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I blame Thornton Mellon for the decline of modern education

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Watching the news of a sit-in at NYU last week got me thinking about how lame today’s college students are and, of course, what fictional character can be blamed. Sure, it would be easy to point to the men of Delta house as the example to which some collegians aspire, and fail, to emulate by wearing t-shirts that read “College.” But, that’s not quite accurate. The culprit behind the decline of modern education is actually even less subtle.  

Our man is Thornton Mellon, from the film Back To School, one of the most underrated films of the 1980s. I say he is less subtle because he has the unique distinction of being the only fictional character that I can think of that is actually accused of in the film what I am actually accusing him of. In an early part of the film, Mellon’s economics professor and romantic rival, Dr. Phillip Barbay — a stuffy middle aged man with some sort of British accent, whose fetishes includes having women dress up as Wonder Woman and tie him up with the golden lariat and force him to tell the truth — sums it up: “That… is Mr. Thornton Mellon. The world’s oldest living freshman… and the walking epitome of the decline in modern education. The stupid clod thinks he can buy his way out of the gutter,” he quips to Sally Kellerman’s character, who is the love interest of both men. (I mean, Sally Kellerman? As Rodney Dangerfield said in another movie — “She must have been something before electricity.”)

People of a certain age always complain that the kids today aren’t as smart as they were or don’t take school as seriously as they should. [Read more →]

The crisis of credit visualized

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If you have 11 minutes and some questions about how the credit markets got the way they are, you might like to watch The Short and Simple Story of the Credit Crisis by Jonathan Jarvis.

The 11-minute-long video is interesting not only because it attempts to define some fairly complicated financial terminology and processes, but also because of how it attempts to do so.  Jarvis says, “This project was completed as part of my thesis work in the Media Design Program, a graduate studio at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California.”  Sure, it looks and sounds a bit like a PSA filmstrip from half a century ago.  But even ten years ago, what adult would have exposure to that sort of thing?

I find it fascinating to see this project specifically designed for the internet and aimed at adults.  As print newspapers are dying and the entire media industry is evolving to the new conditions of connectivity, this type of video may represent a large part of the future of educational journalism.

Joe Biden owes me $2.50

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You read that right. Joe Biden owes me $2.50. I park on Chestnut Street at a meter most days for work, and today every meter was off-limits under threat of being towed. All because, in “Philadelphia for his first official Middle Class Task Force meeting, Biden focused on a green theme as remedy to the nation’s economic troubles.” Philadelphia cops are getting shot like it’s a new sport, and Mayor Nutter and Governor Rendell and Vice President Biden somehow have time to dick around next door at the University of Pennsylvania with a photo-op bullshit meeting about how weatherizing houses is going to save the economy. You want to help the economy, Joe? Help mine — hand over the $2.50 you owe me.

I pay $1.50 per hour to park in a metered spot on the street (it was only $1.00 per hour just a month ago, but Philly jacked up the price by 50% and now we only get 10 minutes for a quarter). I would have parked at a meter today for a little more than 5 ½ hours, which comes to $8.50. But all of those meters had police signs on them because Biden was in town saving the world with our local politicians, every one of them sucking up in the hopes of getting stimulated good and hard with all the new green paper the Fed is printing. Whenever one of these big-shot tools comes to town, they shut down all the metered parking. So I had to park in a lot for $11.00. That’s $2.50 more than I should have paid for parking today, because of Joe Biden.

I want my $2.50, Joe Biden. You don’t scare me. Obama can keep that “Nobody messes with Joe” nonsense to himself. I ain’t buying it. I can’t afford to. Not without my $2.50, anyway. 

Pay to pee: Ryanair may offer one more reason to borrow a pound note

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As multinational corporations have expanded the variety of fees, charges, and incidental methods for slipping their fingers into your pockets, maybe you’ve naively thought that a few common courtesies would remain beyond their reach. Perhaps you’ve assured yourself that no company with a firm grasp on reality would cross certain boundaries and that a few simple courtesies would continue to be offered free of charge.

Then again, perhaps we’ll soon reach the point of no return, where every human act — even taking a whiz if you’ve had a little too much to drink — will become directly subject to some minor transaction fee.

Think I’m exaggerating? Check out Ryanair’s potential plan to charge European customers a pound or so to use the loo. Granted, cities like New York have already employed a similar strategy. But, let’s keep in mind that none of the five boroughs are enclosed spaces thousands of feet in the air.

Maybe, after all, those companies don’t have such a firm grasp on reality. Too bad there’s not a Bethlem Royal Hospital for corporations.

Morgan Freeman doesn’t need your stinkin’ black history month

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I knew there was a reason I loved Morgan Freeman. He could narrate the phone book and they could charge nine bucks to listen, and that would be fine with me — no, I’m not tired of his voice-overs. Yes, in The Bucket List it didn’t work, but that’s because that movie sucked — even Morgan Freeman couldn’t save it. But man was he great in Unforgiven, and I could listen to him tell me about Shawshank prison over and over. It isn’t just his voice. Watch how quickly he thinks and how completely he flummoxes Mike Wallace in this video (which I found at atlasblogged.com) in which he says he doesn’t want a black history month.

The drooping point

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Do you remember that point your parents reached when they suddenly stopped being able to dance? I mean they could still do the steps — of the Jitterbug or the Lindy or whatever it was they did, but something had tipped — was it you? Was it just your embarrassment, or did something stop working? Suddenly, even when they were just tapping their feet, the hair stood up on the back of your neck. You were desperate for them to stop.

I’m asking because I’m pretty sure I’ve hit that point. I was trying to josh around in the car with my teenage son during that magnificent dance song, Let’s Groove by Earth, Wind and Fire, and I went into my trademark car seat boogie (a daily occurrence), and it felt all wrong. Just wrong. I pointed my finger — like who? John Travolta? What was that? — and I was doing some sort of Egyptian maneuver with my head that, let’s face it, I’ve never been able to do well, even at 19. Tonight in the Tahoe, in one regrettable funkectomy, it all fell away from me. Every sad little ember of dance floor mojo, gone. I embarrassed myself. [Read more →]

Joaquin Phoenix impression even funnier than Stiller at the Oscars

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Not sure if you saw Joaquin Phoenix on David Letterman. My husband and I watched it the night it aired and figured he’d either gone crazy or it was all an act to prop up his new rap career. I don’t know which it was but he has provided fodder for some great comedy. My favorite is this impression, done the night before the Oscars, at the Independent Spirit Awards. It joins a bizarre Phoenix with a very angry Christan Bale. It’s way better than Stiller’s bit at the Oscars and great for a really good laugh.
 

 Hat Tip Gawker via Twitter.

Drexel Publishing Group launches site and blog

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I don’t usually mix work with pleasure, but I’d like to tell you about the latest project at my day job. You know, the one that pays me. I teach at Drexel University and co-direct the Drexel Publishing Group. Briefly, PG, as we call it, is staffed by undergraduate students and produces such publications as the venerable literary journal Painted Bride Quarterly; an annual anthology of student and faculty writing called The 33rd (we are on the corner of Chestnut and 33rd Street in Philadelphia); ASK, the journal of the College of Arts and Sciences; and Maya, the undergraduate literary magazine. PG also runs the annual Week of Writing (WoW) each May, which will be of interest to those of you living near Philadelphia. You can see a schedule of that event.

But the reason I’m writing is to announce the Publishing Group’s new site, www.drexelpublishing.org (designed by Kevin Hoffman, our talented student designer). Our students will be blogging about anything related to writing, publishing, and literature. Many of them are new to blogging. If you’re interested in what undergrads are thinking about these subjects, head on over. One recent post, by Lauren Boyle, discusses a story in Newsday about a high school teacher who thinks that in the age of Obama, we should no longer have students read Huckleberry Finn or To Kill a Mockingbird. Another post, by Ali Cahill, links to a time-wasting game site that has fun literary trivia. Can you name every novel by Charles Dickens?

The Drexel Publishing Group will publish new blog posts pretty much every weekday, so consider checking in regularly or subscribing to rss feeds or e-mail announcements and commenting on the posts.

Obama family will choose a rescue dog as first pet

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I am so pleased that the first family is choosing to rescue a pet rather than paying a high price for a pure bred dog from a breeder. There is one very lucky Portuguese Water Dog out there and so many other animals in desperate need of a home. I have learned a lot from my friend Beth Bates who runs a site called GoodDogz.org.

Dogs are surrendered for all sorts of reasons. Maybe their owner can’t physically take care of them anymore or maybe they have been taken from abusive homes or puppy mills. The most heartbreaking abandonment, which is happening more and more frequently, are owners who leave behind their pets because of home foreclosures. If you can’t feed your family and pay your mortgage, it’s hard to justify the expense of a pet.

I am proud of the example the Obamas are setting and I hope this helps lead the charge in a wave of adoptions. When my kids get a little older and we are in the market for a new dog (because really, the dog will complete the family) I will definitely get my pet from a shelter.

Either/Orr

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David Orr’s recent New York Times Book Review essay on greatness in poetry is a bland bit of punting. I’ve read it twice and I still don’t understand what he’s trying to say. The main thesis, that defining greatness in poetry is very difficult to do, is obvious enough, but he never makes the attempt himself. 

Taking John Ashbery as his last great poet — apparently just because the Library of America has chosen to release his collected works — sets the essay off on the wrong course from the beginning. Richard Wilbur, anyone? 

He also seems to believe that quantity of work should be a necessary element in defining greatness. Though, it seems to me, Shakespeare would be great if he’d written only the sonnets; Eliot if he’d written only the Four Quartets and/or the Waste Land; Stevens if only Sunday Morning, Peter Quince at the Clavier, Anecdote of the Jar and a handful of other poems; Keats if only the odes; Rilke if only the Duino Elegies. 

Greatness in poetry has become difficult to define because we live in a time when the very notion of Quality itself is being challenged, which is a point Orr fails to stress. How, if we don’t exert judgment and taste, can we ever hope to make distinctions such as good versus great, or even good versus bad? 

Of course, it isn’t what is said, but how it is said, that’s most important in poetry. For example, this, one of Richard Wilbur’s greatest poems: 

Praise in Summer 

Obscurely yet most surely called to praise,

As sometimes summer calls us all, I said

The hills are heavens full of branching ways

Where star-nosed moles fly overhead the dead;

I said the trees are mines in air, I said

See how the sparrow burrows in the sky!

And then I wondered why this mad instead

Perverts our praise to uncreation, why

Such savour’s in this wrenching things awry.

Does sense so stale that it must needs derange

The world to know it?  To a praiseful eye

Should it not be enough of fresh and strange

That trees grow green, and moles can course in clay,

And sparrows sweep the ceiling of our day?  

 

I’ve never found anything in Ashbery to match it, to even come close. So, others might say, that’s your opinion. To which I answer, show me a poem of the last 50 years any better. Having that discussion just might be the only way to define greatness in our time. 

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