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Is Digital Storytelling the salvation of public education? The more I incorporate media and technology into my weekly lessons the more that I am surprised by its power. The strength that it holds onto students is fascinating even for someone who was raised by television, Hollywood movies, and MTV. I have used technology like texting, Podcasts, and websites to get results from students that otherwise would be considered “non-students” by most people. This is what gets me thinking. If someone is already engaged by wires, buttons, a screen and a few light taps on glass, through gadgets that were non existent months ago, then public education has a chance. The next step is to get society behind the idea of innovation in the classroom. Public relations need to improve for education. Teachers need to promote, showcase, and present this power of “new media” to the masses: to those that don’t have children in the public schools, to those who don’t like increasing taxes for the greater good, to those that can’t understand why teachers want a pay raise that at least is within close sight of other degreed professional’s salaries. Simple supply and demand could result to lower the price of these new tools within the classroom. Just as the MIT Labs have exponentially spread the positives of musical intelligence to greater and greater numbers of people who might not have otherwise benefitted from “playing” an instrument through their work creating Guitar Hero, other institutions of learning can influence more and more students school by school. The spread of technology in the classroom could be part of the everyday educational mainstream like pencil, college-ruled paper and a textbook if it becomes the norm and not the anomaly. It all begins by pressing Send, Play, or Record, not Delete.

Something as simple as walking to school: green spiral notebook in arm, pencil, eraser,  two pens in my front pocket. Movement in natural time. Not too fast or slow. Waiting for the traffic light to change to red so I could walk across as the people in their cars looked out to the strangeness of someone not driving down the whirring intersection. I was a school kid again. Have to remember to this again soon. I like the presence of being on foot. Simple things matter in the tumult of the everyday.

Every step begins with a journey.

Every step begins with a journey.

I had always thought that the flocks of parrots that have flown overhead since a kid, and most recently splattered my car with a chartreuse speckle that reminded me a bit of Abstract Impressionism, had not come from an escaped pair from someone’s left opened cage. I added this story to the list of other urban legends. But, according to a non-urban park ranger I recently met at Pt. Magu, this is actually true. There was even a scientific name given and a picture that explained the phenomena. So, this most recent Blog-Thought is uploaded with a bit of concern: how many other bits of info I thought of as lies are actually true? Is this sunset just a copy of others that have been seen thousands of times before? As of a couple of days I had believed that no two sunsets were ever alike. Some things are better left mysterious. Too much information bores life.

Has this happened before?

Has this happened before?

 Out.

The blue is endless. On the horizon tingling sparkles. White water roars its presence on high and low tide–I am here, have been here, listen. The ocean speaks.

INT. MEETING ROOM – NIGHT

Looking out a window we SEE a speckle of multicolored nightscape: blinking lights, cars driving by, hundreds of lives living quietly. An unidentifiable Los Angeles suburb rests below. We HEAR a voice introduce, “Nick Sadie”.

CLAPS make us look onstage.

                                                                                         NICK

                                                            You deserve more–you work hard everyday.

NICK SADIE is in his 30’s, average height and looks, in a suit, no tie, yet with an aura that makes one watch and listen: we want to see what’s up next.

                                                                                            NICK (Cont.)

                                                               Are you getting what you’re worth? 

We SEE a man staring up at NICK SADIE, his eyes focused on each thought as if in a hypnotic spell. Nick’s words speak only to him. Nothing else matters at this moment. This is MARCOS ALIAS. 

                                                                                                                               DISSOLVE TO: 

 

A wise man once said. . .

A wise man once said. . .

Words inspire, defeat, give beginnings when none existed. The order and meaning nebulous by degree, created by the one listening when hearing isn’t enough, when passion and relative humanity include all and make what one needs meaningful at the right moment. As we sometimes say, “getting it!” Synecdoche for the literati or, possibly, epiphany. Maybe even an Art House coming of age story. Coming soon to selected theaters.

In alphabetical order by topic.

In alphabetical order by topic.

Seeing an empty glass on Friday afternoon on the marble counter says something. Full or empty? Looks clean: as if no one has touched it. Was the drinker wearing gloves? White, leather, knitted? Was this the beginning or the ending to the weekend stories that will become the reminiscent memories of years to come?

I'll wait for Tony

I'll wait for Tony

Had to stop and turn around, pay respect to this contemporary shrine. Since the move east this has been the place were a continuous meditative state has helped me become quieter in times of loudness. An oracle of sorts as I sit awaiting the next available barber chair. And all for under $15.

It has always happened. There isn’t a time were I can’t remember feeling sad for no reason. It’s a natural cycle. Nothing wrong, really. Low instead of medium. Physically cold even though it’s 63℉ and sunny. Nothing matters–even the things that take me high into existence. Music all sounds the same, movies are the same banal archetypes I’ve seen hundreds of times before, ideas from great minds are uninspiring and forced, oblong on a jagged plane. Even the internet can’t remove this boredom. Sometimes it lasts for hours, a day or two. It always wears away in time.

Rain, rain go away.

Rain, rain go away.

I think of it like the turbulent Porciúncula during a darting rain. Its murkiness settles from seven foot smashes as they hit up against concrete on N. Main to inch-deep arroyos within hours, a day or two. It always wears away in time. Out.

Went out last night to listen to some music. Not from an iPod wired DJ or from plastic discs spinning round laser or needle, but from amplifiers, custom gauge, nickle wound strings, fuzz effect pedals, and Weatherking Coated Ambassador drum heads. The screech of distortion, crash of the hickory on polished brass, thump of the wobbly E string bouncing on the the metallic blue bass neck–nothing like it.

Back to school on Monday. How many times has this process matured through the years?

For now CDs at home must do till next weekend. Out.

1st-ring-out

Music, music, everywhere.

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