Treefrog

Grace, it's extremely hard to tell from the article. It sounds more like "dance-like movements in water" than real synchronized swimming. I think it was done in standing depth. The girls were from a dance program, though. Perhaps incidentally, perhaps not, all the dancers shown in the original photo (which no longer accompanies the article) were African-American. Given the neighborhood, I'd expect that all the participants were African-American. Our studio, which is extremely diverse racially, takes in several African-American kids each year who are referred by the Joffrey's outreach program. I think this speaks very highly of the company's commitment to diversifying ballet dancers and audiences.

I don't think it's "another topic for another time" at all, BW. Your question speaks to the very heart of how one develops an aesthetic.

How cool is this? :jump: Here's the full article from the Chicago Tribune.

The age difference that Mel brought up is terribly important, and it's muddled in the original article. Up until about age 10-12, kids are not able to think abstractly. As a teacher of 10-year-olds, I've had to learn first-hand what that means, in practical terms. You'd be surprised at the things that you, as an adult, think are perfectly concrete that turn out to be wildly abstract and inaccessible to 10-year-olds. I suspect that we think the events of history are perfectly concrete (they happened, after all). but to a child of this age they are abstract (you can't see them, touch them, feel them). So, teachers attempt to make them concrete by relating them to the child's own experiences. That's the rationale, anyway. As in anything, there are good ways and bad ways to go about it. Personally, I agree that this kind of experiential education needs to be grounded in facts, first-person narratives, and the like. As part of learning about soil and erosion, my students learn about the Dust Bowl. I do focus on the personal experience, because that's what my students can understand. They read excerpts from a woman's diary, and watch an excellent video from the American Experience PBS series. There's much more we could do, but this is a brief excursion. My least favorite part of the unit is the most experiential part: I ask them to develop skits about life in the Dust Bowl. Although I ask them to focus on a problem or issue, and to be as realistic as possible, I'm seldom happy with the result. The kids really don't have enough information to do either. Thus, the death rate in the skits is way out of proportion to reality (EVERY skit has one or more people dying suddenly from asphyxiation or dust pneumonia), and everything is just way too dramatic. Gee, as I write this, I'm already thinking of dropping the skits. By high school, I'd hope that kids were focusing much more on what happened, and why it happened. I think there is room for discussions that relate the modern world to the historical one (is Saddam another Hitler? Why or why not? Why did the world feel justified in fighting Hitler, but few nations signed on to the US war in Iraq? Is the current war a good one, a just one? How are modern-day Iraq and 1930s Germany/Europe alike and different?), but by high school I hope teachers have moved beyond "Hitler was a bully. Do you know any bullies? How did you stand up to them? Bullying is wrong." Finally ... some lessons can be learned very powerfully through personal experience. I am thinking of the midwestern teacher who, in the 1960s, wanted to teach her racially and culturally homogeneous third-grade class about persecution. In a now-famous lesson, she divided her class into "brown eyes" and "blue eyes", and on alternate days she actively persecuted one group, and encouraged the kids to do likewise. "No, you can't sit there; blue eyes have to sit at the back of the class." "Isn't that just like a blue-eyed kid to say something dumb like that!" And then, the next day, "Brown eyes have to wait for the blue eyes to get their milk first... Why? Blue eyes are just better." By the end of the week, every kid had had a turn in both roles (and it's distressing how quickly they descended into the persecutional role, and how despondent they became when theirs was the short end of the stick). Years later, each person recalled the experience vividly, and was able to relate the lesson to his or her adult life.

Touché! B)

How did the elephants communicate the titles???? :secret: :shrug:

Giannina, you have said so beautifully everything I thought and felt about this book. I can't possibly add anything to your eloquence. However, I am puzzled by this question: I thought it was quite straightforward??? In the final paragraphs of the story, her fate is both stated and described. Do we have reason to disbelieve what is said? However, I did have to read and reread a few times before I understood what happened to Mr. Hosukawa.

Just finished "The Gatekeepers", about college admissions to select colleges in the US. It follows closely one particular admissions officer at Wesleyan University, and also a handful of students who apply to Wesleyan for admission to the class of 2004. Written by an education writer for the New York Times, it is highly readable, and at times even suspenseful. With a rising high school sophomore in the family, I'm not sure whether I'm glad I read it now or not. It's an eye-opener, for sure. College admissions really have changed since my day; if this account is to be believed, it really is much more competitive than it was. (Although I do ask myself how that can be, statistically. Although there are many, many more students applying to selective colleges than there used to be, can the pool of really top students have grown that much over the years?) The book also reveals how capricious the system is. It's never clear what will grab a particular admissions officer about a particular student. Finally, the book makes clear how we are constantly raising the bar for kids at younger and younger ages. You can't get into Wesleyan without a goodly number of Advanced Placement or honors courses -- and the more of them your school offers, the more you have to have taken. They want to see that the students are challenging themselves academically. I think the lesson here is to be the top student at a not-so-competitive high school.

I really liked the layers-within-layers aspect (gosh, it's so hard to say what I mean without giving away plot!). It does make one contemplate the nature of reality. I agree, dirac, that the end is more twisty than it needs to be -- but, on the other hand, I did miss the subtle indication at the very end of the next-to-last chapter, so maybe the hammer-them-over-the-head approach is useful for dolts like me. But I like to be shown, not told (I've never forgiven Charles Dickens for spoiling the opening image in "A Tale of Two Cities" by telling us pointblank, "The wine is a metaphor for blood." "I GOT that!" I keep wanting to shout at him.) On to Briony: Does merely telling the truth, after having told a lie, constitute atonement? What's the line between assuageing one's guilt and atoning? And finally: I recall thinking, as I read it, that a certain scene felt different, less real, than others -- almost dreamlike. Those who have finished the book will, I hope, guess the scene to which I refer. Did the quality of the writing, the voice, actually change at that point?

I've been wondering about casting decisions myself, lately. The Joffrey in past years ran each program for one week, and you could pretty much count on Cast A for the opening (Thursday night) and closing (Sunday matinée) performances. Our tickets were for Sunday -- the limitation being, of course, that if one liked the program very much and wanted to see it again, one couldn't. This year, they have expanded the season and will be dancing each program for TWO weeks. I'd like to get the mid-run Sunday matinée tickets, but I'm worried we won't get Cast A in this case.

I took a brief detour to read "The Nanny Diaries". (Okay, not literature, I know, but good poolside and airplane reading.) Here's what I want to know from you New Yorkers: just how much of an exageration was that? Are there families that even come close?

I have just finished "The Far Side of the World" (book seven or eight in Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin series) and "Harry Potter". On vagansmom's recommendation, I am about to embark on "Atonement". Summer is the only time I get to read so consistently. What a joy...!

I very much enjoyed Seabiscuit -- a book I doubt I'd have found were it not for the recommendations here. I did think it dragged on a bit -- I found my enthusiasm waning, even though there is a bit of suspense toward the end. Nevertheless, I encourage you to check it out, BW. BTW, the movie is going to be released in, I think, the fall. As for the varying versions of Harry Potter -- I noticed that the American version includes MUCH more Brit-speak than previous volumes. "Trainers" for "sneakers", that sort of thing. I am glad about this; those of us raised on earlier British kids' literature managed to muddle through and were possibly even enriched by learning that a hood is a bonnet, a diaper is a nappy, and a flashlight is a torch. I always thought having an Americanized version sort of "dumbed down" the book, culturally speaking.

I second (third?) the impression that Herrera was detached as Odette (June 18 matinée). She was positively morose, but not enough morose to lend dramatic interest. Despite the lovely technique, I was not drawn to watching her. (In contrast, I couldn't keep my eyes off Ananiashvili in Don Q -- I know that's an unfair comparison, because the roles are so different, but there it is.) I agree also that her Odile was better. Perhaps it is easier to act happy and alluring than it is to act desperate. Which brings up a new question: how should Odette act? What is her dominant emotion, her motivation?

Lovely review, Angel2Be. It was evocative enough to bring the performance back for me. Do you remember who danced The Chosen One?

One of our, um, er, four TVs is often on. We're trying to wean our youngest daughter, who is unhealthily addicted. The rest of us watch our favorite shows (West Wing, ER, Friends) and not a whole lot more. Hubby is in the TV business -- he works with producers and networks to improve the quality of children's programming -- so the love/hate question is viewed as a false dichotomy in our house. We talk more in terms of what one likes/hates, and why, and how come there can't be more to love on the air? BTW -- hooking up a DVD player to an old TV is not as simple as you might think, Ari, but neither is it as impossible as you might believe, Ed. I speak from experience, as our main set is older than yours (early '80s). You need to get a kind of a junction box, about $40 at Radio Shack.

My husband was at a party once, and idly picked one of those 'Pinpressions' things off the table. If you've never seen one, it's a block of movable blunt pins -- you can push your hand against the pins and create a scupture of your hand. My husband was just about to shake it out and, oh, make a sculpture of his hand or something, when he recognized the face that currently occupied the space: Baryshnikov. He set it down v-e-r-y g-e-n-t-l-y.

Three elementary schools (two private, one public) and two middle schools (private), the second of which merged into high school (with a boarding department, just in case we moved again!). Reading instruction was excellent in all but the public school (grades 4-6). I can still remember my second-grade teacher reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe aloud to us. Of course, I couldn't wait to find out what happened and read it all in a night or so. (As an aside, second grade also provided a large chunk of my lifelong arts education; almost all that I know and appreciate about Renaissance painting I learned from Mrs. Dawson.) Grades 4-6 were dismal: line-by-line reading, and insipid stories in grade-level readers. Reading instruction consisted of SRA cards (remember those?), and we were only allowed to read one each class. Except me: when the reading teacher found out I was moving mid-year, she let me read TWO cards per class so I would reach a higher level and be a credit to her. I repaid her 'kindness' by doing an oral report on Death at an Early Age in which I emphasized the cruelness and cluelessness of the reading teacher. (I was a pretty nasty know-it-all as a kid...) During this time, I read a LOT on my own, and well above grade level: To Kill a Mockingbird and Catch 22 are two I remember for sure. Middle and high school were great. At least one Shakespeare per year, lots of short stories, also A Separate Peace in 8th grade. Through high school, I took every course I could with a certain English teacher. We read a huge variety of things in courses with titles like "Comedy and Tragedy" and "Image, Imitation, and Experience." Lots of discussion, plus daily assignments to write a paragraph or two in our journals. They could be about almost anything, but the goal was to advance a thesis in the topic sentence and support it thereafter ("Melville perhaps utilizes the Town-Ho's story as a prototype for Billy Budd, because both stories pit an honest, revered man against an unreasonable tyrant." -- bet you won't believe I just happened to have one of those journals within arm's reach!)

Last night was merely uncomfortable for the audience, not as horrific as some of these other stories! We were well-equipped with warm jackets, hats, and blankets, but we saw one fool in shorts ... I've been musing, though, about what goes through each party's mind: company management ("... we really need the money, and we have a reputation to protect..."), site management ("the show must go on! We're running a festival here!"), audience ("I must be crazy ... but I paid so much for the tickets and I've been so looking forward to this") and dancers ("Oh, s***!"). Am I on target? Any thoughts I forgot?

Pick your lead: "The warmest part of the evening was the audience's applause." "The company premiered its latest hit, 'Light Frost'." (alternatively, 'Freezing Rain'.) "Davis Robertson, the gallant cavalier in 'L'Air d'Esprit', was handsomely costumed in an attractive gray fleece pullover." Actually, the entire company was attired in a variety of leggings, sweats, head wraps, sweaters, and rehearsal skirts. Artistic Director Gerald Arpino appeared personally to inform the audience that he had invited his dancers to wear rehearsal clothing to cope with the 50-degree (F) weather in the outdoor Pavilion at Ravinia. "I want them to dance at their peak," he said, "but I never imagined it would feel like the peak of Mt. Everest." Needless to say, this performance was not the dancers' best. The dancing was reserved, at times a little jerky and hesitant. No one cared, though. I think everyone appreciated the sacrifice the dancers were making, and no one wanted anyone to pull a muscle, fall, or otherwise injure themselves. Besides, we were all freezing too, so there was little of the "we're all in this together" spirit. After I warm up, I might post a little more about the actual program.

Angel2Be, you might want to check on these other threads too. Hope you enjoy Les Noces as much as I did! Les Noces Joffrey Ballet of Chicago: "Diaghilev Dynasty"

But it's not over yet -- there's still Wednesday night at Ravinia!

Is she any relation to Ivan the talking porcupine? (Sorry, couldn't resist!)

Yes, we were surprised the box office couldn't tell us over the phone. It doesn't seem as though it should be different from walking up to the window. BW, you CAN request orchestra, dress circle, etc. What you won't find out until it's too late to do anything about it is whether those orchestra tickets are right up front, in the exact middle, far to the side, in the very last row, or wherever you do or don't want to be.

How come ABT/the Opera House can't tell you what tickets you are buying before you shell out $80 per? Neither the website nor the box office could give my husband the exact seat location until he'd finalized the purchase. Even here in the provinces, we know before we buy if we will be (say) in the front, middle, or back of the orchestra. It makes a BIG difference.