The sound of my own voice
Talkin' 'bout talkin'
I recently wondered, When am I talking TO kids, WITH kids, AT kids?
I was on a couple zoom meetings this week, and there were moments I experienced each of those three. Which I note because as a teacher on zoom, I could talk WITH a student, especially in a breakout room, but I never figured out how to talk TO the class. It felt like I was talking TO them, but did it feel that way to camera off 11 year-olds I’d never met? Facing a sea of black boxes, I imagine it was a lot of AT.
Talking WITH is of course the best, but I need to talk TO, too. As a former student said in an advice video, “Let Mr. Tobin talk. He does it a lot.”
I do! Especially at the start of the year, when I need to explain where the pencil sharpener is and how to hand things in. The kids talk plenty, in a variety of configurations. But when I’m talking WITH, I have to start the conversation, I have to shape it with questions and comments, sometimes I have to convince kids to talk to me at all. I aim for them drive the conversation, but I have to do stuff to get us there.
And a decent amount of talking TO: giving directions, providing context, running games, actually teaching stuff. I talk plenty, and these days, it’s largely into a microphone.
When we came back to school and everybody was wearing masks, and we had air purifiers and a box fan blowing out the window, it was hard to hear people. Some kids can be asked to talk louder, some can’t. So, inspired by the PE teacher’s karaoke machine, I found my method for dealing with a masked class: a microphone and PA system. (Love that materials reimbursement money.) Every kid who speaks in class is plenty loud. And when we have class conversations, it’s easy to know who talks next; I’ve finally found the conch shell I’ve long sought.
Thing is, I’m not wearing a mask any more, but I still run the air purifier and the box fan, and a good 10 percent of kids are still masked. And some are just quiet! So I use the mic to hear the kids (and my co-teachers) but I wear a headset. I tried for the lavalier but the feedback was constant. So I’m Janet Jackson. I’ve been called worse. I move it to the side when I talk WITH, but when I talk TO, everybody hears.
The Week in Dog Poo
I don’t often get to walk both dogs at the same time, so it’s always a special treat. Also a special challenge. We were long a one-dog family, but we wanted a friend for Winnie, and Ginger is a loving cuddle-bug to all humans. But she’s just not into dogs, and she and Winnie have settled less into friendship than an occasionally violent rivalry for the wife’s attention. (And mine when she’s not home.) So when I get to walk both dogs, they’re interested in the same walks. Two dogs, two agendas.
Sometimes I go by The Pace of the Slowest Dog, sometimes by The Pace of the Fastest Dog, and sometimes by Ginger Pace. And not just because she’s the pooing champion, although she undoubtedly is. On our walk all together, she pooed three times early, and I felt like a Yankees fan watching Aaron Judge have a hot April. Would Ginger break her own Maris-like record of three poos on one walk? I won’t get your hopes up further, but a 3:1 dog-dog ratio is solid work. Although Ginger’s performance at the farmer’s market last week was probably bigger than these three combined. But what a ride!
The Urban Blah
Back in 2009-11 I collaborated with the brilliant Lovisa to make a webcomic that failed to become syndicated across the globe. I am pro-recycling.
I think about this all the time, because this continues to be me. I also say “Smell Ya Later” to sixth graders a lot, some of whom get annoyed. Which is part of why I do it.
Jam(s) of the Week
In the (amazing) summer teaching program I did, one of the (amazing) high school presenters name-dropped Minnie Riperton, and I found that years ago I’d bookmarked “Les Fleurs,” which is other-worldly, a little magical. I first encountered it 25 years ago on Black Sheep "Similak Child,” but the application I’m into these days is Lando Chill’s hip hop treatment in Floating to Nowhere. Those drums!
My Back Pages
Back in 2004, my friend invited me to go to The Price Is Right, and I thought I’d pitch my diary of the day as an article. As often happened, I started strong and quit early.
Ever since I moved to Los Angeles, I’ve talked about going to a taping of The Price Is Right. It’s a rite of passage in L.A., almost like going to Fenway Park. You know, if the Sox only played 40 games and gave away cars and trips to the Bahamas.
The diary began at 4:30am when I woke up (!) and only got to 9:30, far short of making it into the theater (so small) and seeing bygone host Bob Barker (robust, witty, and 84 at the time, now 98!). Still, there are fun parts in the early going, like our brainstorming T-shirts.
Meaghan riffs on the hostesses referred to as Barker’s Beauties and comes up with “Barker’s Inner Beauty.” Together we come up with “Will play Plinko for food.” It’s my favorite. Actually, my favorite might be “Soy Bob,” but nobody gets it. The “Soy Bomb” guy from the Grammies? Come on. That’s good stuff.
“Soy Bomb” was 1998, so a six year-old reference at the time. Super current for me! Know what I mean, Vern? I ended up going with “Plinko Is Life.” I also did some reporting.
5:40 am: I go on an expedition to the front of the line. The #1 guy isn’t there, but I #2 showed up at 10:30 the night before. #9 says #1 showed up at 7 pm. #2’s from San Diego and is making his third trip to see the show. He says there are 320 audience members and nine contestants. Of those, half come from the groups of ten or more (who don’t need to wait in this line, WHAT??). So that’s five slots, and among those, he suggests it’s a specific balance of race, gender, and age. #3, an older black man, smiles widely. So #2 isn’t here to win fabulous prizes: “I’m just here to see Bob, to see the Beauties. Mostly the Beauties.” I’m fascinated.
6:10 am: The line starts to move. Everyone receives a number and is told to return at 7:30. We are not guaranteed entry. Despite showing up at 5 am, I am #197..
I suppose it’s weird that audience members could be minding their own business and suddenly find themselves on national television, competing to win a catamaran. I shaved my goatee to look more palatable for the producers we had our one-sentence auditions with. Would “I live two blocks from here!” get me a chance to come on down?
I talk to a friend who’s pretty excited about me going on the show. He tries to coach me in gaming strategy. I explain over and over that I don’t expect to make it on. He urges me to bid one dollar when I make it to Contestant’s Row. I say I will.
Indeed, I was not selected. But I was so punch-drunk from 10 hours of waiting that I prayed not to get picked. I felt decidedly unready for prime time, or whatever daytime hour this aired. Right before they let us to the seats, we went to the final line, high-fiving the other cheering, over-tired audience members. I remember yelling, “THE PRICE IS RIGHT!! THE PRICE IS SO RIGHT!!” wild-eyed and delirious. Good times, so glad my name stayed out of Rod Roddy’s mouth.
