Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Education Burger

oday I wanner bitch about education.  As some of you may know, I gots an alternative identity that I spend most of my time pretendin’ ter be.  Y’know the case.  Like Batman.  When Batman ain’t busy bein’ Batman he’s this tycoon-ish feller named Bruce Wayne.  Bruce Wayne is sorter Batman’s day job.  It’s how he pays the bills he racks up while bein’ Batman.  Me, I like ter strap on an accordion an’ aurally terrorize the general public as much as the next feller, but I gotter hold down a day job as well.  All this accordion squeezin’ fer free don’t come cheap.

So’s I teach.  I teach fer the Los Angeles Unified School District.  Now, despite what the know-it-alls-who-don’t really-know-nuthin’ have ter say on what seems a perty regular basis these days, Los Angeles Unified ain’t all bad.  In fact, despite all the shit-slingin’ goin’ around, I am not so sure that education in California in general is as bad as it is made out ter be.  It’s kinda like Babylon, I figger.  Babylon were prolly a perty good gig ‘til God decided ter execute some judgment on it an’ that there writin’ on the wall appeared.  So’s we gots some writin’ on the wall as of late where education in California is concerned.  That don’t mean all is lost, but I am figgerin’ there’s gotter be some attention paid ter the writin’ itself.  That is if anyone in this state can still read.  But I guess that there statement I just made may just very well contradict my typical natural state of cynical optimism.  I is just bein’ contrary.

Now, these thoughts may be kinder scatterbrained.  I dunno that I am even attemptin’ ter make a singular thesis.  There’s just some things I been mullin’ over that I need ter get out of my head an’ out there inter the world.  So don’t be lookin’ fer no logical an’ well thought out tour de force er nuthin’.  I is just thinkin’.  An’ sometimes that’s dangerous.

First of all, leastways I see it, if there’s a problem with education in Los Angeles Unified, it’s primarily a situation of downright top heaviness.  I mean, who ARE all them folks in the Beaudry buildin’ an’ what is it exactly that they do all day?  I know there’s constant talk ‘bout teachers bein’ paid too much fer the supposedly cake-ish job they do, but in relative cost terms, there’s a whole lotter more money bein’ spent in that there downtown girder an’ concrete monument than there is out here in the trenches.

Case in point:  I have a friend who quit LAUSD a few years back ter go inter teachin’ at the community college level.  Well, a few weeks back he gets a letter in the mail (forwarded, ‘cuz he’s long since moved) from Los Angeles Unified an’ this here letter sez they overpaid him 10,000 dollars!!  10,000 doggone dollars!!

An’ the clincher is that there ain’t no explanation.  It’s just a letter sayin’ basically:

“When you werked fer us we done overpaid ya 10,000 dollars.  Tell us how you’d like ter pay it back.  If you decide not ter pay us, we’ll sue you.”

An’ that’s it.  I mean, what in Tarnation is goin’ on with that?  10,000 dollars is like three net paychecks.  My friend don’t remember there bein’ no radical overpayments on any of his stubs, so’s it musta been some error that done went on fer a long time.  So what LAUSD is sayin’ is that they overpaid him a net amount of 10 grand over some long period of time, an’ then it took someone THREE YEARS ter realize they done overpaid him?  And now they gonner come lookin’ ter extract the supposed overpaid amount… with no explanation as ter how it happened… no explanation as ter when it happened…  no explanation at all.  Is we serious?

I’ll tell ya what I think.  Not that you asked, but yer readin’ this so’s I’ll go on an’ tell ya anyhow.  I think that in all this budget crisis-ness the District is done gettin’ desperate, an’ ‘stead of coughin’ up at the top, where the money is, they’s done goin’ after the little guy as seems perty typical these days.  I mean, how’s my friend gonner work this bit out?  Hire a lawyer?  Try to face down the Evil Empire?  I would put money on the possibility that he ain’t the only target an’ the District is just plannin’ on folks coughin’ it up ‘cuz they don’t even know wheres ter begin to fight it.

An’ I dunno if you’ve heard about the state of California an’ its furlough days beeswax er not.  If’n you’ve any dealin’s with the courts er the DMV er whatnot in the past year er so it’s prolly been in yer news, but fer those of you who ain’t awares, state employees is gettin’ unpaid involuntary vacations so’s the state can try an’ save money.  Well, now that’s done come down ter the teachin’ circuit an’ education employees is done takin’ furlough days as well (an’ the kids get reduced instructional time… a worthy sacrifice in their eyes, I ‘spose, but I guarantee it ain’t helpin’ their success in the world none).  The clincher, of course, is that the Bureaucrats is nobly takin’ their furlough day breaks as well… but in my opinion, a furlough hack out of a 50,000 dollar a year job sure has a helluva lot more sting than a furlough hack out of some 6 digit income.  Since they started invokin’ them furlough days late last school fiscal year I do believe I’m under some 2,700 net dollars er so.  That’s a lotter money to have evaporate on ya in a four er five month period.  An’ now Obramara wants me ter start payin’ income tax on the health benefits the District pays fer me?  I dunno… s’startin’ ter rankle a lil bit.

Anyhow, yeah, top-heavy.  That’s what I wuz yakkin’ about.

An’ then there’s the classroom philosophy that’s bein’ passed down the line itself.  Didja know that America is one of them few countries in the world where the intent of education is ter behave as if ever single person who comes through the system done has the ability (an’ the assumed desire, mind ya) ter learn just like everybody else.  All participants in the education system in America is expected ter operate at the exact same level of skill.  An’ on top of that, the world ain’t doin’ a whole lot ‘cept gettin’ bigger an’ more complicated so’s the amount of “bein’ good at a little bit of everythin’” that’s expected out of school-going youth today is way bigger than what I had ter deal with just a decade an’ a half er so ago.  What’s that bit about knowledge doublin’ every decade er so?  Is there really the expectation that school-going youth is gonner keep expandin’ the embracing capabilities of its brain ter keep up with the technical an’ technological an’ social advancements of world society on every single doggone front??

The American Education system seems ter think so… but then here in California it seems dead set on rammin’ every student through a liberal arts crash course with the intention of turnin’ every one of them inter some sorter super-scholar that is just gonner wanner learn stuff ‘cuz learnin’ makes ya a better person er some such balderdash.  At least they better wanna be smart fer their own sake ‘cuz there sure as hell ain’t the job availability that supports the supposed “sky’s the limit” paradigm that keeps gettin’ dangled in front of them like some cosmic carrot.

An’ where technology education is concerned, get this one:

I dunno how well you know what’s goin’ on in Los Angeles Unified, but a few years back the whole schmear decided it wuz gonner join the technology age an’ get itself online.  So along came lausd.net an’ now everything is tryin’ ter be accomplished in the world of www.  Even roll an’ grades have done moved on over ter the innernut domain an’ we teachers done gotter mark students present er absent online at the beginnin’ of class.  Perty swanky an’ technologically savvy I ‘spose, perhaps a doggone down an’ dirty pillar-istic example of acknowledging the importance of technology advancement and its necessity in the workin’s of modern society.

But the problem is that, as with all things California an’ education oriented… an’ magnified manifold within LAUSD itself… it ain’t the top-of-the-line-best-money-can-buy kinda thing you would think the precious denizens of tomorrow would deserve.  An’ so, the damn thing is regularly glitchy, runnin’ intolerably slow, er just plain down fer the count.

Students more than ever seem ter not be buyin’ inter the “education in California has yer best interest in mind an’ therefore you oughtter participate willingly becuz all we wanner do is help ya develop the skills ya need ter be successful in life after the education system”, an’ believe me that an on-campus innernut connectivity that is surpassed by the set-up they could access at any friend’s house don’t serve none ter eradicate their doubts.  How can they believe that the education system done has their best innerests in mind when it won’t even shell out the money ter insure they’ve got the best possible resources ter help them develop the supposed necessary skills ter move this country inter the 21st century?

Honestly.

An’ then there’s test scores.  Did you know that there ain’t no personal accountability fer the mandated test-takin’ student?  The government done hands a school-goin’ youth, who prolly don’t wanner be in school ter begin with (I mean, think of all the more fun an’ more desirable things you wanted ter do instead of goin’ ter school when you wuz that age), an’ expects them ter apply themselves at their best possible level… even though there ain’t no intrinsic motivation fer them ter do so?  Try tellin’ a school goin’ youth: “You should try yer best at this here evaluative test the government wants ya ter take becuz the government wants ter see how capable you are of bein’ tested on all the information you’s ‘sposed ter be learnin’ in school… but it don’t count fer a grade er nuthin’… just do yer best becuz you should want ter do yer best.”

Yeah… right.  Sounds perty plausible that they’s gonner expend maximum effort on some test that don’t determine whether they’s gonner get a good job, get a reward… hell, them tests don’t even determine if’n they can graduate er not.  The only one they worry about is the California High School Exit Exam (the CAHSEE) becuz they can’t get their diploma without passin’ it, but many students are so attuned ter the meaningless of governmental evaluations that they can’t even muster the effort ter pass that one the doggone first time around.

An’ my reputation as a good teacher is gonner be determined by whether er not some damn adolescent WANTS ter do their best on some unrewarded test?  Come on, now.

So, what else… lessee… oh yeah… in case you don’t know this, the educational institution is perty much a two-fold entity.  It has the job of both teachin’ youngin’s content (that’d be the regular ol’ readin’, writin’, arithmetic bizness) AND socialization.  Think about it.  Where do young people learn ‘bout how ter behave in a place that ain’t home before they move on out inter the outside world if’n it ain’t at school?  They’s are ‘sposed ter be exercisin’ their abilities of interaction and performance in a professional environment.

Now, the problem with this here situation that has arisen in recent decades is that my job as a teacher has become more an’ more focused on teachin’ appropriate behavioral practices than it is on teachin’ content.  Basically I spend a lotter classroom time tryin’ ter teach them damn kids just plain how’s ter behave in some kinder environment that ain’t “hangin’ with the homies on the street corner”, an’ believe me, they don’t like it one bit.  Somehow young folks of today, at least in the urban environment I deal with on a daily basis, ain’t seemin’ ter get any kinder trainin’ in social graces anywheres but in the classroom… an’ on top of that, since they’s KNOW that kinder thing ain’t ‘sposed ter be the responsibility of the classroom, they’s protest and challenge it bein’ taught.

A good example is one of my coworkers’ stories from the other day.  She sez some knucklehead comes inter class bein’ rowdy an’ uncouth an’ she admonishes him:

“Please sit down an’ be quiet.  Class is about ter start.”

An’ this young feller retorts with:

“What are you talkin’ ‘bout?  This is geometry class.  You ain’t ‘sposed ter be teachin’ manners!”

Case in point.  Just what is these kids doin’ in the time they ain’t bein’ wrangled in the classroom?  What kinda behavioral instruction is they getting’ out in the world outside of the educational institution an’ when did it become the educational institution’s primary responsibility ter teach them simple things such as respect, diligence, connectivity, an’ perseverance?  An’ who’s let ‘em get away with this ridiculous lack of discipline fer so long that they come ter high school in such a rag tag fashion?  When did I become an executor of policy ‘stead of an imparter of knowledge?

Who knows.

I’ll tell ya one thing.  I do have a fear fer the future, cuz it ain’t lookin’ ter be as bright as it used ter be.

Hmmm… am I done?

No, wait… I almost fergot ‘bout overcrowdin’.  So’s, we all knows of course that over the past few decades the focus of the educational institution (cuz every young person is able ter be brought up ter the same level of skill and ability with just a lil extra effort on the part of educators) has been personalized an’ individual instruction, right?  Yup.  Educators is ‘sposed ter be makin’ education more effective than ever by spendin’ time with each student as an individual an’ craftin’ the curriculum ter fit like a glove fer the learnin’ needs of each individual student.  This is to ensure that every student not only gets an equal shake, but also ter make sure that every student can answer them non-personalized questions on them standardized tests the government (an’ the L.A. Times an’ Daily News) done puts so much value in.

Well, it don’t seem like such a bad idea… but howzit when ya consider that just five years ago it were required in 9th grade that there be a ratio of only 29 ter 1?  That’s a lotter students ter try an’ get to on a regular basis within a 56 er 82 minute class period every day.  But it ain’t so bad as nowadays where it’s legal ter have a ratio of upwards of 42 ter 1 in the classroom at any grade level.  Anyone else think this is startin’ ter undermine the established principle of personalized classroom experience?

Let’s do some math, doggone it.  It ain’t my strong point, but I figger this is straightforward enuff that I can work it out fer us.  Currently, I teach three 82 minute class periods a day.  I’m one of the lucky ones an’ have a class average of ‘bout 35 students.  That means that within a single class period, I have ‘bout two and a half minutes a day ter work with each student independently.  That’s ‘bout eleven minutes an’ some odd seconds per week that I can devote ter each student individually per week.  Well… that duzn’t seem so bad, eh?  What am I complainin’ about?

Well, when am I ‘sposed ter teach, doggone it?  Say I’s got 410 total minutes available fer each class period per week.  That duzn’t seem so bad, right?  I mean, even if it takes me five minutes a period per day ter take roll an’ get them doggies settled down an’ werkin’, I still’s got 385 minutes of instructional time a week ter divide ‘tween content an’ addressin’ student needs… yup.  Well… how’s ‘bout I be conservative an’ I say I spend twenty minutes er so a day in direct instruction.  That werks out ter a hunnerd minutes er so of weekly instructional time, leavin’ me with 285 minutes.  That’s still 57 minutes a day I oughtter be able ter focus on independent werk an’ werkin’ with students on an individual basis.  Lessee… with an average of 35 students per class, that gives me 1.6 minutes er so per kid per day.  Wow.  That’s eight minutes per week per student that I oughtter be able ter address all their questions an’ git ‘em up ter speed fer the government expectation that they’s all gonner be Rhodes Scholars an’ make the United States proud beyond comparison with the rest of the world… an’ all on a shoestring budget.

Oh, wait… I fergot that I surrender 69 minutes of classtime a week ter my own required professional development.  That’s where us teacher types are required ter go sit in a room with other teacher types an’ discuss how best ter address our student population with the resources we’ve got.  Sometimes time well spent… most of the time it’s time just spent.  But it adjusts our factorin’… lessee… minus the 69 minutes I get left with 341 minutes of class time… minus that there 25 minutes fer orientin’ everythin’ makes 316… minus the twenty minutes of a period spent directly instructin’ them childrens makes 216 minutes… which leaves a whoppin’ total of six minutes an’ some number of seconds I am able ter focus on each student individually over the course of a week.  An’ that ain’t takin’ inter account the nuances of classroom interruptions, behavioral problems, fire an’ earthquake drills, funny schedules fer standardized testin’, students who think it’s alright ter pack up fer leavin’ five minutes ‘fore the bell rings, an’ tryin’ ter squeeze in opportunities fer them ter learn how ter operate at a professional level with one another.  An’ don’t even get me started on time allotted fer writin’…

An’ that’s just what I get paid fer.  What ‘bout all the gradin’ an’ editin’ an’ course plannin’ an’ whatnot I do when I’m OFF the doggone clock?  I dunno.  Wouldn’t it just seem ter make sense that maybe, if’n we’s got these high expectations of all our American school children, it would pay ter have a smaller ratio of students ter teachers?  I mean, these broods already gots problems just plain knowin’ how ter behave in the educational an’ professional environment, not ter mention a lack of innerest in even the general notion of education.  What good duz it do them ter jam ‘em as tight as possible inter a classroom permittin’ this an’ that one ter play avoidance, disruption, an’ ter slip unner the radar if they can mange it?

Seems kinder ridiculous.

Then there’s the “Avoidance of Failure by Deliberately NOT Trying” problem.  Look, as the world has gotten bigger an’ harder ter pigeon-hole an’ categorize, it’s also gotten a lot scarier ter the youthful outlook.  A hunnerd years ago, supposedly all ya had ter worry ‘bout as a young person wuz whether er not ya groomed yerself an’ had good enuff manners ter be acceptable within the social circle.  Acquirin’ enuff vocabulary an’ know-how done went a long ways ter help keep ya from lookin’ like an ignoramus as well, I ‘spose.  But today, it almost seems that if’n ya don’t know what a computer mainframe is, er how fast (in kilometers per hour) the Earth rolls ‘round the Sun, it’s made out that yer gonner be a gigantic social failure. 

Let’s face it, test scores is getting’ waved in students’ faces aller the time, alertin’ them I ‘spose ter how little they ‘sposedly know (an’ this is aside from the fact that test scores is gettin’ waved in teachers’ faces aller the time supposedly alertin’ them ter what bad teachers they is).  Imagine if you wuz some kid who has been born inter a world that’s just plain too big ter get yer head ‘round, an’ on top of that you’s bein’ told constantly what a failure you is an’ how there ain’t no future fer you in modern society lessin’ you shape up an’ learn EXACTLY how ter use a semicolon… you wanner know what these youngin’s do when a test comes along then?  I’ll tell you.  They’s just don’t do it.

Yup.  You read that right.  They just don’t take that test, the results of which might further damage their self-esteem an’ let ‘em know again just what a giant failure they is when stood up against the government’s expectation that they needs ter be scholarly superhumans.  These are the students who put their heads down before the test even starts, play eenie-meenie-miney-moe with the bubble-in answer sheet, cause disruptions in the testing environment so they’s can escape… there are even some creative enuff ter create dot-matrix-ish pictures outer the bubble answers available ter them.

What’s the point of such behavior you might ask?  Well, the point for them is that if they don’t take the test seriously (or even take it at all) they can always say, “I didn’t fail that test.  It was lame.  I didn’t even bother trying.  Those results prove nothing about my scholarly abilities.”

Yup.  Can you even get yer head ‘round that one?

Alright… I’m ‘bout done.  Here’s some comedic pictures addressin’ my most irritatin’ classroom pet peeves.  They’s perty self explanatory.







-Squeezebox Sam

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

The Audacity of Some Folks

"Do not rich men oppress you, and draw you before the judgment seats?" - James 2:6

"Say, don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?" - Yip Harburg

o’s the other day, The Omen O’Brien duz me the favor of drivin’ me on over ter COSTCO ter pick up some paper towels, some bottled water, an’ some ass-wipe.  Lemme tell ya, there ain’t too much ter make ya feel like a mighty hunter returnin’ from a successful foray inter the savage jungle like comin’ home with the trophy of a 36-roll package of toilet paper.  Which reminds me of a joke: 

So this Indian (a cowboy an' Indians Indian... not an India Indian) is at the reservation mercantile an' he is inquirin' 'bout what the cheapest possible toilet paper he can get is.  Well, the mercantile clerk, he done sez "Here's this no-name brand toilet paper.  It's the cheapest you can get." 

So the Indian buys a few rolls of it an' leaves.  A few days later, though, the Indian comes back an' tells the clerk "Y'know, I got a good name fer that no-name toilet paper you done sold me the other day."

"Oh yeah?" responds the clerk.  "What should its name be?"

"You should call it John Wayne toilet paper."

"Huh?  Why's that?"

"Cuz it's rough an' it's tough an' it don't take no shit off an Indian."

But I’m gettin’ off track.

So, as I wuz sayin’, the other day The Omen O’Brien is drivin’ me to COSTCO.  Why am I relyin’ on The Omen ter drive me to COSTCO you ask?  Well, as fate seems ter have it, my reward fer doin’ my part to save the earth by ridin’ my bicycle 12 miles round trip ever’ day ter work an’ back is that the battery in my motorvatin’ heap is right dead.  Yup.  The irony is right burnin’.  But I’m gettin’ off track again.

Alright, so the other day The Omen drives me on over ter the local COSTCO in his big red pick-up truck ter acquire a few household necessities that are helpful ter have in such plentifulness as ter make it worth the while ter acquire ‘em en masse from COSTCO.  But him bringin’ me ter COSTCO ain’t the focus of the rant I have to roll out.  What the real focus is, an’ I ‘spose it coulder happened just ‘bout anywheres so’s the whole bit about COSTCO is irrelevant anyhow, is that there wuz this feller standin’ there at the bottom of the entrance ramp ter the warehouse who’s I just gotter say somethin’ about.

You know the type.  Head ter toe in sparkly, overembroidered, overscreenprinted garb that renders anyone suited as such inter a walkin’ billboard fer a myriad of brand name nimroddery.  On the bottom the feller wuz sportin’ some overly baggy black acid-wash jeans with elaborate embroidery of crosses an’ vines an’ tribal-type whackiness on the thighs, the seams, and the buttocks atop a pair of them fancy, multi-paneled would-be exercise-come-basketball shoes that people were shootin’ each other fer in the late twentieth century.  On top the feller had a button up, tails-out black long sleeve shirt decorated in much the same fashion as his trousers an’ a high-perched cockeyed faux-weathered-an’-worn trucker cap emblazoned with some stylishness er another.  An’ don’t lemme ferget the “Love Kills Slowly” monikered factory-patinaed ruck-sack the feller had slung across his back.

So you get the picture, right?  You can see this feller in yer mind’s eye?  Well, as The Omen an’ I done wrangled a shoppin’ cart an’ passed by this guy, you’ll never believe what transpired.  As we pass by, the feller nonchalantly (an’ relatively understatedly, as I assume he were tryin’ ter avoid attractin’ the attention of the COSTCO employees ter his ploy) asks:

“Hey, you guys got a dollar?  Some spare change?  Help a brutha out?”

Now, I don’t make any claims ter bein’ the saltiest tortilla chip in the bag an’ this weren’t no moment of exception ‘cuz it took me a coupler seconds of movin’ past Mr. Ed Hardy hisself ‘fore it fully dawned on me as to what had just occurred.  I mean, I’ve done my fair share of passin’ on dollars an’ spare change ter fellers sportin’ cardboard signs at the bottom of the freeway ramp.  I’ve played the game of wonderin’ if they were really as hard up as they appeared an’ if their marks-a-lotted sob story were truth er not.  I’s even gone so far on occasion as ter drive the north San Fernando Valley’s resident homeless feller to the CVS an’ buy him his choice of wine.  I mean, who am I ter judge what the feller’s gonna spend his money on, eh?  An’ it’s a whole spot better than the sour feelin’ left in yer gut when ya spend some hard earned cash on a Happy Meal fer the hard-up guy who turns out to have no qualms ‘bout pitchin’ that meal inter a trash can soon’s as he figgers you ain’t lookin’ no more.

But I am digressin’ again.  What my original point wuz aimin’ at bein’ wuz the audacity of this here dude dressed in a wardrobe that prolly cost more’n the attire of The Omen an’ I put together askin’ ME fer a doggone spare dollar?  What the Hell?  Is this what we’s comin’ to?  Bums an’ homeless folk more fashionably and expensively dressed than a law abidin’, job-holdin’, upright citizen such as I?  I mean, figgerin’ that even a lowly Christian Audigier t-shirt done run 70 er 80 dollars, I’m figgerin’ a conservative estimate of the dude’s costume at somewhere’s ‘tween 300-400 dollars.  Opposedly, I wuz wearin’ a 5 dollar Salvation Army found Red Kap shirt, a pair of cut-off black slacks that prolly came from Ross er Marshalls a decade ago, an’ some Surplus Store acquired lace-up winos.  Hell, prolly the most expensive part of my wardrobe were my sale-find J Crew boxer shorts with robots on ‘em.  Don’t count my graying wife beater an’ once-white socks ‘gainst me none, if you please.  The Omen in black t-shirt an’ Dickies jean shorts prolly wuzn’t bustin’ the proverbial bank either.  As my nieces an’ nephews have become accustomed ter sayin’: “Even the week ends in WTF.”

I was admonished by my better half later on about how's I should unnerstand that peoples' priorities can be different from one another an' obviously bein' stylish wuz at the top of this panhandler's list.  Now, I can unnerstand that, but if'n yer gonna forego yer rent er yer grocery necessities in order ter outbling the guy next door, don't try an' foot yer bill with any kinda subsidization from my hard earned paycheck, thankyouverymuch.

Don’t mind me.  I didn’t say nuthin’ ter the guy.  I think all I managed wuz some kinda incredulous head shakin’ an’ a relay of the experience ter The Omen as we moved on inter the COSTCO.  But still, it’s been ranklin’ me righteously fer a few days now an’ I just had ter get it off my chest.

Time ter move on, I suppose.

Here’s some assistance fer those of you who need them visual aids…
Old Skool Homeless Guy and Dog Chic


New Skool Homeless Guy and Dog Chic

Yup.  The times they is a-changin' alright...

-Squeezebox Sam


Saturday, October 9, 2010

It musta been one of them days...

 t's one of them rare occurences where I ain't gonner bitch none.  Surprisin', yes?  Unfortunately, I likely ain't gonner say much that's gonner interest the layman none, either.

Well, as some of you may know, I finally entered the realm of the iPod world about a year an' a half ago.  It weren't like I could afford it any more than I could in previous considerations, but it were a case of bite the bullet er lose all the hard work I put inter uploadin' my 1,000 CD collection ter the iTunes in my computer at work.  Heh.  Well, needless ter say, my 13,000 pieces of musical inspiration is doin' just fine these days packed away inter a lil iPod Classic.

That's 'side the point, though.  What I really wanner say is that I gotter admit that the iPod done changed the way I listen ter my music collection.  Puttin' that baby on shuffle has reminded me of stuff I got that I ain't listened to in a long time, sure, but it's also brought to my attention a lotter stuff I was fairly hazy on even ownin', ter say the least.  That's usually good, I must admit, but have ya noticed that most of the time that there shuffle is a skip-skip-skip kinder experience?  Sometimes that confounded lil bit of technology just refuses ter play anythin' I want ter listen to in an unexpected kinder manner.

But, this past Thursday, I turned that sucker on 'bout 2pm er so when my conference period started at work an' let it play straight through my gradin', email answerin', an' even the bicycle ride home (somethin' I don't typically condone).  An' I must admit, that there iPod didn't do me wrong.  Check out this here coupler hours worth of random shuffle playlist...


Love is Just a Gamble – T-Bone Walker
Blues On Purpose – Nina Simone
Country Boy – Little Jimmy Dickens
I’m Yours, You’re Mine – Morphine
Wild Side of Life – The Stanley Brothers
Fast Freight – Ritchie Valens
Attack – The Exploited
Hole – The Jesus and Mary Chain
Someday Someway – Robert Gordon with Link Wray
Trying Your Luck – The Strokes
He Never Left Me Alone – The Reverend Gary Davis
Cut – Low
Jo Jo Gunne – Chuck Berry
No Quiero – Ry Cooder
If The Lord Be For You – The Reverend Gary Davis
The Tranquilizer – Orbital
All The Pretty Horses – The Friends of Dean Martinez
Jazzmaster – Alex Reece
He Can Be Found – The Louvin Brothers
Tijuana Jail – Johnny Bond
I Got It – Little Richard
Kentucky – The Louvin Brothers
The Stomp – ODB
I Got a Rocket In My Pocket – Jimmy Lloyd
Ridin’ the Storm Out – REO Speedwagon
Bring His Guitar To Me / Burn Sahara Burn – Brian Tyler (Six String Samurai Soundtrack)
The Chase – Alan Reeves (Kill Bill Vol2 Soundtrack)
Kisses Sweeter Than Wine – Jimmie Rodgers
Supercop – The Road Kings
Elevator Operator – Royal Crown Revue
The Wedding – Trevor Jones (Excalibur Soundtrack)
The Swag – Link Wray
Kitty Cat Song – Mack Stevens
On A Plain – Nirvana (MTV Unplugged)
Cold – The Cure
King Creole (take 3) – Elvis Presley
Theology / Civilization – Basil Poledouris (Conan The Barbarian Soundtrack)
Danny Boy (Londonberry Air) – The Glenn Miller Orchestra
Death of the Inferno – The Bad Things
How Do You Know It’s Love? – Eric Serra (The Professional Soundtrack)
A Get Together To Tear It Apart – The Hives
Why Can’t I Touch It? – The Buzzcocks
P.O.E. – Adam and the Ants
Waterslides! – The Aquabats
Feeling Lucky – The Jesus and Mary Chain
Love At The Swimming Hole – Louis and Bebe Barron (Forbidden Planet Soundtrack)
Hello There Rockin’ Chair – Sid King and the Five Strings
Happy Roving Cowboy – Hank Williams (Health and Happiness)
Graveyard / Night With Two Moons – Louis and Bebe Barron (Forbidden Planet Soundtrack)
Open Up Your Heart and Let The Sunshine In – Frente! (Saturday Morning Cartoons)
Tropicalia – Beck
Ready Steady Go – Paul Oakenfold
Mercy – The Collins Kids
Under the Bridge – The Red Hot Chili Peppers

An' "Under the Bridge" almost cinematically wrapped up as I pulled The Red Baron BMX kustom up in front of the apartment buildin'.

Yeah, I know it prolly ain't the most innerestin' bit of writin'.  Just a long list of my iPod doin' me right fer a change.  But sometimes ya just gotter point out when things seem ter go right in the world, eh?

Yeehaww!

-Squeezebox Sam

Friday, October 8, 2010

What A Long Strange Trip It’s Been (The Time’s They Are A-Changin’ Part 2)

ith tryin’ ter follow the Biblical scale exodus over ter Facebook that the online populace done seems ter have been makin’ over the past year I been a right busy bee.  It were a downright pain in the hind end ter figger out even the most basic Facebook ins an’ outs, not the least difficulty of which were the fact that relyin’ on a fan page ter give an online presence ter yer musical entity done robs ya of any proactive behavior.  An’ then there were the lack of a suitable bloggin’ element on Facebook, an’ we’s all know how much I likes ter use a blog ter vent my negative worldly perceptions.

So’s the GRIT myspace (www.myspace.com/gritthemusic) done found itself reasonably neglected in the past few months, but low an’ behold I done went rootin’ ‘round there recently an’ lo an’ behold if it weren’t apparent that myspace, in its foolish attempts ter align itself with the supposed preferred Facebook format, has become downright un-navigable.  Apparently them morons figger that if they somehow mimic Facebook it’ll bring back their straying flocks.  But in the words of Lisa Simpson: “Piggy ain’t comin’ back.”

An’ that’s the tale ‘bout how I find myself here.  Lil ole Squeezebox Sam (or big fat ole Squeezebox Sam, ‘pendin’ on how you choose ter look at it) done saw the need ter move up in the world an’ establish GRIT its own blog.  That’s why yer here.  Ter read the GRIT blog.  I wanner remind ya that anything I pontificate on here is perty much my own runaway train an’ ought not ter reflect on the other members of the GRIT musical enclave none, so’s don’t hold my rantin’ an’ ravin’ against none of them.

Thusly, here’s we go with the first official GRIT blog blog.  An’ here’s the words I done gotter say first:

“Farewell, Finger Pickin’ Lickin’ Mike Dill.”

A long time ago in the wood-floored livin’ room of a little house on Kingsbury Street in Granada Hills, a neighborhood in Los Angeles’ suburbanite San Fernando Valley, Mike Dill used his resonator ter breathe some life inter some live recordin’s that Aaron “Stringmeister” Miranda an’ I wuz makin’ of the now venerable tunes “Mark of Cain” an’ “Coupe DeVille.”  Aaron an’ Mike an’ I knew each other from the now-long-defunct Cafe Perk’s open mic (but that’s a story fer some other time), so’s we wuz no strangers ter makin’ music tergether, but that afternoon of foolin’ paved the way fer some grandiose bits o’ life ter foller.  I used them recordin’s ter hustle a Squeezebox Sam solo endeavor, but then I got mixed up in some bizness called “Squeezebox Sam an’ the Men With No Name” ‘fore Mike an’ Aaron an’ I would ever do somethin’ more together than some occasional back porchin’.

Well, as most things do, that there Men With No Name bizness came ter an abrupt end (that’s a story fer another time as well), an’ I wuz close ter hangin’ up the windbag.  In fact, I did hang it up fer awhile.  But that there Aaron wouldn’t let me quit.  He wuz always hastlin’ an’ hustlin’ me ter squeeze out this tune er that tune with him, an’ finally he had me playin’ with him over coffee a few nights a week.

Then, in the wee hours of the night in a Denny’s, The Omen O’Brien (another feller who wouldn’t let me quit nuthin’) hatched GRIT on a paper napkin.  We’s drew out a funny lookin’ logo where’s the “G” in GRIT were a skull an’ we wuz right pleased with ourselves.  Then we’s deemed that GRIT would be a collaborative effort ‘tween he an’ I an’ Aaron an’ long-time pard Jimmy Lugosi (of Drop Dead Beats notoriety).  Then we’s enlisted Corissa Dill ter balance out the testosterone.

Now, Corissa weren’t no stranger ter us.  Bein’ Mike Dill’s daughter Aaron an’ I had encountered her perty regular through our associations with Mike, an’ then when I wuz foolin’ with that there Men With No Name stuff I asked her ter come around an’ flesh out some duet-ish type visions an’ narrative role-reversal idears I wuz concoctin’.  I ain’t so sure the Men With No Name project ever truly melded with what I was imaginin’, but the boys an’ I just plain sorter fashioned GRIT ‘round the premise that she’d be comin’ along fer the ride an’ we’d make them idears we wuz foolin’ with inter a reality of some sorts er another.

Things went perty well when I look back at it (there’s some whiskey an’ beer haze involved in them recollections), but as fate would have it, one night we needed ter do a show without our Lugosi backbone an’ we’s asked that there incorrigible Mike Dill ter fill Jimmy’s small (literally) boots.  Har har har.  But somethin’ happened after that.  Mike Dill just kept comin’ back fer more, an’ we certainly didn’t complain none.  An’ then when Jimmy retired ter focusin’ on his own band an’ fatherhood, Mike laid the steam on.

The man is a veritable cornucopia of musical knowledge, lore, style, technique, an’ he’s got some perty good stories to tell, too.  Ever’thing from blues ter country ter ragtime ter rock ‘n roll ter popular song ter novelty ter rap an’ hip hop ter new wave ter the rankest hippie wretchedness an’ ever’thing inbetween done comes outter that man’s guitar an’ accompanying vocals   I do believe I’ve come ter the conclusion that the man may very well be musically unfathomable.

Anyhow’s, it should be right clear that our beloved Finger Pickin’ Lickin’ Mike Dill done became perty much undeniably a damnable pillar o’ possibility fer GRIT ter move forward with musically.  An’ then, as if his right eloquent git-tar an’ resonator additions ter the music weren’t enuff,  the feller goes an’ learns, perty much overnight, ter play banjo!  An’ ever’thing the man did kept contributin’ ter makin’ GRIT better an’ better.

An’ that’s just the music, an’ Mike Dill had far more ter contribute ter makin’ GRIT the great experience it is than just the music.  On the record, I gotter say that Mike Dill is, next ter my Daddy, prolly one of the most even-keeled, rational, sense-makin’ fellers I done ever had the pleasure of rubbin’ shoulders with.  As far as I can tell, the man’s accounts are always in order, what needs ter get done gets done, an’ he seems ter always take care of bizness ‘fore it’s time ter play… which is sayin’ somethin’ seein’ as how the man always seems ter have the time ter play.  Maybe a perty good model fer sanity in today’s world where yer time seems ter always be monopolized by shit that doesn’t seem should be all that important in the long run.

GRIT even owes it ter Mike fer settin’ up a spot fer us to busk at the Newhall Farmer’s Market, an’ without that income we’d have never gotten past producin’ just the first four tracks of our forthcomin’ CD (those first four tracks were monied by Mr. Cathedral an’ Rum hisself, Chris Hartford, by the way).

All in all, I am hopin’ ter have made it perty obvious just what an invaluable entity Mr. Dill done been in not only GRIT’s life, but my life personally as well, over the past few years.  An’ that said, I guess as I mentioned before, all things come ter some end er another an’ this end just happens ter be Finger Pickin’ Lickin’ Mike Dill headin’ off ter fulfill his dream of livin’ in the bluesy south, New Orleans ter be exact.  An’ that said, I guess I feel GRIT’s been left with a big gapin’ hole in it.  Sure, the Dill’s ain’t completely absent.  Corissa will still be cooing an’ strummin’ with us an’ Mike’s son Stuart has done picked up acoustic bass to lay down that necessary bottom end fer us all ter follow.  But Mike’s absence is gonner be almost too much ter bear.

I keep getting’ asked the question, “What’s gonner happen ter GRIT now that Mike is goin’ ter live in New Orleans?”

Well… I don’t rightly have an answer fer that one.  It ain’t like we’s gonner quit an’ fold up our lawnchairs er nuthin’, but I can honestly say that it ain’t gonner be the same none.  Mike promises ter come back an’ visit perty regularly, his first such venture bein’ planned fer Thanksgivin’ time.  He intends to finish the recordin’ ‘round that time and we’re hopin’ to wrangle up a show so’s we can muster a feelin’ of togetherness an’ all, but just the same it’s still hard to get one’s mind ‘round.

Anyhow, I guess my point behind all this ramblin’ is essentially that you are goin’ to be missed, Mike Dill.  I fer one hope you have a grand ole time foolin’ ‘round them streets of New Orleans an’ soakin’ up all the flavor you can from yer new home.  But never think fer a moment that there ain’t some part of me that’s not gonna miss ya an’ wish makin’ music with ya weren’t just a phone call an’ a few mile drive away.  You’s been a pillar of inspiration, solidarity, an’ sensibility durin’ a crazy time of my life an’ I ain’t never gonna let that acknowledgment fade.

Thanks fer ever’thing, Finger Lickin’ Pickin’ Mike Dill.

- Squeezebox Sam