two characters

Our university tried bridging the humanities and the science for just one day with a program they called "Imagining, Performing, Writing Science." Rather than be dismissive, it didn't seem to be to much of a burden to attend. When I looked more carefully at the schedule, I saw that the post-lunch presentation was by the guys who host RadioLab on WNYC. Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich in person ... at UConn. One fascinating aspect was that in person, they engage in the same overlapping talk when live as they do on their radio show. And it was an investment of just 90 minutes of a Friday afternoon.

After they played their first audio clip from their show, I realized that they hadn't generated anything necessarily new for our cow college. Given the spontaneous laughter from the audience and the horrid intro by a physics professor (who confessed he'd only learned about RadioLab two weeks prior) I can't fault them for their decision. While I did record their presentation, you can hear a very high quality version by listening to their Sept 9, 2008 show called "Making the Hippo Dance." Some slightly different quips but the bulk of the presentation is the same. Not bad, but less than I had hoped for. At least for the content.

What intrigued me was that there were two roles being played and they were not accidental. On different programs they swap these roles. The roles are "science enthusiast" and "skeptical realist." The dialogue creates a fascinating space into which the listener can insert himself. So one guy will say something like, "Even though there's no biological basis to race, forensic scientists can determine gender and race from a tissue sample" and then the other guy will say, "Wait wait WAIT! That can't be possible. How can this be?" And then the other guy will slowly reel in his faux resistance friend. The effect is that I get pulled in, too. Great storytelling and I'll bet there's even a name for this rhetorical device -- but all I know about rhetoric is what I just read at the site A Handbook of Rhetorical Devices (maybe I'll attempt a "dirimens copulatio" without being slapped?). But I digress ...

With a major conference address on the horizon, less than 3 weeks hence, I have wondered about how the co-presenters might represent subtly different stances toward grand challenges and great opportunities. Imagine two speakers. One represents the senior, frustrated and demanding person who tries to incite the crowd; the other speaker a younger, joyous, and encouraging fellow who tries to offer insights. The former could insist that the solution is to tear down the temple while the other might point to rays of hope that might affect changes from within. The former could rant about shelves of volumes and issues of publications that have had little affect; the latter could suggest that there are voluminous issues that demand our attention. One could propose a revolution against the traditional conference; his foil could point to gentler efforts of resistance that are less destructive? Missed opportunities and wasted efforts ... or greater clarity about what we should do and fresh commitments to doing these kinds of works.

awesome interview prompts for science educators

Given that science educators frequently invoke Star Wars references within conversations, it was tempting to imagine an interview protocol in which prompts made use of this (sadly) common experience. I could not resist the temptation. What I did resist was creating hyperlinks throughout the transcripts:

Q: Do you remember Star Wars Episode Six?
A: The Return of the Jedi? Yeah, that was awesome.
Q: Yeah, it WAS awesome. Remember during the Ewok’s bonfire party and Luke sees the gossamer images of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda and the redeemed Anakin Skywalker?
A: Yeah, Luke built his father’s funeral pyre.
Q: Yep. Which people in your professional life are represented by those three figures?

The preceding exchange was inspired by an actual interview between two science educators. In the original, it was the interviewee who invoked Star Wars. In contrast, the following is what I imagine would occur if a researcher asked a science educator to describe the factors that prompted leaving the classroom in order to pursue an academic career.

Q: Remember the Empire Strikes Back?
A: Yeah, that was awesome. That battle on the ice planet Hoth was incredible!
Q: Remember when Luke flew from Hoth to Dagobah?
A: Yep, to train with Yoda.
Q: Exactly! What phase of your professional life is represented by Luke’s visit by Obi-Wan who told him how to be trained as a Jedi?

The following exchange about "midi-cholrians" is not based upon a phenomenon I actually remembered from seeing the movie. It just happened to emerge while doing research for this blog entry. I'm not saying that I am too hip to not know this -- just that I was too old when I first watched Episode 1. If I was younger, then I suspect I would have asked my science teacher about whether midi-chlorians could be real. If they were, that would be awesome! The image is from Wookieepedia.

Q: Remember in the Phantom Menace where they talked about midi-chlorians? A: Yeah, that was awesome. That provided was a cellular level explanation of the Force.
Q: Yes. And that’s how the Jedi Council knew that Anakin Skywalker was a future Jedi.
A: And Luke had a high midi-chlorian count, too.
Q: Indeed. What aspect of your professional life has similarities to the idea of midi-cholrians?

touch of love and pride beyond mere skill = art

This is why the attainment of proficiency, the pushing of your skill with attention to the most delicate shades of excellence, is a matter of vital concern. Efficiency of a practically flawless kind may be reached naturally in the struggle for bread. But there is something beyond—a higher point, a subtle and unmistakable touch of love and pride beyond mere skill; almost an inspiration which gives to all work that finish which is almost—which, in fact, is art.

Joseph Conrad, 1906
The Mirror of the Sea, p. 26

instant community by invitation

That newcomers to Crossroads are so immediately incorporated into the larger group has been mentioned enough times that it has become noteworthy. This phenomenon has been reported by novice attendees but has also been noted by those who are Crossroads veterans. Within "legitimate peripheral participation" is the possibility that apprentices must linger and lurk at the edges. This isn't anything a true scholar of Lave & Wenger would propose. Instead, it comes from my early and painful experiences as a wallflower at research conferences. It seems to take years to move from the periphery into the community and that might be an artifact of the move from apprentice to journeyman to master. Because this transition happens so suddenly at Crossroads, it suggests that something unique is at play. I have an hypothesis.

Everybody who comes to Crossroads has been pre-approved. Whether we actually have done so or not, the assumption by the community is that each newcomer has been hand-selected and specially invited to join the event. Like the holders of golden tickets, there is no guantlet to pass through in order to qualify as a legitimate member of the group. By virtue of their very presence, each new arrival is embraced as bona fide and worthy. How wonderful it must be to arrive, nervous about one's legitimacy yet excited to share with others -- and then to become one of the crowd even before anybody knows your name. And what great pressure that puts on those who distribute the invitations.

I suspect that this is one of the magic aspects of Crossroads: everyone who has attended was specially invited and usually through a face-to-face conversation. The personalized recruitment has continued since this project's inception. But until recently, I was only partially aware of the sense of coming together of old and new. And I had not recognized how instantly everything went "into solution" -- without stirring, with warming up, without waiting. This also becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy because those who we did not personally invited (known only to us) were accepted as if they were because no one knew any different. The effect was the same. Perhaps the invitations themselves are as important as many of the other aspects of this process.

Chi Rho Delta fraternity

One of our recent interview questions aims to uncover the distinguishing characteristics of the Crossroads community. A year ago, our research revealed that it doesn't carry some of the indicators of being a community of practice. So we cleverly couched social dimension as a "practice community." Having postulated that aspect, we have been inquiring to see how our participants recognize the practice and the community. We continue to run into barriers.

The contentiousness over "practice" is harder to unpack. But "community" elicits a range of perspectives. Some assert that it is indeed a community with all the interrelationships and interpersonal supports. Others view its short duration as a reason it does not qualify as a community. Alternative have been suggested included that it is a family -- presumably a family with two daddies.

It was the suggestion that Crossroads is more like a fraternity or sorority (science pants or science dresses) that got me thinking. What would be the Greek letters on the outside our house? What would be emblazoned on our shirts -- and appear on the sides of our homecoming float? Three letters: XRD as in Chi Rho Delta. It sounds a little odd, as if it's a geography clue on Jeopardy: Cairo Delta. But think about how those three letters would like spraypainted against the side of the Orange County Hyatt next month. Tagged!

short time off

A nearby town had its Maple Festival this weekend. In the settled part of the village (by the grocery store and strip mall) there were booths selling fried dough and doing face painting. The addition of "maple" barely distinguishes this festival from any other festival in other parts of our fine country. We did drive into the hinterlands to visit a couple of sugar shacks. One looked real authentic but they were only boiling water to show how the system worked. The other was really making syrup from sap but with gas heat rather than wood. Neither place resulted in a good photo.

All was not a loss: I snapped this picture out the window. And on our way home, we stopped at the supermarket where I discovered one of my advisees working as a cashier. She promised to let me know when she's delivering a good lesson during student teaching and I promised to do what I could to come visit. A very short break from work but a break nonetheless.

personality is a bigger part than I knew

Personality is as much a part of Gee's Nature-identity as race, gender or dialect. It took me quite a long time to recognize that being a White, mono-lingual male is a significant part of who I am and how others recognize me. But until recently, I felt my outlook and dispositions were little more than surface features. The only time I really notice or actively manage my personality is when I trot out the charming, compassionate and intellectual self when I meet knew people and try to bend them to do my bidding (e.g., offering me a job or opening their school to my grad students). Apparently it has been wrong to believe the parts of me that are "just who I am" are mere decorations. Not that I need to advertise how powerful those traits are — I'll leave that to my publicist.

Our little project called Crossroads has been something I have been trying to export almost as soon as the inaugural gathering was over. Foolishly, I have suggested that the movement is bigger than me and that others could simply follow our model and use it for purposes that are similar in spirit but specific to particular needs. No one has taken us up on that offer. Up until now, I think we've interpreted this as a profound lack of gumption. Admittedly, there is considerable work involved but it's a relatively manageable task -- and any errors are unlikely to induce genuine pain or anything life-threatening. Find someone to build a webpage, identify a quirky yet comfortable conference site, sculpt participants' work so it will be accessible to their audience, and find yourself a decent poet. What are you: scared?! No, it's because they aren't me.

It is time to own up to the fact that the co-organizers' personalities are perhaps the most significant aspect of this project. Sure we are really conscientious about getting people from the airport to the conference site. Yes, we are sufficiently adept writers that we can encourage others to revise their initial efforts. True, we are empathetic to the need for decent meals, great snacks and inspiring settings. But what it really comes down to, what truly seems to make it all work as it does, is because the combined personalities of the leaders are manifested throughout the entire event. Actually, this extends long before and far beyond a given meeting. It includes our efforts at alluring new people to attend and it reverberates as attendees encourage their most trusted of colleagues to consider coming next year. Except for a few holdouts, even poetry seems to be be a surrogate for our personalities and that assists in creating a climate in which the magic can occur. This joins with our capacity to juxtapose humor (and joy and delight) against seriousness (and determination and outrage). We live and breathe these paradoxes in our everyday life. What I am slowly ('cause I am slow) coming to recognize is that the glorious tensions we create is why it all works -- and that this is an extension of who we are no matter how much we might imagine that others could step up and fill our shoes. For now, we shouldn't worry about who is going to take our place. In truth, that may be an impossible hope because I am coming to accept that "I am me and my circumstances" and that my identity is so tightly enmeshed with my buddy's that Crossroads IS us.

mister unappreciative

A day at home during spring break was thought to be an opportunity to tidy upon a rather difficult manuscript. It is somewhat pressing because soon-to-be-graduating students are the co-authors and contributors. I was off to a slow start this morning but was finally making progress when other forces interfered. These should have been happy distractions but because of my petty self-centeredness, I almost became irritable. What I fool I am:

1. My home office was very poorly painted a couple of years ago by yours truly. Not only does the light color underneath peak through but the ragged edges where I pulled away the masking tape is godawful. So as I'm making edits, this wonderful handyman is in my office taping everything so he can in order to do the job tomorrow -- while I'm on errands for the day. He's already done other work for us and he's skilled and inexpensive. But I was feeling frustrated because I was editing and the sound of tape being peeled off a roll was distracting. So I went to the kitchen where ...
2. Sue was beginning preparations for an evening meal (this is before noon) for a couple that she knows via the Soup Kitchen. I thought, at first, that I could read or edit hard copy down there. But in addition to the noise of the mixer (for chocolate mousse) and the scream of the blender (creating a Red Iguana like Mexican sauce) she was playing her Les Miserables CD. Now I like Master of the House because of lines like "Hypocrite and toady and inebriate!" (and would love to write lyrics for a farcical-spoof) and yet I wanted to get this writing project done.
3. Then I realized that if I wasn't editing that I would probably be online checking for live music in New Orleans or trying to figure out the elusive streetcar routes. Not having that wrapped up with NSTA just around the corner just added to my sense ...

... that I am acting like an idiot. By this weekend my office (at least the walls) will look spectacular. And tonight I will dine on the nectar of the Aztecs. And New Orleans will present innumerable surprise and delights -- in large part just because of the company. So lunch included a Miller High Life (18 packs of long-necks on sale!) and I stopped being so damnably unappreciative of my circumstances. I'm still not a toady but I have begun to show my affinity for the other traits of the Master of his house.

staying with/in the family circus

Inside a kitchen cupboard in Kirksville, Missouri are taped cartoons from The Family Circus. These are single-paneled comics that were typically framed by a circle. The joke was always quaint and involved the antics of the four small children of a nuclear family. As the oldest child, I often identified with Billy — apparently now as much as ever (see recently issued comic). I am 99% sure that the yellowed clippings from the 1970s are still available for viewing in the living museum that is my childhood home.

For awhile there, I thought I might be moving to a new comic strip. One possibility I imagined was transitioning to Peanuts and frequently co-appearing with my good pal Franklin Armstrong. Together, we'd help set Charlie Brown on a new path. The location of the comic would reveal a changing America, a land where red states in the New South suddenly flip to blue. Along the way, "social justice" would leap from the academic discourse and become embedded within the vernacular of everyday folk. Peanuts would become the transcendent daily pop-art equivalent of the Obama presidency. My character would not necessarily be prominent but my presence would be significant -- even if only for humorous interjections.

There was also the possibility that I would re-emerge in a much more cosmopolitan setting. Again, my character would cross boundaries and seem as appropriate in high brow settings as in inner-city schools. One day my character would be at the Met and the next day in Harlem working with kids and magnets. I'm not exactly sure which comic I'd inhabit: the New Yorker lacks an ongoing storyline — Zippy the Pinhead is just too odd and Boondocks too "in your face." However, a video story about a snowy day in NYC offers a parallel to my dream comic. On one side, the glories of sledding or snowballing in Central Park. The other side: the number of clients at a soup kitchen increases when it snows. One can't help but feel conflicted about the scene. At least for now, that's not a comic in which I'll appear yet I'm keeping all options open.

this be the verse

Plans are underway for my parents' fiftieth wedding anniversary. Admittedly, it's a momentous occasion and a sign of endurance. Five decades is a long period of time and a substantial part of anyone's lifetime -- in fact exceeding the lifetimes of many who have walked this earth. So this is a reminder that time goes past. However, the significance of the time from June 12, 1959 to now could easily be overblown. And there are personnel on hand to ensure that this will happen. For example, here's an email from the principal instigator of this affair:

• I plan to have a "Memory Jar" for Mom and Dad. Small pieces of paper to write down memories from you about times with Mom, Dad, and/or family.

This puts a considerable amount of pressure upon the eldest child. For one, there is no way these can be anonymous. For another, there will be a subtle competition among the slips of paper swimming around in the jar. Furthermore, since there is considerable historical revisionism within our family, there will not be a premium on truthfulness. Finally, there is ample evidence that one person's profound memory would be someone else's unnoticed event. Therefore, there are scant incentives to write with honesty or brevity. In fact, with same name changes, a few minor episodes from The Brady Bunch would probably pass by unnoticed as fraudulent.

On what should be an unrelated note, I was flipping through an anthology of poems trying to find one that might complete my trilogy of Crossroads performances. It was there that I uncovered a poem that might be short enough to fit onto a slip of paper. It is also entirely inappropriate for a family reunion. Apparently this is a fairly well-known poem. But since it's new to me I thought I could capture it here ... and perhaps delight and/or horrify others with the thought that this could be textual equivalent of a turd in the anniversary punchbowl.

This be the verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

Philip Larkin

Just imagining the fallout of including such a verse might be enough to take the edge off the inevitable interpersonal flare-ups. It's never a question of "if?" and often even "who?" is not really uncertain -- there will be spats that will probably be fueled by alcohol. After this June weekend, I'm going to need a really big hug from someone who has not been swimming in our gene pool.