RIP
2016
b. 2016
d. 2016
RIP
2016
b. 2016
d. 2016
(Poem #153 on new numbering scheme)
Due to the smog from Beijing, red stains the light in morning, as if the gods are burning - at least one - as if the sun's setting.
– an englyn unodl crwca
Since we start all new classes in January, I have had a series of "last classes" with various cohorts of students. As a kind of tradition, I typically buy them pizza and we have a little party. I had quite a number of these over the last several days. A few classes where they wanted to, we played some games, too. Anyway, I will be sad about the students I won't likely see again (because they're moving up to 9th grade, where I no longer teach).
The Pizza Days have ended. Monday is all-new classes. A lot of work, but for now, I will do nothing until next year.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km]
I continued living in Ilsan.
[This entry is part of a timeline I am making using this blog. I am writing a single entry for each year of my life, which when viewed together in order will provide a sort of timeline. This entry wasn’t written in 2016 – it was written in the future.]
(Poem #152 on new numbering scheme)
I walk home. The sun has gone, such that all that's left is then a kind of distillation of dusk, flavored by the moon.
– an englyn proest dalgron
Mint
It looked like a clump of small dusty nettles
Growing wild at the gable of the house
Beyond where we dropped our refuse and old bottles
Unverdant ever, almost beneath notice.
But, to be fair, it also spelled promise
And newness in the back yard of our life
As if something callow yet tenacious
Sauntered in green alleys and grew rife.
The snip of scissor blades, the light of Sunday
Mornings when the mint was cut and loved:
My last things will be first things slipping from me.
Yet let all things go free that have survived.
Let the smells of mint go heady and defenceless
Like inmates liberated in that yard.
Like the disregarded ones we turned against
Because we’d failed them by our disregard.
– Seamus Heaney (Irish poet, 1939-2013)
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
(Poem #151 on new numbering scheme)
He sat down with the grim gods to play poker. He dealt cards, spinning them out from his hands, preparing his daring deeds.
– an englyn proest dalgron
I consider myself an advocate of evidence-based medicine. Generally, I have little patience for people who advocate for unproven medical approaches (or worse, "alternative medicines" that have been specifically proven in repeated studies to be useless). I am a regular reader of science-based medicine blogs such as the excellent (if often monotonous and occasionally strident) sciencebasedmedicine.org.
In my role as cancer survivor, I would say I have been subjected to a greater number of these kinds of advocacies than the average person, too.
Nevertheless, any kind of advocacy – even the advocacy for evidence-based medicine – can be taken too far. The excessive push for the "gold-standard" – randomized controlled trials - in every type of health-focused intervention can certainly be carried too far. I ran across this excellent, short satire that appears, "played straight," at the British Medical Journal website. Here is a sampling.
Objectives: To determine whether parachutes are effective in preventing major trauma related to gravitational challenge.
Design: Systematic review of randomised controlled trials.
Data sources: Medline, Web of Science, Embase, and the Cochrane Library databases; appropriate internet sites and citation lists.
Study selection: Studies showing the effects of using a parachute during free fall.
Main outcome measure: Death or major trauma, defined as an injury severity score > 15.
Results: We were unable to identify any randomised controlled trials of parachute intervention.
Conclusions: As with many interventions intended to prevent ill health, the effectiveness of parachutes has not been subjected to rigorous evaluation by using randomised controlled trials. Advocates of evidence based medicine have criticised the adoption of interventions evaluated by using only observational data. We think that everyone might benefit if the most radical protagonists of evidence based medicine organised and participated in a double blind, randomised, placebo controlled, crossover trial of the parachute.
I like the bit about "trauma related to gravitational challenge."
Addendum: Actually, before someone complains, I think I should clarify that I acknowledge at least a limited understanding that there is an important technical difference between the concepts of "science-based medicine" and "evidence-based medicine," and that, in fact, this satire is essentially a criticism of the latter from the perspective of the former.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
(Poem #150 on new numbering scheme)
The monkey, magnificent with his rainbow-hued, bent limbs, all bendy, at last sent, hurled along headlong, by some student.
"Teacher, can I use my phone now?"
This is normally not encouraged during class. It was 9:30 – halfway through the last hour of class.
"Can't this wait until after class ends?" I asked.
"I need to call my mom," she explained.
"Um… why do you need to call your mom?"
Pause. "I have to tell to get a ride home."
"I see. Well, I guess that's important," I acquiesced.
A moment later, after fishing around her backpack, she said, "I can't find my phone. Can I use my iPad to send a text message?"
I shrugged. "One way, or another. But can you get it done? So we can continue with class?"
She fiddled with her iPad for a moment, then looked up. "Actually, uh… I just remembered, I rode my bike."
"So you don't need to call your mom?"
She nodded. It's worth noting that this girl, finishing up the 7th grade, is the absolute highest-scoring student at Karma, right now. And although she speaks with a noticeable Korean accent, in terms of grammar and vocabulary I'd give her the lead in a comparison with any US teenager. But she's a bit of an airhead.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
(Poem #149 on new numbering scheme)
The cold air hung like a stone, and its surface, not so thin, demarcated a vague line between the earth and the sun.
– an englyn proest dalgron
I saw this image, left, written up at Language Log blog. The Arabic product name is "Chinese Astrology." Which just adds more dissonance. I think if you can figure out how all the pieces in this image fit together, you will have solved the mysteries of the 21st century.
[daily log: walking: 6.5km]
(Poem #148 on new numbering scheme)
These sacks of bones, meat and blood have a small fragment of cold, strange intellect, and thus should try to discover what's good.
– an englyn proest dalgron
Last Friday, my TQ phonics class merged with Grace's CS "post-phonics" class and had a caroling competition. These are 2nd and 3rd graders. Grace's class have been studying English for two years but the TQ kids (last group singing) have had less than a year of English, just a few hours a week. So I was proud of them.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
(Poem #147 on new numbering scheme)
Maybe I don't like Christmas; it often seems to mean less to those who have known some loss: all the cheer's extraneous.
– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]
(Poem #146 on new numbering scheme)
In cold wind, a few leaves swirled. Grey, inchoate gods unfurled their pale fingers, stale spirit, here at the end of the world.
– an englyn cyrch
This year, Christmas is on a Sunday. Since Christmas isn't a major holiday in Korea, that means that this year, there are no days off for Christmas. It's just a Sunday, and I get my typical 1.5 day weekend.
I made some syllabuses (-bi?) this past week, for the new year. So I was busy. I will rest in a fairly unchristmassy way, and return to work on Monday.
What I'm listening to right now.
Electric Light Orchestra, "Turn To Stone."
Lyrics.
The city streets are empty now THE LIGHTS DON'T SHINE NO MORE
and so the songs are way down low TURNING TURNING TURNING
A sound that flows into my mind THE ECHOES OF THE DAYLIGHT
of everything that is alive IN MY BLUE WORLD
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin' home, I can't go on.
The dying embers of the night A FIRE THAT SLOWLY FADES TILL DAWN
still glow upon the wall so bright BURNING BURNING BURNING
The tired streets that hide away FROM HERE TO EVERYWHERE THEY GO
roll past my door into the day IN MY BLUE WORLD
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin' home, I can't go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Yes, I'm turnin' to stone 'cos you ain't comin' home.
Why you ain't comin' home if I'm turnin' to stone?
You've been gone for so long and I can't carry on,
yes, I'm turnin', I'm turnin', I'm turnin' to stone.
The dancing shadows on the wall THE TWO-STEP IN THE HALL
are all I see since you've been gone TURNING TURNING TURNING
Through all I sit here and I wait I TURN TO STONE I TURN TO STONE
You will return again some day TO MY BLUE WORLD
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin' home, I can't go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin' home, I can't go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
(Poem #145 on new numbering scheme)
That was a horrible day: Students quit and went away. The boss gave an angry rant, and I can't think what to say.
– an englyn cyrch
One of my coworkers was reduced to tears, yesterday, by the academic intransigence of one of her students, who is also a student I know well. He has appeared several times in the blog, though typically I don't always name my students here, or if I do, I name them inconsistently, which protects their identity.
I like this student, but I understand my coworker's frustration too. He is almost unteachable, at least in a conventional sense. Stubborn and unmotivated, and somehow both smart but incapable of remembering what seem like elementary bits of information. The other day he asked me how to spell "Karma" – the name of our academy and something you'd expect a 2-years-plus student to have mastered.
I was trying to reassure my coworker, who was suffering quite a bit of embarrassment about her overly emotional response. Finally, somewhat unintentionally, I stumbled on a bit a feedback that I'm willing to stand by: I told her that the fact that she was reduced to tears is not an embarrassment but rather a sign that she is a teacher to be respected, as it indicates she genuinely cares about what she is trying to do. I added that there has been more than one teacher who has passed through Karma who would never have reacted to a student in such a way, but that perhaps that only signifies that they were less interested in the results they are able to achieve.
I suppose this anecdote doesn't have much of a deeper purpose, except just to share that I think teachers should be emotionally invested in their students, even if that makes for rough going sometimes. I have argued with Curt and others about this – sometimes I feel like he only wants robots teaching. I understand that view point – as a manager of an education business, he wants replicable and scalable results, not emotional individuals. Nevertheless, I think there can be ways to allow both.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
(Poem #144 on new numbering scheme)
The kids travel by rainbow, hopping from desert to snow interdimensionally. Through alleys and clouds they go!
– an englyn cyrch
In the Christmas spirit, here's a modern interpretation of the 12 Days of Christmas.
The 12 Days of Christmas – A Tale of Avian Misery from Blink on Vimeo.
Speaking of (avian) misery, I thought I had gotten past the horrible flu that everyone was stricken with, but there seems to have been a second half. I'm sleeping a lot. Extra.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
(Poem #143 on new numbering scheme)
Two cats discussed solitude across gulfs of feline mood. The one suggested, "Look here, without fear." The other mewed.
– an englyn cyrch
6th grade student: Teacher, do you like beer?
Teacher: Sometimes.
Student: I don't like beer.
Teacher: You drink beer?
Student: Yes.
Teacher: Really? When do you drink beer?
Student: When my dad gives me some.
Teacher: But you don't like it?
Student: (makes sour face)
Teacher: So why do you drink it?
Student: (shrug)
Teacher: Maybe you should wait till you're older.
Student: Yeah.
Observation: I'm not sure how much I believe this student. He likes making up stories. But anyway, talking with him can be quite entertaining.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
(Poem #142 on new numbering scheme)
I excavated a hole pushing the earth, like a mole. And there I buried my brain. With rain, I might grow a soul.
– an englyn cyrch
"My uncle has 200 cows. He thought he had 199 until he rounded them up." – from specgram.tumblr.com.
[daily log: walking, 6.5km]
(Poem #141 on new numbering scheme)
For now, exquisite disgust sketches out my doubts and must indicate the neglect felt where I knelt in spinning dust.
– an englyn cyrch
Lately I’ve been struggling with motivation on personal projects of all kinds.
So this blog is boringer than usual, I’m sure. I’ll share this thing I ran across the other day. This Russian guy plays the Star Wars Imperial March using only a plastic coffee stirring stick.
[daily log: walking, 7km]
(Poem #140 on new numbering scheme)
Try something. Open your head. Find some ghosts. Talk to the dead. Let apophenic meaning come screaming through what they said.
– an englyn cyrch
[daily log: walking, 1km]
(Poem #139 on new numbering scheme)
Two AM, and I can't sleep - Thinking stuff, and it feels deep. But it's not - just wasting time. The climb out is very steep.
– an englyn cyrch
"Q: What's the best thing about living in Switzerland? A: I don't know but the flag is a big plus." – Anonymous internet humor
[daily log: walking, 7km]
(Poem #138 on new numbering scheme)
They hate the establishment, their vote's against government, so a man whose soul's frozen is chosen for president.
– an englyn cyrch
I have blogged before about trolley problems. They intrigue me.
I ran across this humorous take.
Let’s see how this plays out. I wonder what the new Space Emperor would say, if he received this kind of call?
[daily log: walking, 7km]
(Poem #137 on new numbering scheme)
The struggle with gravity, with the strange concavity of spacetime, is blamed on splines and Einstein's depravity.
– an englyn cyrch