Suspension of Disbelief

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eJO9Czh12XQ

Traditional teaching styles conflict greatly with new ideas of what education should be developing. Old styles teach a rigid design where students learn and teachers teach. Students are treated more as animals whose urges and instincts are meant to be penned up. And, it is those student who successfully succumb to these guidelines that are most valued. Subservience. Yet, these actions, based on these systems do not correlate with action that must be taken in the real world. Schools would stress fact memorization and forgo independent thought. It does not matter why the book tells you that the Civil War happened, only that what it is said should be taken for truth unquestionably. Newer teaching styles promote input and break down the wall erected between the students and their teachers. I believe that school should have purpose. It is not simply a daycare for children. It should be an institute of learning. Learning requires the free exchange of ideas. Therefore, schools should require ...

So yesterday I went on my first of five in-class observations. I visited a 12th grade AP US history class and then a 9th grade world history course. I went into it without much trepidation, probably due to the fact that I find it hard to feel nervous on four hours sleep and after an hour driving. The school was immaculate, thus quickly putting mine to shame. It was a clean cut newer building. The people were great. I really mean that. The 12th grade class that I went to fit into the usual mold for AP students, but the 9th grade class I visited was head and shoulders above any standard level 9th grade history class that I have ever seen. The difference between my high school and it's atmosphere is the difference between please and thank-you and bitching and moaning. It was just awesome. Teacher and student alike brought a positive attitude to their presence there, even for a Monday. And even if they didn't want to be there it was commiserative they were all in it together. It se...

Please remain patient.

Monday, January 21, 2009 Dear Department of Misplaced Items, I hope that this letter finds you well. I, unfortunately, am not so well. I seemed to have misplaced a few household items. I would not be bothering you about them, if it were not for the fact that I assumed they would have turned up by now. I hope that you can help me locate them; they are of vital importance, and I have reason to believe that they have been stolen from me. I approach you not without trepidation however, as I know your legendary ability to find lost objects, and too the complexities of your department to which occasionally one can contribute the lose of ones own self. But too, what I have lost track of is equally legendary, difficult to recover, and perhaps more so invaluable. You see, dear sir or madam, that I seem to have lost my rights, and I cannot for the life of me understand where they have gone to. The situation has become grave, oh finder of misplaced items, for just yesterday, upon questioning my ...

My waking hours are blistered with terror this and war that. Fear. We live in a world where fear dictates our every move and our every decision. It wasn't always this way. In 1941 FDR reminded the American people that they had nothing to fear but fear itself. And sixty years later we forgot. Benjamin Franklin once wrote "Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." He knew too what FDR spoke of, that we cannot live our lives in fear and we cannot do things in haste because of fear. The Bush presidency is littered with mistakes of this sort. And it is the future that will pay. I will not speak of the numerous and wide ranging violations of essential liberty that we've made. I will not speak of the fear that has gripped this nation, particularly in its heartland, where attacks are in the very least more unlikely than in urban America. These atrocities have been listed elsewhere, and as I'm sure...

While there once was a man from Nantucket, this is not his story, nor is it the story of a boy from Boston, a lad from Laurence, or a fellow from Framingham, but a story of a kid with yellow skin, a red cap, a give-em-hell attitude, and a fourth grade education. And hell yeah, he coulda made sergeant! But he didn't. No sir he did not. You would figure that something so big, so absolutely needed in this fucked up world of pale v. brown skin, may not live up to the high standards of one B. R. Superfan but of, in the very least, the promotion of the product itself. For shame. For shame, for you have failed us. Twenty years ago you learned how to make us laugh and how to make us feel and we too learned these things from you. But time as it is today, status quo has gone stale. The same ol' same old is old and not worth paying for to see. It was eighteen years in the making and quite frankly it may take eighteen more before I'll pay to see another. Sure I'll still watch for f...