Category Archives: 101

Lowbrow Literacy

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I’ve been struggling for some time, trying to come up with a more elegant way of presenting this argument. I don’t think I’ll be finding one anytime soon. In any case the revelations here are neither of the shocking nor groundbreaking variety so I’ll be taking a steadfast out-out-damned-spot, full-steam-ahead, approach:

Since really focusing on my professional practice, I’ve spent a disproportionate amount of my time thinking about literacy (access to, and change in, etc, etc). This post serves as a critical inspection of some of the literacy skills I’ve cultivated of late.

Specifically, I wanted to talk about (flaunt?) the lowbrow literacy skills I’ve been mastering.

A Disclaimer
Before really launching into a real description of what I mean, I need to address the concerns with the naming problem here. I am again at a loss as to the original text I encountered that explained the history between “lowbrow” and “highbrow.” However, a quick google confirms my understanding of the terms coming out of phrenology. As such, the history of “lowbrow” and those individuals with said lower brows is one of racial undertones. As the word is part of our common vernacular today emphasizes the miscegenated journey of the lowbrow/highbrow binary.

What is Lowbrow Literacy?
As much as I enjoy pretentious literature, art gallery soirees, and excursions to the the-a-tre (to be spoken in a thick, British accent – three syllables oh-so-necessary), I pride myself on the breadth of bottom-of-the-barrel cultural knowledge. Forget The Simpsons and forget secretly smart commentary from the likes of the Daily Show – that stuff’s for the birds. I’m referring to My Super Sweet 16, Justin Timblake, and American Idol. You know, rubbish. As much as I enjoy top-tier art, I frequently revel in the kinds drivel that make grandparents call the TV the “idiot box.” Comic Books. Entertainment Weekly. The Soup. Bad ‘80s Sex Comedies. Florida. VH1’s Top 50 Insufferably Unnecessary Lists of All Time. Like I said, not only do I subject myself to this stuff, but I love it. I study it, I read about it online, I stay awake thinking about it.

There was a time when I was a qualified music snob: I could identify what borough of New York an indie band hailed from, even though I had yet to actually visit the city. Similarly, I would casually ask about someone’s musical taste at a college party. After hearing a few artists, I could/would immediately judge and (more importantly) hold disdain for this person based solely on their taste. I am not proud of this cheap parlor trick (I kind of think of it now like tarot reading – but that’s another story for another day) – but it shows the kind of interwoven connections I’m partially trying to illustrate. On the other hand it also shows a major shortcoming of mine: I wasn’t willing to embrace the lowbrow at the time – I was afraid to publicize my adoration for Prince, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, radio friendly pop-punk, and the commercially besmirched failures of Robin Williams’ ‘90s catalog (see Toys & Jack as prime examples). To the shock of many close friends, I’ve come to publicly embrace and celebrate the aforementioned artists.

As such, the same way I’m able to traverse a conversation about Frankfurt School philosophical implications in classroom pedagogy, I’m similarly able to question Chef Gordon Ramsey’s attitude and Paula Abdul’s commenting faux pas and the general ripples such behaviors will cast on the web of network television. This too is a literacy; it’s just not one that’s especially appreciated or valued by the people that bother to write about or place value on things like literacy (and yes, I’m fully aware that I’m included in the elitist population).

Reality Television: A Case Study in L.L.
Maybe it’s best to briefly look at one case study of lowbrow literacy in action, a personal favorite of mine: reality television. I’m a sucker for it. From the Bravo channel’s ([only] slightly) more sophisticated stew of the now to the pure crockery of current iterations of the Real World to the rather bizarre incarnations in the outer regions of cable television (really, did anyone else see the elimination show for motivational speakers??), I’ve waded through it all. Not only am I wading through it, but I am confident that other reality TV junkies like myself are able to enjoy these shows even more because we are more acclimated to the reality TV grammar that has been prescribed for these shows. It’s worth looking at the first season of the Real World (and yes, I was hooked from day one – confused that Beavis and Butthead had been ousted from its 4 p.m. time slot) – the show didn’t know what it was doing. The drama was missing. A single heated argument about race is the only real highlight most viewers can recall. Similarly, look at the casts of these early seasons – many “characters” are simply not in a bunch of episodes – it was too real. Take the doctor in the San Francisco season – she was busy being a doctor and didn’t have time for this MTV crap. On the same season we also get our quintessential reality TV rabble-rouser: Puck – the kind of house villain that nearly every show has attempted to replicate (on an interesting side note, I think the Shakespearean connection in Puck’s name was both an intentional inclusion for the show and something that was lost on most viewers).

You’ll see similar growth in shows like Survivor and Big Brother (thought he fact that the house in Big Brother was constantly being monitored online detracted from the general storyline’s pacing). Ultimately, through understanding this television grammer, we’ve gotten some elegant by products. A personal favorite, for example, would be the Joe Schmo show. A meta-reality show in which everything is staged by professional actors except for one of the game’s contestants. A brilliant and underappreciated work, the Joe Schmo Show reads (yes, “reads”) like a Reality Television 101 course and is required viewing (reading) for anyone looking to appreciate the genre/medium.

What’s the Point?
And while I realize much of this description comes as jest and lighthearted endorsement of musical rubbish and televised pap, I do believe there are real implications in analyzing this kind of literacy. For one, this is precisely the kind of literacy skill that is typically mined in the culturally relevant curriculum wars being waged in LAUSD in the name of “equity.” I’ve stated before that I don’t think our school system’s been getting this right and that the approach is all wrong. However, if we’re not able to read and participate in the literacy practices that our students are fluent in, it seems unlikely that they’ll be willing to compromise in valuing an esoteric literacy practice like engaging with a 5 paragraph essay. Similarly, there’s real value in recognizing the conventions of lowbrow sub-genres: looking back on the middle portion of this rant reminds me about how I’ll be able to play with reality TV grammatical pacing in structuring the tension and dynamics of the Black Cloud game.

At the same time, folks like Henry Jenkins place a tremendous amount of value on things like “mash ups” and “participatory media.” Daye and I had a brief conversation about her distaste for all things mash-up. I think I’ll tip that iceberg at a later date.

Leisure Reading, Film Literacy, and Two Mentions of Literary Monkeys

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With B-track back in session, a daily silent reading period of 15-20 minutes in each of my classes means I’m able to tackle some of the random books I’ve been accumulating. Strange as it may seem, I get through a bit more leisure reading while I’m full-on teacher mode than while I’m off track with way more free time.

When I first read the description of The Film Club By David Gilmour, way back in December, I immediately preordered the book – the premise was good enough to be a must-read: Gilmour allows his 16 year old son to drop out of school with one simple caveat. The son has to watch three films a week with his father. This is the closest that the son gets to a legitimate education throughout his high school career.

While The Film Club spends more time than I’d prefer dealing with relationship issues: miserable breakups, growing pains, crazy girlfriends, and more miserable breakups, the discussions of the time spent watching film is entertaining.

As an educator, I was particularly interested in this early passage: “I didn’t waste any time. The next afternoon, I sat him down on the blue couch in the living room, me on the right, him on the left, pulled in the curtains, and showed him Francois Truffaut’s The 400 Blows (1959). I figured it was a good way to slide into European art films, which I knew were going to bore him until he learned how to watch them. It’s like learning a variation on regular grammar.”

Though I’ve only taught one official Film Studies class (an intersession course that ranged from Style Wars to Buster Keaton), film literacy and its necessary “grammar” are the skills I continue trying to develop in my 11th and 12th grade English classes. Likewise, the conflicted dissimilitude of Antoine Doinel is perpetually present in many of my seniors; standing on the precipice between student and not-student, these are students marinating in uncertainty. Maybe a screening of The 400 Blows is worth a shot?

In related news, Matt Ruff’s Bad Monkeys was a fun, silly yarn. I admittedly picked this up because I’m a sucker for the book design, but the book has me interested in pursuing Ruff’s previous books.

Currently really enjoying Chip Kidd’s The Learners (a sequel to the underrated The Cheese Monkeys). I suspect I’ll need to go back to the Beyond Pedagogy texts after this one, to stay on top of things.

Oh and I’m only a third of the way through Infinite Jest but the hyperbolic praise that the book’s garnered is becoming more solidified with each page read. (As I was looking up the book – I noticed that the current version of the text is only $6.29 on Amazon. Though not the edition I’m reading, this is an absolute steal. At slightly more than 1100 pages long, the cost breaks down to about sixty cents per hundred pages. I can ascertain it’s a text that will keep you busy and cerebrally entertained.)

Note: Though this isn’t technically a 101 post, it’s been tagged as such for personal reference. Pay no mind.

Kindergarten as a Secondary Practice

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Before I get into the meat of this post, I wanted to mention that the schedule for the Beyond Pedagogy group has been revised – our last meeting was canceled at the 11th hour and will be rescheduled at our next meeting on May 8th. The full schedule is found here.

Now then, having recently finished the current reading selection, Inventing Kindergarten, I felt compelled to add to the list of imaginary classes that should be instituted down the line: Kindergarten 101.

What is Kindergarten?
Though Friedrich Froebel’s original vision of kindergarten has become terribly diluted, the original vision was of “a radical and highly spiritual system of abstract-design activities intended to teach the recognition and appreciation of natural harmony” (page 12). Frankly, the spirituality aspect of Froebel’s kindergarten isn’t to be taken lightly, the entire curricula was designed around a sense of discovered unity throughout life.

Aside from spirituality, the goals of curriculum were about student play and abstraction. Through a serious of activities and “gifts,” students are urged to slowly move from explicit and real representations to abstract and varied methods of understanding, visualizing, and imagining. The process is entirely unlike the kinds of practices enforced in high schools today.

And while kindergarten kept kids busy every day (the class itself being rigorously structured), the entire process was to feel natural and fun: “Kindergarten was play, and a good kindergartener made certain her little sprouts never thought otherwise – the theoretical underpinnings of the education were kept from children just as they are in any classroom situation” (page 145). Not sure, I’d agree with the last clause – I’ve used Freire as a means to open discussion and dialogue in my class and candidly discuss motivations behind my practice. However, there are certain things that remain behind the curtain, as I’ll explain about the Black Cloud.

I realize this is a painfully limited description (go read the book!), I mainly want to outline the key goals of kindergarten: unity, natural harmony, abstraction, and play. As Brosterman explains, “The intended result of this all-encompassing instruction was the creation of a sensitive, inquisitive child with an uninhibited curiosity and genuine respect for nature, family, and society…” (page 39).

So What Went Wrong?
I mentioned that kindergarten ain’t as it used to be. The main reason for this – surprise – is crass consumerism. The “gifts” that are essential to the kindergarten experience became marketed so aggressively that production flaws would change or “enhance” the tools used in the class: “the gifts have been transformed, the educational objective for what is left of the occupations has been lost of corrupted” (page 40). Similarly, the teachers that continued the tradition of Froebel’s kindergarten didn’t have the kind of subtle and detailed training that was required. A certain amount of finesse was required for the differentiated and nuanced work that took place every day in the class.

Funnily enough, consumerism is part of what’s ruining education today as well! Public schools are being forced to “comply” with specific curriculum as is often created by private companies and organizations. There are ferocious bidding wars by groups like Prentice Hall and Holt to be the “official” textbook within a school. Millions of dollars are at stake. The material? About as good as a one-size-fits-all solution can be. At a recent professional development meeting, the presenter mentioned that most questions within English textbooks rarely invoke the higher order thinking skills in Bloom’s taxonomy. (Synthesize??? What’s that?!)

But Why in High School?
Today, students come into my class at the beginning of the year wary, uninterested, and expecting to do the work to pass the class. The curiosity factor is nil. The occasional expressive and interested student is seen as a thrilling anomaly and is quickly fetishized by a handful of teachers. Most are not the “sensitive, inquisitive” children of Froebel’s dreams. And if that sounds like a slight to the students I teach, it’s not: the things that my students write, create, or express continually amaze me throughout my class. However, somewhere along the line, students were programmed to stop asking questions, stop having fun, and start learning how to bubble in the “right” answers on by-rote exams on a semi-annual basis. Yes, schools really do kill creativity.

Students need to feel comfortable playing; this is part of the process of learning and being creative. We need a system for students to get back into the habit of having fun.

What Would This Look Like in High School?
A lot of this is about changing what happens inside the classroom. Why can’t there be a sense of mystery in an English class? Why can’t your history class be inquiry based and allow room for “play”?

What most excites me about the Black Cloud game is the opportunity to completely throw students off balance. Not only will students be playing a game for a month and a half in my class, but – for most of the time – they won’t even know they are playing a game. The entire project relies on student curiosity. Yes, we’re still learning the necessary English skills I’m required to teach, but we’re doing it in a way that Froebel would probably admire. (And just like in Kindergarten, the actual learning and “goals” of the unit remain hidden. The premise of play and discovery are all that is visible for the students).

Kindergarten is a pedagogical tool that can be adapted for all ages. It’s classroom interaction, student and teacher roles within the classroom, and school activities re-envisioned. It was invented more than 150 years ago and it just might be the most refreshing way to transform the current educational landscape.

EDIT: No, I don’t know why I wrote “Post-secondary” when I was talking about high school… it’s fixed now. It’s monday and it’s already been a long week…

The 101s

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I’m thinking about what’s missing in our current high school course offerings (hint: a lot). I’m brainstorming the classes I feel are most urgently needed by my current students. I want to use this as an exercise to see what I can fold or further adapt in my own classroom, within my SLC, and what can eventually be pushed forward into new class structures. This may be a recurring exercise I’ll return to – we’ll see.

Classes that should be required:
– Feelings 101: expression, empathy, and dealing with grief

This is related to the large immigrant student tropes I’ve been attempting to document.

– Social Media 101: Blogging, online networks, and RSS

I recently wrote about the fact that most of these sites are blocked by our district. I’m not accepting the comments as a proper response. These are the skills imperative to being successful in our 2.0 environment. I’ve been recently following the work of Henry Jenkins, and the participation gap hits the nail on the head. I have more to say on this… just not yet.

– Humanism

I’ll return to this one as the Beyond Pedagogy discussions continue – I want to outline a realistic framework

– Interaction 101: Consensus, Mediation and Resolution

Perhaps the follow-up course to Feelings 101? (I know a few adults that could use a refresher in this course as well)

– Urban Art & Critical Response: Graffiti, Print Media, fashion, and music

 Yes, this is something I’m actively working on and presenting about.

– History of My Suppressed Voice: a personal inquiry; independent studies class

I think this sounds pretty clear, don’t you?

What are the current required classes? Along with the regular academic stuff we’ve got “a class called “Life Skills.” I can’t say what happens in this class with any certainty, but aren’t all of the above “Life Skills”?