Hiatus

I was at a holiday party last night where the Heimlich maneuver was used successfully. Didn't see that one coming.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for Florida (with Wife and Blondie) at the crack of dawn. We'll be spending eight days with my family. Then it's back to LA and off to Phoenix for New Years.  I've decided to take a two-week break from the blogging world for a few reasons:

1. to spend time with family

2. to spend time with my WIP (which needs much attention)

3. to spend time with books

I'll "see" everyone in 2010.

Have a safe and happy holiday.

Mine Eyes Ache with Pleasurable Pain - Teaching Shakespeare (Days 12 & 13)

Today we completed reading Midsummer in two classes. We've yet to perform Act V in class but that will come tomorrow. I've been rifling through stacks of papers like a speed reader on Red Bull, and it's killing my eyes. I feel like Richard Henry Dana, who left Harvard to sail to California because his eyes were going bad.

Can you imagine?

"Okay, Doc. I'll take a break from reading so much. Cape Horn, here I come!"

Luckily for Dana, he was an educated man and able to write about his sailing experiences, which were published in Two Years Before the Mast.  He didn't take a yacht.  It was more like Master and Commander meets Pirates of the Caribbean. Okay, not quite, but you get the point.

Two days and counting until Winter Break, which equals two weeks of reading and writing and more eye strain. I'll be blind before my next birthday, and then it's on to learning Braille.

"Outed" - Teaching Shakespeare (Day 11)

Today we read Act IV, which is only a couple pages long and actually quite lame in our abridged version. But it gives us time to read and perform it in class twice, which means everyone will get to participate.

My blog has recently been discovered by a few people:

1. an associate agent with a legitimate literary agency, which was a nice, surprising email to receive.

2. My students.

Oh yes, the power of the internet. Once posted, it's there for good. But I'm glad a few cyber-searching souls have discovered their English teacher doing something worthy:

"Can you believe it? Mr. Wymer reads books and writes stuff on a blog about teaching and traveling and writing these things called novels?"

(GASP)

"And he actually types on a computer and spells everything the right way."

(DOUBLE GASP)

But isn't that what I should be doing? Modeling necessary skills for every profession possible? Even fast food employees have to read and occasionally write something. Plus, there's nothing to hide here at Crossing Chalk. This blog is all about reading and writing, and sometimes just plain old living.

So Chalk Heads, young or old, if you like that sort of stuff, you're in the right place. You might even pick up a nugget of knowledge or get a great book recommendation. Or you might be entertained to the brim and find yourself LOL or ROFL.

(TRIPLE GASP)

"He even knows IM abbreviations for things."


Reading: The Maze Runner, by James Dashner (a page-turning other-worldly kind of story. Shuckface!)

Writing: Working on Bird-Man Street; waiting on several agents' responses on fulls (Crossing Chalk)

Running: (LOL)

Shakespearean Insults -- Teaching Shakespeare (Day 10)

On the tenth day of Shakespeare, my true love sent to me...

10.... Shakespearean.... Insults....

1. Thou saucy, ill-shaped foot-licker!

2. Thou blubbering, pigeon-livered hobgoblin!

3. Thou monstrous, cream-faced hedgehog!

4. Thou reeky, pale-hearted loon!

5. Thou churlish, pickle-herring loggerhead!

6. Thou ignorant, green-sickness weasel!

7. Thou grizzled, ill-beseeming relic!

8. Thou wanton, sour-eyed noisemaker!

9. Thou odious, shag-eared ratcatcher!

10. Thou treacherous, periwig-pated hazelnut!

Pyramus and Thisbe -- Teaching Shakespeare (Day 9)

Bear with me. I'm in the midst of documenting Teaching Shakespeare to sixth graders, so my posts for the last two weeks have been all about that. I didn't plan it. It just happened spontaneously, much like things sometimes happen in the classroom.

Today my schedule was peppered with parent conferences, so I was in and out all day. One highlight was reading the Roman myth Pyramus and Thisbe, as told by Ovid in his Metamorphoses.

The myth recounts the tale of two lovers, separated by their parents and a wall, which serves as a physical obstacle. The lovers plan their escape to meet in the wood, where they will finally be together. Thisbe escapes her house, veiled and unseen, only to drop her veil, which is then taken up by a blood-ridden tiger. Thisbe hides in a dark cave. That's when Pyramus comes along, sees the bloodied veil, and takes his own life under the assumption that his love is dead and gone forever. Thisbe appears from the cave and stumbles upon Pyramus's body. She takes his crimson sword, points it between her breasts, and falls on it. And now her prayers to the gods are answered and she will eternally lie next to her love.

That's it in a nutshell. If Romeo and Juliet comes to mind, you'd be correct. Even Shakespeare stole ideas and, of course, made them all his own.

Slide Whistle - Teaching Shakespeare (Day 8)

The last of my parent conferences are tomorrow, so I won't be teaching Shakespeare. Well, I'll be on campus, which means I'll pop in and eavesdrop to make sure the substitute has no idea what he or she is doing. Because if a sub knows what he's doing, then that is a sure sign of the Apocalypse. They're usually bad, real bad. And I like it that way. When I return, my students thank me for coming back and beg to never have (insert name here) as a substitute again. Appreciation breeds respect.

But today was innovative. For the first time, we had a slide whistle (for sound effects) in class. It was ten degrees of coolness times twelve, which equals a good portion of 100 percent of reverse global warming.

We used the slide whistle for the part when Puck and Oberon put the flower's "love" juice on the eyes of Lysander and Titania. As I mentioned, it was cooler than a Midsummer's Eve in Antarctica.

Hey, there's a few boy names! Lysander. Oberon. Puck. What about Starveling? Now that's original.

BTW - I was driving home the other day. Blondie was in her car seat behind me. I said, "We need to find a man to fix your bike helmet. Well, maybe I can fix it."

Blondie said, "You're not a man, you're a boy!" And then she started laughing.

That's another sign of the Apocalypse. (I've stolen this category of events from Sports Illustrated. I am guilty. Seize the thief of these noble words!)

At the plate: The Maze Runner, by James Dashner
On Deck: The Order of Odd-Fish, by James Kennedy
In the hole: No idea, but I'm really into Jameses right now. Any other suggestions written by James _________.

Running: Too cold. ;-)

Writing: MG novel. Writing in Scrivener for Macs and loving it.

Sheep-Biter -- Teaching Shakespeare (Day 7)

This afternoon my students got the opportunity to insult me. Shakespearean style. Renaissance style.  Old, old, old grammar school style. There's this worksheet that I picked up from a colleague, and it is the focal point of entertainment during this unit every year. Column A lists about 30 Shakespearean adjectives, Column B does the same, and Column C contains nouns like:

foot-licker

lump of marl

sheep-biter

maggot-pie

canker blossom

The list is eye-poppingly phenomenal.

Here is the Activity:

I pair students, ones I know will work well together. They come up with 10 insults, combining terms from Columns A, B, and C, and write those ten on a piece of paper.  (The word "thou" precedes each insult).

Then I give a Post-It to each group and they write their favorite insult on it. I collect the Post-Its in my Shakespearean Insults Coffee Mug.

Students who want to deface my reputation, raise their hands, stand up, and fling insults at me, one at a time. In return, I pull an insult from the Mug and throw one back at them.

In your face, Minions!

"Breast" - Teaching Shakespeare (Day 6)

If you're not familiar with A Midsummer Night's Dream, in Act II the story gets put in a blender and chopped and diced into unrecognizable pieces, all thanks to a mischievous little sprite named Robin Goodfellow (Puck). Also, there is a passage with the word "breast" in it. And that, my fellow Chalk Heads, is enough to make a room full of sixth graders fall apart. It doesn't matter how smart or sophisticated they are or how successful their parents are. It just doesn't matter. A twelve year-old boy can't read the word "breast" without snot flying out of his nose from laughter. One class even received a warning. It went something like this:

Me: "I just want to warn you that Hermia says "breast" in an upcoming passage."

Class: Smiles. Chuckles. Snorts. Annoying little chortles escaping covered mouths. 

Me: "I know it's kind of funny, but try to contain yourself."

Boy: "Is it okay if we laugh a little bit when she says it?"

Me: "No. You may not laugh at all."

The girl reading Hermia's part says the word "breast" and what do I do?

I smile and then chuckle a little.

Of course, the boys notice. And then they laugh a little too. But no one says anything, because it's just one of those quiet things that happens and everyone keeps it to himself.

GIVE - Teaching Shakespeare (Day 5)

I'd like to welcome a few new Chalk Heads, those who have given up their souls and committed to my cyber ramblings.

Most recently:

The Cowgirls
Rena
Shannon O'Donnell

Thanks for joining the smart-smarts' (as opposed to the dum-dums') table. I'm a gracious host. Promise.

Today was a whirlwind of flying Shakespeare lines that started at eight (Pacific time) and ended at two. Whew! Now I can finally sit-down and gather myself. I'll do the best I can, but keep in mind that I'm exhausted. There is something about teaching young(ish) kids that sucks the vibrance from your frontal lobe and leaves you feeling empty inside. I'm pretty sure it's the give, give, give part of teaching. This week, in which we've started reading A Midsummer Night's Dream, has made me think about that word (GIVE) a lot.

Here are the tangibles and intangibles I've GIVEN (or dished out) this week:

1. knowledge (It's sunny outside)
2. expertise (the power button is right there)
3. modes of survival (start wearing deodorant)
4. reassurance (your hair looks fine)
5. band-aids (which I refuse to capitalize)
6. wet wipes (to clean cuts and scrapes; how do 6th graders randomly fall like elderly people?)
7. homework (hate giving it, love seeing it completed)
8. opinions (no worries, I tread lightly in this category, but you can't pass up the chance when students ask your take on the American Music Awards or Twilight)
9. progress reports (your child talks too much, do you own a muzzle?)
10. guidance (you dropped a french fry; you should really pick it up and save a bird's life)

There are more, but I will spare you. I know that the GIVE eventually all comes back around, which is apparent at the end of the year in students' yearbook comments:

Your the best!

See ya next yeer!

Half a grate sumer!

the shackspire unite realy rockt!

But it's a good job, especially for a writer: I get to teach something I love. Long holiday breaks. Summer off. And the kids are great, when they're not wiping boogers underneath desks.

But sometimes this job leaves you empty inside, and I hate those days.

P.S. Inspiring the leaders of tomorrow can only get old when you no longer see results. And then you have to look in the mirror.

Thy Filched My Hearing - Teaching Shakespeare (Day 4)

Today we performed Act I (Midsummer) in class, up front near the smelly white board, which is amazingly magnetic. How does that work? Maybe I should ask the science teacher. The same class that had the Smirks, Giggles, Snorts, and Chortles (yesterday afternoon) turned over a new piece of parchment paper today.

During the first reading, which was done from their seats, they read with clarity, something close to fluency and correct annunciation, and only chortled once or twice. This proves my theory that morning classes are a dewdrop compared to afternoon ones. After lunch strikes, consider your climb uphill until the final minute of school hits. This goes back to my other theory: that school should begin mega-early and end shortly after lunch, say around 1:30 or so. You can read a post about my utopian school, which includes various opinions from my untrained, methodological mind, here.

After the stationary reading, I thought for sure that things would fall apart during the performing of it. But, as usual, the unexpected happened, and I was wrong. The class was brilliant, other than one student (who played Peter Quince) talking directly into her book. After the surprisingly good rendition of Act I, the class worked on some vocabulary words, all found in the same act. They had to use context clues, not dictionaries, and match each word with its definition. Of course, some they already knew, but most they didn't.

Words like:

vexation
beseech
tinker
filched
consent
pursue
cunning
gallant
reveling
pomp
livery
endure

You get the idea. I'm not a huge fan of overkilling vocabulary, so this is about the only list I give them during this unit. The rest of the words I define for them along the way, or I ask for someone else to guess what the word means.

The afternoon class was short, thanks to a fire drill. To begin I showed a short clip from BBC's version of Midsummer: The first scene revealing the workman, who are rehearsing a play, "The Most Lamentable Comedy and Most Cruel Death of Pyramus and Thisby." Say that five times without stumbling. Bet you can't. After the movie clip, they worked on the same vocabulary, and then, without warning, the fire alarm filched our hearing abilities.

What!? What did you say?

Smirks, Giggles, Snorts, and Chortles - Teaching Shakespeare (Day 3)

On Monday I introduced Shakespeare and the Elizabethan Era to my classes. It was fun. They had an entire list of questions. One girl said her arm was in the air for so long that it turned numb. But I don't call on students who raise their hands every two minutes; it's a hard lesson in patience and a lesson on being polite to speakers who are trying to teach you something. Take that, Arm Raiser!

So far it's been a rough go with Act I of Midsummer. Students are excited to read parts and test their Shakespearean acting chops, but when twelve year-olds bellow phrases like "made love to Nedar's daughter" it's like pressing play on a soundtrack titled Smirks, Giggles, Snorts, and Chortles. I don't blame them though. When I was twelve, I would've done the same, or worse. (I'm a preacher's kid. While growing up, that was good enough reason to wind up in the principal's office.)  Anyway, at least the kids are having fun. And when you're twelve, reading Shakespeare should be amusing and experiential in more ways than a mischievous little goblin can complicate a good love story.

So be it.

That's what I keep telling myself.

So be it. So be it.

I've been down this undulating dirt path (like the one Shakespeare walked to London) before. By the middle of Act II the snorts and chortles vanish and they begin to see the mastery of Shakespeare's words as they "act" on them. And when that time comes, I say, "See, I told you so."

My favorite lines from Act I (abridged version):

Hermia: I frown upon him, yet he loves me still.

Helena: Oh, that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill!

Hermia: The more I hate, the more he follows me.

Helena: The more I love, the more he hateth me!

________________________________

Reading: The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate - a little slow, but great prose!

Writing: still going on BMS (see to the right)

Running: hibernating for the winter (that's my excuse)