4 posts tagged “english”
"Strike a match and hope it lasts. Here's to following your own lead."
--Less Than Jake
The other night, I stayed up a little later than I'm used to. I was exploring Vox. There are all kinds of different groups one can join, depending on one's interest. There are groups about music. Groups about science. Groups about sports. Groups about politics. There is a group for pretty much anything a person would like to belong to. You know what I discovered? I couldn't find a group in which I truly "fit in." I wanted to find people just like me. People who enjoyed sports, reading, writing, punk rock, lifting, health, family, faith, teaching.
Let me rephrase: I fit in "a little" with all kinds of people. I can find something to talk about with almost anyone, but sometimes, when I try to talk about one of my other interests, I lose whoever it is I'm talking to. As soon as they realize I am not 100% "one of them" they give me the blank stare. The raised eyebrow. The puckered forehead. It's almost as if they smelled a fart, and I was the guilty party.
For example: I love snowboarding, yet I'm horrifically irritated by most snowboarders. It's rare for me to find a snowboarder that I get along with, and snowboarding is one of my passions. Maybe it's my fault. Or maybe it's that many of the snowboarders I come into contact with are blithering idiots. Maybe it's both.
Baseball is another one. I played baseball for the better part of my entire life. I was the only English major on my team at two different universities. Needless to say, we didn't start an after-practice literature discussion group.
Punk rock? My favorite music since I was a teenager, and I still haven't grown out of it. Yet, I don't agree with the message of a lot of the super-preachy political punk bands out there. I love the shows, I love the sound, I love the crowds--this music changed my life--but I'm not really on board with what it means to be truly "punk rock." Call me a hypocrite or a sell out.
At about 2AM, I finally grew weary of trying to find a Vox group that was my "perfect fit." I don't think it's out there. It was a little frustrating, but my quest for the perfect Vox group made me reflect on something I already knew. My diverse interests are part of what makes me...me. I'm not one of those people who can completely submerge themselves into a single group. And I wouldn't want to. I like the freedom of wandering from group to group. Sometimes that means I don't "fit in" as well as everyone else. That's my fault, but I'm ok with that.
I started this post with a quote from one of my favorite bands. It's from a song called "Faction." It's about belonging. The song states "Sometimes you just want to belong, at any loss at any cost." It feels good to belong. I searched for two hours the other night, just so I could belong.
But what are we willing to sacrifice so that we can belong? At what cost will we "fit in"? Sometimes we need to strike a match, and follow our own lead, regardless of who comes along with us. Here's to following your own lead.
Ok. Time for a quick English teacher rant.
Why? Because I'm about to explode. From mines.
I'm not a weapon's expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I've
read enough war books, seen enough movies, and played enough video
games to know that mines are little things that go in the ground and
blow you up when you step on them. Sometimes they can be placed in
water. Sometimes they blow up cars. Sometimes trucks. Sometimes boats.
They are mines.
Ok fine. Mines can also be holes in the ground or in the sides of mountains. You find gold in them. Or diamonds. Maybe coal. Orcs from Lord of the Rings hide out inside. Snow White's seven dwarves clock in Monday--Friday. Those are mines. No, they are not MINE. They are mines. Places or things. Nouns. NOT DESCRIBING WORDS!!!!
I haven't reached my breaking point yet, but I'm not sure how much more
"mine abuse" I can take. I fear mines will cause me to explode. Maybe I
should just find some of those really big holes to hide in until this
whole thing blows over. What do you call them?
Oh yeah. They're mines.
Consider the following quote:
"It's a strange world of language in which skating on thin ice can get you into hot water."
You gotta love idioms. Pardon the slang. Did "gotta" make it into the dictionary yet? Wow. My second sentence, and I'm already off topic. In all seriousness, I can sort of see why English drives people "up a wall" <--idiom. Anyone, with or without common sense, can easily observe that English cannot drive anything "up a wall", let alone people. Come to think of it, I don't think people can be driven "up a wall" by anything. It is possible, however, to skate on thin ice. In fact, I tried it a couple of months ago, when the volleyball my family and I were using bounced out over a frozen pond. My younger brother was too busy talking to someone unimportant, so he wouldn't retrieve the ball. It was up to me. So I "skated" out over the ice, reached for the Wilson sign (I almost felt like a castaway), and then the ice decided it wouldn't hold me anymore. I crashed through. Luckily it was only about a foot deep, but I'll tell you one thing for sure: The water certainly was NOT hot!
Yes, I know, any idiot could have told me the water underneath a frozen pond would be cold, but back to the original question--how does skating on thin ice get you into hot water? And how hot is this water we're talking about? Because if it's jacuzzi-hot, then that doesn't sound like such a bad thing. Talk about a need to be more specific. It should go something more like this: "skating on thin ice will get you into hot water that can and will cause an excruciating death due to third degree burns if you sit in it too long." Thankfully, I don't hear too many people say things like "skating on thin ice" and "get into hot water." No, instead we reel off phrases like "watch your back", "I got your back" "chillin'", "kickin' it", and "let's bounce." Upon hearing such idioms, the untrained learner of English might wonder what someone's cold backside has to do with kicking something that may or may not be bouncing up and down.
What's my point. Any 8th grader would laugh in the face of what I just wrote, proving that they are capable of understanding figurative language. Not only are they capable--they're experts. So I have hope. Even on those days when I'm being "driven up a wall" I'll remind everyone that "I got you're back, we're just chillin'. Just kick it for 50 minutes, and then you can
Then again, that might be skating on thin ice.
Since I repeatedly claim to enjoy the subject I teach, and I supposedly enjoy reading and writing, I figured it would only be fair to lead by example. Then again, as teacher and supreme ruler of my poorly ventilated 20X30 kingdom (aka room 204), I can do pretty much anything I want. It just so happens I want to write. So for the next four weeks, I'll be scribbling away with all of my amazing students, journaling/bloggging/writing about pretty much anything I dang-well please. Because I am an English teacher who shamelessly praises the virtues of correct spelling and punctuation, I will attempt to avoid embarrassing mistakes, including but not limited to: confusing there/their/they're, saying things like "your stupid," and spelling the word "definitely" differently each time, but never quite getting it right.
I firmly believe that one must maintain a mastery of standard English. Nevertheless, words and phrases such as "dude," "bro," "sick," and "what it is" all have their very important places to fill in our daily vocabulary, and I'm not ashamed to admit they sometimes weasel their way into my writing. What it is.
I'll be writing about anything I feel like. I'll be starting off almost every paragraph with some sort of first-person personal pronoun. This is about me, what I care about, what I don't care about, and most of all, what I firmly believe in. And right now, I firmly believe my Jackson Bam has just had a bowel movement.
That's why I'm here.
