"Medium Large" is a webcomic by the man who writes "Sally Forth." It's not always safe for work, but it often is hilarious.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Book club: 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner'
Next week, we'll be looking at "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," probably the best-known of Samuel Coleridge's poems. As always, the club is open to new members as we start a new book.
Be warned, the poem is full of archaic and potentially challenging vocabulary; it is probably a book best read aloud by a parent with the student. (If you're feeling particularly malicious, read it to your children at bedtime.)
The book club meets at 11 a.m. Mondays at my house. We'll be looking at a few things when we discuss the poem, with some discussion over the crimes the mariner and his shipmates commit in the course of the story, and the respective punishments meted out on each. We will meet to discuss the poem at 11 a.m. Feb. 20. It is doubtful this book will require a second week for discussion, given its relative brevity.
The book club is intended for young teens, but is open to anyone who reads the books and is up for the discussions. There is no charge for the group.
Feel free to contact me for directions, or with any other questions.
Be warned, the poem is full of archaic and potentially challenging vocabulary; it is probably a book best read aloud by a parent with the student. (If you're feeling particularly malicious, read it to your children at bedtime.)
The book club meets at 11 a.m. Mondays at my house. We'll be looking at a few things when we discuss the poem, with some discussion over the crimes the mariner and his shipmates commit in the course of the story, and the respective punishments meted out on each. We will meet to discuss the poem at 11 a.m. Feb. 20. It is doubtful this book will require a second week for discussion, given its relative brevity.
The book club is intended for young teens, but is open to anyone who reads the books and is up for the discussions. There is no charge for the group.
Feel free to contact me for directions, or with any other questions.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Shameless Netflix plug
I knew that Netflix would be a good resource for us as a family of homeschoolers, but what has surprised me is how our subscription has benefited us in some unexpected ways.
My parents gave us a gift subscription to Netflix a little over a year ago, for Christmas 2010. At the time, we'd been streaming the video series "Becoming Human" over the NOVA web site as part of a unit on human evolution, and my mind was filled with the potential for documentary films that could supplement our studies in other areas as well.
We've taken advantage of the huge video library Netflix has amassed for a number of subjects, borrowing "The Power of Song" on DVD for a muscian study of Pete Seeger, streaming video on different periods of history we've been studying, and watching PBS Home Video on the solar system as part of Oldest Daughter's research project on the solar system. It's even been a gateway for discovering culture, as the girls have seen classic movies, encountered famous playwrights through film adaptations of their work, and on and on.
But Netflix has another advantage, one that if management is smart, it will start actively promoting to homeschoolers: It allows you to stream some quality TV shows. In the midst of some shows that are simply great fun, like the "Dr. Who" revival; and other shows that we could all live happily without ever seeing, like "24" and "Wizards of Waverly Place," the Netflix video library includes some TV shows that are an English teacher's dream.
These are the shows that were written during the golden age of television, by writers who had grown up not watching TV, but filling in radio plays with their imagination, reading books, and sometimes attending theatrical productions. Every now and then, you'll catch a revival of their work, when an enterprising studio head acquires the right to reuse the title and concept of a show; and, if you look hard enough, you can find their actual shows broadcast at some obscure hour of the night.
These are shows like "The Outer Limits" and "The Twilight Zone."
We haven't watch "The Outer Limits" yet, but some time last year I decided to capture Oldest Daughter's imagination with an episode or two of Rod Serling's magnum opus. As expected, the show was a hit. To my delight, it proved to be a great springboard for discussion of literary techniques and styles.
As we've watched episodes together, I've paused them midway to introduce concepts of protagonist, and encouraged Oldest Daughter to identify not only the protagonist of the episode, but whether the struggle at the heart of the story was internal or external, or even an externalized internal conflict. From there she's learned to identify the climax of the story, and the denouement; and many times, even to predict how the plot will play out once the climax has been reached, and to explain how she knew it would go that way, complete with arguments from the story so far.
She's learned to identify literary motifs like deals with the Devil, the genie's wishes, cheating fate, and she's developed a keen sense of appreciating irony.
On one occasion, an episode of "The Twilight Zone" led her to write a killer essay critiquing a story and suggesting an alternate way the story could have gone that respected not only her own sensibilities, but also the integrity of the episode's characters and the general spirit of "The Twilight Zone."
The show has even been a gateway into an impromptu history lesson. "Dad," she once asked me, "why are there so many episodes about nuclear war?" One time she asked me about the network censorship that made direct treatments of such topics verboten; and on another, she expressed curiosity about the levels of paranoia shown among the characters. "Let's talk about the 1950s," I told her.
Watching these episodes together has been more than just a chance to enjoy high-quality televised dramas together. They have generated better discussions and writing assignments than I ever remember getting back in middle school or even high school, discussions and assignments that are driven largely by things that interest her.
So, it's been nearly 53 years since the show first aired, but I'm finding it's as strong now as it was then. A TV show that unsettles, haunts and educates. This could only be possible in the Twilight Zone.
But it's Netflix that got us there.
My parents gave us a gift subscription to Netflix a little over a year ago, for Christmas 2010. At the time, we'd been streaming the video series "Becoming Human" over the NOVA web site as part of a unit on human evolution, and my mind was filled with the potential for documentary films that could supplement our studies in other areas as well.
We've taken advantage of the huge video library Netflix has amassed for a number of subjects, borrowing "The Power of Song" on DVD for a muscian study of Pete Seeger, streaming video on different periods of history we've been studying, and watching PBS Home Video on the solar system as part of Oldest Daughter's research project on the solar system. It's even been a gateway for discovering culture, as the girls have seen classic movies, encountered famous playwrights through film adaptations of their work, and on and on.
But Netflix has another advantage, one that if management is smart, it will start actively promoting to homeschoolers: It allows you to stream some quality TV shows. In the midst of some shows that are simply great fun, like the "Dr. Who" revival; and other shows that we could all live happily without ever seeing, like "24" and "Wizards of Waverly Place," the Netflix video library includes some TV shows that are an English teacher's dream.
These are the shows that were written during the golden age of television, by writers who had grown up not watching TV, but filling in radio plays with their imagination, reading books, and sometimes attending theatrical productions. Every now and then, you'll catch a revival of their work, when an enterprising studio head acquires the right to reuse the title and concept of a show; and, if you look hard enough, you can find their actual shows broadcast at some obscure hour of the night.
These are shows like "The Outer Limits" and "The Twilight Zone."
We haven't watch "The Outer Limits" yet, but some time last year I decided to capture Oldest Daughter's imagination with an episode or two of Rod Serling's magnum opus. As expected, the show was a hit. To my delight, it proved to be a great springboard for discussion of literary techniques and styles.
As we've watched episodes together, I've paused them midway to introduce concepts of protagonist, and encouraged Oldest Daughter to identify not only the protagonist of the episode, but whether the struggle at the heart of the story was internal or external, or even an externalized internal conflict. From there she's learned to identify the climax of the story, and the denouement; and many times, even to predict how the plot will play out once the climax has been reached, and to explain how she knew it would go that way, complete with arguments from the story so far.
She's learned to identify literary motifs like deals with the Devil, the genie's wishes, cheating fate, and she's developed a keen sense of appreciating irony.
On one occasion, an episode of "The Twilight Zone" led her to write a killer essay critiquing a story and suggesting an alternate way the story could have gone that respected not only her own sensibilities, but also the integrity of the episode's characters and the general spirit of "The Twilight Zone."
The show has even been a gateway into an impromptu history lesson. "Dad," she once asked me, "why are there so many episodes about nuclear war?" One time she asked me about the network censorship that made direct treatments of such topics verboten; and on another, she expressed curiosity about the levels of paranoia shown among the characters. "Let's talk about the 1950s," I told her.
Watching these episodes together has been more than just a chance to enjoy high-quality televised dramas together. They have generated better discussions and writing assignments than I ever remember getting back in middle school or even high school, discussions and assignments that are driven largely by things that interest her.
So, it's been nearly 53 years since the show first aired, but I'm finding it's as strong now as it was then. A TV show that unsettles, haunts and educates. This could only be possible in the Twilight Zone.
But it's Netflix that got us there.
Monday, February 6, 2012
The Sound of Music
This month's composer study: Stephen Sondheim.
Oldest Daughter spent part of January growing in her familiarity with Andrew Lloyd Webber, the composer behind musicals such as "Jesus Christ Superstar" and "Phantom of the Opera." As we've brought more of his musicals into the house via our Netflix subscription, Oldest Daughter has lamented Eva Parone's untimely death with refrains of "Oh What a Circus," while Middle Daughter has given voice to Eva's naked ambition, a la "Eva, Beware of the City."
Even the 2-year-old has got into the spirit of the thing, singing "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina." This is all the result of a little calculated musical enrichment.
The older girls already are familiar with Sondheim, because of "Into the Woods," which DVD we've had the past five years. "Into the Woods" combines the fairy tales of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel and an original tale about a baker and his wife; and takes the fairy tales from childhood into adulthood in the second act, when the giant's wife comes looking for Jack, who repaid her kindness by stealing from her husband and then killing him.
We're likely to watch "Into the Woods" again, and discuss some of its humanistic themes; but I expect our first trip down Sondheim Lane this month will be the Bette Midler production of "Gypsy," about the cuthroat world of show biz. (I love streaming video.)
The first Sondheim movie in our queue was the Tim Burton "Sweeney Todd." I can safely say, without fear of contradiction, that Beloved Wife and I found the movie to be absolutely hilarious. There is also no way in hell we are going to let the girls watch it for several years.
So, in its place, I've scheduled a viewing of "A Celebration at Carnegie Hall," which provides an overview of Sondheim's work, performed by a number of different singers. I especially like Glenn Close's "Send in the Clowns," and Victor Garber's "Ballad of Booth." A showcase like this provides a good overview of Sondheim's work overall, and may give us some ideas for other shows to explore.
At the moment, the other Sondheim musicals on our queue include "West Side Story" and "Sunday in the Park with George." We may also watch "A Little Night Music," though I'm still debating its merits, contentwise. There is no movie version of "Assassins" that I'm aware of, but we have soundtracks to both the original Broadway cast and the revival. She'll be listening to some of those tracks, at least.
So why treat Oldest Daughter to the music of Stephen Sondheim? I guess one answer would be that the fellow is just that good. He's won a Tony for lifetime achievement, and a Pulitzer and a number of Grammy awards for specific projects. The New York Times has called him the greatest person working in theater today.
His book for "Assassins" is a good example of his intelligence; it treats a complex and emotional subject -- people who want to kill the president of the United States -- and deals with it in a nuanced way. Sondheim gets us to laugh at buffoons like Charles J. Guiteau and Sara Jane Moore, and makes us see Andrew Zangara and Leon Czolgosz as the pathetic and angry men they were, but also lets us see John Wilkes Boothe the way he saw himself, so that by the end of the musical, audience members can't help but feel disturbed as they find themselves sympathizing with the asssassins and rooting for Lee Harvey Oswald.
The journey helps us to discover that the line between moral decency and reprehensible criminality is finer and easier to cross than we would like to think. The show makes us laugh, but it also makes us cringe at the monster in ourselves, which is the hallmark of good art.
Sondheim has written some great musicals, sometimes just the lyrics, sometimes just the music, but often both. By the end of the month, the goal is to hear a lot of his music around the house as well.
Oldest Daughter spent part of January growing in her familiarity with Andrew Lloyd Webber, the composer behind musicals such as "Jesus Christ Superstar" and "Phantom of the Opera." As we've brought more of his musicals into the house via our Netflix subscription, Oldest Daughter has lamented Eva Parone's untimely death with refrains of "Oh What a Circus," while Middle Daughter has given voice to Eva's naked ambition, a la "Eva, Beware of the City."
Even the 2-year-old has got into the spirit of the thing, singing "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina." This is all the result of a little calculated musical enrichment.
The older girls already are familiar with Sondheim, because of "Into the Woods," which DVD we've had the past five years. "Into the Woods" combines the fairy tales of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, Red Riding Hood, Rapunzel and an original tale about a baker and his wife; and takes the fairy tales from childhood into adulthood in the second act, when the giant's wife comes looking for Jack, who repaid her kindness by stealing from her husband and then killing him.
We're likely to watch "Into the Woods" again, and discuss some of its humanistic themes; but I expect our first trip down Sondheim Lane this month will be the Bette Midler production of "Gypsy," about the cuthroat world of show biz. (I love streaming video.)
The first Sondheim movie in our queue was the Tim Burton "Sweeney Todd." I can safely say, without fear of contradiction, that Beloved Wife and I found the movie to be absolutely hilarious. There is also no way in hell we are going to let the girls watch it for several years.
So, in its place, I've scheduled a viewing of "A Celebration at Carnegie Hall," which provides an overview of Sondheim's work, performed by a number of different singers. I especially like Glenn Close's "Send in the Clowns," and Victor Garber's "Ballad of Booth." A showcase like this provides a good overview of Sondheim's work overall, and may give us some ideas for other shows to explore.
At the moment, the other Sondheim musicals on our queue include "West Side Story" and "Sunday in the Park with George." We may also watch "A Little Night Music," though I'm still debating its merits, contentwise. There is no movie version of "Assassins" that I'm aware of, but we have soundtracks to both the original Broadway cast and the revival. She'll be listening to some of those tracks, at least.
So why treat Oldest Daughter to the music of Stephen Sondheim? I guess one answer would be that the fellow is just that good. He's won a Tony for lifetime achievement, and a Pulitzer and a number of Grammy awards for specific projects. The New York Times has called him the greatest person working in theater today.
His book for "Assassins" is a good example of his intelligence; it treats a complex and emotional subject -- people who want to kill the president of the United States -- and deals with it in a nuanced way. Sondheim gets us to laugh at buffoons like Charles J. Guiteau and Sara Jane Moore, and makes us see Andrew Zangara and Leon Czolgosz as the pathetic and angry men they were, but also lets us see John Wilkes Boothe the way he saw himself, so that by the end of the musical, audience members can't help but feel disturbed as they find themselves sympathizing with the asssassins and rooting for Lee Harvey Oswald.
The journey helps us to discover that the line between moral decency and reprehensible criminality is finer and easier to cross than we would like to think. The show makes us laugh, but it also makes us cringe at the monster in ourselves, which is the hallmark of good art.
Sondheim has written some great musicals, sometimes just the lyrics, sometimes just the music, but often both. By the end of the month, the goal is to hear a lot of his music around the house as well.
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