Idol Expectations

American Idol returned this week, and I'm sure that the two of you who actually read my blog were waiting with baited breath for me to comment on the show's return. (I know I have more than two readers . . . . more like four!)

Longtime readers know of my ongoing love affair with Idol, an affair that can be downright dysfunctional at times. I've given up the show for nearly an entire season only to come crawling back at the mere mention of a Paula Abdul breakdown. I've been there for the highs (Kelly Clarkson, Fantasia); I've been there for the lows (the too-soon ouster of too many talented singers). I weathered the mediocrity of last year and even managed to come to terms with Crystal Bowersox losing to Lee Dewyze despite her stunning finale performance of "Up to the Mountain." While I was excited for the return of Idol this year, it was a much more reserved excitement (and sadly, an excitement that stemmed mostly from the fact that it would give me blog fodder for the next five months!).

The problem for me was the judging changes. I've never made a secret of the fact that I was a fan of Simon Cowell. I thought that, while he could frequently be quite nasty and mean, there was a solid kernel of truth at the center of every single barb he threw out there. He was saying what these people needed to hear. While he often did get caught up in the image factor, I also knew that a lot of that stemmed from him approaching the show as someone in the business of selling records. In today's music world, image counts just as much as vocal talent, and it would be futile to throw money at someone who wasn't going to bring it back to you. Look at the more successful Idols in terms of record sales -- Carrie Underwood, Kelly Clarkson, Daughtry, David Cook. While those people have tremendous vocal talent, they are also pretty easy on the eyes. If Carrie Underwood were a fat, pimply girl with buck teeth, would people have flocked to buy her albums and see her in concert? Sadly, probably not. Luckily for Idol, Carrie is gorgeous.

I mourned Simon's decision to walk away from Idol although I totally understand his choice and look forward to watching The X-Factor. What frustrated me was the seeming chaos that followed in the wake of Simon's departure as the producers sought to create a new judging panel. The loss of Ellen Degeneres was a welcome relief. I love Ellen. She is one of the funniest stand-ups ever, and while I'm not a huge fan of her talk show, the love I have for her as an artist is strong. She was not, though, a good fit for Idol. She had no music experience outside of being a fan of music and never seemed to want to deliver the hard truths that needed to be delivered. By the end of the season, her discomfort was palpable.

The loss of Kara Dioguardi was a bit more disappointing. While I often mocked Kara, I thought that by the end of last season, she had really started to blossom into a fine judge. She gave some really thoughtful critiques last season, and she deserved a little more respect than she received. The panel, too, benefitted from the presence of a songwriter who was able to talk about performances in terms of the song and lyrics and how they were treated.

I was hugely disappointed that Randy Jackson was sticking around. As the past couple seasons have unfolded, Randy has proved himself to be more and more useless. He tends to rely on the same couple critiques that became increasingly ridiculous. Rarely did Randy seem to offer anything even remotely constructive in terms of helping these kids grow and develop, and his ignorance where modern music was concerned seemed troublesome to me. (He didn't know "Falling Slowly" and somehow that became the fault of Kris Allen rather than Randy's refusal to recognize that people made music AFTER the heyday of Whitney and Mariah.) The fact that he was the last "veteran" left meant he would become the de facto "lead" judge. It was like handing over the coaching of the football team to the equipment guy.

Even more troubling was the announcement of who would be joining him at the table -- Steven Tyler and Jennifer Lopez. Don't get me wrong. I am a huge Aerosmith fan (top priority of the summer!) and think Steven Tyler is damn sexy. I love Jennifer Lopez, although I'm more a fan of J-Lo the actress than J-Lo the singer. After all the names that were batted around as potential judges (Harry Connick? Jamie Foxx? Elton John?), these two names were kind of a letdown. I mean, let's be frank here. Had American Idol existed when Steven Tyler and Jennifer Lopez were breaking into the business, would either of them made it to Hollywood let alone to the top 12? The distinction of Tyler's voice can be an acquired taste, and Idol isn't always easy on the rockers. They like their rockers more mellow, and there is nothing mellow about Steven Tyler. As for J-Lo, she's clearly a beautiful woman and that may have gotten her a golden ticket if Simon was feeling particularly randy that day, but her voice is a touch thin and clearly helped in the studio. Would Steven and Jennifer be able to give the sort of tough and honest critiques needed, or would it become the Steven and Jennifer Show where we watched to see Steven be a trainwreck and Jennifer be a diva while Randy just sat in the corner rocking back and forth and talking about dogs and phone books?

After the first two audition episodes of the season, you know what? I think they're going to be okay. I like what I saw Wednesday and Thursday night. There seemed to be a concerted effort from all three judges to be thoughtful and constructive in their criticism, even when they were having to crush the dreams of a delusional wannabe warbler. I appreciated the fact that the producers seemed to have decided to focus on talent during the auditions and kept the really horrible auditions to a minimum. Never once did we see anyone in a ridiculous costume. (Okay, there was Tiffany Rios who auditioned with cut-out stars taped to her boobs, but she actually could sing ... and was smart enough to cover the stars up when she tackled Celine Dion's "Power of Love" -- one of my ultimate guilty pleasure songs.) Yes, we got a lot of sob stories (the kid who used to be in a wheelchair, the Kosovo refuge, the homeless kid), but there was a lot of talent and the judges handled it all with tremendous skill. No nastiness. No cruelty. Yes, there were still sobbing contestants, but at least they were let down with a remarkable amount of kindness and sensitivity.

The tenor of the judging gave Idol something I'd been yearning for recently -- an emphasis on thoughtful, constructive advice that's more about the performers receiving the critique than the judges giving them. After watching The Sing-Off this winter (featuring the world's coolest nerd, Ben Folds) and seeing how that it was possible to be entertaining without the nastiness (and seeing a similar feel on Paula Abdul's Live to Dance -- which I found a bit dull mostly because I just don't enjoy dance competitions all that much), I wished for Idol to follow that path and seek to build up rather than tear down. Clearly, the producers were thinking the same thing. Yes, there is the promise that season-long mentor Jimmy Iovine will be harder on the kids, but by that point, he'll be dealing with the finalists where someone should be tough on them as they begin the process of building a career that is sure to have its brutal moments. I think this new Idol could be a good Idol, an improved Idol, and I hope that people get on board despite the fact that Simon is gone. Honestly, I haven't missed him.

One last thing before I put this marathon blog to bed and that's to comment on the fact that we have seen a tremendous amount of talent so far, and I hope that this will make for a legendary season in terms of the final 12 (or 10 -- producers are vague as to how many will make that final cut). The past couple seasons have been fun but have really lacked a lot in terms of drama. You knew for months that the final would boil down to David versus David or that Adam Lambert and Crystal Bowersox would make it to the finale. Yes, the fact that neither Adam nor Crystal won was a little bit of a shock not if you really paid attention to Idol's voting demographic and knew that teen girls and middle America would never vote for a gay Idol or a hippie mama when there was a squeaky clean cute boy to vote for instead. (And yes, I rooted for Kris Allen over Adam Lambert. I'm not ashamed to admit that.)

So the talent . . . . I have seen a lot of people I really like and maybe I have already seen the future American Idol in action. I really liked Caleb Hawley (the second auditioner we saw in Jersey who did a really funky version of "Hallelujah I Love Her So"), Devyn Rush (the singing waitress who looked just fine in her jeans and plain t-shirt, thank you very much), Sarah Sellers (the girl with glasses in New Orleans with the Tyler-esque lips who sang "Make You Feel My Love"), and Brett Lowenstern (the guy with the curly hair that sang "Bohemian Rhapsody" that I was SURE was going to be the episode's trainwreck audition but actually was one of the best we saw last night). I also was completely charmed by Victoria Huggins, but I suspect her aw-shucks naivete will wear thin if I have to see it on display every single week. (I'm looking at you, Kellie Pickler.) Who knows if we'll see any of them again, but that's where my affections lie right now. Stay tuned to see if I've picked a winner in this group.

You've Been Schooled

This week has been finals week at the high school where I teach. For the past several days, kids have been stressed over papers, exams, speeches, and projects. Teachers have been stressed about grading papers, exams, speeches, and projects. It's a time full of tension where none of us really seems to like each other all that much as a result of our stress. Kids are angry at teachers for having the audacity to expect them to complete work. Teachers are angry at kids for seemingly not retaining a damn thing over the course of 18 weeks. It's not pretty.

To help relieve that tension and celebrate the end of first semester, our Latin Club sponsored a game night last night. Our gym was transformed into the sort of magnificent Aladdin's Castle we could only dream of in our youth. Gaming systems ranging from PS3's to old school Nintendos were set up on giant screens. You could walk through our gym at any point last night and see Just Dance, NBA2K11, Mario Kart, Guitar Hero, and even classic Zelda being played by students and adults alike.

See, our Latin Club sponsor sent out a call for help chaperoning about a week or so ago. Several teachers (including myself) jumped at the chance to hang out for a couple hours and play video games under the guise of supervising students. As the night went on, I found myself over in a corner of the gym going head-to-head against kids in Guitar Hero. (I should mention here that I got versions of Rock Band as both birthday and Christmas gifts this year and have become addicted to that game!) Another teacher spent hours playing old school Nintendo with a freshman boy. My sis (who is in her 30's) discovered an addiction to Just Dance, as did several other teachers. There was something really tremendous about seeing students and teachers side by side engaging in this sort of fun and friendly competition.

Our faculty is a relatively young one. I'm pushing 40 and am likely on the older end of the age spectrum. We have a lot of teachers in their 20's and 30's, and that helps us, I think, build good relationships with a lot of our students. We can identify with our kids and understand them at many different levels. Does the fact that I can play Guitar Hero make me a better teacher or make my students better students? No, I'm not so naive that I can even entertain that thought for a second. What it can do, though, is help me find ways to reach my students and create working relationships that have a different level of trust and respect attached to them. I think back to the teachers I had in high school and how much older and more foreign they seemed to me (even though I realize now that many were younger than I am now). I can't imagine many of them taking on Just Dance or challenging me to Guitar Hero (had either of those existed in the 1980's). It kind of makes you think a little about how our culture has changed and old just isn't so old anymore. We don't look our ages; we don't act our ages ... and maybe that's not such a bad thing.

PS -- I actually wrote this last Friday, but my ability to post from work now is rather spotty now to the addition of hardcore filters that have deemed blogspot worthy of being blocked. I've found a way around this, but it is not always 100% reliable.

The Blame Game

Saturday morning, Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords held a constituent rally/meeting in Tucson, Arizona. It was a chance for her to chat with those who elected her, get a feel for their views as she begins her next term in office, and continue the process of building a loyal base in her home district that would enable her to keep her job. What happened instead was that a clearly troubled young man arrived on the scene with a gun, shot Giffords in the head and killed six people, including a federal judge and a nine-year-old girl. It was a horrific tragedy.

Many immediately began pointing fingers and assigning blame. Giffords, after all, was a relatively controversial member of Congress. In March, her district office was vandalized after Giffords' vote proved a pivotal one in the passage of the health care bill. During the midterm election, she was a frequent target of the GOP and Tea Party. Sarah Palin's PAC featured a map which included crosshairs over Giffords' district as one ripe for the picking. This imagery, which was most definitely tacky, has pundits accusing Palin of inciting violence. The attempt to assign blame for what happened in Tucson seems to center on that imagery.

Caveat time: I am not a fan of Sarah Palin. I disagree with her on some pretty profound levels, and I think she represents an emotional tenor in this country that concerns me. I do not, however, think she is to blame for what happened in Tucson. A very sick, troubled young man made a choice. How much political rhetoric factored into his choice is honestly irrelevant and does nothing but turn the lives (and deaths) of six innocent people into political pawns. Those people deserve better, and so do we.

There is, though, something in the reaction to the Giffords attack that does merit attention. There is no denying that we have allowed our political climate to become mired in hostility, resentment, and now violence. It seems as if respect has been stripped from our culture. We don't just disagree with the other side -- we hate them and wish them ill. George W. Bush is the devil, Barack Obama is a foreign scam artist who sympathizes with terrorists, and the only salvation for our very souls is....the guy we like. The leadership on both sides has allowed the lunatic fringe to become the face of their movements, which only serves to shroud the real message of the ideology to be lost behind misspelled signs and ridiculous rhetoric the defies logic let alone truth. We allow people to be whipped into frenzies over Obama's birth certificate or Sarah Palin's children because it's easier than engaging in real, thoughtful, and often difficult conversations over what needs to be done to repair the troubles that plague this country financially, socially, and diplomatically.

While I disagree with them at a fundamental, ideological level, I recognize that there are good, decent people at the center of the Tea Party who are motivated not by greed or evil but by an honest desire to help the country they love. The same is true of my own party. I believe in the people for whom I vote, and I trust that their motivations are good. I believe in the inherent decency of the people who seek office, and I refuse to vilify even the ones with whom I passionately disagree. I may not like the agenda they promote, but I believe that their agenda is steeped in a desire to better the lives of this country's citizens.

The lesson I think our politicians need to take from Tucson is not about blame. It's not about deepening the division between us. It is, though, about taking responsibility and having the courage to stand up to the lunatic fringe and saying "Enough is enough." It's about encouraging respect rather than anger. It's about creating bridges rather than canyons. On Saturday, one of the victims was a nine-year-old girl who was passionate about politics and for whom seeing her congresswoman live and in person was akin to seeing Hannah Montana. We owe it to her and the others who died with her to promote a system that is as beautiful and admirable as that little girl saw it. The time has come to return civility to the governing of our civilization.

Winter Ennui

I have sort of a love/hate relationship with winter.

On the one hand, there is something really amazing about looking out the window and seeing this sparkling blanket of white. It's a moment where the beauty of nature really can be a little overwhelming. I love the clothing of winter. I'm at my most comfy in a turtleneck or at least rocking some layers. I love the feeling of sleeping all snuggled up under the blankets with flannel sheets. I love hot chocolate and nice hearty soups that just don't seem to pack the same punch during warmer months. Add to that the fact that winter is speech season, basketball, and football playoffs, and there is a lot to love about winter.

And yet.....

I hate driving in the winter. I hate that perpetual feeling of NEVER being quite warm enough. I hate constantly planning everything around the weather and its lack of consistency and predictability. I hate looking out the window and seeing grey slush everywhere. I miss grilling out. There is quite a lot to hate about winter.

Being a teacher during the winter carries a lot of added bummers. As soon as a single flake of snow falls, all my students can seem to talk about is snow days -- theorizing whether we'll have one, predicting early dismissals. Heaven forbid the snow should actually accumulate and school NOT be canceled, for then the teacher's life becomes this barrage of "This school sucks" that all seem to be leveled right at you despite the fact that you have absolutely zero control over whether or not school is canceled and, truthfully, were probably hoping for a snow day just as much as the kids were.

Being the brunt of student frustration, though, is a fact of life for a teacher. I sometimes envy elementary school teachers who seem to have days filled with coloring and hugs and adoration. (I recognize the job of an elementary school teacher is probably just as frustrating as mine, but you know... the grass is always greener and all that jazz.) There are days where I feel completely futile after having students vent and argue and challenge hour after hour. When you are passionate about what you teach, it can be downright heartbreaking to not even get a modicum of faked enthusiasm from students. It can be hard to have your attempts to help students better themselves be met with sarcasm and hostility. Some days, you just want to go home and cry. Believe me; I have. I have cried because huge numbers of students have failed a test or slept rather than complete an assignment or looked at me with this creepy mixture of hatred and disdain for assigning homework. I have cried because my speech class has absolutely no desire to actually give a speech. I have cried because I've been called a bitch -- both to my face and behind my back. I have cried enough tears in this job to flood a small village.

So what keeps the teacher in the job other than the paycheck? Well, there is that passion. I love the fact that I get to spend my days reading Shakespeare, Steinbeck, Moliere, Bradbury, and more. When you get that lone kid or two who gets just as involved in the text as you are, well, that's just golden. I love the time I get to spend with a lot of my students, although I still am a bit amazed that some of these kids not only like me but consider me "wise." I love Speech Saturdays and hearing the absolute rush of excitement of kids on the way to competition and on the way home after a successful day. I love rehearsals and performances. I appreciate the trust that students place in me, and I value their respect more than they can know.

And then there are the moments when you really feel like you've made a difference. Sometimes, you figure it out right away -- a kid who "gets it" after a lesson, a student who sticks around after class to talk to you about a problem or just to talk a little more about the day's reading. Other times, it takes a little longer. One of the nice things about winter is that, along with snow and ice, it also brings recent graduates home from college. Their freshman year, especially, those kids often make the high school a stop on their home tour. Suddenly, you are face to face with these adults who have been out in the world a little, adults who find themselves feeling the effects of your teaching in their ability to discuss a novel in class, identify the kinds of theatrical stages, or put together a coherent essay or speech. Even if your role in their current success is a tiny fragment, there is still a chance for you to kind of sit back with a sigh and think, "I have not failed that child."

That alone is enough to beat the winter ennui....for now.

Lennon and Me

Thirty years ago, I was nine years old, a fourth grader at Silas Willard Elementary. The most exciting thing in my life that year was the fact that I was attending the same school once attended by the new president of the United States. The fact that Ronald Reagan had only attended Silas Willard for one year didn't matter; his election was a powerful message to all of us that the future just maybe could hold great things. As December rolled around, the only thing on my mind was Christmas. By December 8, I had surely completed multiple drafts of my list for "Santa". I'd figured out the truth a couple years before, but I had a three-year-old sister who still believed in the old guy. My list was something I obsessed over, ranking the items I wanted most and then also adding a star system to make my preferences absolutely clear so that my parents would know what misstep on their part had the potential to ruin my Christmas. A precocious kid, I often made sure to include stores where the item could be found, prices, or the page of the JC Penney catalog that would direct them to my heart's desire.

I woke up the morning of December 9 and snuck a quick glance out my bedroom window like I did every winter morning as a child. As much as I loved school, I loved snow days even more and woke up hoping to discover a blanket of snow covering the lawn and streets and making a trip to school virtually impossible. I clung to the memory of the huge blizzard two years before that had shut schools down for a week, a week I spent building forts and sled runs and tromping through snow that came up to my waist. The morning of December 9 was clear -- no snow. Rats!

I blearily stumbled out to the living room, hoping for a good bowl of Frosted Flakes before getting dressed for the school bus I hated more than just about anything else. A typical morning at my house would usually find my dad drinking coffee and watching the news (Good Morning America, of course), Mom getting lunches packed and urging me to move a little quicker. This particular morning was different. When I walked out into the living room, my dad was standing in the middle of the room with this stunned look on his face. My mom was sitting in her chair, crying. Even in my self-centered, pre-Christmas haze, I knew this was not good. The year before, my older brother had died quite suddenly, and I immediately felt a tremendous sense of fear and panic.

"What happened?" I demanded.

"John Lennon died," my dad told me somberly as my mom continued to cry.

What came out of my mouth next still kind of embarrasses me, but remember ... I was NINE.

"Is that the guy from The Odd Couple?" I asked.

Yes, I was confusing John Lennon with Jack Lemmon. I was nine, you guys! How about we all marvel at the fact that a nine-year-old kid even knew who Jack Lemmon was rather than latch onto the fact that I didn't know who John Lennon was? (And to explain this particular oddity, I will again remind you that I was very precocious and that The Odd Couple was one of my parents' favorite movies. By the time I was nine, I had probably seen the movie three or four times -- whenever it was on television.)

My dad gave me a "are you kidding me?" look and explained, "No. John Lennon was a Beatle."

I turned at that point and looked at the television screen. They were showing a clip of the Beatles playing on the Ed Sullivan show. (I did know who the Beatles were; I just didn't know their names.) I remember suddenly feeling very sad and starting to cry. Maybe it was just seeing my mom cry; maybe it was just sensitivity at the thought of anyone dying. I like to think, though, that some of my tears stemmed from the realization of what a profound loss the world of music had just suffered.

My mom let me stay home from school that day. I wasn't sick. I think it was mostly a case of she just wanted company as she mourned. We spent the day listening to Beatles and John Lennon music. I "discovered" "Imagine" that day. Even at nine, I can remember the tremendous sense of tragic irony I felt in the song. Who could possibly want to murder someone who wrote so hopefully about a world of such beauty and peace? That just didn't seem right -- and it still doesn't.

Thirty years later, I still find myself turning to the Beatles and John for comfort, entertainment, and enlightenment. While I've become more of a Stones fan than a Beatles fan, there's this sense in me that you can't love music and not love the Beatles. It's a band you kind of take for granted. Do you have to list them as one of your favorite bands? Shouldn't it just come with the territory that if you love music, you love the Beatles? Like many, I wonder what would have happened had John lived. What music was still in him? What paths would he have blazed as he started a new chapter in his art? Would he have become (sorry) bland and adult contemporary like bandmate Paul? Or would he have found ways to continue to challenge himself as an artist and still find a way to surprise us like his old smokin' buddy Bob Dylan? We'll never know. But how lucky are we to live in a world filled with his music? How lucky were our parents to live in a world where the Beatles were releasing new albums that were filled with surprise and innovation? It still kind of stuns me to think that I once lived in a world where a Beatles reunion was a much-hoped-for possibility. And I didn't even know how lucky I was until it was too late.

So today when I get home, I'm going to curl up and spend a little time with John and his mates and find the same peace and comfort in their music that I have found for thirty years. And I'm going to keep imagining about a world where peace and love and hope are not just dreams but vivid, tangible realities.

RIP, John.

(PS -- Thanks to the intrepid reader who pointed out that all this would have happened on December 9, not December 8, so I have changed it accordingly.)

Lessons from Reality TV, Part Deux

When I started this blog a little over two years ago (WOW!), one of my earliest posts was a sort of serious, sort of tongue in cheek discussion about how watching reality television could make you a better person. My love for reality tv has dimmed a bit in the two years since I wrote this ode to its life lessons, but when I do tune in to see some of my favorites, I find that there are still lessons aplenty to be gleaned. And so I bring you the second installment of "How Reality TV Can Make You a Better Person."

1. Dancing with the Stars. Of all the shows I once watched pretty religiously, DWTS is the one that I have become the least enchanted with as of late. About halfway through this season, I found myself deleting episodes without watching. Part of the reason for the waning of my affection is a lack of time. With my work schedule and trying to fit in gym time and then come home and cook a healthy meal, I don't have a ton of time to devote to television, especially a two-hour behemouth like DWTS. The formula largely remains the same in terms of casting and even which celebrity gets put with which pro. The "twists" they've begun throwing in (Movie Night! Group Cha-Cha!) get a bit dull. Plus, they really are getting looser and looser with their definition of "star." Bristol Palin? Really??!!!??!??!! I did tune in to see the results last night (I only watched the last half hour because I knew the rest would be pure filler.) And there on my screen was a lesson that seriously brought tears to my eyes -- never count the old lady out. Sure, Cloris Leachman was an embarrassment, and Florence Henderson didn't get tremendously far. (I blame their ridiculous partner, Corky Ballas, for that, for turning their dances into dancing fart jokes rather than showing these women the respect they deserve.) There, hoisting up the coveted mirror ball trophy was my teenage idol Jennifer Grey. Jennifer Grey is 50. While she doesn't LOOK 50, her body is definitely 50 as she spent a large part of the season dealing with a variety of injuries, most seriously a bad back. (I can relate, having just spent a good week or so in enormous back pain!) Despite all that, despite the fact that she was in so much pain after Monday's perfect performances that she nearly didn't compete in last night's final dance off, there she was -- victorious. There is a new face to aging -- a youthful face. And yes, a portion of Jennifer's youthfulness may be owed to the plastic surgery that got rid of her Baby Houseman nose, but what I'm talking about here is a youthful attitude. Women like Jennifer Grey are proving to the world that 50 doesn't have to mean switching to polyester pants and applique sweatshirts. Women can age and still be active, sexy, trendy, and glamorous without it being a sad joke. And we can kick the asses of people half our age!

2. Project Runway: A sadder lesson was learned this season on Project Runway. All season long, there were a couple self-evident truths at work -- Mondo was a quiet genius, Gretchen was a deluded bitch. I didn't get too wrapped up in Gretchen hating, though, because I knew that Mondo would beat her in the finals and that it would be glorious in its severity. And then the unthinkable happened. Gretchen WON. Even now, I still don't get it. Even as someone who wears a lot of loose fitting, earth-toned clothing and works a sort of Ladies of the Canyon meets Annie Hall vibe on a nearly daily basis, I don't get it. Mondo's work was creative and bold and fun and youthful; Gretchen's was clearly the rejected costume design from It's Complicated. So what is the lesson here? Sometimes, creativity isn't enough. Sometimes, the good guy loses. Sometimes, the bitch wins. And it sucks.

3. America's Next Top Model: We'll see what next week's finale holds, but there may be a lesson brewing something along the lines of "Don't worry, awkward girls. A megalomaniac former super model with visions of being the next Oprah may some day find you pretty!"

4. Wife Swap: American families are screwed up. Plus, bacon is good for me.

I'm sure there are more lessons floating around out there (feel free to share in the comments), but I've got a Thanksgiving menu to plan. Now THERE'S an idea for a reality tv show . . . .

A New Definition for Hubris

It's a slow day in my classes as students work on rough drafts and study guides which gives me a chance to catch up on some computer work -- working on the program for the fall play, writing tests, and a little net surfing. I tend to have Twitter always up on my computer because it's a way to keep up with the world outside the school walls and to send quick messages home. (These messages usually consist of "Hey, can you grab some lettuce from the store?" or "Did you remember to drop the Netflix in the mail?") I follow a lot of different people on Twitter, a lot of comics and writers and people whose work I generally enjoy. One of those people is Community creator Dan Harmon. Today he tweeted a link that led me to the story of Monica Gaudio.

Monica writes for a website called Gode Cookery , a site devoted to medieval cooking. This site featured a story on the medieval origins of the apple pie, including two recipes for the pie that date back to the fourteenth and sixteenth century. It's an interesting article, to be sure. Before you think that my cooking obsession has gone so overboard that I am scouring the net looking for medieval dessert recipes, let me tell you more of the story.

Monica was contacted by a friend asking her how she had managed to get her work in print. Monica couldn't answer the question because she didn't even know her work was in print. It turns out that the magazine Cook's Source had taken Monica's original article and published it virtually word for word. They gave her a byline, but never was she contacted for permission or offered any sort of financial compensation for her work. Nothing!

Monica contacted the magazine to find out what was going on and was asked what she wanted. Her demands were pretty simple (and completely fair): she wanted an apology on the magazine's Facebook page, an apology in print, and a $130 donation made to the Columbia School of Journalism (where we would hope ripping someone's work off is strongly discouraged).

The response that Monica received was shocking and, frankly, insulting. Editor Judith Griggs condescendingly informed Monica that anything published on the web is public domain.

The response continued:
"you should be happy we just didn’t “lift” your whole article and put someone else’s name on it! It happens a lot, clearly more than you are aware of, especially on college campuses, and the workplace. If you took offence and are unhappy, I am sorry, but you as a professional should know that the article we used written by you was in very bad need of editing, and is much better now than was originally. Now it will work well for your portfolio. For that reason, I have a bit of a difficult time with your requests for monetary gain, albeit for such a fine (and very wealthy!) institution. We put some time into rewrites, you should compensate me! I never charge young writers for advice or rewriting poorly written pieces, and have many who write for me… ALWAYS for free!”"*

* this response can be found on MANY websites and blogs reporting on this, but I took this specifically from Geeko System .

Ummmmmmm . . . where do I even begin?

First of all, what is published on the web is NOT public domain, especially when said content is explicitly copyrighted, as Monica's page was. Credit has to be given -- whether it's from the New York Times, Gode Cookery, or The Ginger Files.

Secondly, I challenge Griggs's assertion that this sort of thing happens a lot and that, therefore, excuses her behavior. There's also a lot of binge drinking, drug abuse, and sexual assault happening on college campuses, so is that all okay now, too? Shouldn't magazines be a model of good journalism rather than displaying the sorts of grievous ethical violations that would get a college sophomore booted off campus?

Even more alarming is the defensive posture Griggs adopts here. Telling Monica that her piece was poorly written and in desperate need of editing is pretty crummy, even crummier when you consider that the poor writing Monica supposedly displayed was her use of the original Olde English her recipes were originally written in. (I won't comment on the many errors in Griggs's response. I'm too classy for that.)

I won't even get into the clear fact that Griggs has no sense of irony. The offense she takes at Monica's suggestion that a donation be made to the Columbia School of Journalism, arguing that the school is wealthy and doesn't need the money. While you could argue that a publication that receives advertising revenue should certainly be able to pony up a small sum for a story they ripped off (and did not PAY to publish), the deeper argument lies in that Monica is not asking for that money to in any way enrich the Columbia coffers. She's trying to make a point about journalism and ethics -- a fact lost on Griggs.

There are so many more reasons why this issue is so troubling. As an English teacher who routinely has to bust students for plagiarism, this is sickening. If it's okay for Cook's Source to rip off the internet (and profit from it via circulation sales), why isn't it okay for my freshmen to copy and paste their book reports from Wikipedia? And why am I giving them a failing grade for doing so? The point lost on Ms. Griggs is that the internet is not, in fact, public domain. Someone went to the work of thinking those thoughts, writing those words, and for anyone BUT that person to then take those words and seek to profit from it -- whether financially, academically, or otherwise -- is just plain wrong. A journalist with three decades of experience should know better, especially when the fifteen year old high school student sitting in front of me does.