About six months ago I wrote an essay that thought about teaching (and learning) literature and teaching (and learning) dancing - what they do and don't share, what you can learn as a teacher when you are taught stuff that is new and difficult, how important bodies are even when what you're studying is something cerebral.
I should finish it and try to get it published somewhere, because unless you do that, you are a worthless academic. (ie it's no good to just write about this stuff for the purpose of understanding it better yourself. Also you have to publish your publishings in a journal that is "A*", which means exactly as much as you'd imagine it means, and if you only publish it in a journal ranked "A", well, you might as well give it to a drunk, violent, stinking, incontinent leper to wipe his bottom with.)
But considerations of brownie points aside, I've found it very interesting to see how different dance teachers do their teaching. How they explain something new; how they break it down; crowd control; when they drill and when they let you play; when they show you what to do and when they describe what you should aim for. I've also seen effective demonstrations of how to *not* teach. The less said about those here the better, maybe.
You can't predict what's going to work and what's not until you see it done. It was the good teacher last night who, after making us spend about six months learning a stupid, boring, stratospherically daggy line dance that I hate, suddenly decided, at quarter to ten on the first weeknight after a more than usually painful election weekend, to switch styles and introduce a new and pretty complicated rock and roll move, which he couldn't quite remember himself, but he knew he'd nearly busted a girl's shoulder doing it. It sounds pretty bad, huh. But he's a good, effective educator, able to help 40 adults learn and be comfortable trying new things, and able to have nearly everyone keep up with the group.
Tuesday, August 24
Well, that was stupid....was it?
Have you recovered yet from the election? I think I may be beginning to. It was quite the traumatic day, from turning up to vote bright and early at the local P.S. and having the official who gave me my ballot papers tell me "a one above the line will suffice on that one, thanks", and having a pierced-lipped baggy-arsed teenager try to hand me a Family First how to vote card, to finally stumbling confusedly and miserably into bed just before T. Abbott came out to make his "I don't know whether I've won or lost but I'm still going to be as big a knobbish troglodyte as possible" speech. It was really the shock of watching those numbers painfully inching their way forward up to 70 -- back to 69 -- back to 72 -- the other side is on 74 -- no, it's down to 71 again -- and knowing that of the four or five possible outcomes, almost all would see Abbott governing within days. That was a pretty foul feeling.
We had a largish party here on Sunday for Dorian's birthday. As guests came in they said things like "it could still be worse" and "it still hasn't happened, and it may never happen", which was true then and is true now.
On the other hand, many good things came of the election. Wilson Tuckey had his face rubbed in a pile of cat vomit! That counts as about six good things, surely. I'm happy for the Green candidate who now represents Melbourne, although I still think he looks like he should be a contestant on Big Brother. I think Wyatt Roy, the 20 year old robot elected in Longman, may go on to provide us with a second Barnaby Joyce in the future if he's managed properly by his elders and betters in the LNP.
It's funny how long and complicated the mental adjustment to this strange state of affairs is turning out to be. So many unknowns. Dorian came to collect me from work last night - we go to a dance class on Monday evenings - and he said he was enjoying the election. Enjoying it, though! I'm sort of starting to know what he meant. It's not the same as that pro-democracy optimism some people seem to have about the prospect of a government which is not identical with a party, and which I suspect is making some observers develop wishful notions about the goodness of the three independents. Bob Katter is never going to be any different than what he's always been, I'm afraid. But there is a sense that the reality of what a government is has suddenly leapt back into the equation. We know that the vicious cycle of parties/spin/branding/image was ruining politics, and especially it was ruining good politicians. (I still think Julia Gillard could be a first-rate leader. Maybe we need to demand she shows us the 'real' Real Julia.) So perhaps it's a good thing that there are makers or breakers in the parliament now who have built their political careers on thumbing the nose at party politics. Maybe they'll break the circuit and force everyone else to rethink how they do government.
Or not.
When I read about Paul Oakeshott's suggestion of a 'unity cabinet' my first thought was awww bless. Just a bit too cute, just a bit too like the idea of one who's still high on adrenaline. It would be good if it was actually a supersonic whistle that only Malcolm Turnbull's ears can hear. I would like to see Malcolm collect his things and relocate them to the other side of the chamber.
Well, I had better go and find out whether Antony Green has decided yet who will be in charge.
We had a largish party here on Sunday for Dorian's birthday. As guests came in they said things like "it could still be worse" and "it still hasn't happened, and it may never happen", which was true then and is true now.
On the other hand, many good things came of the election. Wilson Tuckey had his face rubbed in a pile of cat vomit! That counts as about six good things, surely. I'm happy for the Green candidate who now represents Melbourne, although I still think he looks like he should be a contestant on Big Brother. I think Wyatt Roy, the 20 year old robot elected in Longman, may go on to provide us with a second Barnaby Joyce in the future if he's managed properly by his elders and betters in the LNP.
It's funny how long and complicated the mental adjustment to this strange state of affairs is turning out to be. So many unknowns. Dorian came to collect me from work last night - we go to a dance class on Monday evenings - and he said he was enjoying the election. Enjoying it, though! I'm sort of starting to know what he meant. It's not the same as that pro-democracy optimism some people seem to have about the prospect of a government which is not identical with a party, and which I suspect is making some observers develop wishful notions about the goodness of the three independents. Bob Katter is never going to be any different than what he's always been, I'm afraid. But there is a sense that the reality of what a government is has suddenly leapt back into the equation. We know that the vicious cycle of parties/spin/branding/image was ruining politics, and especially it was ruining good politicians. (I still think Julia Gillard could be a first-rate leader. Maybe we need to demand she shows us the 'real' Real Julia.) So perhaps it's a good thing that there are makers or breakers in the parliament now who have built their political careers on thumbing the nose at party politics. Maybe they'll break the circuit and force everyone else to rethink how they do government.
Or not.
When I read about Paul Oakeshott's suggestion of a 'unity cabinet' my first thought was awww bless. Just a bit too cute, just a bit too like the idea of one who's still high on adrenaline. It would be good if it was actually a supersonic whistle that only Malcolm Turnbull's ears can hear. I would like to see Malcolm collect his things and relocate them to the other side of the chamber.
Well, I had better go and find out whether Antony Green has decided yet who will be in charge.
Tuesday, August 10
FOUR POINT ACTION CONTRACT
1. ARSE
2. FECK
3. DRINK
4. GIRLS
What tears my heart most about the Liberal party is that people will vote for them and their racist, sexist, homophobic, godbothering, normal-family worshipping, smallminded greedy stupid venal and narrow policies. Unsuspecting people who really aren't too bad in themselves will vote for them above the line in the QLD senate and direct preferences to Wendy Francis of Family First, who thinks gay parents are child abusers and sees nothing wrong with saying so.
As for the economic policy issue, well, by heavens, this is the team that brought us Barnaby Joyce as financical brains trust spokeschairman. Should any person be seriously contemplating voting for the Liberals on account of how they're going to "STOP THE WASTE" (which sounds terribly constipating to me) well that person had better do the right thing and give back their $950 stimulus. That's all I can say. Actually, I can say a great deal more, but frankly, I have nicer things to do, while I still live in a country that isn't ruled by fascists.
2. FECK
3. DRINK
4. GIRLS
What tears my heart most about the Liberal party is that people will vote for them and their racist, sexist, homophobic, godbothering, normal-family worshipping, smallminded greedy stupid venal and narrow policies. Unsuspecting people who really aren't too bad in themselves will vote for them above the line in the QLD senate and direct preferences to Wendy Francis of Family First, who thinks gay parents are child abusers and sees nothing wrong with saying so.
As for the economic policy issue, well, by heavens, this is the team that brought us Barnaby Joyce as financical brains trust spokeschairman. Should any person be seriously contemplating voting for the Liberals on account of how they're going to "STOP THE WASTE" (which sounds terribly constipating to me) well that person had better do the right thing and give back their $950 stimulus. That's all I can say. Actually, I can say a great deal more, but frankly, I have nicer things to do, while I still live in a country that isn't ruled by fascists.
Dystopia rising
Just think, in less than two weeks, Tony Abbott could really and actually be the Prime Minister of Australia. Bringing with him Chris Pyne as minister for Education! Eric Abetz, Workplace Relations! Kevin Andrews, Human Services! And there's many more awesomely clever, thoughtful and humane prospects where those came from. I haven't been sleeping too well lately, and the night before last I had RN on at about 2am and the lead item in the news was that Labor had edged ahead by one percentage point in the polls. Can't express the comfort, the relief this brought.
Well, in a couple of hours I am teaching Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, the novel. It was my pleasure in yesterday's lecture to introduce a lot of young people to the movie, and if I understood them right, for several it was their first exposure to Marilyn Monroe outside of posters, photographs, soundbites etc. Not all, of course, but surprisingly many. I like to think that students who come to this subject expecting it to be about Seriose Womens Issues are discovering that my definition of that includes talking about what our culture thinks about blondes.
Later on today, three hours teaching the 1993 film of Richard III with Ian McKellen as a gleefully perverted fascist king. I'm not so enthusiastic about that one.
Well, in a couple of hours I am teaching Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, the novel. It was my pleasure in yesterday's lecture to introduce a lot of young people to the movie, and if I understood them right, for several it was their first exposure to Marilyn Monroe outside of posters, photographs, soundbites etc. Not all, of course, but surprisingly many. I like to think that students who come to this subject expecting it to be about Seriose Womens Issues are discovering that my definition of that includes talking about what our culture thinks about blondes.
Later on today, three hours teaching the 1993 film of Richard III with Ian McKellen as a gleefully perverted fascist king. I'm not so enthusiastic about that one.
Wednesday, August 4
Tuesday, August 3
Brilliant idea for a television show
Masterlawyer. A whole lot of cute-looking burnt-out young chefs compete on tasks such as conveyancing, writing wills, defending mobsters, and drafting federal legislation in the battle to become Australia's no.1 amateur lawyer.
Therapy
After I remembered that I had a blog I spent a number of days trying to remember what it was called and where on the internet it was located. Then, aha!, I found it. Right here. All just as it used to be: the 750 posts, the Bali-bellynese colour scheme Fyodor was so insulting about, the Howard-era joke that I really meant in the header image, and which now prompts me to say that the dawning prospect of a too precipitate return to a Liberal government made up of the dregs of the old one, only crueller, madder, and more evil, is one of many reasons I feel the need of a place to vent.
I stopped blogging partly because I didn't have a lot to say, and (illogically) partly because I thought the best way of avoiding blurts that might somehow weaken my always tenuous grip on my academic job would be to shut up altogether. However, I no longer understand this thinking. I don't see why I shouldn't say whatever I like, it can't possibly make any difference at all, and oh golly, I have a six month backlog of unwritten blog posts to clear, of cat videos, confused sarcastic remarks, ideas for television shows, and passionate complaints about tiny and obscure issues of interest to very few people alive, dead, or yet to be born, which, because I have not blogged them out in the normal way, are churning turgidly in my innards like the eleven servings of bone marrow and saffron risotto which Matt Preston is reported (by Woman's Day) to have consumed in a single sitting.
Indeed, I think you can actually see the effect that not blogging has had upon my brain:
It looks pretty bad in there!!1 but the specialist's letter that came with the scans was reassuring. I quote:
The left maxillary antrum is the part of the brain which deals with long division, so no great loss there if it's full of mucus, I guess.
As well as having my brain scanned, for no actual reason as it turned out, over the last half year I have done many great and mighty feats such as:
I stopped blogging partly because I didn't have a lot to say, and (illogically) partly because I thought the best way of avoiding blurts that might somehow weaken my always tenuous grip on my academic job would be to shut up altogether. However, I no longer understand this thinking. I don't see why I shouldn't say whatever I like, it can't possibly make any difference at all, and oh golly, I have a six month backlog of unwritten blog posts to clear, of cat videos, confused sarcastic remarks, ideas for television shows, and passionate complaints about tiny and obscure issues of interest to very few people alive, dead, or yet to be born, which, because I have not blogged them out in the normal way, are churning turgidly in my innards like the eleven servings of bone marrow and saffron risotto which Matt Preston is reported (by Woman's Day) to have consumed in a single sitting.
Indeed, I think you can actually see the effect that not blogging has had upon my brain:
It looks pretty bad in there!!1 but the specialist's letter that came with the scans was reassuring. I quote:
The pituitary fossa is of normal size with normal posterior pituitary bright spot. No pituitary mass lesion is seen and there is no microadenoma. The suprasellar cistern, optic chiasm, infundibulum and cavernous sinus are within normal limits. No abnormality is demonstrated in the remaining brain apart from prominent neurovascular spaces in the right basal ganglia of no significance. There is minor mucosal thickening seen in the floor of the left maxillary antrum.
The left maxillary antrum is the part of the brain which deals with long division, so no great loss there if it's full of mucus, I guess.
As well as having my brain scanned, for no actual reason as it turned out, over the last half year I have done many great and mighty feats such as:
- in the name of research, endured another Jane Austen fest in the nation's capital; well, I got through most of it although I did wag half a day and spent that with Zoe and Caren and at the Lifeline Book Fair which is even better than the Canberrans make it sound, and they always sound as if they are bullshitting about how good it is. Back to Jane. Here I am, in April in Canberra, sporting the fruits of the 1.5 hour Regency turban-tying workshop:
Ahem, just remember this is a SCHOLAR doing SCHOLARLY RESEARCH. It turns out that turban tying is pretty much what you would think it is - flop a bit of material around your head a few times, stick a few feathers or a brooch in if you're wearing your turban somewhere fancy. - hung out a lot with my mate Basil who doesn't know much about art but he knows what he likes, and isn't afraid to do whatever makes him feel good.
- I got an iPad. I may have played my way through a zillion levels of Plants vs. Zombies but on the other hand I also wrote a 24 page essay about what it's like reading Mansfield Park in electronic editions, so there you go (if you want to know what it is like I'm afraid you'll just have to buy the book.)
- Number 4 I shall blog about tomorrow, because this post is long enough already.
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