In our department meeting today, we had a guest speaker from the Wellness Department* who talked with us about building closer connections with students, an atmosphere of trust, and greater engagement by our students. All good things, certainly. Part of the pitch was that the few minutes spent on such tasks in each lesson would more than pay off in increased learning, and I do believe that.
So why do I feel uncomfortable about the whole idea? I suppose it’s because it just doesn’t feel like me. Even the initial idea, shaking hands with each student on entering the classroom, feels unnatural; I’m not at all convinced that I could carry it off. The speaker says that his students not only welcome this practice but explicitly ask for it if he forgets. Maybe so, but I can’t see myself doing it.
On the other hand, I don’t want to rule out the idea, either in detail or in the big picture, and I’m willing to try. I’m even willing to sign up for a proposed summer workshop on the subject, if the calendar permits.
* Yes, I know…
Barbara and I just got back from our first time at Gaslight Brasserie du Coin, and it won’t be our last. Mostly excellent food, excellent service, and free parking — in the South End! — what more could one ask for?
Cheaper prices, I suppose. Gaslight is definitely on the pricey side… but no more so than any other first-rate restaurant in Boston.
We arrived 35 minutes before our reservation time and were seated immediately. The restaurant has a very French ambiance. Though surprisingly large, it immediately feels welcoming. Our server, Lily, was both friendly and professional — just the right combination. It was (surprisingly) not too noisy, considering that a group of 14 arrived halfway through our dinner to sit at the next table. Many reviewers have reported that Gaslight is too loud, so maybe we were just lucky. Or maybe it was because we were there on a Tuesday.
Barbara started with a shaved beet salad, which she found a bit stronger than she likes, partly because the beets were raw and partly because the dressing contained a lot of horseradish. Not being that much of a beet fan, I can’t comment. But I started with a first-rate French onion soup, unquestionably the best I have had in years. It was rich and hearty, probably because it contained some shredded truffled short ribs.
For our entrees, Barbara ordered steak frites medium rare, and I ordered duck confit with roasted garlic potatoes and an interesting salad. The steak turned out to be rare, not medium rare; our server graciously agreed, whisked it away, and returned in a couple of minutes with the steak appropriately unrarefied. My duck was great, as were the accompaniments. We also ordered a side of haricots verts to share; they were excellent too. While portions were on the small side, we had more than enough to eat, unlike some of the Open Table reviewers.
I ordered the crème brulée for dessert. It was perfectly prepared, though the crust was cold and they were out of the promised fresh berries that were supposed to accompany it. The server compensated by providing a lovely disk of candied cherries, figs, and kumquats. My dessert was also accompanied by a well-made double espresso.
The whole thing came to $154 including wine, tax, and tip. As I say, not cheap — but not outrageous either. By the way, that free parking is in a supervised parking lot.
Do read Betty Webb’s fascinating and informative “Desert” mysteries about the world of fundamental polygamists in the southwest. So far I’ve read Desert Wives, Desert Noir, and (most recently) Desert Lost, all of which I can recommend. Please note that the polygamists in question are not Mormons: they are members of various offshoots of the Mormon Church. Since everything in Webb’s novels has been carefully researched, the novels ring with authenticity — perhaps too much so, since sometimes the reader has the impression of being handed a treatise or a documentary rather than a work of fiction. But the lead characters are always sympathetic, and the plots hold together. You may learn more about the polygamist sects than you wanted to know, but you will be reading some engaging mysteries along the way. Give them a shot!
Bored math students often ask, “When am I ever going to use this stuff?” Even math students who are not bored often articulate the same question, albeit in a more polite phrasing, such as “Can you give us an example of an application of the theoretical math we’ve been learning?” The question deserves a respectful answer.
I discussed this issue two years ago, but I have a slightly different point of view now. Here’s what I said then:
I know, I’ve written about this topic before, but it bears further consideration. Too often I hear the question, “When will I ever use this stuff?” This is a common question in Weston, and surely elsewhere as wel
Sometimes the question comes from a bored student who is really asking a deeper question, something like, “I don’t like this, I don’t understand this, why should I have to learn it?” In that case it’s hard to know whether to answer the explicit question or the implicit question.
But sometimes the question comes from an otherwise engaged student who actually wants an answer. And it’s hard to give a satisfactory answer. There are at least two reasons for this — probably more. First of all, no high-school student really knows what he or she is going to be doing in life. It’s important to keep the doors open, in case the unanticipated economics course in college or statistical analysis in a job turns out to require something from a high-school math course. But that’s pretty vague and abstract, and of course it isn’t a very satisfactory answer for most students, even though it’s a true answer.
The other reason why the question is hard to answer is that the hidden but more important curriculum in high school has nothing to do with the specifics of logarithms, cosines, etc. When a student takes Algebra II or Precalculus or whatever, the important things that s/he is learning have to do with problem solving, approaches to mathematics, and learning itself. Sure, you might never see logs again (although the odds are that you actually will); but the analytic techniques and reasoning methods that you learn will stand you in good stead.
The only trouble is that most Weston students don’t want to hear this, or it doesn’t make sense to them. They want to know how they are going to use the precise content in the job that they imagine that they will have, even though the probability is that they will be doing something else entirely. How do we give them an answer that they will consider satisfactory?
I finally have an answer that I can believe in. I still believe everything I wrote two years ago, but I hadn’t figured out the answer to my concluding question. Maybe I still don’t have one, but I truly like what the Math Curmudgeon has to say on the matter. Even though I often disagree with the Curmudgeon (whose real name I don’t even know), I have taken to heart his words on this matter. He says the right things in his speech to his students (complete with a fractal tree). Here’s the first half; read the rest of it yourself:
“When are We EVER going to have to use this?”
“Beats me,” I usually answer. “You can’t even tell me definitively what you’ll be doing next month, forget about four years from now. How can I definitively say when or whether you’ll use THIS? All I can say is that it is useful in certain situations (the word problems in this section are limited versions of the same problems some people face daily), useful as mathematical development for later work (which may be a prerequisite for the course or job you really wanted) or is mental development to expand your brain beyond the limited understanding and very limited world-view you currently have. I’m not being critical here — you really have no experience at life. How could you possibly know the utility of everything you’re learning?”
 “You have millions of possibilities ahead of you, thousands of doors along this hallway you call life. Writing ability will unlock many of them, artistic ability others, mathematical ability many more. Some may require that you speak English well — certainly 95% of the jobs in this country do. Some will require a little of everything. Each of these doors is along a different stretch of hallway, sort of like that fractal tree over to the right. Each educational decision you make takes you down one branch or another, closing off some possibilities and making others available. To switch from one branch of the tree to another may require a little backtracking to pick up things that you could be learning now. I have no idea which doors will interest you so I have to lay a very broad groundwork and push you in directions you may not immediately see any need for. You have to trust that, over the course of many years and many students, I have a good sense of what you might need and of what you may find interesting after we’re done.”
“How do I know this? I talk to my students after they graduate. They tell me what they found useful or pointless. I get all kinds of stories about topics that we covered here that directly applied to something they were working on, stories about being the only one who really understood something the professor was trying to say. There aren’t many complaints that we spent too much time on a topic they never saw agai
“If there is ever a commonality in the comments of returning graduates, it’s this: ‘I never imagined that THAT would be useful. I was surprised when it showed up. So was the professor — he was grateful SOMEONE knew about it.’”
You’ve heard Martin Walker on NPR. His peaceful mystery — Bruno, Chief of Police — is well worth reading if you want to bathe in a mixture of French politics, small-town French life, and a host of interesting characters. Despite some seriously heavy events, mostly in the backstory (Vichy France, the Algeria conflict, etc.), this novel is basically a charming police procedural, but one where the life of a small town is more important than the interaction of its one-man police department with the national police. I’m looking forward to the next installment in this delightful series.
For April vacation we decided to visit Baltimore — partly because we wanted to see the city, partly because we knew a couple of people there, and partly because it was an excuse to ride on the high-speed Acela Express. We splurged on first class, which provided us a helpful attendant dedicated to our car, food and drink service at our seats, and (most important) wider seats with extra legroom. The food was merely adequate, and first class was occasionally bumpy (just like regular “business” class, surprise, surprise), and we didn’t really take advantage of the unlimited beverages (a glass or two of wine doesn’t compete with the four Bloody Marys consumed by each of the guys in front of us), but I suppose the more comfortable seating made it worth paying the extra fee. In any case, the Acela was mostly a very enjoyable experience — certainly much better than flying, and not just because I like trains. Avoiding all the security hassles at an airport is the #1 advantage, but there are many others; in general, going by train is just the civilized way to travel, and it’s a real pity that it’s dying out in North America. My only complaint is that the free WiFi service was pretty lame, being slow at the best of times and cutting out altogether at others.
Speaking of splurging, we decided to stay at the Hilton in the Inner Harbor neighborhood, mostly because we already have a relationship with them as we always stay at the Hilton Garden Inn when we go to Elmira. This particular Hilton provided several advantages but also many disadvantages. The biggest plus was the view from our 18th-floor room (of course they called it the 19th, since they skipped floor 13):
I suppose we would have appreciated this view even more if we had been sports fans. (The tourist info person at the city’s Visitor Center told us that Baltimoreans always appreciate visitors from Boston. “We like to take their money,” she explained, “since they always spend a lot when they come here to watch the Red Sox beat the Orioles.”) Anyway, the room was comfortable, the quality of the furniture matched the view, and the location couldn’t be beat.
Those are the advantages. The disadvantages all sound petty, but they added up when compared to the much less expensive Hilton Garden Inn: this regular (“full-price”) Hilton charges for WiFi, serves disappointing breakfasts, provides no fridge or microwave, has a sink that’s set back six inches and can be used easily only if you’re tall and skinny (neither of which we are), and features a shower head that’s too high for me to reach (and much too high for Barbara, who’s 4′9″). All of this for a single room that costs a lot more per night than our suite in Elmira. Now of course this is partly (largely?) because of the economic differences between Elmira and Baltimore, but it would be interesting to see what the Garden Inn costs in Baltimore (yes, there is one, in an almost-as-convenient location).
After walking around the Inner Harbor area, we stopped at the aforementioned Visitor Center, from which we took a 100-minute guided tour of the city on one of those fake trolleys. Despite the many errors made by our guide, a retired podiatrist, I’m really glad we took the tour and always recommend these things to newcomers to any city. They’re the best way to get an overview of the city and an orientation to what’s where. Then you know what to do for the rest of your visit.
I mentioned that our guide made many errors. Here are five of them:
- He claimed that the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore is the oldest Unitarian church in the United States. It was established in 1817. Dorchester’s First Parish Church was established in 1630. Not much of a contest there.
- Speaking of churches, he identified one as a “Lithuanian mosque”… and then compounded his mistake by observing that it’s a “Lithuanian Catholic mosque.”
- Another religious one: when we passed the Holocaust memorial, the guide referred to the “one million Jews killed by Hitler.” It’s not that I want to play a numbers game here, but one million is far from six million.
- On a non-religious matter, he pointed out the house of Wallis Simpson, who married “King Henry VIII.” Edward, Schmedward, let’s call him Henry.
- Finally, when we passed the building where Homicide: Life on the Street was filmed (see picture below), the guide observed that this wonderful TV series was directed by John Waters. Not even close!
The guide was also rather clueless about the response of one tourist while driving through the nearby German and Polish neighborhoods. “The Polish immigrants were unwilling to live next to the Germans,” he remarked.
The woman in the back of the bus said, “Gee, I wonder why.”
“It’s because the Germans invaded Poland before World War II…” the guide started to explain.
“She was being sarcastic!” interrupted another tourist.
After the “trolley” tour, we mostly got around on foot, especially when exploring the fascinating Mt. Vernon and Fells Point neighborhoods. We had to try out the light rail at least once, and we often took advantage of the wonderful new Charm City Circulator, which provides free and frequent bus service in a loop throughout the downtown area. With two routes still to go, the first route has been open for only three months and is already a tremendous success. At one point we needed to take a regular city bus, as we were going to the Baltimore Museum of Art (see next paragraph), which is outside of the downtown area. Not being completely sure of where the nearest bus stop might be, I whipped out my iPhone and checked the Maps app, which not only located the nearest stop for the #3 bus but even told us that the next bus would be coming along in four minutes! (I know, I sound like an Apple ad, but it was incredibly convenient.)
We visited three museums during our brief visit, and can highly recommend all of them:
- The Walters Art Museum has an extraordinary eclectic collection. We focused on the Egyptian artifacts, the Islamic manuscripts, and the special exhibit of Japanese cloisonné.
- The B&O Railroad Museum is perhaps of more specialized interest, but it has a fine collection of vintage locomotives and railway cars that visitors can explore (many cars are restored to their original condition), as well as a couple of well-done model railroad layouts.
- The 600-pound gorilla is the astonishing Baltimore Museum of Art, which has to be one of the top art museums in the country. Most fascinating was their temporary exhibit about Cezanne and his influence on American modernism, which I found both enjoyable and informative. The Antioch mosaics, the European art in general, and especially the Cone Collection all deserved more time than we had. If you’re ever in Baltimore, don’t miss this museum!
Finally, we can’t go anywhere without mentioning restaurants. All in all, we were a little bit disappointed in the food we had in Baltimore, and I’m sure we could have done better. Although we were told that it was silly for us as Bostonians to go out for seafood, it seemed sillier not to. Why go somewhere and avoid their specialty? So we mostly — but not exclusively — ate seafood. One dinner we ate at Phillips Seafood, which started with two strikes against it because of being both touristy and a chain, but it turned out to be perfectly adequate. We also ate at the famous Bertha’s Mussels, still touristy but at least local; it was good, but definitely not gourmet. On the gourmet side we did have an excellent meal at the Marie Louise Bistro, but we concluded with an overpriced and unimpressive experience at the LDS restaurant our last night. We went there because it was raining and we were exhausted from all our walking, so we found the closest restaurant to our hotel. At first we thought that the sign meant that it was a Mormon restaurant, but it turned out to stand for “Luna del Sea.” This hybrid of English and fake Italian turned out to represent the cuisine all too well, and neither the service nor the ambiance made me comfortable. Don’t bother going there the next time you’re in Baltimore.
Oh — two more things. First, it’s worth noting that there are many instances of public art in the downtown area. Here are a couple of examples:
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| Finally, on the right we have what purports to be the narrowest house in Baltimore: the visitors’ info claims that it’s only nine feet wide, and it certainly looks to be no more than that. If you look carefully, you’ll see from the brick that there are different row houses almost immediately to the left and right of the doorway. |
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I am sure that we are going to return.
In my previous reviews of two of Lisa Scottoline’s legal thrillers (Daddy’s Girl and Lady Killer) I wrote about Scottoline’s treatment of the world of Italian Catholic working-class South Philadelphia, families, law, and justice. Dirty Blonde (notice a theme here connecting these book titles?) continues the same themes, though it’s not in the same series. For the first time we focus on a judge rather than a lawyer. (Yes, I know that the judge is also a lawyer, but you know what I mean.) Unfortunately the protagonist is not nearly as sympathetic as the ones in the earlier series, and her character flaw also detracts from the believability of the novel. It’s still worth reading as entertainment; the story kept me engaged and interested, but don’t expect literature here.
What are grades supposed to represent? What is the appropriate connection between assessments (whether formative or summative) and grades?
I’ve recently been reading some interesting discussions about these questions in several math teachers’ blogs (including those of Matt Townsley, Karl Fisch, David Cox, and Dan Meyer), all sparked by Shawn Cornally’s fascinating blog, Think Thank Thunk. Cornally poses the problem like this:
The Message Grades Send:
Problem: Kids want to play games to get points in order to get an ‘A’. This is a problem because it puts emphasis on accumulat ing points and not on what the points are supposed to represent: learning. You must migrate your system of grading away from grading every single assignment summatively (that is assigning a static grade for everything a kid does), and towards grades that are indexed by content.
Students could not care less about their score on “Quiz 5″ from last month; they don’t even know what was on that quiz. Don’t put that in your grade book. Put the individual ideas that that quiz assessed in your grade book, so that the students know what it is you care about. I do this, and my grade book has ballooned to about three times its previous size. Oh well.
Reporting Should Be Dynamic:
Let’s say you really care about a certain bit of knowledge, so much so that you’re going to put in on a test. In other words, you want students to know it really badly. Like, say, the Pythagorean Theorem, and you consider your class worthless if the student hasn’t learned that piece of knowledge, then your grading system should be set up to help students remediate their misunderstandings, not screw them over for not getting it the first time.
It’s hard to disagree with that, and I’m not going to try; I merely want to consider three of the reasons why it won’t work, according to us skeptics (but of course we could be wrong). Do read the entire article in order to get the full context, since I’m focusing only on a few specific issues. If you have time, also read the many articles on the subject in Cornally’s blog.
Here are my objections:
- The first reason why it won’t work is that kids and their parents won’t buy into it. Cornally does address this point: “I’ve had kids cry over this, but I have to hold my ground. Parent emails be damned; Johnny didn’t improve from a 8/10 to a 9/10. He just didn’t, sorry.” It’s hard for me to see this point-of-view succeeding in Weston, but of course I could be wrong.
- The second reason is that it’s too time-consuming. We’re already too busy with all the demands on our time, so how can we keep track of all these finely itemized skills and concepts? But of course I could be wrong.
- The third reason is that I fear that it would inevitably lead to a de-emphasis on concepts and big ideas, because atomized skills are so much easier to measure. But of course I could be wrong.
I would like to be proved wrong. I would like to see if this concept of standards-based grading could fly in a place like Weston. Maybe it can.
I suppose you would have to label it historical fiction, as the novel Alice I Have Been is actually a fictionalized autobiography or memoir. Like all historical fiction, it is faithful to the letter and the spirit of the known facts while weaving dialog and situations around them to imagine a complete story. In this book Melanie Benjamin has created a compelling account of the life of Alice Liddell, the “real” Alice in Wonderland, upon whom Lewis Carroll based his two famous books. I found this story irresistible, partly because Carroll was a math teacher in his day job and since his primary mathematical interests were logic and language. But those points are actually minor ones in Benjamin’s narrative, which primarily tells the reader a story about the Liddell family and its place in the Oxford community in particular and Victorian England in general. The reader also learns a great deal about early photography and the cumbersomeness of Victorian dress. (Incidentally, we learn that Alice wasn’t blonde, despite John Tenniel’s famous illustrations.)
As a side note, it is actually the audiobook version that I am reviewing, not the print version. The reading by Samantha Eggar is convincing and compelling, with three-dimensional portrayals of all the major characters. I enjoyed listening to the audiobook, and it kept me occupied through many hours of commuting.
After reading Alice I Have Been, I figured that I had to see the 1985 Dennis Potter movie Dreamchild, which covers pretty much the same material. The atmosphere of the writing is far darker than that of Alice I Have Been — not surprising for anything written by Potter. In particular, the Muppets that portray the gryphon, the Mad Hatter, the dormouse, etc., are all quite creepy. The journalists that surround Alice in her famous visit to New York when she was in her eighties are presented very negatively, in contrast to their light-handed treatment in the book. So it’s worth seeing the movie and reading the book, as you will get two quite different perspectives. I have only one problem with Dreamchild, and it was almost enough to spoil the entire movie for me: all the actors consistently mispronounce Charles Dodgson, the real name of Lewis Carroll, by sounding the silent “g” in his last name. I suppose this shouldn’t bother me so much, but it did. In particular, it damaged the verisimilitude that’s necessary for a thorough immersion into the 19th-century world of the narrative. Fussy, fussy, you’ll say. And perhaps you’re right, but when I’ve gone through fifty years correctly pronouncing his name Dodson, it becomes jarring to hear it said wrong every time. When I see a movie, I want to be immersed in that world, not continually knocked out of it.
Sasha just loves going to the vet:
No, Weston teachers do not have the highest salaries in the state. According to today’s Boston Globe, Weston ranks only 16th in the state in average teacher salaries! At $73,338, we can be compared to a high of $79,444 (Old Colony), though we’re still well above the state median of $61,800. If you look at the alphabetical district-by-district listings, you can compare us to five of our immediately neighboring communities, and we’re higher than any of them:
| Weston |
$73,338 |
| Wayland |
$73,015 |
| Wellesley |
$71,128 |
| Newton |
$70,961 |
| Lincoln |
$69,778 |
| Waltham |
$65,017 |
The real problem is that statistics can be so misleading. The really relevant criterion is the salary scale, since these figures probably reflect more about the average age and teaching experience of the faculty than they tell you about the minimum or maximum salaries in any particular district.
Apparently this is becoming more and more common in Massachusetts. Our students got a four-day weekend in January, but the faculty only had a three-day weekend, in order to schedule a day of professional development. Not that that’s a bad thing. Just saying.
Our focus today (as in all of Weston’s professional development this year) was Professional Learning Communities, usually known as PLCs. You may be wondering what this latest piece of jargon means. Google produces thousands of hits (172,000 as of this moment, or so it claims), but let’s look at allthingsplc.info, which sounds like (and is) a good source. Although I labeled this as the “latest piece of jargon,” in fact it‘s not particularly knew. For instance, the site includes an article from six years ago by Richard DuFour. Here is an excerpt from it:
The idea of improving schools by developing professional learning communities is currently in vogue. People use this term to describe every imaginable combination of individuals with an interest in education… The term has been used so ubiquitously that it is in danger of losing all meaning.
…
The professional learning community model flows from the assumption that the core mission of formal education is not simply to ensure that students are taught but to ensure that they learn. This simple shift — from a focus on teaching to a focus on learning — has profound implications for schools… Every professional in the building must engage with colleagues in the ongoing exploration of three crucial questions that drive the work of those within a professional learning community:
- What do we want each student to learn?
- How will we know when each student has learned it?
- How will we respond when a student experiences difficulty in learning?
This emphasis, of course, fits in perfectly with the current national obsession with No Child Left Behind, statewide standardized testing, and other related initiatives. But it’s much more reasonable than No Child Left Behind or statewide standardized testing, since the three questions are clearly important and don’t suggest a dumbed-down or cookie-cutter approach, leading to teaching-to-the-test.
To my mind, however, the issue isn’t the three questions. The real issue is buried within the quotation above — a simple three-word phrase: engage with colleagues. Throughout my entire teaching career of 36 years I have enjoyed working with colleagues and have considered it to be an essential ingredient of our success. This observation flies in the face of the common (mis)perception that the teacher closes the classroom door and is a solo practitioner in charge of a group of students, but I’ve never believed in that model. Everywhere I’ve taught, the math department shares a common office and works together on curriculum, instruction, and assessment. For whatever reason, not all departments have operated like this, but it is always a major plus for math teachers. What hasn’t always happened is an emphasis on any of the three questions above. I look forward to further work in this area.
In recent days I’ve talked with several colleagues and a couple of students concerning overrides into honors-level math classes. All high schools have to face the question of what to do when a student and his or her math teacher disagree about the appropriate next course. There seem to be three different models:
- The teacher’s recommendation is law, and the student cannot override it.
- The teacher’s recommendation is the default, but the student and/or parent can jump through a number of virtual hoops in order to override it.
- The student can sign up for whatever s/he wants, regardless of the teacher’s recommendation.
Weston follows model #2. The hoops consist of talking with the current teacher, a prospective teacher of the desired course, the counselor, and the department head, as well as filling out a form. This deliberately cumbersome procedure is designed to ensure that the override is not being done casually, and that everyone is going through this with open eyes. After all the steps are carried out, the student is admitted to the desired course (assuming that there is space available). The usual context for this process is when a student is recommended for a college-prep (CP) course but wants to be in honors.
The Weston parent community would never stand for model #1, but I have sometimes heard people advocate model #3. There is a certain logic to that: a student picks a course (with parental signature) and lives with the consequences. If s/he picks an honors course inappropriately, the results are either a bad grade or a decision to drop down to CP. What’s the harm?
Well, I’ll tell you what the harm is. Suppose we follow model #3, and as a result we schedule six sections of honors geometry and only four of CP. And then it turns out that 42 honors geometry students find out that they are over their heads and try to drop down to CP. But since there are only four sections of CP, it turns out that only 8 slots are available, so 34 extra kids are stuck in honors, being understandably discouraged and making it nearly impossible for the teachers to maintain a positive honors-level atmosphere.
“Why not just switch one or two honors sections to CP?” you may ask. You can’t do that becuase the 34 kids in question are spread out among six sections meeting in six different blocks, and it would be horribly disruptive to the entire schedule to try to switch everyone around. More than disruptive, it would probably be impossible.
In order to maintain an appropriate level of classroom discourse, it’s essential to have a critical mass of appropriately placed students. It’s OK to have two or three who are over their heads, but if half the class doesn’t belong there it will poison the well for everyone. That’s not being elitist, it’s just reality.
Yikes! I see that it’s been almost three months since my last post. There’s no particular reason for this — I just got overtaken by events. So… welcome back, and I’ll try to resume regular blogging right now. I have lots of partially written entries that I will update and post, plus a bunch of new stuff to say. More tomorrow!
What more can I add to all the chatter about James Cameron’s Avatar? Not much, except to share my opinions. You probably already know all that you need to know about this movie, and I certainly don’t want to include any spoilers.
First of all, it’s absolutely essential to see it in 3-D, preferably in IMAX. The three-dimensional effects were absolutely convincing, especially in the outdoor scenes, giving the viewer the sense of being in the action rather than watching the action. The result was a thoroughly entertaining, amazing film. I was totally absorbed by it, having no trouble sitting for nearly three hours. (The Tempur-Pedic seats definitely helped! I guess that’s one of the benefits of seeing a movie in a theater that’s located in a furniture store.)
The linguistically sophisticated artificial language of the Na’vi was of course of interest to me, though it was really a minor part of the movie. Although the three-dimensionality allowed subtitles to hover well in front of the action — thereby making them less intrusive than they would be otherwise — it was still appropriate for Cameron to use the device of having the main Na’vi characters be more-or-less capable speakers of English as a second language. Doing so allowed him to get away with minimal use of subtitles. Perhaps I’ll write a follow-up post concerning their own language .
I was surprised to see some little kids at this showing (early Sunday afternoon). Either their parents had no idea that there would be so much violence, or they didn’t care. Avatar is basically a war movie, after all, so they should have cared.
As a war movie, it included every cliché in the book, and therein lies its major flaw. The flaw isn’t the lack of originality; I discount critics who observe that this movie has been made before. Yes, the theme and story line are taken from other efforts, but so what? It’s commonplace for plays and films to do this; even Shakespeare took story lines from elsewhere. No, the flaw is the piling on of cliché after cliché. Fortunately the action and the visual effects are so stunning that it’s almost possible to ignore this problem, but “almost” isn’t good enough. As an unsubtle metaphor for the Europeans’ destruction of American Indians and their lands, it was bound to be somewhat predictable — but it didn’t have to go to such extremes. The result was a collection of one- and two-dimensional characters who fell into situations that anyone in the audience would have expected.
Despite that flaw, and despite its transparent political correctness, Avatar is still a successful film. Aside from the special effects, the spectacular scenery and the attention to detail redeem the story. Go see it — warts and all!
A small linguistic question that has nothing to do with the movie: why is it that I have no trouble with the ostensibly misplaced modifier in the fourth sentence of my second paragraph above? By proximity, the participle “having” should modify “it,” yet the intended reading where it modifies “I” is definitely the dominant one to my eyes and ears. Something to ponder…
“I make order out of chaos.” This is how an old friend whom I hadn’t seen in years explains her transition from linguistics to statistics, when people think it’s a complete change of field. It’s how she explains it to non-linguists, of course — as I already knew the connection. But the phrasing really resonates with me. I’ve described elsewhere how the search for patterns and abstract generalizations is what unites linguistics and math teaching in my mind, but I rather like the step up the ladder of abstraction implied by “I make order out of chaos.”
It also got me thinking about why I like the mystery and science fiction genres in popular fiction. My liking for science fiction is no mystery, so to speak: anyone with a mathematical bent is likely to enjoy the conventions of that genre. But what about mysteries? I’d been thinking about that lately, and it occurred to me that mystery writers also make order out of chaos: the unsolved crime is cognitively chaotic, and the solution creates order out of it. Furthermore, the puzzle that’s often involved bears definite kinship to the kinds of puzzles we solve in both math and linguistics. Just a thought…
During the last few months I read two interesting novels by John Hart: The Last Child, which I believe is his newest, and The King of Lies, which is definitely his first. It’s not really clear why I read them in that order, but I guess it was because I read a review of the new book, which caused me to read the book itself, and only then did I think of going back to his first effort. Anyway, it won’t be a surprise that The Last Child is definitely the better of the two — but both are worth reading if you want a diversion. I’ve already reviewed The Last Child.
The King of Lies is a legal thriller in the style of Scott Turow and John Grisham, but with a lot of North Carolina culture thrown in. The characters are mostly pretty annoying, so don’t read the book if that’s a complete turn-off for you. On the other hand, if you’re interested in some effective writing and development of character, do read it. Like many male writers, Hart portrays men more successfully than women. The plot, though implausible, is absorbing. All in all, a decent first effort.
A lot of adults are complaining that teens are “illiterate” in their writing, especially in email messages — you know, “kids these days…” and all that — but that’s not what I’m seeing. The abysmal level of teenage writing is usually attributed to their addiction to text messaging, a.k.a. texting. For example:
The youth of Ireland are becoming increasingly poor spellers and writers, and their love of text messaging on cellphones is a major reason why, according to the Education Department.
In a report published Wednesday on national test results in English for about 37,000 students aged 15 and 16, the department’s Examination Commission said cutting-edge communications technology has encouraged poor literacy and a blunt, choppy style at odds with academic rigor.
“Text messaging, with its use of phonetic spelling and little or no punctuation, seems to pose a threat to traditional conventions in writing,” said the report written by the department’s chief examiner, whose identity is kept confidential to safeguard the integrity of tests.
The report branded today’s teens “unduly reliant on short sentences, simple tenses and a limited vocabulary.”
…
Ireland is among the world leaders in cell-phone use — in part because of traditionally high costs for conventional phone lines — and surveys indicate that a majority of children have their own mobile phone by age 12, with the most enthusiastic texters sending more than 250 a week.
Yes, that happens to be Ireland. But we hear the same kind of complaints in this country as well. However, as I said above, that’s not what I’m seeing. Of course I may have a very skewed sample, consisting primarily of Weston students, but since I’m not pretending to be doing a statistically valid survey I’ll go ahead with my observations, skewed though they may be. Here’s what I see. I’ll stick to email, since that’s where we’re most likely to see overly informal writing:
Most students know how to address adults (teachers, at least) in their writing, even when using email. The big exception is the capitalization of the pronoun “I,” which often appears uncapitalized. Otherwise their grammar, style, punctuation, and spelling are all pretty reasonable. I’m not claiming that we have works of literature here — merely that the quality of writing is close to that of adults.
To gather my evidence, I looked at 20 consecutive email messages written by my students in October. (As I say, it’s certainly not a rigorous survey, nor was it meant to be.) Here they are in their entirety; I have omitted no messages, nor have I edited anything beyond adding message numbers and altering students’ names. Judge for yourself.
1 Hey Mr. Davidson,
I hope that i could get a recommendation from you. I’m sorry i couldn’t get to you earlier about the recommendation letter.
To make it easier for you, i’ll be sending the info you need over email. However since i do not have the finalized list of the colleges that i would like to apply to, is it possible to hold onto the the rec. till i can get you the list of colleges? After i’ve narrowed my list down i’ll be able to give you the letters that you need to send them off in. Thanks a lot.
2 Hey Mr. Davidson,
I am doing a lot better today, yesterday and Tuesday were truly awful though, so although i’m not 100%, I feel “relatively GREAT” and it was very nice to get back to school today. I stopped by your desk after school to talk about what I missed and you weren’t there, but luckily I’ve been getting filled in pretty well from classmates, and borrowed a textbook, so i’m not behind, and just may need some help completing tonights assignment. I noticed a note on your desk that said you will miss tomorrows class, is this true?
Thanks for the check-in, I appreciate it, and I hope to see you soon!
3 Hi Mr. Davidson,
This is Stu Dent in your H block Geometry class. I’m just wondering
what days you free after or before school this week before the 18th?
Thanks alot!
4
On the westonmath website for #6 on tonight’s homework I’m not sure what the &ndash means. Should I assume the question is for (X+2)^2?
5 Hi Mr. Davidson,
I was wondering if there was a possibility I could meet with you tomorrow morning regarding proofs as I am confused going about proving them especially with word problems such as the one with the bus and railroad for example. I’m willing to come whenever you are available (except maybe not 3:00 AM in the morning!).
6 Hi Mr. Davidson
I’m having some trouble with the domain and range part of tonight’s homework, as well as the Dr. scheme questions. Could I meet with you at 7:15 tomorrow morning to go over it?
7 Hi Mr. Davidson
I’m in your Honors Geometry class Block F. I just have one question. For the sample problems you gave in the book, I’m not quite sure what method I should use to solve the last question, number 43. I usually use guess and check, but I know there could be an equation to solve it, but I’m not quite sure what the equation is.
8 Hello Mr. Davidson,
I have registered onto the math blog site and I was wondering how to do I actually post a blog since I have not been able to find the button that allows me to actually make a post.
9 Hi Mr. Davidson,
Tomorrow I have a study hall first and last block. I was wondering if you were free either of those blocks so that I could go over the test with you.
Thanks!
10 Hi Mr.Davidson,
I went over the clock problems with a friend and now I understand it so I don’t need to meet with you! Thanks
11 Hi Mr Davidson,
Could i see you tommorow morning before school starts to go over some test questions and concepts? Thanks
12 Hi Mr. Davidson,
I’m in your F Block Honors Geometry class. I just have one question. On the test, on problem 3, for the collinear points question, I think it was the last one. I got that question wrong because I said the points were collinear. I don’t know why, though, its wrong. Can you please explain it to me so I don’t make the same mistake on future test or quizzes?
Thanks,
13 Hello,
I just submitted the post that I created on the blog website.
I did not remember how to make the math look like math.
Also, when I try to preview it, it says “Sorry, no posts matched your criteria.”
I probably did something wrong and I’m not really sure how I can fix it.
Thanks,
14 Hi Mr. Davidson,
I think I may have left my math book in your class on Friday. If you have it could you please let me know and I can get it on Tuesday.
Thank you very much and have a good long weekend!
15 It is Stu Dent. I have contacted you because i finished my blog, and saved it, but then logged out, and it seems now that the website could be messed up, because when i try, it says “Cheatin’ Uh.” I will continue to try, but could you please respond, because i would like to have my post up.
16 Hi Mr. Davidson,
This seems like forever ago, but at the end of last year you said you could help me out by writing my college recommendation. I have the form from the school and the forms from CommonApp.org almost ready to give you, so I thought I should let you know where I am/remind you. I am applying to one school Early (November 1), so I also have an envelope from that school, and then I will bring the rest later when I decide what schools I am going to apply to Regular (January 1).
Would you like to meet with me before you write it? Or can I just drop off the packet of papers with you?
I only have one free, so if we met it would probably have to be either in the morning, during lunch, or quickly after school.
Thanks for all your help,
17 Hi Mr.Davidson,
My parents and I discussed my last quiz and test grades we thought
that maybe I should consider taking the CP geometry course. Do you
have any input on this and is there an F block CP geometry class?
Please let me know.
Thank you,
18 Mr. Davidson
So i know it’s been a while since we’ve talked but I was wondering if you need anything from me for teacher recs. I will have the envelopes and teacher rec form to you for Thursday. May I drop it off Thursday after school? I am actually just giving you the info (envelope, due date) for the school that I am applying early to because I still have to finalize my other schools. I will tell you the rest of the schools as soon as I finish my list. I hope that’s okay.
Thanks,
19 hi mr. davidson!
its Matilda. well i was talking to Stu Dent and he tried helping me with the blogging but it wouldnt work. and he said that i had the same problem as him and the admin messed up the account or something like that. i couldnt write the blog! let me know how to fix it. see you tomorrow!
20 Hi Mr. Davidson, I’m finishing up the teacher recommendation package that I plan to give to you tomorrow in school. There are a few things that I can include if you feel that you need or want them: my activity list, parent brag sheet, the teacher rec Basic Questionnaire, etc. Would you like me to include any of these in your package?
(For those who don’t know what Friday Cat Blogging is all about, see here or here or especially here.)
Today’s observation is that chairs are for humans. William doesn’t agree:
 
I’ve just sent off my final college recommendations — for a couple of schools that have surprisingly late deadlines of January 10 or January 15. My spreadsheet shows that the students who asked me to write recommendations for them this year altogether applied to an average of 7.5 colleges apiece (ranging from 2 to 14). Last year’s seniors applied to an average of 10.4 colleges apiece (ranging from 5 to 16).
What accounts for this dramatic drop? Of course we’re talking about only a small subset of the senior class at Weston, so it might not be statistically significant. But I do wonder whether there is finally a reaction to the excessive number of applications that the Common App has encouraged, or whether this year’s senior class includes a lot more students admitted early (under Early Decision or Early Action), so they are less likely to apply to a lot of schools in round two, or whether there’s some other explanation I haven’t thought of.
After spending a totally absorbing 90 minutes at Harry Potter: The Exhibition, I still don’t know why it’s at the Museum of Science of all places — what’s the connection with science? — but I highly recommend it nonetheless. The exhibition consists mainly of actual props, sets, and costumes from the filming of the Harry Potter movies, supported by small amounts of textual commentary and other related material. By far the most striking aspect of the show is the exquisite attention to detail; every tiny bit of the handmade costumes and other props has been carefully crafted and expertly weathered so has not to look new. The verisimilitude has been enhanced by the context in which the materials are set — sometimes actual scenes but more often just sets that are suggestive of the scenes used in the movies. Even the usual store that you are forced to walk through when leaving the exhibit is entrancing, as it is made up to look like various shops from the movies. The exhibition will be there until February 21; don’t miss it!
Incidentally, it struck me as I was walking through the exhibits that there is a deep connection with model railroading here. I was asking myself why I would be interested in costume design, a subject that actually doesn’t interest me at all. And yet the costumes were among the most fascinating artifacts on display. Halfway through it hit me: even though everything was 1:1 scale, it’s a lot like a model railroad! The attention to detail created a miniature world that selectively reflects the real world but veers off into fantasy in various ways. I once again thought of imaginary gardens with real toads in them. See a post I wrote four and half years ago, which was actually about math but could equally as well have been about model railroading; it’s just that everything is intertwingled.
Julie and Julia has gotten so much publicity that I’m not sure I have much to add. It was a good movie to watch on New Year’s Eve — but watch it anyway if you haven’t seen it yet, New Year’s Eve or not. In this fictionalization of a true story, Meryl Streep is surprisingly successful at portraying the great Julia Child, Amy Adams does a great job as the irritating Julie Powell, the food looks delicious, the scenes in Paris are inviting, and Queens looks like…well…Queens. Paul Child and Eric Powell are played as unendingly supportive husbands, as they apparently were in real life. (Maybe that’s why some reviewers consider this a chick flick.) There are no surprises here — just a well-made, charming, and entertaining movie. Don’t listen to those who tell you it’s too long (at 123 minutes); it isn’t.
Vincent likes the riverboat too:
The Man from Earth is a quirky movie that you should see if you like talky films that make you think. Skip it if you insist on visual effects, exciting plot, and a clean resolution at the end. Clearly a low-budget effort, the entire film is a conversation among a group of college professors holding a going-away party for one of their colleagues, who has been teaching with them for ten years without apparently aging. It soon develops that his colleague claims to be 14,000 years old, and he has to keep moving every ten years or so before people get suspicious of the fact that he doesn’t seem to get older. Because almost all of the characters consider themselves scientists, they are of course skeptical and demand lots of evidence, which they then manage to explain away. (I say “consider themselves scientists” because they are mostly not hard scientists — biologists, chemists, physicists — but some are in related fields. One is an anthropologist, one an archeologist, one a historian, one a Christian theologian.) The acting can be a bit wooden at times, but I for one did not find that to be a problem; these are supposed to be professors after all, but we’ve all known some professors who are a bit wooden but nonetheless real. Anyway, if you’ve ever enjoyed sitting around with friends and discussing philosophy and science, you’ll enjoy The Man from Earth. It reminds me of My Dinner with André; if you liked that movie, you’ll like this one.
“Mental acuity of any kind comes from solving problems yourself, not from being told how to solve them.”
So says Paul Lockhart, and I couldn’t agree more. It’s great having cooperative students who will correctly follow directions in solving problems — or should I say exercises — but following directions is a cheap virtue. As Lockhart observes, you don’t develop your mental faculties that way. On March 28, 2008, I wrote a brief laudatory piece about Lockhart’s fascinating essay, which he has now turned into an irritating book, also called Mathematician’s Lament. That’s too bad, as he has a lot of valid things to say. But most readers will be unable to see what’s good because it’s surrounding by so much that’s annoying. In particular, Lockhart seems to take an extreme view in favor of throwing out all curriculum and all direct instruction, replacing everything with student-directed problem solving. I say “seems to take” because in fact that’s not actually his position; it’s just that he gets so carried away with his radical POV that everything else gets lost. So, if you read this book, you need to star the following sentence in particular:
If I object to a pendulum being too far to one side, it doesn’t mean I want it to be all the way on the other side.
Keep that in mind. It’s just that everything Lockhart discusses is in fact all the way on the other side. Consider, for example, this provocative chapter title: “High School Geometry: Instrument of the Devil.” Certainly some students do like geometry, though Lockhart claims that those students would like it even more if it were taught his way. And surely most adults remember their high school geometry class with something less than fondness. The big complaint about high school geometry — and here I agree with Lockhart — is that the central themes of proof and definition are presented so woodenly. Writing proofs about claims that are obvious feels arbitrary and useless, and yet that’s what most of the early months of geometry are filled with. And the two-column format is arbitrary and restrictive, a peculiar American custom that no real mathematician would ever use. As Lockhart observes, “A proof should be an epiphany from the gods, not a coded message from the Pentagon.” But it’s rare experience in high school geometry for students to spend a long time struggling with a non-obvious problem, then to come up with a non-obvious conjecture, and finally to write a convincing proof that shows how the conjecture connects with other knowledge. That’s how it should be done.
A similar issue occurs with definitions:
Definitions matter. They come from aesthetic decisions about what distinctions you as an artist consider important. And they are problem-generated. To make a definition is to highlight and call attention to a feature or a structural property. Historically this comes out of working on a problem, not as a prelude to it.
Hear, hear!
All of this, of course, is driven by one’s concept of what math really is. Lockhart is a pure mathematician, viewing problem-solving and puzzle-solving as rewarding for their own sake, and I agree with him there. But his contempt for applied mathematics will do nothing but turn off most of his readers. It’s important for students to understand that applications come after the math is developed and hardly ever motivate the discovery of new mathematics, but it’s also important for them to work with those applications. Some students will be motivated by that, and everyone will learn something that their future teachers will expect. Nevertheless, Lockhart’s characterization of what math really is is spot on:
Math is not about a collection of “truths” (however useful or interesting they may be). Math is about reason and understanding.
Unfortunately this characterization flies in the face of so much of what is expected of math teachers and math students. MCAS and SATs and science teachers inadvertently encourage the “collection of truths” misconception, even though they of course also want reason and understanding.
Finally, I need to mention the subtitle of Dan Meyer’s blog, dy/dan. The subtitle is simply less helpful. This characterization may seem like an odd one, especially when it’s the subtitle of a blog that’s well worth reading. But Meyer’s resolution to be less helpful is an important one. Like most math teachers, my unthinking inclination is usually to try to be helpful, to answer questions, to point students in the right direction. But Lockhart’s response to a certain question from a student is to observe that “the right thing for me to do as your math teacher would be nothing.” In other words, to be less helpful. That, in the long run, is what will actually be helpful to the student. I just wish that Lockhart had limited himself to a more tempered criticism and had been clearer about taking a balanced approach; he will turn off too many readers who would have a lot to gain from his wisdom if they could only pay attention to what’s good rather than what’s irritating in this provocative book.
The setting of Lisa Scottoline’s Lady Killer feels authentic to me, but that judgment certainly doesn’t come from first-hand experience. Unlike my previous review (of My Latest Grievance, where the family, the location, and the social milieu are all familiar to me), I have to take a lot on faith here: the world of Italian Catholic working-class South Philadelphia is certainly not my own. Lady Killer is firmly in the traditional mystery genre, definitely on the light side, much more a cozy than a hard-boiled thriller, despite the setting. The plot is engaging, the characters are mostly appealing (except for the woman who may or may not be the victim — but even that’s traditional in the mystery genre), and the themes are reassuring.
This 12th novel in Scottoline’s Bennie Rosato/Mary DiNunzio series can be read as a standalone work of fiction, although the context and characters will make somewhat more sense if you’ve read at least some of the preceding stories. But read it anyway; it’s meant to be more entertaining than deep, and it succeeds on its own terms.
The first page of Elinor Lipman’s 2006 novel, My Latest Grievance, grabbed my attention immediately:
Of the five main characters, narrator and protagonist Frederica Hatch is a sophomore at Brookline High School. Two of the others — Frederica’s parents — are well described in the excerpt above. The fourth is her father’s over-the-top ex-wife, Laura Lee French, who serves as the catalyst for conflict and resolution within the novel. The fifth, Dewing College itself, might or might not be based on Pine Manor College; that’s my hunch, though I have no hard evidence to support this conjecture.
As you can probably tell by this point, My Latest Grievance is a satire, but a very gentle and sympathetic one. Elinor Lipman is best known as an observer of human interactions and social mores; the added touch of having her novel narrated by an indulged only child of radical parents gives it a point of view that’s fascinating to the reader (at least to this reader). While it’s firmly anchored in Brookline, no special knowledge of the Boston area is needed in order to enjoy reading it.
Vincent is shy and doesn’t like having his picture taken:
Meeting across the River has a truly unusual and creative premise for a collection of 20 short stories. Its subtitle, Stories Inspired by the Haunting Bruce Springsteen Song, reveals the premise: every story (each by a different author) was inspired in its own way by Springsteen’s “Meeting across the River.” Editors Jessica Kaye and Richard J. Brewer have selected a wide variety of tales, ranging from serious and intense to light and humorous. Because the song itself is quite ambiguous, the authors have been free to interpret it in many different ways, though all have stuck to the story line and the names of the characters, especially Eddie and Cherry. For instance, consider this stanza:
Well Cherry says she’s gonna walk
’Cause she found out I took her radio and hocked it
But Eddie, man, she don’t understand
That two grand’s practically sitting here in my pocket
We don’t know how the speaker is expecting to get his two grand — drugs? gambling? weapons deal? — but we definitely get a sense of what he is like and what Cherry is like, all from four short lines.
We don’t even know where this is all taking place, although the line “Gotta make it through the tunnel” and the fact that Springsteen is from Jersey certainly suggests that he’s talking about the Lincoln or Holland Tunnel and therefore the deal is in New York City. (Of course I might be biased, since I’m from Jersey myself.) Some of the authors follow up on this idea, some don’t. For instance, here is the opening of Eddie Muller’s contribution:
…He just stares straight ahead at the lights on Canal Street and aims the Cadillac toward the tunnel, getting us the hell out of Manhattan and back to Bayonne.
No doubt about the setting in that story, is there?
Perhaps the most creative setting is found in Eric Garcia’s story: a Monopoly board! Well, actually it’s the fictionalized Atlantic City featured in Monopoly, but Garcia’s characters are, of course, the Parker brothers, and we get paragraphs like this one:
So Jimmy kept walking. Past Eddie’s place on St. Charles, past the new hotel on Tennessee Avenue, past the free parking, Marvin Gardens, the old waterworks, and the rest of the chichi suburbs on Pacific and Pennsylvania Avenues. Jimmy kept moving because he had no choice. Soon he was past the high-rise towers on Park Place and heading for a walk on the boardwalk. After that, he figured he’d start all over again. Maybe find someone else to loan him two hundred bucks.
Other stories in the collection were written by William Kent Krueger, Pam Houston, C.J. Box, Gregg Hurwitz, Michael John Richardson, and a host of other authors. The stories range in length from six pages to 18, but the average is only ten, so the book is easily digested in bite-sized chunks. In order to avoid the easy trap of confusing one story with another — given the similarities of names and themes — I listened to them one or two at a time, spreading it over a period of many months. But of course it wouldn’t be hard to go through all 20 stories, one after another. Try them out in whichever manner you prefer, and be sure to listen to the song at several points along the way.
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