as the earth is turned [glass farm]

Filed under:brooklyn — posted by Dr. Cereal on May 12, 2008 @ 11:50 am

    Each day that I venture out into my backyard and put spade and rake to Earth, I wonder about those who were there before me.
     Maybe they were potters or artists, I think as I dig up scraps of wood, ceramic, and unidentifiable plastics. In order to hone their craft they must have made many mistakes and I’m left with the remnants of false starts and cracked masterpieces.
     Perhaps they were smiths of some sort, I think as I pry up spikes, wires, and large rusted hunks of metal. I cast many of them aside into my pile of ‘interesting debris’ to be reused in backyard art or trellises.
     Maybe they were glassblowers. That would explain the array of glass shards strewn throughout the yard. Again, mistakes happen. They must have been so engrossed in the creative process that they forgot to discard or reuse the imperfect pieces.
     They may have been archaeologists. They would later dig up these relics to study the deterioration speed in such lead-filled soil.
     Perhaps they were inventors! They must have needed to use the outdoor space for their experiments. I can almost smell the cries of Eureka! as I slog through the soil, turning up traces of their scientific trials.
    Or maybe they were just lazy drunks who threw their empty 40’s in the backyard. That would explain the dozens of Colt 45 caps I’ve found while sifting through the splintered glass. In fact, that would explain most of the things I’ve found. It apparently seemed like less work to put the trash in the backyard versus the front to be taken away. I’m betting that the word “recycle” was not in their active household vocabulary either.
    There are a few things, however, which still have no explanation (both of which are currently tied at the top the list of “creepiest thing I’ve dug up”):
1. five (5) cloth effigies
2. purple child’s pillowcase w/decaying cat skeleton

    Four of the effigies/dolls were bound in pairs. The fifth was separate and found first. The cat skeleton was wrapped in a mess of string and missing the bottom half of the skull.
    The little cloth people reminded my pal Merrisa of “worry dolls,” which are traditionally found in Guatemala. The idea is that you whisper your worries into the colorful cloth ear of said doll and put it under your pillow at night. Then the doll worries for you while you sleep peacefully. I wonder if this is some sort of African variation—tied together to celebrate a marriage or ensure togetherness in death. I haven’t ruled out that they may have just been put there to scare away new residents. I’m not convinced that they’re voodoo dolls exactly, but they don’t seem benign either.
 The cat/small mammal skeleton is another mystery. At first it seems clear: the family pet died, so they put it in a sack and buried it. However, I’m still pressed to explain all the string and absence of the lower skull. This one may be more disturbing than creepy. Every scenario I can think of is cruel, grotesque, and makes me wish I hadn’t found it.
    Other things I have found in the yard:
· glass
· bottle caps
· bottles
· wood
· rusting metal spikes, nails, screws, and wire
· PVC pipes
· Plastic tubes
· Metal tubes
· Wallpaper
· Plastic bags full of trash
· Enough tile for a bathroom floor
· Bricks
· Cinder blocks
· knife
· Plastic comb
· Kazoo
· Plastic wheels from a toy truck
· Spark plugs
· End of a garden hoe
· Cloth
· Gloves
· Insulation
· balloons

    Things I haven’t found in the backyard:
· Insects
· Plants

Things I suspect I’ll find after testing the soil:
· Lead
· Chemicals whose names I can’t pronounce

I’ve also found lots and lots of rocks. Along with the bricks and cinder blocks, however, these are being reused to make raised beds for flowers and vegetables. As of this weekend, my yard is now home to some marigolds, coxcomb, petunia, a fern, a trumpet vine, and I’ve planted an assortment of wildflowers which I hope to see peeking out of the soil before long.
    Vegetables are on their way soon. If anyone is interested, I’m documenting the process on my flickr page here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/dr_cereal/sets/72157604926042293/
(as is my roommate, here: http://gallery.mac.com/dbkrasow#100085&view=grid&bgcolor=black&sel=0)     To be continued…
    Oh, and in case I get struck by lightning or plague, I’d appreciate it if someone could come over to water the plants, then dig up the little men and burn them.

things I like/things that make me happy

Filed under:Lists — posted by Dr. Cereal on April 27, 2008 @ 9:51 am

to add a few more to the list:

  • seeing the Statue of Liberty during my daily commute
  • playing Frisbee with 5-year-olds.
  • digging in the dirt.
  • planting seeds.
  • X-rays.
  • alliteration.

I’ve found the simple life ain’t so simple.

Filed under:Uncategorized, Music — posted by Dr. Cereal on February 24, 2008 @ 2:03 pm

I’ve heard it said that any great song, if stripped down and played on an acoustic guitar, will still be great. I imagine the same applies for singing–one shouldn’t need accompaniment. Even if you’re not a fan of Van Halen or don’t know this song, you’ll still have to agree that it still rocks: Diamond Dave’s isolated vocal track. Enjoy, kids!

disturbing linguistic trends, part I

Filed under:brooklyn, education, disturbing linguistic trends — posted by Dr. Cereal on February 7, 2008 @ 11:01 am

          Today’s bothersome language mutation is the use of “mines.”  This is not as in “after the war, mines could still be found buried in certain parts of the village,” but “that’s yours and this is mines.”  Since moving to Brooklyn, I’ve heard it almost nonstop, most often from my young students.  It’s one of those understandable mistakes.  It’s more logical than the correct form, in fact; like a child who says “I eated some cookies yesterday.”  They’re simply following a pattern.  As so many teachers are accustomed to doing, I repeat myself and correct them until they get it right.

          What bothers me is that I hear it from so many adults.  This is not just in the neighborhoods where I teach, but in all parts of the city.  I hear it from people in stores, restaurants, on the train, in the schools, from co-workers, even the assistant bank manager said “mines” as he explained some of my savings options one day not long ago.          
         
          Why do I care?  Why am I so worried about the way people speak?  Am I judging everyone who uses a non-standard speech pattern?  Do I think I’m better than them?  Don’t I ever make mistakes?  In reverse order: Yes.  I often do, but I often catch myself and make an effort to correct it.  I also encourage corrections from others.  I don’t think it makes me better than anyone, just easier to understand.  Ultimately, with anything shy of direct telepathy, there will always be some lapse in understanding between any more than one person.  I believe in trying to minimize that gap.  English, with all its inconsistencies and irregularities, has become the global language.  It’s a hard language to learn.  It will only become harder if we keep changing it.           

          Although there are few cases I can think of where this alteration couldn’t be understood from context, those that I imagine don’t end well.
          Scene: Two kids are playing outside near an area that used to be a battlefield.
          A: “Hey, what are those things over there?”
          B: “They’re mines!”
          A: “They’re not yours, they’re mines! I want them!”
          They both run out to get the explosives, are blown up. The lesson: Bad grammar can be deadly.                  

          Maybe that was in poor taste, but you get the idea.  We’re always going to misunderstand each other to some extent.  Any efforts we can make to decrease confusion are good ones, in my book. 
   

Dr. Cereal Suggests:

Filed under:Dr. Cereal Suggests, brooklyn — posted by Dr. Cereal on December 13, 2007 @ 12:30 pm

www.shopbcue.org

If you must shop, shop wisely. Add the earth to your shopping list.

Dr. Cereal Suggests:

Filed under:Dr. Cereal Suggests — posted by Dr. Cereal on November 18, 2007 @ 10:29 pm

What Would Jesus Buy? A film by Morgan Spurlock, featuring Reverend Billy and the Stop Shopping Gospel Choir (as well as Nate on bass).

Dr. Cereal Suggests:

Filed under:Dr. Cereal Suggests, brooklyn — posted by Dr. Cereal on November 8, 2007 @ 1:45 pm

Not wearing sunglasses on the subway. Seriously. No one’s that cool.

Dr. Cereal Suggests:

Filed under:Dr. Cereal Suggests, brooklyn — posted by Dr. Cereal on October 30, 2007 @ 11:24 am

BAMcafé (Brooklyn Academy of Music) free Friday and Saturday night performances. 

I caught Juca on Saturday night, a group which features the exquisite Carol C of Si*Sé.  The setting is elegant, the sound is clear, and the price is unbeatable.  Unfortunately, they ran out of Brooklyn 6-point lager early in the evening, but otherwise it was a pleasant evening.  I joined the group for another drink down at Moe’s (which I also recommend) afterwards until my coughing fits sent me home early for fear of spitting my brew on someone in mid-conversation. 

the boundaries of science expand yet again…

Filed under:education, science — posted by Dr. Cereal on October 17, 2007 @ 1:23 pm

National Geographic video of transparent frogs bred by Japanese researchers.

call it education, it was somewhere in between. you gave me sound advice, but I wasn’t listening.

Filed under:brooklyn, education — posted by Dr. Cereal on October 14, 2007 @ 11:12 pm

Occasionally when I enter a classroom, the memory of a sixteen-year-old me throwing magazines out my high school math teacher’s window flashes through my cerebrum. I had her class third period, and she never noticed until about fifth period or so, blaming them (to my everlasting amusement). They also got the rap for the papers stapled together and glued in place on her desk, exactly the way they had fallen in the eternal disarray that is a teacher’s workspace. I like to think I was giving it some coherence—linking everything (inseparably) together.

I stumbled across an unread fall 2001 back issue or Harper’s while sorting through mounds of college textbooks gathering dust in the basement of my parents’ house this summer, which I brought with me to my new home in Brooklyn. In his essay, “Why We Hate Teachers: notes on a noble American tradition,” Garret Keizer talks of what he calls “The Tale of the Teacher We Drove Nuts;” those who tried to educate and edify and ended up in apoplectic early retirement. “It so happens I was working as a teacher when I first heard the story,” he writes, “So was the man who told it to me.” There’s me nodding along, grinning as I bumble along on the northbound G train, thinking the last people with whom I can remember discussing teacher torment were also members of this paradoxically revered and despised field.

As I hop off the train and plod along the streets of milling people, the sky finally smells like autumn. It’s musty and crisp though sticky humidity still clings to everything like residue from a bar of dollar store soap. My heels scuff the sidewalk as I enter one of Brooklyn’s many public schools and I’m left to wonder how I got there, why I continue to doff the t-shirt and don the teacher attire. After a few years of experience, I know what I’m getting myself into. I know there will be days when I think I have the ultimate lesson plan—the one activity that will cause that breakthrough moment of awe, inspiration, and epiphany that they will thank me for during their Nobel acceptance speeches decades later—only to find my idealism squashed by an inconsolably raucous band of beasts who had been normal schoolchildren merely the day before.

So why do I do it? It’s been said that I suffer from idealism. While I agree to an extent, it’s a term associated with ignorance. I’m a person whose actions are often governed by ideals (although those ideals are often crushed by the reality that some things probably won’t get better, and that many things are progressively growing worse). I believe I can affect positive change on my environment and the people in it. I believe one can find happiness in a meaningful challenge. Call it my idea of faith.

Also, there’s the fact that I’m not teaching the typical class, but an after-school family literacy program, interspersed with games, trips, story time, coloring, and snack time. We had a grueling match of Simon Says last week. Next week, we begin our photography unit to prepare for a trip to Queens Farm on Saturday.

What Keizer didn’t touch on in his essay is The Teacher Who Made a Difference. We all seem to have those stories as well, although they don’t seem to come up with the same frequency since slowly driving someone to wits’ end through inane questions, hidden/traveling classroom supplies, or animal sound ventriloquism is much more amusing. I feel infinitely indebted to a handful of educators who nudged me along, asked the right questions, gave me the honest feedback I needed, recommended the right reading, or were simply there as an example of the solace higher education can bring. It seemed to me the more they knew, the more they were in awe of life’s simple mysteries.

So maybe I’m doing it for them. Or to be one of them for someone else. I’d like to think I’d be doing this even if I suddenly became wealthy and didn’t need a job. (But maybe that’s the idealist talking. Maybe I’d commission a tofu palace and get fitted with a solid gold moustache).

Either way, I feel good about what I’m doing. And in a world where so many hate their day jobs, that’s a rare joy. At least until karma comes back and some mischievous kid super glues me to the blackboard.


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image: detail of installation by Bronwyn Lace