Babysitting TIps from a 7-year-old

I was babysitting Taylor and Logan tonight. As soon as I got there, Taylor started talking about how we were going to have sundaes. She told me they had chocolate ice cream and mint chocolate chip. There was chocolate syrup, caramel, whipped cream, and rainbow sprinkles. I ate some dinner and we played a game and all the while Taylor kept asking, "So, you ready for that ice cream?"

It's been a while since Erica and I have had ice cream on hand at home, and boy have I been craving it. So I began salivating as soon as Taylor brought it up.

Well, eventually I decided it was time. Taylor got out the bowls, Logan got out the toppings, and I found the ice cream scooper. We went to the freezer, opened it up, and looked around. There was no ice cream to be found.

How disappointing! The three of us had our taste buds set on ice cream, and we couldn't just ignore the cravings. We decided we simply HAD to go to the store.

But there was only one problem. No car seats.

We searched the house for their mom's car keys to no avail. I decided we would check to see if the car was unlocked to move the seats to my car, but Taylor was convinced the car alarm would go off. So there was only one thing to do: walk.

Logan was excited with the prospect and offered to carry the flashlight. Taylor, on the other hand, was a bit worried, thinking it unsafe. "We'd have to cross Emmaus Avenue!" she said.

Eventually, she put it quite bluntly, "Well, I'm just saying, it's not something I would suggest to my niece and nephew."

How can you ignore the safety issue when a 7-year-old puts it like that? I knew she was mostly right, but on the other hand, I was convinced it would be a fun little adventure.

But to make a long story short, we found the car was unlocked, got the car seats, drove to the store, got our ice cream safely, and enjoyed our sundaes. There were high-fives all around and Logan kept saying, "Yesssssss," and giving me a thumbs up.

Monday Morning Quarterback

My only real opportunity to be a Monday Morning Quarterback comes but once a year, and while it is now Monday evening, I'll take advantage of the opportunity anyway.

I'm not sure why, but I was upset to have missed actually watching the Oscars. Our antennae simply refused to pick up ABC. I refreshed Oscar.com and a couple of blogs incessantly to try to keep up, but that only lasted until 10:30, when I decided sleep was more valuable.

So here we go...my thoughts on the categories I care about...

I haven't see Bourne Ultimatum, but it must have some pretty dang good sound.

I would have liked to see Ratatouille pick up a few more awards than just best animated feature (Best Score, perhaps?). But at least it sealed that one.

As fun as Enchanted was, and as much as I loved--yes, loved--"Happy Working Song," I'm glad Once picked up Best Song. Now I just need to get on YouTube and watch that performance.

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly NEEDED to be recognized in some way. I don't care which award, but it should have received SOMETHING. Does anyone know why it wasn't up for Best Foreign Language film?

Speaking of Best Foreign Language film, I heard a lot of people complaining that 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days was not nominated. Maybe it would have been less of a travesty if the nominees were movies we'd actually heard of. Seriously...where did these come from?? I know I sound like an ignorant American saying that, but I try to stay on top of my foreign films, and I don't think I've heard of any of them.

Best Original Screenplay was a loaded category where anyone could have won and I would have been happy (with the exception of Michael Clayton, which I have yet to see). The Savages was perfectly written, Lars and the Real Girl was absurdly creative, and Ratatouille was perfect, too. But if Juno deserved an award on Oscar night, it was probably this one, so I'm content with that.

It bothers me that, 9 times out of 10, documentaries only get recognized if they're political. Where was the King of Kong on this list? It deserved a nomination, at least.

While it would have been fun to see Ellen Page or Laura Linney win best actress, I'm sure Ms. Cotillard was just as deserving. Javier and Daniel were deserving, and don't think I saw any of the support actresses. So, no complaints in the acting categories.

As for the rest, No Country For Old Men really cleaned up, eh? It's a deserving film and all, but I think I just get upset when the academy doesn't share the love. I like all of these great movies to get at least a little bit of recognition. I definitely don't like when a film wins the Directing award and Best Picture. Share the love! Give No Country best picture and the Direction award to Anderson or Schnabel!

This is how it should have been split up to recognize everyone properly:
Best Original Screenplay- Juno
Best Adapted Screenplay- Diving Bell
Best Director- PT Anderson
Best Picture- No Country for Old Men

So there's my unasked-for 2 cents. I'm off to YouTube to catch the exciting parts I missed.

nateshorb, jr.

A friend of ours had a baby the other night. At school yesterday, as Nate and I walked with my fifth graders from lunch to recess, I told him the news. One boy who is known for using his big mouth to be incredibly weird overheard me and asked excitedly, "Your wife had a baby?!"

"Yes," I replied nonchalantly, going back to my conversation with Nate.

He ran from us and began screaming to all his friends, "MR. SHORB'S A DADDY!!!!" As is typical, they all ignored him, which they have gradually learned to do over the course of the year, immediately knowing he's just being his weird self.

He spent the rest of the day congratulating me on my new son. I thanked him each time.

So, here's Erica shortly after giving birth to Nate Shorb the Second. She looks good considering the circumstances, doesn't she? She's a tough cookie. And Arbonne helps too, of course.

(...Eeehhh...Two Nate Shorbs in the world? A scary thought...)

Big Red vs. Old Girl

Some of you may remember hearing about my car Big Red turning over 200,000 miles a few years back. He was a '91 Geo Prizm. If you don't remember hearing about this, refresh your memory, here, here, here, and here.

A few weeks back--I forgot to relay this story until now--Erica and I were driving somewhere and by some small slim chance, some freak accident of divine providence, we were listening to NPR at just the right moment in order to hear THIS STORY, to which you really must go listen.

He was turning over his one-millionth mile in his '91 Chevy Silverado named Old Girl, and NPR captured the moment for the nation to hear. What made it so particularly bizarre and exciting was that the entire experience sounded and felt eerily similar--nearly identical--to the movie we made about Big Red. I swear he used some of the same exact descriptions I did a few years back, from counting down the miles to go, to describing the zeros slowing coming up, to merely the hurried electricity in his voice.

The only sad difference is that the people in the vehicle with him were not screaming like a bunch of idiots, and Explosions in the Sky was not playing in the background, both of which made it a little anti-climactic. I was close to screaming in my car for him, 800 or so miles away from that deserted country road.

Naturally, I was extremely excited to catch this moment on the radio, and extremely excited for the man who got to see six zeros in a row on his odometer. Of course, I tried to get Erica to admit that I wasn't so weird after all for creating the hoopla I did back then; I mean, this guy's getting national attention for a very similar story! She refused to concede, though, pointing out that a million is a little bit more of a feat than two hundred thousand. Maybe she's right.

At any rate, I tip my hat to you and Old Girl, Mr. Oresnick. Congratulations. Someone was cheering for you in Pennsylvania that night.

Speaking of Top Tens...

...that guy Neville who pretty much pressures me into making a top ten list every year has posted his gutsy list.

Sometimes I give Nev a hard time about all this, but I must admit he really is the reason I am as into movies as I am. Before I met him, I thought movies were a waste of time and my favorite movie was Dumb and Dumber (an ironic contradiction now that I stop to think about it). Don't get me wrong, Dumb and Dumber still makes me laugh quite a bit, but I'm glad to have had my eyes opened a little wider since those days. As tormented as creating a top ten list makes me, I'm glad for the experience of seeing--and benefiting from--so many worthwhile films.

So, thanks Neville.

...AND...I know I have a terrible knack for building up movies in my mind, and I'm trying really hard not to do that here, and I know it's really early on in the year to be making any crazy predictions like this one, but my #1 movie of 2008 is coming to a theater near you this weekend.

So, let me tell you more about The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

So there's this story out there about a guy named Jean-Dominique Bauby. In case you haven't heard about it yet, he lived in France and was editor-in-chief of the magazine ELLE until he suffered a stroke of sorts that left him completely paralyzed with something known as locked-in syndrome. His mind was left completely in tact while his body, on the other hand, was utterly lifeless other than his blinkable left eye. He eventually learned to communicate by blinking, and he used this technique to dictate a book.

And I wish I could make this silly blog post as beautifully written as this book, but words and effort are kind of escaping me tonight.

So allow me to recommend the book. I began reading it while sitting on the floor at an overcrowded Barnes & Noble in Staten Island while suffering from the fever I recently mentioned and I was immediately swept away and wrapped up in its poetic love of life. Since I didn't have enough money on my gift card to get it for free, I put it back on the shelf and went to my local library the next day and finished it shortly thereafter. It is a truly beautiful work of art, in my mind combining the palatable poetry of Billy Collins with Madeleine L'Engle's stream of consciousness. But its power lies in this man's decision to embrace what little life he has left, to be astute to the beauty around him, and to dedicate himself to painstakingly communicating it with the rest of the world. Sadly enough, for many of us, it would indeed take locked-in syndrome to force us to slow down and appreciate the life that is happening all around us. Bauby takes everyday experiences, both before and after his stroke, and sheds a keen and glorious light on them. He shows us the world through new eyes.

I had the extreme pleasure of seeing the movie when I was halfway through the book, and I am pleased to say it's a wonderful adaptation that makes for a great companion to the written work. Director Julian Schnabel did everything just right to portray this story. He puts us inside Bauby's body, seeing the world through his left eye. We hear his thoughts, and we feel just as trapped as he does. We are just as devastated as he is. When he tells his nurse that he wants death, we want death with him. But slowly, we begin to see the beauty he sees through that left of eye of his. And it's a wonderful journey of resilience. It's a good thing Schnabel presents it in such a way, because the first time we see Bauby from the outside, lips sagging and eye bulging, we are stunned. We would be repulsed if we hadn't started by empathetically experiencing things with him from the beginning. And this idea further illuminates the persistent grace of doctors, relatives, and friends determined to lovingly stick by Bauby's side and communicate with him regardless of how much work it takes. All this to say, the movie is just as beautiful as the book.

I'm not sure what to say other than this. There is so much value in every corner of this story and the way it is told. I want to somehow express just how deeply affecting both works were for me, but I'm not sure it's possible, at least not tonight. Just know that I highly recommend both, and if you're a fast reader, you can probably finish the book in one sitting at your local B&N.

Top 10 of 2007: A Revised List

I've caught a few more of the films that I thought would be necessary in forming a list of 2007's best. A few others remain to be seen, such as 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, but that one will still be a while, I think.

I'm taking a very conflicted approach to this list this year. Very non-committal, very rash and impulsive, and mostly uninterested, and yet I feel the need to continually fix it. Neville's the one who encourages me to make the list, and he's still taking his time, belaboring, pondering, and working to make it as perfect as possible before he announces it to the world. Maybe I should take further notes from him.

At any rate, I'll give one more go at it, just as non-committal, rash, impulsive, and uninterested as the first. But I think I might let it go at this one, because the majority of you could care less about this list of mine. So anyway....

Top 10 Films of 2007, 3rd Edition:

10. Knocked Up
9. No Country For Old Men
8. Paris Je T'aime
7. Juno
6. Darjeeling Limited
5. The Savages
4. Lars and the Real Girl
3. Into the Wild
2. Ratatouille
1. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly

Yes, a new number one, which is indeed a rash decision after just seeing it last night. But I absolutely loved it and it's a movie/book you'll be hearing more about from me very soon.

Movies I'm leaving out, but ones that could easily reappear depending on the day: King of Kong, Dan in Real Life, God Grew Tired of Us, American Gangster, There Will Be Blood, Once

And if you haven't noticed, I've been writing more movie reviews for Chalupa, lately, where you can read my recent reviews of The Savages, The King of Kong, and 2 Days in Paris. I'll be trying to keep most of my movie-related comments, at least in the way of more formal reviews, cornered over there from here on out.

My Official Statement Regarding the State of Polaroid Film

I heard the announcement when we just happened to be watching World Nightly News the other night, and since then several concerned friends and family members have been sure to contact me.

Polaroid, that company so near and dear to our nostalgic hearts, has announced that they've finally realized shaking it like a Polaroid picture is SO 1980's, and they've decided to vest their interests in this newfangled technology they just discovered called digital photography.

They're shutting down their film factories by the end of the year.

This is indeed sad news. As a Polaroid enthusiast, not only was I heartbroken to hear the news, I immediately began to panic, wanting to go out and buy the shelves of film I could find before word spread and prices skyrocketed.

(I mean, there are A LOT of people worried about this, right? I'm not the only one, am I?)

I could sit around and mourn, I could stock up, I could pay exorbitant prices from the black market.

Instead, I've decided to put my faith in a Wall Street Journal article I read, stating that Polaroid is trying to sell its instant-film technology to a third-party who would begin producing the film. That's right. All hope is not lost. We might still get our film.

I mean, can you really imagine a world of antique Polaroid cameras sitting around with no beautiful film to put inside? (Hmm. At the rate you've all tossed your film-loading cameras aside for your Kodak EasyShares, you probably can. But I can't! ) There's gotta be a camera company out there that cares enough not to let this happen, even if it's a company run by photography nerds.

And at any rate, upon recently looking again at the coffee-table book of my Polaroid pictures, I was reminded that I was never very good at the art form in the first place.

So, that is my response, and my official statement.

But just in case it's not as sure of a thing as I think it might be, and you want to help us Polaroid Freaks save the art form, sign the petition here.

And lest you think I'm the only one who enjoys something as silly as Polaroids, the only person nerdy enough to care, here are a few sites to check out. If you know of any others, add them to the list in the comments.
Polaroid on Flickr
Polanoid
The Lovely Road
Grant Hamilton
Pola-Project

And whatever the case may be, not that 120-film is any safer from being doomed to the digital age, but I don't feel quite as threatened by the news since I have started turning my attention to the similar feel but higher class of the Holga plastic camera anyway, as mentioned here.

Fever Dreams

Nothing's worse than the dreams that come with a fever.

On Friday night I came down with something terrible that, in my best estimation, slightly resembled malaria, although that might just be my tendency of being melodramatic.

All night I had a high-stress dream of being involved in some sort of political debate, undoubtedly triggered by an earlier in-depth discussion of politics earlier that evening with the friends we were visiting. I can't say what exactly I was in charge of or what was being argued, but there was a lot of money involved and some big decisions to be made and we were going back and forth. I tossed and turned with every single argument and counterargument. Even after waking, the second I fell back asleep was the second the arguments continued.

On Saturday night, I had another high-stress dream where I was given the responsibility of being in charge of some sort of informational database resembling Wikipedia. I was in charge of receiving all sorts of information on all sorts of topics from all sorts of sources, and I had to somehow sort and organize it all. By the morning, though, after several hours of many other topics, I was able to focus purely on the Sufjan Stevens article, of course, and was relieved to at least be in charge of a topic I was interested in.

The only break I got from that dream was when the No Doubt concert that my church was hosting had to be canceled because of a tornado warning.

Last night was a bit more peaceful. The only thing I can remember is checking out at a dollar store that did not carry Tylenol but did carry a few other things I apparently needed. Come to think of it, I think I was buying some high-powered flashlights to search for my brother who was lost in the mountains. When I tried to pay with my credit card, the cashier told me he didn't know how to do it because he hadn't been trained yet. I tried figuring it out on my own, but when a pile of parking tickets came out of the machine instead of a receipt, I decided to take advantage of the situation, let him deal with it, and went on my way.

So I'm on a sick day today, which, assuming I return tomorrow, will give me a 3-day week this week and a 3-day week next week (because of President's Day weekend). Maybe this malarial fever isn't so bad after all.

The Double Knot Expert

Several boys in my classroom have problems with chronically untied shoelaces, but one in particular really got to me yesterday. After asking him to tie his shoes on three different occasions throughout the day, I was fed up. In the middle of teaching, I looked down and saw his shoelace untied AGAIN. So I stopped what I was doing, knelt down, and began tying his shoe nice and tight.

As I did so, I said, "You know, there's this really cool invention called the double-knot. If you use it, your shoelaces hardly ever come untied! It's amazing!" (Maybe this is another example of why students complain about my sarcasm.)

This morning, shortly after he entered the classroom for the first time, he held up his shoe in his hand and said, "Mr. Shorb, since you're such an expert at double-knots, can you come untie this for me? I don't know how to do it."

Puzzled, I looked at him and asked, "Well how did you get your shoe off?"

"I never had it on all the way," he explained. "I came to school with it halfway on, walking on the back of my shoe."

Ahh, of course. With that, I taught him how to UNTIE a double-knot, probably dripping with just as much sarcasm as the day before.

I will decline making any further comments.

Changes

I walked into a great record store in Allentown to find that they have become exactly that: a record store. The racks of CDs that once sat in the middle have been replaced with shelves of LPs. They've had plenty of LP inventory for years, and it looks like they've finally bit the bullet and got it organized. Now, I'm a supporter of vinyl and all, don't get me wrong, but isn't that a little overboard? Is this really a wise business move?! At any rate, I went in hoping to purchase a specific CD for somewhere around $12, but instead I walked out with the LP version for $18. That's the price you pay, I guess, for large artwork and 120 gram vinyl, not to mention limited playing ability and sub-par audio quality. Or maybe that's just the price you pay to a guy trying to make a living off of selling LPs.

---

There's a small homey synagogue a couple of blocks away from our house that went up for sale a few months back. Erica and I walked past it today, and I noticed it has been completely stripped of all Hebrew and Jewish symbols to make it a bit more marketable. The cornerstones with the building dates were cemented over because they included Hebrew writing. The rod-iron railings were replaced with new rod-iron railings that no longer included the Star of David. The beautiful stained glass windows were taken out and replaced with bland commercial windows. The big heavy ornamental door was replaced with a regular old glass door. If this isn't antisemitism, it's at least creating a dull place void of any character, which in my little world could be considered as just as much of a travesty.

Windows to Heaven

In the classroom, my world history professor was a complete bore. But lectures aside, he was a sweet enough old man who enjoyed, appreciated, and encouraged good thought and good discussion.

Every Wednesday he canceled class and held individual meetings with his students instead. When I met with him in his office, he asked about my interests, life aspirations, and so forth. When he found out my main interest was music--playing, collecting, listening, and so forth--he shared his thoughts on the art form.

He told me that he has always considered music as a "window to heaven," a way in which God reveals a small portion of himself to us, a way to catch a small glimpse of heaven. As he writes about the same idea in one of his books, he says, "God may not reveal himself from his heavenly throne as much as we would like; however, our faith is that in his love he communicates to us no less than we need if we will but intensely listen and observe."

He quotes Emerson as saying, "Music takes us out of the actual and whispers to us dim secrets that startle our wonder as to who we are, and for what, whence, and whereto. " He quotes Thomas Carlyle as saying, "Music is well said to be the speech of angels, in fact, nothing among the utterances allowed to man is felt to be so divine. It brings us near to the Infinite."

And all of this was brought to mind as I watched Sigur Ros perform on their documentary Heima. As a band, they possess a keen sense of beauty, endless creativity, a simultaneous appreciation for simplicity and complexity, the pursuit of collaboration, and a strong exemplification of brotherhood. Each of these things, as I've said, truly make their work heavenly. Of course, it definitely doesn't hurt to have the hills and rivers and mountains of Iceland as a heart-stirring backdrop.

As I watch them interact and perform together, I wear a wide, uncontrollable smile, simply from knowing the joy they must be feeling as they create something beautiful together. I know this feeling of this inexpressible pleasure that comes from a song building and growing as each one joins and does his part, creating something truly glorious, or from the moving moments of quiet when the band members sit silently, listening to the string quartet finishing out a song.

Watching the Icelandic people join in the act, a people who appear to appreciate beauty and brotherhood just as much as the band does, only makes all of this even more powerful.

And this heavenly music inspires me to continue the pursuit of helping others see and appreciate art in all forms.





Using a marimba made of found rocks...

I feel it's my duty...

The Sigur Ros documentary Heima is quite wonderful. I recommend you find a way to get a hold of it and enjoy. (It's still not on Netflix, yet.) There is something about them that is quite heavenly, and I mean that in the truest sense of the word. More on that later.

The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters was pretty much everything I hoped it would be. There were twelve people here to enjoy it with us last night, and enjoy it we did. Check it out.

Away From Her arrived from Netflix yesterday. Looking forward to it.

Diving Bell and the Butterfly arrives in Allentown next week.

There Will Be Blood countdown: one hour and thirty minutes. I guess that means I should hop in the shower now.

Kids in the Metropolitan Museum of Art

Sign #284 that I'm not in public school anymore: We took a field trip to New York City on Wednesday and visited the Museum of Natural History and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

It was my first time being at both museums, and we toured them at an intensely rapid rate.

For much of it, I was just along for the ride, doing my best to corral kids and keep them focused while my co-teachers did the leading and talking. But in the afternoon as our visit was nearing an end, when we reached the 19th century art and later the Modern art, my focus was not so much on the kids. And that was fine, because here the kids' focus was not on messing around or finishing up the tour; they were mesmerized and engrossed in what they saw. For a brief moment, Van Gogh, Monet, Renoir, Picasso, Degas, and the other greats were their babysitters and teachers, and I was able to focus my attention in whatever way I pleased.

I don't know if it's part of being upper class or if this is just an unusually astute group of kids, but these 5th graders love art. And of course, I love them for it.

I saw one boy studying a Monet painting like an adult, staring good and hard, by himself, for several minutes on end. I approached him. Without acknowledging each other, and without taking our eyes off the painting, his immediate question was, "What's the first thing that catches your eye in this painting?" I was floored. We had a grown-up conversation on focal points and how Monet created a simple sense of movement in this scene of trees.

As I was finishing up that conversation, another boy excitedly came to me and said, "Mr. Shorb, if you want to see some Van Gogh paintings I know exactly where they are."
"Show them to me," I said. He lead me into the next room and I said, "Ok, so, where are they?"
In a very impressed and matter-of-fact tone he said, "Well, it's pretty easy, because pretty much every painting in this room is a Van Gogh." His excitement was serious and contained.
"What do you like most about Van Gogh's work?" I asked.
"He used a lot of paint on his canvas to get a lot of texture. Pretty cool," he responded.

I could not believe these kids.

I walked into another room and saw several students who had found a comfortable seat in front of a huge painting of a woman on a balcony. They were engrossed in the painting and were sketching what they saw on their papers. Later on when we got up to go and walked into the next exhibit, one of the boys said to me, "Mr. Shorb, I couldn't find any Van Gogh paintings."
"Oh no!" I said. "There was a whole room of them back there!"
"There was?" he asked.
"Yes! There were so many of them! You were too engrossed in the big beautiful painting you found!"
"Oh man!" He was surprised and speechless. He was very disappointed for the rest of the day, kicking himself for missing Van Gogh. I tried consoling him by telling him the painting he found was just as wonderful, and it was time well spent.

As I type this, I continue to be baffled. How can this be?! How can 10 and 11 year olds be such astute observers of art?! And it's not just nerdy kids who can't do anything else. It's the athletes and the techies and the popular girls, too! All of them! My only hope is that it won't wear off in adulthood as it often does.

We made our way up to the modern art exhibit, full of wonderful, intriguing, whimsical pieces by Pollock, Warhol, Lichtenstein, Rauschenberg, and the others. This was the last exhibit of the day, and as soon as we entered the weary fifth graders perked up. The volume level rose, kids were darting from painting to painting, pointing, looking, giggling, raising eyebrows.

It was so interesting to see the commonly held views and opinions of modern art emerging from 10 years olds. Some were adamantly irreverent in their dismissal: "That's stupid! I could paint that! That doesn't deserve to be in a museum!" Others were a bit more polite, honestly questioning: "Why is this considered art?" One sweetheart wanted to give it a chance, but just couldn't understand: "Mr. Shorb, I don't get it. That painting just doesn't seem very hard to do. I guess it looks OK, but what's so special about it?" Then there were the quiet ones, looking carefully and thoughtfully.

One girl pointed to a bizarre painting featuring some large toes from a piece of an advertisement for corn removers. Although there was skepticism in her voice, the question she asked was beautiful: "Mr. Shorb, what do you think of that?"

(I say it's a beautiful question not because she was asking me of my opinion, but because she was trying to understand something instead of dismissing it immediately. It reflects an attitude completely opposite of the ubiquitous argument, "I could paint that! My little sister could paint that!")

I explained to her the little bit that I know about Pop Art. She listened and nodded. When I asked her what she thought, she said hesitantly, "It's good, I guess. It's interesting."

So anyway, all of this gave me plenty to think about in the way of art and personalities, things I have a feeling I'll continue thinking on for a long time to come. And all of this made the exhausting day a good field trip.

Thank the Lord for Rain Days

I'm still not exactly sure why, but nearly all the schools in the area decided the rain was too much to handle today, and we were all given the day off.

I'll take it! What a pleasant surprise.