Today it was announced that Ken Griffey, Jr. will be returning to Seattle to play for the Mariners. While he is way past his prime, and while he never should have left in the first place, I'm very happy that he's returning, and I'm determined to see him in a Mariners uniform one last time.
Given that he played in the steroid era, and unequivocally took no part in the cheating ways of McGwire, Sosa, Bonds, and now ARod (what a tool he is), his numbers are even more impressive given the fact they're legitimate. If he had stayed healthy, he would seriously be challenging Henry Aaron's all-time home run record. His days in Cincinnati were spotty and his legs eventually gave out under him.
But I've never seen a more beautiful swing, or a more graceful outfielder than Griffey. When I was younger, and cursed with being a Mariners fan, he brought a lot of joy to me as I collected his baseball cards (a hobby which has now ruined itself by becoming way too greedy, exclusive, and expensive), and generally anything that had his name on it. I still have his Fleer, Donruss, and Upperdeck rookie cards. One time my dad drove me all the way down to Seattle because Griffey was there for an autograph session at the Seattle Center, but when we got there the line was ridiculously long. I was extremely disappointed, so when my dad and I arrived back in Bellingham he bought me said Upperdeck rookie card.
My sisters might remember me running around the house like a crazed maniac when Edgar Martinez doubled Griffey home in Game 5 of the opening round of the playoffs versus the Yankees in '95--what is still the best game, and moment, in Mariners history. To see Griffey round those bases, slide hands first into home, his teammates pile on, and the huge Kingdome go absolutely wild. That was incredible.
What I also liked about Griffey was that he idolized his father. When Ken Griffey, Sr. played with him in the outfield for a few games early in Jr.'s career, you could not have witnessed a happier ball player. All smiles and very fun to watch play. As someone who also idolized his father, I really identified with that about him.
Anyway, welcome back Kid. Now I need to go out and get another #24 jersey. And there might be a reason to watch the Mariners this season.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Hot for Teaching
Ugh. Sorry for being away for so long, but there's a good reason: I'm finally writing my diss, really putting words on paper, and I'm excited about the direction it's taking. Which means every other kind of writing seems kind of superfluous right now.
But I don't want to lose the, like, three people who read this blog.
Teaching has been exhilarating lately. Despite having taught various courses and hundreds upon hundreds of students, I've never had a class of around 30, for which I get to teach literature--not freshman composition, not lit and film, just literature--twice a week for majors. What a significant difference it is to have students who want to be in class, and who actually take notes regarding things that I say.
I'm happy for the opportunity to teach every term, mostly because it helps pay for school. I've been in graduate school since 2004 and I do not owe a dime for it--and that's because I've been able to teach. The problem is they usually stick me in Freshman Composition. It's assumed that because we study literature, that we automatically know how to teach writing. Now I probably know better than many grad students in other fields, but I do not consider myself an expert in teaching writing--it is truly a field unto itself. Literary criticism is an entirely different animal than teaching basic composition to students who can hardly write a sentence.
And so in my composition courses I rarely assign literature because what I hate even more is teaching people who don't give a crap about it. Which is why this term has been so great. I literally run out of time every single class, because I have so much to say and so little time to say it. I have to curb the urge to simply lecture the entire time, because it's such an intoxicating feeling. It's in front of a class like this that I realize how much I've learned--how many different ways I can take a lecture depending upon what associations I happen to be making that day with the material we cover. I'm usually quite fluid with my words, but I'm working on overcoming what I think is a monotonous tone when I lecture--and my low voice doesn't help. I like to pace, because it helps me think, but sometimes it prevents me from making eye-contact with students, which I'm also working on.
So far, the students have liked Dickinson the best, and for very good reason. What an amazing poet she is.
But I don't want to lose the, like, three people who read this blog.
Teaching has been exhilarating lately. Despite having taught various courses and hundreds upon hundreds of students, I've never had a class of around 30, for which I get to teach literature--not freshman composition, not lit and film, just literature--twice a week for majors. What a significant difference it is to have students who want to be in class, and who actually take notes regarding things that I say.
I'm happy for the opportunity to teach every term, mostly because it helps pay for school. I've been in graduate school since 2004 and I do not owe a dime for it--and that's because I've been able to teach. The problem is they usually stick me in Freshman Composition. It's assumed that because we study literature, that we automatically know how to teach writing. Now I probably know better than many grad students in other fields, but I do not consider myself an expert in teaching writing--it is truly a field unto itself. Literary criticism is an entirely different animal than teaching basic composition to students who can hardly write a sentence.
And so in my composition courses I rarely assign literature because what I hate even more is teaching people who don't give a crap about it. Which is why this term has been so great. I literally run out of time every single class, because I have so much to say and so little time to say it. I have to curb the urge to simply lecture the entire time, because it's such an intoxicating feeling. It's in front of a class like this that I realize how much I've learned--how many different ways I can take a lecture depending upon what associations I happen to be making that day with the material we cover. I'm usually quite fluid with my words, but I'm working on overcoming what I think is a monotonous tone when I lecture--and my low voice doesn't help. I like to pace, because it helps me think, but sometimes it prevents me from making eye-contact with students, which I'm also working on.
So far, the students have liked Dickinson the best, and for very good reason. What an amazing poet she is.
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