School Suck

Forget that I have other classes. As a high school English teacher, of course I do. Forget that I’m working on Power School, and eTUSD, and Google Classroom, all while trying to fit in some of the bells and whistles that our school purchased this year. I see you, Screencastify–I’ll get that video up soon so it can sparkle and shine up my page.

I’m not bitter. Swear. But I teach Creative Writing to high school students. It’s my major in college. I have an MFA in Fiction. Bragadocious, maybe, but I have that piece of paper with my name on it that others do not. I taught Creative Writing for years, gave it up, now I’m back trying to “teach creativity.” That’s in quotes because some say you can’t do it. Either people are creative or they are not.

I agree. 99% of people are creative and 1% aren’t. It’s that damned dentist that doesn’t want you chewing Trident gum. It’s that guy at the party who stays too long. Everyone’s gone home, dude–do the same. The 1% watched Tiger King twice and posted online about how the guy didn’t do whatever, but some woman did. Really, people? All the stuff out there in the world and you’re worried about that?

I digress.

Today was the first day of school. I talked at my students via Google Meet (pay me, you bastards–5 people will read this!) and they were so thrilled that they told me about themselves via a simple questionnaire. I asked them about books, about media, about what they know. They told me.

A girl I had a year ago listens to Eno and reads Verne and Wells–hell, yeah. To the girl who listens to Leadbelly–I got you, because earlier you wrote that you liked Kurt Cobain and Nirvana did that old Leadbelly cover on their Live album, which means you were curious and dug deeper. I. Got. You. Hunter S. Thompson? I’m all out of ether, but every time I drive past Barstow, I think of Fear and Loathing. Lana Del Rey made appearances. Anything from immediate pop culture to old school–Truman Show, Eternal Sunshine, Taxi Driver. Taxi Driver! The list went on.

This all makes me happy. This all makes me furious. I told students today that one of my goals–and it’s my main one–was to return them to their creative glories. That writing is not a pissing contest, that they have had the creativity beaten out of them by the system, and I am there to resurrect it. It may not have gone exactly like that, but it’s my fingers hitting the keys right now, so that’s how I’m going to remember it.

I’ve written it before and I’ll write it again. Parents–don’t let your babies grow up to be dullards. They are creative, artistic beasts that need to be fed something loud, something foul, something dangerous that might challenge them and, in turn, have them move from point A to point B.

I am only one man. You are many.

I have said.

What happens when you don’t use something for a while? You come back to it and it looks really different. Or, you kind of go dormant.

I’m 50 days away from finishing my 20th year at North High. It’s like I’ve been in a dream.

It’s good to be old. I have many college degrees, a decent job, wife/kid/cat, homes in the South Bay and Montana. Thank goodness I’m not still in high school.
The last month has been the time of Yes! you’re amazing and we want you at our university, or No! you’re amazing but too many other amazing people applied to this university, or Congratulations! you’re in to our private school, hope you saved your pennies. The first and third option is no big deal–it’s been that way since the beginning of higher education. It’s the middle one that blows.
Imagine you worked fairly hard in school, did well enough to get over a 4.2 GPA, did just fine on your standardized tests, and didn’t get into your state university choice. Yes, your STATE university choice. We’re talking Long Beach, San Diego, San Jose, Fullerton, Northridge–state schools.
Imagine you worked even harder, did well enough to never get a B in school, did just fine on your standardized tests, and you didn’t get into UC schools that you thought were safe. I realize UCLA and Cal (Berkeley to some) are held in high esteem, but Santa Barbara, San Diego, Irvine, Davis, Santa Cruz, Riverside, and Merced have to take you, right?
Not always the case. Really? State schools reject kids in the Top 25 at our school, UC’s turn their backs on students in the Top 10 (and we’re not just talking UCLA and Cal here), and all the students are left with is a letter or message in their online portal that they weren’t selected because blah blah blah number of kids applied for blah blah blah number of spots.
I’ve seen two numbers. One of the major state schools claimed 93,000 applied for 8,500 spots. One of the not-even major UC schools claimed that 78,000 applied for fewer than 5,900 spots. I’m pretty good at math. That puts the state school acceptance rate at one in 11. That puts the UC rate at one in 13. And, I get it, these are only two examples, but both of these were safe schools for many students.
Some might say, “It teaches these kids a life lesson. Not everyone gets what he or she wants.” Stellar reasoning, to be sure.
What bothers me enough to write again on this blog is that this is happening to good students. They tried for four years and, though they were bummed they didn’t get into their dream school, they knew they could fall back on something down a few rungs. Now, they’re staring at being down a few more rungs, and students who teachers dream of having are contemplating spending some time at junior college level, where they will dutifully put in another two years (maybe one) for a decent school to take them.
I went to Long Beach City College for three years, got an A.S. degree and transferred to Long Beach State. It wasn’t competitive, I didn’t give it much thought–it seemed a natural progression since I was living at home and my folks had no money. I have no beef with the community college system. Now, more than ever, it seems like a viable option to get to a dream school and go cheap for two years (or less).
But there’s this. I have a boy who’s entering high school next year. The wife and I are not at odds with our decision for him, but our feelings have changed over the last two years. He will go to high school, take as many honors classes as he wants, get good grades (or else), but also take whatever else he wants to take, whether it “looks good for college,” or not. He will not be pressured into taking all AP and honors classes–next year he’ll take Intro to Culinary Arts instead of AP Computer Science–and when it comes to applying for colleges, we’ll see where he’s at.
The bottom line is this–no matter where he is at, junior college is always an option, a means to an end. Technically, he could get straight D’s in high school, have a great time learning but doing little work, go to El Camino College, and be at UCLA after two years. Is that any worse than my students who worked for four years in high school, maybe got in somewhere after their dream school rejected them, and ended up going to a school that wasn’t really their choice?
Work four years, get good grades, get good test scores–MAYBE get into the school of your choice v. do high school without stress (you can still take hard classes, but you don’t have to stay up until all hours tearing your hair out over homework), take some classes that interest you even if their not on “the college path,” learn everything you can, and prove yourself at the jc level.
Or, maybe the culinary arts class leads him to become a chef.
Or, maybe he tires of playing the high school game early, takes an easy exit exam, and enters El Camino when his friends are still juniors in high school.
Crazy talk from an old man. But old people know things, right?

In the recent election cycle, Hillary Clinton claimed that someone’s zip code should not define that person, or hold them back, or keep them from a level playing field. Good to know.
We used to live in the 90505. We now live in the 90277. My wife and son are at our local high school tonight because they are offering workshops and information for incoming freshman.
As a 9th-grader next year, there is an option on his Course Selection Sheet that reads “I plan to take Health in Summer School (fee required). Info will be posted on website mid-spring.” By taking that Health class, as most kids do, it allows them choices. He’ll take English and Biology Honors, which are the only Honors classes offered to freshmen. He’ll take PE or do some sport. There’s Geometry and Spanish, French, or Chinese.
But, then the choices come. Art, Music Theory, Drama, Media Arts, Chorus, Digital Photo, Beginning Culinary Arts, Principles of Biomedical Sciences, Academic Decathlon, Web Design, AP Computer Science Principles, Intro to Broadcasting, and Intro to Engineering Design.
Those are the options just for freshman year. So, yes, zip codes matter, as do choices.

No waxing poetic here. The wife, boy, and I just went on a week-long road trip through California and Oregon. The results were mixed.
1–I got gas in Earlimart. I wish that’s where it all ended, but I also used the gas station’s bathroom. It was as disgusting as you would expect a gas station called GAS WARS in Earlimart would be. While waiting, I checked out the candy section, where half of the product was foreign to me, but looked interesting and delicious. Do you know anyone from Earlimart, because it’s only a little over two hours from Los Angeles? And, people are living there.

2–UC Merced is in the middle of nowhere of the middle of nowhere. Surely the UC system could do better than put some buildings out in the middle of pastures. Literally nothing around it for miles. I’m all for the “college experience,” but your starter city is Merced and the school is nowhere near it. Go, Bobcats.
3–Del Taco wants to compete. They were open on Christmas night in Folsom. Thanks.
4–Every single town outside of Southern California has a bakery and a brewery. Some are good, some are hit and miss, but if a town of 2,000 can have a bakery, why must I go to Paris Baguette? or some gluten-free place? or some “bakery” that already has their items in plastic wrap?
5–California and Oregon are beautiful states, unless you think mountains, rivers, lakes, and wildlife in abundance are ugly.
6–Regular FM radio is listenable outside of Southern California. Going into Bend, Oregon, one of their stations played Johnny Cash, followed by PJ Harvey, followed by Beastie Boys, followed by Pinback, and so on. You can listen HERE.
7–Good food and drink can be found in Susanville, CA (and in Bend, OR, and in Florence, OR, etc.). Believe it, or don’t, but restaurants in small towns actually make everything from scratch AND have staff that are attentive and nice. I know–let it sink in.

8–Humboldt State is a nice-looking school. I always wrote the place off as one where stoners go, but it’s a newer-looking school in a town that has some stuff (and a bigger town down the road). There are actually trees and a city nearby (I’m still looking at you, Merced).
9–Acme Bread in Berkeley is amazing. Have a bad review? You. Are. High. The sourdough baguette lasted less than ten minutes in the car. The round, the batard, the chocolate croissant, and the cinnamon/currant bread have been equally as delicious. We waited about 20 minutes in line on New Year’s Eve, as did the people in front of us and behind us. Shout out to Rick Jackson, chef extraordinaire from parts unknown these days, for telling me of this place long before they became insanely popular.

10–No one is going to make America great again. Lately, road trips with the family have included tons of driving on the two-lane roads and not the interstates. Yeah, Bend is doing great (28 breweries!), and people are lined up at Acme, but I took a wrong turn in Oakland yesterday, one that allowed me to see how people are living not five minutes away from Acme.
The stock market’s meteoric rise has meant nothing to people living on the street, or in most of the towns we drove through. Get off that interstate and our country is dotted with towns that still have outhouses, of boarded-up businesses, of streets where no one is walking. No young people are seen–they have gone to the cities that will either welcome them or not.
Drugs are everywhere. When we stay in hotels now we have to sign a paper that says we won’t smoke weed in the room. That’s new. Hallways smell of weed. My wife pulled some bud out of the pool the other day.

To not be too depressing, there are great parts of the United States, and these two-lane road trips have been mostly positive. It’s because of the people who still have pride in their towns and do a good job. It’s of seeing deer, and hawks, and bald eagles, and rivers and lakes and mountains and trees.
If you want to see America, get down in it and see it. Just be ready.

I watched Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter yesterday. It was on cable, my homework was done, so I watched a movie I had seen a few times.
It brought back a couple of unpleasant memories that have attached themselves with me and the movie over the years. Back when we were dating, I think, I took my now-wife Mitzi to see The Deer Hunter at the Widescreen Film Festival at the Carpenter Center at Long Beach State. Slated to appear was the director himself, as he would introduce the film. The Carpenter was not full, which surprised me, because this was Michael Cimino.
For those who might not remember the name, Michael Cimino worked his way through the scene with screenplays to Silent Running (1972) and Magnum Force (1973) before Clint Eastwood gave him his directorial shot with Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (1974), which Eastwood starred in. The dates are important because these weren’t huge films–though Magnum Force was part of the Dirty Harry series–but, at this time, Hollywood believed that young directors were going to make the next Easy Rider or The Exorcist, or that they could make some money off a small investment.
Thunderbolt and Lightfoot made the studios some money, Jeff Bridges was up for Supporting Actor, and that gave Cimino enough credibility to make The Deer Hunter in 1978. It was long, ran over budget, but won a lot of Oscars, including Best Picture, and had Robert DeNiro, a young Christopher Walken, Meryl Streep, John Cazale, and John Savage in it. It resonated with audiences on many levels, and, perhaps, was the movie that needed to be made after our country came out of the Vietnam War.
But after his success with The Deer Hunter, Cimino wrote and directed Heaven’s Gate, which featured an older Christopher Walken, and newly-box-office-bankable Kris Kristofferson, John Hurt after an alien popped out of his chest a year before, foreign actress Isabelle Huppert, along with veterans like Sam Waterston, Jeff Bridges, Brad Dourif, and Joseph Cotton. The name Heaven’s Gate and Michael Cimino are now associated with failure, indulgence, hubris, and two of the reasons United Artists doesn’t exist anymore.
Heaven’s Gate bombed. There have been books written about its failure, most notably The Final Cut, which detailed the excess of the shoot and the eventual box office thud. When filming, there were stories about how controlling Cimino was–that he was five days behind schedule on the sixth day–and that he had been cruel to animals. The budget went up monthly, but the studio was tied to the picture and kept coming up with money. When it was almost said and done, Cimino claimed he had a 500+ minute version of the film, but that he might be able to cut 15 minutes from that. There were battles over length and marketing of the film, but the first version that hit theaters was over 200 minutes. I’m not even sure if Cimino was the final editor.
Heaven’s Gate ruined Cimino. Yes, he directed other films after that, but Year of the Dragon, Desperate Hours, and Sunchaser were not going to get him back onto Hollywood’s elite list. He was done. There were stories that he had this or that project, but they didn’t happen. There were also stories that he was having plastic surgery to transition to a woman. When his picture came up on the In Memorium segment of the Oscars, I did not even know he had died.
Back to the Carpenter Center, not filled almost twenty years after The Deer Hunter first came out. Cimino was there and he did speak. He claimed he had not seen the movie since it first came out–which seemed like a ridiculous feat–but he was optimistic and talked about film and what it had done for him and what it might do in the future. He spoke to any young filmmakers in the audience and implored them to be true to their game, to tell their stories, and not give up in spite of any odds. He was funny, humble, and hardly seemed like the guy who was notorious for a movie that killed the independent spirit of 1970’s movies. Of my celebrity sightings, and the speeches they give, he seemed like a guy who had promise, which is, maybe, why studios took a chance on him. He even sat in the front and watched his movie as it played on the wide screen.
After an hour, or so, I started to remember some thing about The Deer Hunter that I wasn’t seeing on the screen. I chalked it up to my bad memory, which I don’t have; however, I hadn’t seen the movie in a while, so maybe I was wrong. There is, though, this major scene about an hour from the end of the scene. It’s where Robert DeNiro’s character named Michael (many people had issue that Cimino had DeNiro play “him” in the film) is off with his old buddies on a hunting trip. He’s a great hunter and, while his friends stay close to the action, he is bounding over rocks, running through forests, is even above the clouds in his search for the perfect elk. He stalks it, has it in his sights, but does not shoot it. It’s a big deal–he’s been to Vietnam and guns and violence have played a big role in the film so far. Needless to say, that scene was not in the movie my future wife and I were watching. Five minutes later,the lights came on and an announcer told us that this was not Cimino’s movie. It was an edited version that someone had grabbed from the Long Beach State library, a movie that anyone could have checked out and watched at home up until then. The announcer apologized to Cimino and us for the mistake, told us we could stay as the movie would be finished, but reminded us that this was not the real movie version. We left. I don’t know what Cimino did.
That was Long Beach State for me. As much as I enjoyed the school, and it did allow me to get an MFA in Fiction, it was always going to be the minor leagues and, in turn, so was I. While my friends went to amazing schools and got great degrees and pursued their Masters at those impressive schools, I went to Long Beach. They had Michael Cimino in their presence and they rolled out the wrong movie. My friends who went to other schools are very impressive on paper–they have scads of money, work high-level jobs, and are pretty important people. I took an MFA and parlayed that to my 19th year at a public high school and an unfinished book. The job is not a regret, nor is my life, but the non-book is.
The Deer Hunter will always bring me to these memories. It’s still a good movie, the actors sell it well, and it represents a time period in our country that was hard for people to recognize. It also points out the hard times at home for people–it takes place outside of Pittsburgh in a small town that doesn’t have it so good–but doesn’t Romanticize them too much. It’s supposedly Cimino’s story, his movie, and the fact that some of it doesn’t sit well with audiences shouldn’t matter. He was the one that took the chance on the story and, when it was all said and done, he was the one who reaped the rewards of it. Yes, it is sentimental at the end with the singing of “God Bless America,” but maybe that happened and was just part of the events in Cimino’s life.
Cimino is the other unpleasant reminder. Yes, it was his fault that Heaven’s Gate was a bomb for the studio, but it was filmmakers like him, and the films they made, that built studios, too. As soon as he became synonymous with failure, he was no longer the guy that took chances. Studios were satisfied with four singles and a strikeout here and there, rather than a home run and a strikeout here and there. It became safer. The independent spirit got movies into art houses rather than major distribution.
I watch too many movies and grew up with the many films of the 70’s. I went with my mother and father (though not together) to see major R-rated films of that decade because, for a while, I was too young to get in. I could list thousands of classic movies from the 70’s, but anyone who is still reading knows the titles. It was an era where Jack Nicholson represented the Everyman and was a huge star, even though many of his movies were personal, or anti-establishment, or just downright angry about the way it was to be an American man in this country at that time.
Now I have Pixar, who felt the need to find Dory and revisit their Cars franchise for a third time. I have Michael Bay blowing up things. Dwayne Johnson was the biggest actor (I think his movies made the most money) a year ago. I don’t know who my Everyman is these days. And so on.
But once, I was in a theater with Michael Cimino watching his Oscar winner, though not really. Think of him, the movie, or the occasion what you will, but it’s a moment that will only ever exist in memory which, perhaps, is like the Long Beach State movie version of The Deer Hunter.
https://youtu.be/ZHtQwxKaofk

What are we doing?
What are we doing?
What are we doing?
What are we doing?

Reading, writing, speaking, listening. No, this is not audible, so there’s no listening going down, unless you are speaking the above lines, or listening to the song included. But no one writes with italics these days–at least not my students. Consider this a flashback to the grammatical times of our yesteryears.

We inflect when we speak, so we should when we write. Right? I still think it makes a difference which pile your paper gets put into, so a little style doesn’t hurt.

On a side note–“chunking” reared its head again today. I see you, chunking, played by legendary actress Angelica Huston.

This is public now.
Every year the juniors at the high schools take the Smarter Balanced test. There’s English and Math involved. Since I teach English, I don’t even look at the math scores. The results can be found with a few clicks on the California Department of Education site, which you can find HERE.
I work for Torrance Unified and these are our results. You can spin them as you please, for this is merely data. The first number will represent standards exceeded, the second number will represent standards met, and the third number will be the total of kids who exceeded and met standards. The numbers will be the percentages. Just to be a lamb, I will also give the 2016 results, which were rounded up or down, or so I believe.
2016 Results
South High 40, 38, 78. West High 39, 38, 77. North High 33, 43, 76. Torrance High 33, 41, 74.
2017 Results
South 34.79, 36.32, 71.11. West 54.12, 29.63, 83.75. North 29.27, 40.52, 69.79. Torrance 33.84, 40.13, 73.97.

This is data. You can assume what you want from it. I just simplified it (or so I hope).

I often wonder why I stick with teaching. Well, here’s two reasons.
The other day we read “Greyhound Tragedy,” by Richard Brautigan. It’s a really short story that covers a lot of bases when you come back from summer and want to remind students what English looks like. It takes place during the Depression and has a movie theme to it. At the end, the girl in the story has some kids and names them Jean and Rudolph, after movie stars.
I didn’t figure students would know Jean Harlow, but Rudolph Valentino? Come on. Someone out of my 91 sophomores must have heard of the famous silent movie star. I told them there were pizza stores of his last name on PCH. I told them his name is synonymous with being a lover.
Their only response to whom this Rudolph could possibly be was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. All three classes. There was that.
Today, I was reviewing poetry with seniors and wanted to know how many poets an entire class could name. They got Poe, Claude McKay, Langston Hughes, Sylvia Plath, Robert Frost. Maybe another. They nodded in agreement when I told them Emily Dickinson existed.
A student also offered up “Something Whitman.” Yep. Mr. and Mrs. Whitman named their son Something. Oh captain, my captain.
Has no one seen Dead Poets’ Society?

We started RTI today. It’s also affectionately known as Response To Intervention, which seems weird when you look at it semantically. Response TO Intervention? What was your response to the intervention, student of mine? Well, it helped me out and I liked it. Responding to students who need help through the use of intervention is more of what’s in play, though, or so it seems.
Here’s the deal–two days a week, we get 37 extra minutes with our second period class after second period is over for RTI, which, for now, we are calling Saxon Time (please, Hammer, don’t hurt em). It’s seven minutes of passing period plus 30 minutes of Saxon Time, but since we’re not really passing from class to class for intervention yet (it’s the fourth day), it’s really 37 minutes.
I don’t know what it’s going to look like months from now, and for years to come, but right now we have 37 extra minutes with our second period, and can do a myriad of things with them. I want to bring fun back to the classroom, to add excitement, to have students wonder what’s going to happen the next meeting. We’ve been told that extended lessons can’t count for students’ grades, but that’s not a big deal–as fun and exciting as my lessons are, I’m not sure the extension of them adds anything more than an example of the law of diminishing returns.
So, all of you who curse Betsy DeVos. So, all of you who want a do-over in life. So, all of you who say that kids today need such-and-such, WHAT’CHOO GOT FOR ME? WHAT’S YOUR SUGGESTION? I’m all ears and I got 37 minutes twice a week.
I’ll be here all week. Fun, excitement, mystery, wonder, practicality, curiousity sparkers, rigor, life lessons. Most readers of this are older and wiser. I’ll even use your name if I use your idea. When’s the last time you got a shout-out?
Alright, let’s do this.