The Soloist

Two nights ago, I finally got around to watching The Soloist. I've become a bit of a Redbox fanatic, as it's helped me catch up on recent movies I've missed without, well, breaking my bank. Some movies are barely worth the $1 rental, but The Soloist impressed me greatly. It was based on a true story which made the flick even more enjoyable and interesting.

The movie centered around a relationship between a newspaper columnist, John Lopez, played by Robert Downey Jr., who befriends a homeless man, played by Jamie Foxx, who turns out to be an absolute virtuoso at the cello. The reporter does a little snooping into the man's past and finds out that he had actually studied for a while at the Julliard but mysteriously dropped out. Upon further research he finds out that the man has suffered from mental illness, most likely schizophrenia, since his time in music school. The reporter goes to extravagant means to help the man, Nathaniel Ayers, regain a respectable way of life enlisting the help of Ayers's family members and professional musicians in Los Angeles. At the end, however, Lopez realizes that Nathaniel is comfortable where he is and doesn't want any assistance from counselors, doctors, or psychologists.

I think I identified with Downey's character so much because I find myself in similar situations frequently as a teacher. I've taught in small towns and affluent suburbs, public schools and private, and I've always taken a personal interest in each of the hundreds of students I've had over the years. Sometimes I'm able to connect with and make a difference in the lives of my pupils, but the hard part is when I do all that I can and the student shows no desire to improve or change. I've always maintained that I take a much too intensive personal interest in the lives of my students. Maybe that's what's expected? Maybe it's not? I know I've always been my worst critic, and I always struggle emotionally with apathetic students who don't want to work to their potential.

Thank you for letting me vent!

Guy the Dog

About five years ago, my parents made an addition to our family. I don't know if it was empty nest syndrome that prompted it or what, but for the first time in probably ten years, they bought a dog. We had been a cat family for as long as I could remember. I remember Ebony, my sister's black cat we had in Alabama. She ran away when we moved from Alabama to Ohio, but legend has it, she found her way back to the house. In fact, through most of my childhood, we had two, if not four, cats in the house. Dogs, on the other hand, were a different subject altogether. I hadn't really had good experiences with canines. My dog Zack was shot and killed when we lived in Alabama by a man who found him sleeping under his pick up truck. Soon after, we acquired an Irish setter named Reagan (I'm not sure or not if the dog was named after the Great Communicator; after all, it was the early '80's.) Being the small lad that I was, I was always a bit spooked when Reagan would come up to me and put her paws right up on my shoulders. It seemed like some bizarre domestic reenactment of Animal Farm was in the works. From then on, I was a bit reticent around dogs. We had some come and go, a beagle, a Westhighland white terrier, and a Papillon, among others, but I never really developed a close bond with any of them. Alas, until I met Guy.

My parents bought him from a breeder in Las Vegas when they were living in Arizona. When I first saw him, I immediately had flashbacks of Reagan and the almost daily ambushes I would receive. However, Guy was a bit (but not much) more gentle than Reagan. He's a standard poodle and serves equally well as a family dog and a guard dog. I guess I should explain that since my mother did some research and discovered that poodles originated either in France or Germany, she and my dad decided to give the dog an appropriate ethnic name. So, Guy is short for "Guillaume" which is the French translation of my dad's (and my) first name. Don't ask; each of the family pets have had unique names. Not that the two cats I have now are any different. I named them "Jerry" and "Kosmo" after characters in my favorite TV show, Seinfeld.

OK, back to Guy. From the first time we met, I knew my little (OK, not so little; my dad kids that he could be mistaken for a miniature horse) buddy was special. He loved, loved, loved taking walks, even in the brutal Arizona summer heat and would follow me all over my parents' house. I even enjoyed playing fetch/catch with him in the backyard of their house. That's gotta be love if I'm willing to toss and wrestle for a slimy tennis ball or raquetball. One habit that I've tried to shake him of is the ol' humping the leg routine. I mean, I understand a guy (no pun intended) has urges, but after awhile, it got pretty old and increasingly awkward. Guy even received special permission to sleep in "my room" during my visits. Usually he would sleep in his cage, or if he was really good, my parents would let him sleep in their room.

When my parents moved to Georgia about three years ago, Guy's affection grew even stronger. Whenever I would be in "my room", he would sit in the hall right outside the room. He still enjoyed his walks and even went into a bit of a manic mode whenever the word "walk" was mentioned, and he also provided an impartial sounding board for whatever was on my mind during our excursions. Last year I was brave enough to bring my two cats to visit my parents. Jerry and Kosmo survived the 12 hour car ride just fine, but I don't think they were ready for such an excitable new playmate. Guy kept an almost constant vigil outside my bedroom door for the boys. Of course, they wouldn't come out, and Guy obediently obeyed his instructions not to enter the room. At night, when Guy would go to sleep in my parents' room, they would roam around a bit, but it was back to the bedroom once Guy was free.

This past week was another trip over to Georgia to see my folks and Guy. As always, he was all kinds of excited to see me, and, trust me, I did have to physically prepare myself for the ambush from a big ol' standard poodle after a 12 hour car ride when I entered my parents' house. My relationship with Guy has restored my belief in the brutally unconditional companionship a good dog can bring. He's one of the added perks I get from visiting my parents, and he definitely makes their house, whether it's in Arizona or Georgia, feel more like a home.

May the Season Begin

Well, the new high school soccer season officially began last Monday with tryouts. This was the first time I was faced with cutting anybody from my own team in a couple of years. Since we lost about 12 people from last year's team, there were plenty of spaces to fill, but I knew I needed some kind of objective drills/tests to defend my actions to any concerned parents. Unfortunately, I had a hard time thinking of good objective measurements that would be a strong reflection of a player's ability during game time. So, we ended up doing a lot of scrimmaging. Always during tryouts, it seems to be a task to get communication and aggressive play out of the players who are "on the bubble." A few times I isolated the ones I needed to see more closely, and, of course, still little communication. But I guess another way to look at it would be that during games, these guys will be facing the best players of the opposing schools, so they need to experience working against the best our school has to offer. After four days of tryouts, I think I've got a pretty good roster of players. Lack of aggression and hustle can be strong detriments in the tryout process. I'd rather have people out there who not only have a knowledge of the game but are also motivated to succeed and improve.

Another interesting aspect that I will need to research is the idea of being in charge of an entire program again. This really hasn't been the case since I was in Logan coaching girls' cross-country. I don't know how long God wants to keep me in this position, but my words and actions as well as the words and actions of my players will be a reflection on the school, but more humbly, on me as well. I hope that I can encourage and motivate these players in ways that will make God proud and end the season with a sense of accomplishment and success for all involved.

The Torch Has Been Passed

Earlier this week, our AD at school notified me that I would be serving this year as the head boys' soccer coach for the high school. I still have mixed feelings about the position. Now, in my youth, I was all about "the beautiful game," both as a player and as a fan. However, as time passed, my athletic interests became more varied, and soccer took a backseat to cross-country and basketball especially as those were the first two sports I coached after graduating from college. I jumped back into soccer coaching two years ago as the girls' varsity assistant and JV coach at Dulles High School. Last year, when I moved over to Westbury Christian, I assisted with the boys' varsity. Now, the program has been handed over to me. My work is definitely cut out for me as we lost six valuable seniors last year and four others who would have been key members of the squad this year. In the past, I've prided myself on having teams that were well-conditioned and disciplined. Those are two attributes I think will be very important this season. We definitely won't be deep numbers wise, but if I can get some good leadership from the boys who are returning and keep them all encouraged, the outlook should be pretty good. Oh, yeah, it would probably be a good idea to ask for assistance, wisdom, and patience from the King of Kings and Coach of Coaches.

Mr. Dylan and His Influence and Me and My Lack of Sleep

Out of the blue, I had one of my former students ask me about the tone in the song, "The Times, They Are A'Changin'." Wow, what a super, unexpected question! Recently I've been looking at songs and using them in my lessons to teach various literary and grammar elements. I had this student in class last year, and I'm not sure if the lesson was specifically about the song, but I was impressed that Mr. Dylan's influence was still felt 40 plus years after he penned those enlightening lyrics. She asked if the tone was negative or neutral. I felt like it was decidedly negative with its warnings and admonitions. She asked if Bob wrote any songs with a more positive tone. I asked her to check out "Positively 4th Street." That's always been a favorite, dare I say, empowerment, song of mine.

Perhaps it would be a good idea for me to revisit the lyrics of "The Times They Are A'Changin". With all that's happening right now in society, perhaps "times" are changin' again.

Well, I did it again. I left school late last night after a lengthy afternoon of grading and getting caught up on schoolwork. Once I got home, yes, I did have some schoolwork I wanted to finish, but I talked to Kris on the phone and finished last week's Sports Illustrated first. Sure enough, I laid down on my bed and didn't wake up until about 2:30. Idiot, idiot, idiot! I'll try again tonight. It's one of the worst self-fulfilling prophecies I've ever had. I must break myself of it. When it's bedtime, it's bedtime, period.

Laborin' with the Woods

What a super duper fun Livingston weekend! Kris and I arrived at Chez Wood mid Saturday afternoon. One of the coolest/best/Kris parts of the weekend happened almost at the end of the ride to her parents' house. About three blocks away from the house, there is a SnoCone stand in the parking lot of a gas station. As I approached the light at the gas station, Kris made a seemingly casual remark about wanting a SnoCone. Then, to let me know she was serious, she said, "I'm not kidding. I want a SnoCone." And just like that, we pulled in for a SnoCone. I can't remember the last time I had one as a treat, but I think the Sno Cone stand was a reminder for her of the Livingston she fell in love with as a child and now had the opportunity to revisit unfettered for an entire weekend.

Fortunately for Kris we were able to see her newest nephew Roper soon after we arrived. This was my first time holding a newborn in awhile, and I must admit, I still need practice with the whole cushioning the head part. Kris handled the little one like an old pro. One of my favorite mental pictures from the weekend is seeing her napping with Roper laying down on her tummy.

One of the biggest attractions to the Labor Day soiree at Chez Wood was the slip and slide adventure Sunday night. A huge plastic tarp was extended down the hill from Kris's grandparents' house to the gate at her parents' house. Kris is, oh, so fortunate to have one set of grandparents who live right next door to her parents. The three little nephews, Kris's dad, Kevan, and I took turns slip slidin' away. Kris was even coaxed to go down the tarp a couple of times. We took a couple of trips down the tarp as a couple with violently mediorcre results. Yes, we had great fun, but we kept veering off to the left. Oh well, I don't think either of us are trying to get in shape for a tryout for the US bobsled team. After slippin' and slidin' for about an hour, Mama Wood brought out some homemade ice cream that was unabashedly wolfed down by all in attendance. Mmm, mmm, mmm. A trip to Chez Wood always guarantees good food, and this past weekend was definitely no exception. Each meal rejuvenated my taste buds from the blandness of single guy food I usually expose them to. And did I mention that Mama Wood, MB, had some Mountain Dew cans chilling in the refrigerator? Wow! What eats! What drinks! What merriment!

Alas, Kris and I left Monday afternoon on Labor Day and drove back down to Houston. Neither of us were overly motivated to prepare for the next day or even the coming week of school, so we ran some errands and rented a movie. Chick-fil-a was giving away free sandwiches for wearing a team shirt, so, being the cost conscious young people that we are, we took our evening meal there. Kris's Datsun (haha, I know I spelled it wrong, but just go with me here; he's not a Nissan...) Peanut accompanied us on our trip back to Houston. We went to Target after dinner and bought some items for Peanut's new home at Tanner Manor. I was really impressed with how well Peanut handled the ride down and her new surroundings. I know I've never had such luck with the felines when moving to new environs, even for a short amount of time. We rented Freedom Writers since Kris's interest in the movie had been piqued after hearing the movie's protagonist, Erin Gruwell, speak at her district's convocation a few weeks ago. Honestly, my interest in the story has increased as well, and I'd like to read more about how she was able to connect with her students and help them be successful.

I left around 9:15 and drove home, bringing an end to such an eventful weekend. Friday night I stayed at school until about 8:30 doing schoolwork, but other than that, it was a work-free weekend. I thought about spending some crazy hours on schoolwork when I got home but only made it to about midnight before conking out. Ah, that's OK. The trip was fun, and I enjoyed spending time with Kris and her loving family.

But, alas, now it's Tuesday, and I'm plum out of reasons or excuses to procrastinate. Back to the grind.

No Laborin' on Labor Day

For some reason, I'm falling back into my bad habit of laying down on my bed for a napper. Usually, that's not a bad thing, but I end up falling asleep and waking up at some wack-doo (that's a Kristinism) time of the night like three or four o'clock. It's something I desperately need to break myself of because it's just not good sleep. And, oh, my sleep is a very valuable commodity now that the school year has begun. My days of sleeping in are long long gone. I don't even sleep in on Saturdays as I've volunteered to drive the cross-country team to their meets this season. I do sleep until about eight on Sundays, but it's nowhere near the hibernation like sleeps I've experienced in past summers.

This should be an interesting weekend. I'm looking forward to it. The cross-country team has an early morning meet tomorrow down in Clear Lake, and then Kris and I are driving up to Livingston to spend some time with her family. This will be about trip number six for me. I still remember my first trip quite fondly. Her dad pointed out the shotgun at the bottom of the stairs when I arrived. I wonder if the thought of using the weapon on me has ever crossed his mind. Kris and I were there for the wedding of one of her friends. I took one of those hibernation sleeps that Saturday afternoon. I was still kind of feeling my way around Kris's folks, but it was a bit of a weaselly thing to do. This weekend, there's evidently a big slip and slide for the males of the family. I'll be taking my swim trunks (who am I kidding; they're soccer shorts) and joining in the fun. I'm not sure what else is planned. Definitely this will be a fun trip for Kris because this will be the first time in a few years that she's been able to stay with her folks overnight on a Saturday. She had been working at a church in Clear Lake and worked just about every one of the 52 Sundays each year. Kris, too, will be able to see her newest nephew, Roper. Roper's big brother, Gauge, and I have developed a special relationship. He shouts out "PIGGY BANK" when I drop some change in his paws. Hey, anything for the little people. Also, Miss Wood will get to bring her doggie, Peanut Butter Cup, back to Clear Lake with her. Peanut Butter Cup will join the two dogs already living at Tanner Manor, and acclimating dogs to each other is always a fun task.

Hopefully no guns will be needed or seen this weekend.

One Year of Kris-bert, Part II

So, we leave the Cadillac Bar and head out for the Boardwalk's rides. Kris had ride free tickets, so I was getting nostalgic for my times at Cedar Point and Kings Island back in Ohio. Our first ride was the carousel. Nothing too fancy or scary although Kristin let it be known that for no reason whatsoever was I to shake the car we were in when the ride stopped with us at the highest point. After another fairly tame ride, we took on the Inverter. Kris was reluctant to do so, but proving her love and strength of character, she agreed. This was a ride, as you might guess, that swings you up and down until you're finally turned all the way upside down perpendicular to the ground. I got some good chuckles out of it, but Kristin was not happy at all. One look at her face toward the end of the adventure let me know this was Kris at her unconditionally loving best. She stepped on this ride solely for me. I've always been impressed and struck with awe at her giving spirit, and this just proves what a wonderful, generous person she is.

It's rare that you can come across someone in life who is so giving and totally selfless. To have her in my life, I am very fortunate. Her spirit inspires me to be a better person.

One Year of Kris-bert

Saturday, August 29, Kris and I celebrated the one year anniversary of our first date with a trip down to Kemah. Officially, the first date was August 30, 2008, but we decided to do our celebrating a day early. This was my first trip down there in almost nine years, so I was quite unprepared for whatever we might find down there. The evening got off to a smashing start with a waitress at the Cadillac Bar who played hide and seek when it came time for the check. Maybe she wasn't all right in the head. I don't know, but I could have read War and Peace in the time it took for her to get the bill out to us. Both Kris and I were thoroughly stuffed, I with the grande burrito, she with a lovely helping of quesadillas (or "dang quesadillas" as Napoleon Dynamite's aunt called them). We both worried about my, well, pipes, after taking in such a hearty Mexican meal. I assured Kris that all was well, and I think our favorite part of the dinner portion of the evening was watching a little boy take baskets of chips off patrons' tables to feed the fish. I had no idea the marine life had such a multicultural diet. Of course, we did catch some bizarre boardwalk strollers when we people watched during the meal. Then again, maybe those same people are commenting in their own blogs about the bizarre couple from Saturday night at Cadillac Bar.

More anniversary stories to come later..............

To quote The Four Seasons, "Oh, what a night!"

It's 8:30, and I'm Still at Work. What Am I, a Teacher?

Indeed, it's officially 8:34 by my computer clock as I begin typing. Time management is oh, so sorely needed. I was discussing with a coworker the possibility of doing all my grading during the week and saving the weekend for planning/creating lessons. With six classes to teach this year (one of which is totally new to me), I definitely need to manage my time better and plan better in just about every area of life. I'm not the eager beaver I once was in my youth, able to work until all hours of the night and stimulate young minds with ease and passion the next day. Then again, maybe I'm selling myself short, and I can be that same person, just with the effort and time spent in the right direction. I've always spent quite a bit of time on my schoolwork and keeping in touch with parents. Ah, but now comes the challenge of juggling six classes (three preps), a second job, driving the cross-country and volleyball teams to their away games, coaching soccer (it'll start up in a few months), and time with my lovely lady friend. I wonder if it's possible to grade while I'm driving? Hmm, maybe I could get a tape recorder. Did I mention I've always been a people pleaser? Always have been. Sometimes that can be a good thing, sometimes not so much. I'll even admit I put too much stock in what people think of me, and that includes all people. My nerves and emotions do need to toughen up. Perhaps, a steeling of the nerves will help in the time management area.

Any ideas out there?????

She Liked It!!!!!!!

Overall, the experiment was a success! Of course, the finished product looked much better in my mind than it did in reality. I had an average-sized vase at home that I took to school. After school, I picked up a rose at Kroger and thought nothing of the size. Unfortunately, the rose resembled Gulliver when placed in the vase. Plus, I wasn't able to stuff nearly as many Oreos in the vase as I imagined. To me, it looked a bit gawky, but, fortunately, Miss Kristin appreciated it and reset the rose in water. I didn't get down to her house until almost 10:00. At first, I wasn't sure I'd even get to present her with the bouquet since she didn't hear her phone ring when I arrived at the house (I didn't want to ring the bell or knock on the door and disturb the loving couple and daughter Kristin lives with). Thankfully, Miss Wood checked her voicemail, and we were able to visit for about half an hour. We were both a wee bit exhausted, but I think all in all, the liked the bouquet.

Will she like it?

I try to be romantic. Really, I do. At times, I've referred to myself as a "hopeless romantic." Some may simply consider me "hopeless." I make mental notes of scenes from movies and TV shows that seem to get the girl's heart or seem creative to me. I haven't pulled a John Cusack from Say Anything, but I like his style, and I've always got a copy of "In Your Eyes" nearby. Kristin and I have been dated for almost a year. In fact, she believes our first date was last year on August 25, so in some ways, today is our first anniversary. However, I'm more concerned about the new chapter Miss Kristin (as she was known at her old job) officially began today. This was her first day as a bona fide school teacher. She's a special ed resource teacher at an elementary school down in Clear Lake, a suburb south of Houston. I still remember to commemorate the first day of my teaching career when I was charged with handling a fourth grade class at West Elementary School in Logan, Ohio, my dad made an "official" certificate on the computer recognizing that special day. Our "theme song" (for lack of a better term) is "Moon River." For this past Valentine's Day, I rewrote the lyrics to the song with lines connected to our relationship. That meager attempt seemed to go over well. For her birthday (April 30), I drove down unbeknownst to her and waited with her roommate at her house for her to return home from visiting with a friend. It was a Thursday night, and I drove to her house from school and got there around 8:00. Her roommate and I had no idea when she would return home, so even though I've never seen it (thank goodness), I did play The Waiting Game. I had bought a humongous cake from Kroger (I obviously had no idea how to mentally size the cake from the employee's directions). We probably could have fed a small third-world country with that pastry. Gradually, I think I was improving in my romantic pursuits. She really seemed to like that one. And now for today's idea: I am about to leave school (It's 8:30. Don't even ask why I'm still here!). I am going to pick up a rose and a box or two of cookies. I already have a vase I brought from home. After inserting the rose into the vase, I will completely surround the flower with the cookies, creating my very own "cookie bouquet." Hopefully, the idea's a winner.....

Mr. Dylan Was Probably on to Something

Ah, to be young and vibrant and, well, full of energy again. I think Zimmy was right when he said oh so many years ago, "The times, they are a' changin'." Vividly I remember getting up for those 6:30 morning practices three or four times a week for track and cross-country in college. Granted, when I first met with Coach Banton during fall quarter my freshman year and he told me about morning practices, I thought, "Yeah right! There's no way I'm going to run and lift weights in the morning and then come back and practice in the afternoon." Sure enough, I got into a pretty good pattern by the end of my freshman year. I'd get up early, stay up late, and think nothing of it.

Lately, it seems I just don't have the same 24-hour steam I used to. I often feel totally wiped out and drained physically and emotionally. Even as recently as a few years ago, I could multi-task with the best of them: working on lessons, grading, staying in touch with friends, and even meeting social engagements. What's happened to the quirky ol' bald man? I think some of it has to do with attitude. This is something I want to change this year. A verse in Proverbs says, "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." When I find myself feeling low and discouraged and overwhelmed, I've noticed that not only the quantity of my work suffers but also the quality. And that's a very humbling, take-a-minute-and-reevaluate-things thought when you work with young people as I do. On the flip side, when I'm up and confident in myself and my abilities, shoot fire, the sky's the limit. I want to regain that tenacity I had those many years ago. I know the good Lord didn't bless me with certain gifts and abilities just to be used for a certain amount of time but for my whole life. There are many areas in my life in which I'd like to be more diligent and dedicated: spiritually, professionally, personally, socially. I've been very fortunate and blessed to have such abundant unconditional love and support from Kristin. I want to improve actively showing her my appreciation for what she's done for me but also look for ways to support and encourage her. I think there will be benefits for both of us.

I guess a solution to my quandary is motivation and desire. When the levels of motivation and desire increase, productivity increases as well. Hopefully I can be more productive and address, beat down, and eliminate those feelings that result in a defeatist, discouraged attitude.

Fount of What??????

OK, let me welcome myself to the world of blogging. "Self, welcome."
"Thank you, self."
All right, all right, now that the introductions are out of the way, allow me to first explain the title I have chosen. Most of the time (my lovely girlfriend, Kristin, may not agree with this), I have a pretty sharp memory. And for some reason, I seem to remember the most random, useless information. Hopefully, I'll have a chance someday to take advantage of this on a game show or a book about repressed childhood memories (don't those seem to always be of interest), but until then..........

1. My parents were married on April 10, 1970, which according to one book I read, is the date the Beatles officially broke up.
2. The executive producers of several sitcoms of the '80's and '90's are William Bickley and Michael Warren. My dad went to grad school with a guy by that name, but to my knowledge, Pops has never worked in the entertainment industry.
3. I was raised on folk music, and my first concert was Peter, Paul, and Mary.
4. Sting was a school teacher (not a very happy one) before he took up music full-time.
5. I was born on Kristin's parents' anniversary (actually the year before they married).
6. I was born two months to the day after the great American distance runner Steve Prefontaine died.
7. From 1978 to 1984, my family lived in Enterprise, AL. Enterprise is the home of the boll weevil, an insect that eats cotton crop. There's even a statue to the little bugger (pun intended) in the middle of town.

This is just a sample of the bizarre gift (perhaps it's a curse) the good Lord has blessed me with. More random, useless information to follow.....