the horror on the seven year-old’s face, and it is kind of disgusting, in a way, but the favorite moment of a prolific young animator?   “That time I farted in Max’s face,” and I nod, with the faintest smile, and try not to chuckle at the recollection of it.   This is called sound pedagogy.

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Do the math

Intelligent
Strong sense of fairness
Sense of humor
Musical inventiveness
Conscious gentleness
Ability to express self
Decent listener
Love of spontaneity
Fairly robust constitution
Decent people skills
Good coordination
Patience

Generosity 
Talent for presenting ideas
Introspective
Conscientious
Considerate                       
_____________________
Tragic fucking case