Saturday, May 15, 2021

Reason #28: I Am Waiting 13 May 2021

  I have used the Ferlinghetti "I Am Waiting' example in classes for years. The beauty is that you can rewrite it every few months, and it has a different tone. I wrote one in December, and this one was written in May. I performed it on the stage in front of about 15 audience members and a live feed. It is the first performance I have done live in years, and the evening was the first real 'Live' performance the high school stage has hosted in 14 months.


         I Am Waiting  with all of my love and apologies to Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Samuel Beckett.


 

12 MAY 2021

I am waiting for art and theatre and poetry to be revered

I am waiting for students to turn on their cameras

I am waiting for my pay to match my passion.

I am waiting for Broadway to open her eyes and yawn and ask what's been going on

I am waiting for the dog to self wash so he does not smell like a Frito

I am waiting for an apology

I am waiting for karma

I am waiting for a revolution of kindness

I am waiting for Christ to come down from his bare tree and end this absurdist cycle with a tip of his bowler and a magic turnip

I am waiting for Beckett and Ferlinghetti to smite me for invoking their genius in my silly poem.

I am waiting to follow Keanu and Dolly to the promised land

I am waiting to win a new coastal home from HGTV!

I am waiting for the revolution of kindness

I am waiting for my internet to reconnect

 I am waiting for Comcast to care that my internet won’t reconnect

I am waiting for the cats to get jobs and contribute to the household and I am waiting for my obsession with Schitt's Creek to cease

I am waiting for laughter.

I am waiting for Hamlet to kill Claudius already

And I am waiting for wait loss to be easy.

I am waiting for someone to care

I am waiting for the victory of decency

I am waiting to move forward, for the US to stop hovering like hurricane Harvey over Houston

I am still waiting for students to turn on their cameras

I am waiting to feel mentally stable

I am waiting for kindness

I am waiting for my hair to grow out

I am waiting for a haircut

I am waiting to be discovered or uncovered or recovered---

I am waiting to recover.

I am waiting for my groceries

I am waiting in the drive through because everybody quit will you please pay these people a living wage already, I’m Waiting.

I am waiting for the tribes to finally rise up and reclaim what is rightfully theirs and for Karen to stand down and relinquish what is not hers.

I am waiting for my favorite ancient shirt to disintegrate and fall off of my body as a metaphor

I am waiting for the brain fog to clear or the clear fog to brain and I can’t remember anybody’s name I am waiting to see clearly

And now you’re waiting for me to remember your name.

Thank you for your kindness.

Sunday, May 2, 2021

Covid, Depression, Menopause or...?

 

  I have more than ten unfinished blogs. I refuse to let this be eleven, so it may not make any sense.

  There is a 14 minute video going around, probably Tik Tok, of a student walking into a classroom and greeting his teacher, who does not recognize him. Not just because of the mask, but because he is in person. The kid puts up a cardboard cutout of his google meet photo, which is just an alphabet letter, and the teacher recognizes him.

  I have had kids come in and had the same experience. A kid I knew briefly (remember I was only in the building for ten minutes before the shutdown) came in and started talking like he knew me. Not just the mask, but the fact that he was not in any of my classes contributed to me asking  if he was lost. "Are you sure I'm the one you want to talk to?" LIke he was unable to recognized me, for some reason that made sense in my head.In addition, he had grown about six inches since March of 20, so I was way off. He had to identify himself.

  This has happened enough that I don't need to recount every story. What's distressing, is that sometimes they identify themselves and I still have no idea who they are. I can't remember names.

  Jim has had projects all through the lockdowns, even though he's been able to go to work. He started with hurricane lamps in the summer and has moved onto digging out all of our closets. We now have an empty, painted closet that he told me last week I could use for whatever. I moved a few games into it from the other closet across the hall and then stopped. Until this moment, I had entirely forgotten about the empty closet. I forgot about a closet I walk past daily.

   For a week straight I was vigilant about working out for seven minutes when I arrived at school. I saw on facebook how it will transform my hideous shape if I just stick to a seven minute cardio workout every day. Then my school schedule changed and I stopped doing it. I could still find time, I just don't. I forgot about it.

   I have a grocery list that lives in the kitchen. Every week Harper orders the same groceries with some varition for pick up. If I don't write down a variation, like TIDE pods, it doesn't get ordered and I have to go to King Sooopers. Which is fine, but I get lost, I forget what I'm looking for and there is now a banner that says # BOULDER STRONG that I'm supposed to take comfort in, I guess, and feel safe shopping for whatever it is I don't know. All I know is that the sign is making whatever is wrong with me worse, and I can barely function in the store.

  My district has shattered the schedule,so instead of semesters or quarters, I am in Session number eight of eight, twenty day sessions. Each class is three hours long, two classes a day for twenty days each.  I've managed, somehow, to keep track of each class and plan daily, teaching theatre in a virtual space with a handful of kids in person sometimes or no kids in person, and yet I'm still evaluated as if this was a regular year. Showing grace to kids left and right, waiting for a bit of grace to be thrown my way. Like teaching in an empty theatre, it's absurist waiting for grace.

   I stepped in cat poop on the way out the door the other morning. The morning routine is pretty much all I'm clinging to at this juncture--today is 2 May, 2021, I've been online for over a year---and I threw the rug and my shoes and socks in the trash can by the garage,and got in the car to drive to school. I had to get back out of the car to get another pair of shoes. Once back in the car, I had to return to the house for socks.

  I carry three bags into school with me. My purse with my car key and wallet, the Door Dash insulated bag with our lunches, and my computer bag. On multiple occasions Harp has asked why I do not consolidate into one bag. I tried it one day, and we left the building ten minutes late becasue I had no idea what I had done with my car key. It was in the computer bag, in a zipper pocket. When I found it, I said outloud to Harper and the empty room "I said outloud, 'it's in the zipper pocket', now I remember." Harp just watched silently, waiting for my head to explode or my eyes to melt out of my skull.Instead I executed a quick time step. Her expression did not change.

  I park in the same place every morning. One time I parked in a different lot thinking I needed to be out of the way of food distribution, and couldn't find my car. It is bright green. It can be seen from space.

  I tried to join the staff choir, but it means altering the way I use my two hours between classes, and I can't seem to manage. All I have to do is eat lunch at 10:30  instead of 11, so I can go to choir at 11. I can't seem to make it work. Every day  at 10:30 I have to shut down the theatre, go to the bathroom, check turned in work for the am class, check planning for the pm class, open the Door Dash bag and get lunch set up for myself and Harper. I went to choir rehearsal twice and couldn't focus either time. I was not in the right place aat 11:15. I literally just left, shaking my head and when I got into the hallway I said outloud to myself "Wopner is on," and began to laugh manaically at a my own joke, hearing the sound bounce through the empty hallway back at me. 

  I was grateful to see some beloved former colleagues this Friday. We are all vaxxed and got to hug. I have no idea what I talked about, or if I made sense. All I know is that one suggested that I get therapy. So I got that going for me.


         Scene.

Sunday, April 18, 2021

When the Janus Masks Collide- Six Months After The First Janus Mask Post


    In October, I wrote a piece about teaching remotely in an empty theatre. It got to the heart of what was an impressive depressive moment using Hamlet and absurdism. Usually I am unable to write when things are so dark, and the fact that it went to well had me thinking I could try again. Six months later, second depression cycle, it can't be worse.

   This has been edited three times. It is what it is. Enjoy.

   My new mantra is to say "I've been here ten minutes". Like my name, my quips have changed with the district. I am now "Miss K", no longer "Kmart", and I've never said "It's fine, I'm fine stop looking at me I'm fine."  None of this was intentional, it just happened. Since I'm remote, and my name on the screen is "Kristen Martin", and I introduce myelf as "Kmart", kids this spring started calling me "Miss K". I like it better than "Miss", which is typical for the ELL kids to call me. At least I get an indentifying letter after the saluttion. 

   I used to say "It's find I'm fine stop looking at me I'm fine" because I had a student who did that, and it was hilarious. It started with her, and then ingrained itself into my every day axioms. I was not aware I'd stopped using it until this week. I haven't had a studnet ask how I'm doing, so the answer was not necessary. It's phrased differently in this disitrict with AP's, they constantly ask "What support do you need?" Nobody here asks how you are doing. It's weird. However kids do ask a lot of questions about the spinning Covid Remote Hybrid Cohort In Person roulette wheel, the history of the theatre, the future of the theatre, why the district makes certain decisions...and I have no answers, so I shrug and say "I dunno, I've been here ten minutes." At the beginning of every day I feel like I'm at the end of a hard day where eveything was on fire and I had only a plastic bucket from the dollar store for water, and on the way home I had to stop at the grocery store to figure out dinner and when I walk in the door the kids say "The toilet's clogged, the dog pooped and what's for dinner?"

      "I dunno, I've been here ten minutes."

       Every. Day.

     So, in Acting 1 we were reading Alone, Together ---I read a lot of plays when teaching theatre remotely--a collection of plays commissioned for UC Santa Barbara's LAUNCH PAD during Covid.  They are written specifically for Zoom performance. They do not suck. We did a virtual "Whodunnit" in the fall that was pretty craptastic, but these pieces have heart, and soul, and themes and symbols and are truly wonderful.

   Since we all lived through this plague,I skipped my usual "Here is the playwright's bio and history of the time period". It is my favorite part of teaching Shakespeare or Tennessee, but it didn't seem necessary for over 30 writers, all creating in a pandemic lock down that we all lived through. We're in cohorts and five of the ten students enrolled have been showing up, all online. None of the three in person had showed as yet. On this day, one of them appeared in the room. I did not recognize her from the fall session since she was masked, I thought she was lost. She looked around the empty room and I shrugged, "There are only three of you in Cohort B, and R---chose to stay remote and G---has never shown up. You don't have to stay in person if you don't want to." She replied that she really needed to be in person even if I was the only one present. She sat at the table, opened her computer and we read the first monologue in the play collection with the five online.  The monologue is a piece written from the perspective of a Nursing Home Chef, who is now cooking alone due to the plague. His clients are also confined to their rooms, so he has to knock on their doors and deliver the meals to a rack outside the door.

   It was devastating. Honestly engaging and deeply impactful. 

   After the reading,  the lone masked student asked how everyone was doing with Covid, she said the monologue made her wonder about other personal experiences besides her own.

   An hour later... they were wrapping up sharing and I was gobmacked at how honest they'd been online, and how kind and supportive and politically and socially active they are.  They opened their mikes and shared while the support was written in the chat. I read a lot of "You have the right to feel like that" and "You are valid" comments.  What I hear is "To thine own self be true", but they didn't read Hamlet. They seem so mature to me. 

   A moment of absorbsion, and then the question came to me. "How are you, Miss K?" I laughed at first and said "You've been looking at nothing but my face since last fall, you can't tell?"

    I realized: nope, they can't tell. I shifted into neutral back in October. My Janus masks of comedy and tragedy merged to create a steel neutral mask that I could hide behind in order to get through this.  How Am I? I suddenly begin by running the popular Taylor Malik slam in my head "What do I make? Let me tell you..." but I switched it to "How am I? Let me tell you...."

   I'm ten years older than I was a this time last year. I hate this. I'm exhausted, remote teaching is nothing but giving energy and receiving nothing. Receiving nothing nada zip zero in return, Steven Colbert said doing his show remotely was like shouting into an Altoid can and chucking it into traffic: it's like that, that's what  teaching online for 12 months is like, I do nothing but expend energy and receive nothing back on average, chucking my tin can into traffic and hoping some passerby hears, I sat on stage six months ago and wrote a eulogy for theatre because she feels dead so I moved to the classroom so I'm cut off and I can't even think of a play I've ever written to compare this disonnection to and 72% of my students are opting to be completely remote, and of those cohorts supposed to be in person, 20% are not coming in. Now, those are my numbers only, but I see it reflected in the rest of my department. Where I do not see it is in IB core classes, where all of the cohort kids are showing up -How Am I?? this is not happening because I suck this is happening because they don't need theatre to graduate and they did not sign up to do it online. NOBODY WANTS TO DO THEATRE ONLINE the only ones showing up are freshmen who will be here next year and can understand that they want to build something, it'll be open next year and they'll be here to see it happen but the seniors are over it and the juniors are frustrated and angry and just want to get out at this point How Am I? I'm screaming behind a neutral mask because every day for a year now I have to log on in front of these kids and convince them that this matters, we will be open in the fall and everything they're learning now will then be applied when we're live on stage again and I can't let them see how miserable and angry and frustrated I am and I can't answer their questions about the rest of the school year because I'm not in charge all I can control is the neutral mask. I hate it here. That's how I am.

   So with four Brady Bunch faces and one masked sitting at the table in the middle of the  vast, empty room staring at me, I realized I hadn't seen much on their faces, either. They have also controlled the  comedy and tragedy of the last year and built a neutral mask. That's why so many will not turn on their cameras, there's a neutral mask built in to remote learning with their circle photo. The mask they are forced to wear in person or to work has become convenient.We can't read each other's faces because we're afraid someone will see the truth and we might make their day worse because there is nothing anyone can do. The only control we have had all year is over our faces.

   So when she asked, I paused. These are sophomores. My adult problems are not to be shared with them. They share theirs and I'm the adult, I listen and give advice if I can, but I don't share. I do not know these kids. They do not know me. I've been here ten minutes. They are all looking at me, and suddenly the last nine months of driving into an empty school to teach kids who are at home on their computers while I sit next to an empty theatre and silent choir blasted into my head. The plays we are reading are about a variety of experiences in Covid, from student to immigrant to entitleds with boats but the theme is the same: we are not OK. We've just read the first monologue, a chef in a Florida nursing home who is now working alone. A lockdown inside of a lockdown. He is barely holding on emotionally, making desserts for imaginary birthdays to cheer up residents, knocking on the resident doors and holding his breath, waiting for the return knock of life. It's a great piece.  Another student repeated the question "Miss, how are you doing?"I looked at my Brady Bunch Screen and up at the masked student, floating in my massive desolate classroom, big false eyelashes trained on my face, and couldn't speak. 

   "I'm fine," I stumbled. "Stop looking at me, I'm fine" and I began to laugh. "I'm fine, I'm an adult, this sucks, I hate this, I'm too old for this, I'm not even relevent, none of this is going to matter, what's the point?" They stared, silently, and I continued, unable to stop myself. "You have no idea, wait until next fall when we do Absurdism, this will make sense/ no sense. Nothing happens,nobody comes, it's fine." I realized there were tears on my face, and the mask had shattered into tragedy. Before I could switch to comedy, one of the kids said "It's OK, Miss, you're the only class I come to. I've made friends here." Through my blurred vision I saw the chat box lighting up with support. Suddenly Melissa Manchester was belting her face off in my head. "Don't CRYYYY OUUUUUUTLOUUUUUUD"

   So there I was, struggling to return to neutral, downloading top forty hits from my youth, Taylor Malik  and snippets of Shakespeare, whilst clearly cracking up in front of students. Their cameras and mikes were all on, they were all watching me and smiling back at me and writing "You're valid" in the chat box. Locked down in a lockdown, using a chat box to communicate because mikes are stupid in google meet. Bounded in a nutshell...but they didn't read Hamlet. Doesn't matter. I get it.

   We know others have returned to their classes, their choir rooms, their theatres.

    And we have not.

   I'm still shouting into an Altoid can.

    25 more days. I can do anything for 25 days.

Sunday, April 4, 2021

08/10/13 One Of These Things Does Not Belong REPOST

 

   In the immortal words of David Byrne, I spent last night wondering "How did I get here?
   See, the Boettcher Scholarship is given to 40 kids statewide every year. They receive a full ride to all 4 years at a Colorado school.
    I was not in the running for a Boettcher in 1984 when I barely graduated from GMHS.
    Frankly, I'm not even sure I knew what "The Boettcher" was outside of a concert hall and a very rich Colorado family.
    Each student is then asked to choose one of their teachers to receive a $1000.00 grant for their department.
    I'm going into my 10th year at LHS, and I recall 3 Boettcher scholars in that time. I have no doubt there were others, but I didn't know them.
    Last year's scholar told me about the grant money, and which teacher he was giving it to-math- which was the first I'd heard of it. I said "You get to do what?" How rich are these people?
    Answer: Soooooo Rich.
   
     In 1984 when I graduated, we had some freaking stellar teachers at GMHS. It was the perfect storm. The Starkeys ruled Lang Arts, Bud ran the theatre like a mini-conservatory, Steve Meinenger was Da Bomb in music, and I heard Shibley (what was his first name?) the band teacher was a real jazz musician, which was to either explain or excuse his apparent daily hangovers.
     And there was Peter Melbach: History.
     Sometimes called "Peter Von Melbach" or "Fucking Melbach" or just "Melbach".
     My freshman year I got a "C" in his class. I learned more from him than any other history teacher, ever, and regardless of that grade, I signed up for his class again sophomore year. Fall semester I got an "F". I left my WWI map at a school in Salida while on tour with concert choir. When I returned, crying, begging for just ONE extra day to redo the map, I was coldly told "No. It was due today" by Melbach.
     Later, after taking as many classes with him as I could, I came into his classroom with Shadows to sing to some kid in his class. He grabbed me by the door and said "You have more talent in your little finger than most of this school. Don't waste it."
     I was terrified.

     Forward twenty years. I was a waitress at My Brothers Bar in Denver, which turns out to be Peter Melbach's favorite watering hole. Every time I would see him, he would ask about what I was doing ("Some show here, film over there, shot a commercial, blah blah blah") and he would say "Why aren't you teaching?" and I would say "Because you are. I'm not needed."
     Then one night I said "I am thinking about it. Maybe subbing first?" and he lit up like I'd never seen and just said "Yes."
     
    And the rest, as they say, is history...
    But then...
    The LHS Boettcher scholar this year was a theatre kid. And he chose me to receive the grant money.
     So I got to go to the fancy shmancy Boettcher ceremony at the Botanic Gardens.
     It rained, there was an accident and we were late, but we made it. "We" meaning Jim and I because I Got To Bring A Date!
      As I sat next to Ryan (the Boettcher Scholar, the kid who did all the work and who should get all the credit) watching the teacher/student parade and awaiting our moment, I saw Peter Melbach, heard his name announced and watched him accept a plaque.
      I gasped and looked at Jim "No way!"
      This is where I tell you my loving and supportive husband said "It's like if Spicoli was at the same awards as Mr. Hand." Yes, yes it is, and enjoy the couch tonight, dear.
      Funny, but wrong.
      I looked at the program and Peter Melbach has a denotation by his name indicating he is a "multiple recipient" of the Boettcher money.
       Of course he is.
       So when Ryan and I lined up to await our turn, I saw Peter in the front row and I started waving at him like a three year old at her dad on the merry go round.
         Seriously, you cannot take me anywhere. I have no doubt Ryan was humiliated and was wishing he'd chosen a grown up for the award money.
         Also, I cannot be around my high school teachers. When Bud comes to shows I am inconsolable. I still want nothing more than for Kathy Starkey to think I'm smart. Steve Meinenger got flipped off when he asked if I was supposed to be using the printer in the band office---this was three years ago. I was 44 years old.
         Poor Melbach must have thought I was "special"or had suffered a brain injury.
    
         Once we were released to the alcohol and food tables---wait, a moment should be taken to compliment the Boettcher's ability to know how to make high school teachers happy: free booze, free food and an invitation to wander around Denver Botanic Gardens for free. These guys get it.
         I got my red wine and made a beeline for Peter. I have no doubt anybody watching saw a crazy stalker.
         Once in front of him, I realized I had nothing to say. I mean...he's Peter Fucking Melbach, Five Time Boettcher recipient and Rock Star IB History Teacher. I'm Schleppy The Clown. The last time we spoke I asked him if he wanted another beer.
         So I said "Can we get a photo to prove you and I are at the same awards?" He was gracious and kind and said of course.
         His prinicpal offered to take the photo and I was out of conversation starters when Peter said "Congratulations."
          "Thanks. Wow. You too. How may is this?"
          He shrugged. "Five."
          I downed half my glass of wine.
          He indicated my glass "Where'd you get that?"
          AH! YES! Booze! A way in!
          "Over there, I'll walk with you."
          He stopped first and looked at me. The  man has the most intense, intelligent eyes. I thought how much they look like Kathy Starkey's eyes and how I hope he doesn't see nothing at all in mine.
           He said "You are a great teacher."
           I shook my head. "Dude, you have no idea."
           He stood firm. "Yes I do. I know. I knew it in high school.Congrats."

          Inside I was screaming and dancing and barfing and outside I held it together THANK YOU YEARS OF ACTING TEACHERS and said "Thanks. Seriously." And we walked together toward the booze and he called me kryssi and told me he was retiring and wants to write an historical fiction novel and see "what else is out there" after 38 years of teaching.
         Like we were colleagues or something. Not like we were Peter Fucking Melbach and Schleppy
 The Clown.
 
          
 
         
        
   
    
    

Square State Teacher: The Circle Of Life (the nutshell version)

 

     I am not a person who was Born To Teach. I've met those people, I've been taught by those people and I've taught beside those people: I am not one of those people.

     I became a teacher in the same way I do everything: indecision, neurosis and through the side door. 

     I went to Green Mountain High School in the 80's, the most impactful teachers I had were Katherine (lang arts), Bud (theatre) and Peter (social studies). They will return in this story, hold on. 

      After years of not teaching, I looked at my small children and failed theatre career and decided that teaching would provide job stability and benefits. So I started subbing. At GMHS for Katherine, and for Bud's replacement, who was a GMHS alulm who graduated a year behind me. I would pull into the parking lot belting CIRCLE OF LIFE. I did this for a year, and decided it sounded like a good idea to just Be A Teacher. Of course I was in my mid thirties with small children, so I was not going back to school to do this. I found out that if someone would hire me, I could get my certification through the TIR program at Metro on Monday nights. I just had to get someone to hire me.

     I did, and my second year teaching, I received a phone call from Katherine. She had retired from GMHS and was now working in the TIR program. She was calling because she had been assigned to me as my mentor. That was the second time I belted CIRCLE OF LIFE. Katherine spent that year observing my classes and making sure I got the overwhelming piles of paperwork into the CDE. She wrote her notes in that gorgeous, sprawling handwriting that I loved in high school, and used phrases from my youth, like 'Truly Wonderful'.

     In my eighth year, one of my students shared his Boettcher with me. I was able to attend the Boettcher awards at the Botanic Gardens with other teachers who were also being recognized. They tend to be core teachers, or IB or AP, I was the only theatre teacher. I hung out with a choir teacher from another district. Then came time for the Parade of Teachers, and I caught sight of Peter (remember him from paragraph 3?) who was being introduced as a multiple recipient of the Boettcher. I turned to Jim, completely gobsmacked, and said "I don't belong here. He's a real teacher. This is like Spicoli getting the same award as Mr. Hand."   Peter and I had crossed paths years earlier when I was doing theatre/waiting tables, and he had stated flatly "Why aren't you teaching? You're a teacher." As I was in public, I could not sing CIRCLE OF LIFE. But I wanted to.

       In my eleventh year, a former student of mine who had been chorographing our musicals, returned to the building as substitute teacher. The next year, he was hired to replace the retiring art teacher, who had been his art teacher. Don't start singing yet.

       He chose the TIR program. And his mentor was:Katherine.

       You can start singing now.

 

Sunday, March 28, 2021

Square State Educator :Stuff That Works, Beginners

 

        What I came to realize a few years ago, is that a beginner is a beginner, regardless of whether they are five or fifteen. You cannot assume any experience on their part, even if they have participated in previous performing arts programs, summer camps or past shows. There are so many variables happening in theatre in this age group, that I always assume I am starting from scratch.

        There are myriad approaches, schools of thought and end product expectations sitting in front of you in any class. Some kids with minimal talent came from a place where there was little talent or commitment, and were therefore elevated to "star" status, yet they have no grip on theatre vocab. Some were told they should be in theatre because they are funny, or they act out in class. (*Note to parents and educators, this is not a sign that the kid needs to be in theatre. Please don't tell them that.) Some came from a regional theatre summer program, or a local performing arts program with other highly motivated students, and they were never able to be cast above ensemble due to the level of talent in their program. Some are there because they must be enrolled in six periods, and counseling dropped them in.You have these guys and everything in between staring at you.

       Therefore, I start with combat. It's a great place to begin basic vocab regarding stage directions without drilling "Cross up left, cross center, cross down right". Ugh. Since you're masking the punch (vocab word!), so the audience's disbelief is not shattered (Wiling Suspension of Disbelief)by punching upstage (vocab) everything in the unit is going to repeat those stage directions. 

       Some kids get annoyed with repetition, and others are used to it. In a core class, learning vocb lends itself to writing definitions, matching words with the definition, etc, and kids glaze over. Instead, in theatre, we're on our feet, reusing the terms over and over again, without grilling them. The first "term" is "rehearsal", which I tell them means "to repeat". This is a solid base for things like the Greek Chorus, who repeat the action of the play. This approach seems to vex admin, as historically I've had to create vocab lists and embed them in lesson plans, never to be rediscovered. Using the words over and over is a valid way to learn defiitions. I promise.

        They must create a combat scene with a beginning, a middle and an end (plot). The only rules are *No F bombs or other upsetting language *No domestic violence * No drugs or alcohol (I have acquisced to cowboys in a saloon, however) *No weapons. That's it. Create a one to two minute piece where hand to hand combat makes sense, add text and execute the seven moves you've learned. Am I tired of scenes in which girls fight over a sale item in a store? Yep. Do they recieve a lower grade for that scene? Nope. I'm delighted they showed up to class, rehearsed, worked together and performed. I tell them they will lose points if they make contact by slapping or punching their partner, but it's never been an issue. They're so impressed by their ability to create the illusion that they are focused, and no contact is made. Every single time, someone slaps their partner and the partner does not react and we all laugh together. We laugh with one another, together, not at. They hear that a bunch, too.

         Teaching kids to slow down when they rehearse is a vital skill that can be taught in the first unit. Slow down your punch, write out your script, block your combat and rehearse at half speed to make sure you execute the move correctly. The one move they rush is the strangle, so I make them slow motion it, like a zombie movie. I also do a balance exercise I call "The Matrix", where they must try to touch their partner slowly, while the partner moves their body away while leaving their feet planted. Think Keanu slo mo dodging bullets: that's the idea. That gets them accustomed to slowing down. It's not about trying to screw up your partner by moving fast and knocking their balance, it's about fooling the audience into believing you are touching your partner. Bringing us to our beloved "Willing Suspension of Disbelief", which is such a difficult concept for many kids, but The Matrix really makes it tangible for them.

        So the entire unit has yoga stretches, The Matrix for balance, a demo of the moves, a visit to plot elements and their first experience in learning how to rehearse as well as perform. The combat scene must contain: a beginning, middle and end, a slap, a strangle, a punch (right or left hook, jab or uppercut) a knee (stomach or groin) a hair pull, a drag and a stomp.Both partners must both execute and receive the punches and zombie reanimations are encouraged. Theatre people know how to teach these moves, but I've come up with a phrase or two that the kids remember years after intro. Your slap must be 'The Queen' not "Jersey", meaning it's a stiff hand and the power comes from your shoulder, not you flipping your hand like a fish. "The Victim Is Always In Control" is our mantra, and they will stop and say it if they know the scene has shifted. Also the distance is six inches, always, from the victim, so "Six inch ribbon curls---SIX. INCHES." has made is way into the combat vernacular as well.

        From here, we do some improv. I don't love improv in beginning classes, the shyer kids step back and let those who are more brave perform, and then it's no longer a group exercise. Sometimes I will let it go if those in the circle of 'freeze' are particularly talented, and are willing to let me stop them and point out what they've done correctly/incorrectly for the class. Improv is just another step toward getting them comfortable, however, most of the games only involve a handful of kids (you cannot play Party Quirks with 30 kids). By design it lends itself to performers and audience separation, so I use it sparingly. Their favorite is my most hated, The Dating Game. Ugh. They aren't any good at it, they don't know how to ask questions and I end up working harder to teach them how to play it correctly. Bus Stop is terrible with certain kids, becase you always get one who is determined to not react at all to anyone or anything, and if they're new, they think they're being clever. They aren't. So I use Freeze Tag to loosen them up, and then dole out the game as chocolate at the end of class. At the minimum, I get them all on stage in a circle, feigning participation.

      This year, with Covid, my classes have swung more to speech making, since breakout rooms are difficult for even the advanced kids, so I use them sparingly with Intro.I do a "What I Love" speech, a Demo speech and a poetry interp or stand up comedy routine. The demo i used for years in class live, the cool part of being remote was that the kids could demonstrate making morning coffee, or pancakes (not saying they didn't do that live, they did), using their kitchen or bedroom as their set location. These killed, but of course, you cannot do demos for and entire year. I do think I'll include more speeches first semester when we return next year, it seems to be a good break from the group scene work we've always done.

      Live, we do mime and tap dancing, as well as a midterm scene from The Odd Couple where I can get some tech in: build a prop from what you have, create the set (the apartment), find costume pieces. This year in the fall remotely, I made them build sock puppets and do the scene that way. So Much Fun and I get the tech connection with performance: bonus. Now this spring, they have to actually perform the scenes with a partner or a group.

     Throughout  the semester I use fairy tales for everything. Fairy tale with combat, fairy tale with tap dancing, Fairy tale with mime, fairy tale with built prop, etc. Then their final is a fairy tale with all elements plus full tech elements, a stage manager and a director. By the time we get here, they know who can be depended on and who cannot and they plan accordingly. Without confronting their fellow classmates, they simply give a ditcher the smallest role, and assign an understudy in case they don't show up. It's my job to confront the ditcher, and I do, and 100% of the time they get what's going on and accept it. Some of them even show up to perform the final! By their final I allow them to choose their groups ( I assign groups all semester to insure the shy kid gets involved, etc) and at the final, they always reach out to the shyer kids, because that's what's been happening all semester. My favorite kids are the Sped kids, they delight in every aspect, and in theatre, they are embraced by every group and involved to whatever degree they wish. I had one kid who was a train in every single scene. Who cares? He had a ball. I do not care how many times, over the last 50 years, I have seen The Three Little Pigs: it delights me every time. They find ways to make the story their own, incorporate their personal lives, politics, popular media, even memes. While they're having fun, they are also learning to adapt as a team member, collaborate, compromise, advocate, project, enunciate, lead, follow, think around problems, and own their work. We build humans in performing arts.That's always been a point of pride.

      And every element matches the state standards for theatre as well as any IB or AP rubric you care to create, in case meeting standards or preparing students for assements is your concern.Performance and tech, check. Create and perform, check. Reading, check. Vocab, check.Problem solving, check.Reflect, check. There is no assessment box for team work, problem solving, creative thought or building a community, those are "side effects" of theatre content. Ponder that.

      Every theatre program deserves a teacher who loves theatre. Passing it off as a club to a lang arts teacher, or reducing it to an IB curriculum run by the music teacher is unfair to the students, who are not getting the full breadth of what theatre has to offer ,and the teacher, who has an additional prep they cannot fully immerse themselves in. While these teachers may have had theatre in high school, or were a theatre minor in college, and generally mean well with their big hearts, their focus is split: theatre is not their only job. By design,theatre becomes an afterthought.

        And here we are post Covid, facing budget cuts and the reality that theatre-because in the peforming arts our numbers are always smaller -is going to get jacked. 

               Sigh.

Thursday, March 11, 2021

Square State Educator...KIDS ON STAGE

 

 For those who are new, I have been remote for a year.

 Remote remote, like really remote. Not hybrid, not "but I get to see my soccer players". 

 Remote. Cut off. The Theatre Is Dark.

 I decided, since the building is hybrid, we would attempt a hybrid cabaret.

 This has proven to be more work than anything I've done live.

 Some snapshots:

    *I spent the best two hours I have had in a year in the light booth, programming only three cues, but changing the colors compulsively. Because I did not want to leave the booth.

    * A collegue who is an audiophyle wanted to know why we aren't using sound. I just shook my head and walked away. It's called Social Commentary, and it's what theatre does. We reflect the world back on itself. Therefore, a Hybrid Cabaret is going to be on stage for those who are live, and in google meets for those who are remote, period. No enhancement, additional cameras or audio. I'm not interested in livestreaming a theatre event, I'm interested in demonstrating how fucking stupid difficult this last year as been. I have no plans to return to this environment,ever, so no thank you, I do not wish to learn how to do it better. I want nothing more than to return to theatre live and never, ever ever ever have to teach theatre remotely again. Ever.

   * Yesterday's rehearsal was rough ragged Cliffs of Moher rough. These kids have either never been on stage in their lives, or not been on stage in a year. They are the ones who are brave enough to climb the stairs and perform, or record their work to be shown because they are on lockdown. Sharing a google meet video in google meet requires that we share our screen, turn off our mike and camera and push play. This is lag time, but it's what every teacher goes through when they wish to show any kind of video in class. Social Commentary. And very rough. Very, very rough.

   * I am starting from zero in this building. Literally building a department from nothing, not even the ashes of a former department. Any chance of a Phoenix died when Covid shut us down for a year. We've been rebooted. Unplugged. We're flatlined.Starting at zero. So any kid willing to perform gets to do so, talent or not. I Do Not Care. Be brave, perform, receive some love and support and fall in love with theatre. That's all I can do at the moment. This is our starting point.

   That last bit is what I finally had to come around to last night, after a lot of drinking. I have not failed. This is not about me. 


                       Scene.