My mind is clearer now...

I had the chance to do some time-traveling this week, playing Judas in Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services at St. Luke's. The services included selected songs from the 1970 rock opera "Jesus Christ Superstar," along with a more traditional choir hymn or two, remarks about the musical (penned by me), and some "sermon light" material from the two ministers.

To say I have had a long relationship with the Lloyd-Webber/Tim Rice musical would be an understatement. The album preceded the stage version and I spent so many hours listening to the LPs and eventually memorizing the lyrics to most every part. I did most of this while living in my parents' basement between driving to Cedar Rapids to Kirkwood Community College for college classes -- the result of me flunking out of Carthage College after my freshman year (68-69). That's a long and chaotic story for another time, but my appalling GPA meant only a community college would accept me. Kirkwood had one brick and mortar building then, plus dozens of temporary units scattered over what is now a thriving campus.

So I spent the 69-70 school year back living in the basement with a trusty record player and plenty of time on my hands.

Bottom line: I have been a fan of the musical for nearly 54 years. It's become part of my DNA, so to speak. 

Imagine my surprise when, in the fall of 2004, St. Luke's members and friends were told that there would be auditions in early September for the stage musical of JCS, to be performed by the Wesley Players theater company, which had been producing various shows since 2000 (two years before we moved to Colorado). 

This may say more about me than is wise, but Judas was always my preferred character in the show. He is the antagonist to Jesus as protagonist, technically, but Judas gets some great songs, with lots of emotion and rock 'n' roll vocals. In many ways, Judas is the main character.

A slight issue was that I had never been in a stage musical or play, my only performing experience being as lead singer for a little college band (one of the reasons I flunked out of school). But the musical director and now long-time friend, Jim Ramsey, was surprised in a positive way when a somewhat timid tenor from the church choir demonstrated some rock talent. I got the part.

That show was the first of what would grow to many roles in musicals through the Wesley Players, but it remains my favorite... partially because there are no lines to memorize and I came to the role without any anxiety about simply remembering the words. We did four shows that November and I always say I was the oldest and whitest Judas ever. Another guy who became a friend, Patrick Griggs, played Jesus, and we have supported each other in various shows ever since. 

Church choirs are not known for their rock voices, it turns out, and Patrick and I share the background of starting as rock singers, capable of more traditional musical theater roles.

Since 2004, St. Luke's has returned to JCS three more times. First, selected songs were combined with parts of a more traditional requiem which produced a mash-up "Requiem for a Superstar." In 2019, the church again used selections from the show, this time along with some material written by me (as designated "expert" in the musical). Patrick and I reprised our roles in both of those... and this week we "resurrected" that approach yet again. Patrick just turned 65, so it could be called the Medicare version of the show.

Each service was a little over an hour and featured about six songs, with "The Last Supper" ending the Thursday service (and leading directly to communion) and also beginning the Good Friday service (leading directly to "Gethsemane," Jesus's big number). 

The time-traveling applied to my singing, which was a bit strenuous for a 73-year-old without any voice training, but I did OK, at least according to my bride and lots of others who mostly seemed shocked that an old, white-haired guy could hit those notes. Honestly, I was confident... singing those songs ONCE. 

There were a few moments where I felt much younger, if only for a few fleeting moments. I walked away from Good Friday smiling. Maybe not the traditional response to such a dark day.

But that's what happens when you are time-traveling.

22 and on top of the world

It's March 22 and the coincidence of the date being the number of the most famous and scrutinized basketball player in the country, along with a deluge of "think pieces" and deep dives into how that player got to this level, and the fact that she and her team will begin NCAA tournament play tomorrow... well, that's difficult to resist.

Yes, that #22 belongs to Caitlin Clark. Heck, even brother Tim, out in SoCal, has weighed in (today) on this phenomenon, and brother Mike has shared a longform piece from ESPN with us that provides this young woman's sports history... and the immediate family has a little NCAA Women's pool going through CBS... 

It's a bit nutty, and my innate "Iowaness" tugs at my consciousness: How can a young person keep her head on straight when everyone seems to be praising her or questioning her or predicting unimaginable successes for her? When you are an Iowa fan, or maybe it's just part of an Iowa upbringing, a plain truth of life is that we should never brag or even predict success... doing so invites doom.

After all, the crops may look great in June before being ravaged by vagaries of weather. The Democratic caucuses can be taken away from the state, despite years of success and producing some significant upsets. The Field of Dreams can become just another giant corporate ballpark that overshadows the dusty infield that you could visit on a whim with just a dozen other curiosity-seekers only a few years ago. 

A true Iowa fan absolutely knows that Ronnie Lester will injure his knee in the national semifinal game in 1980 after hitting all four shots and two free throws in the first 12 minutes of the game. He never returned and Iowa lost. Yes, I know it was almost 44 years ago, but Iowa fans don't get over things like that.

As my dad often said, "Keep your expectations low to avoid deeper disappointment." Good advice in many aspects of life, but those expectations just keep bubbling up, despite our best efforts. He also was a devotee of never allowing your opponent to see your emotions, so I learned to keep a blank face whether a shot went in or not. 

I wonder what he would say about Caitlin Clark, who shares every emotion with everyone, at least on the court. Nah, I know he would not approve... 

When I saw the potential opponents in the Iowa section of the tournament bracket, I immediately started imagining the worst... Iowa going cold and suffering an early upset. Caitlin being smacked to the floor by some frustrated center and being carried to the locker room. A last-second shot that was an inch too long bouncing harmlessly away as the buzzer sounded... leaving the Hawks just short. 

Tomorrow afternoon I will become increasingly tense, bemoaning every missed free throw or careless turnover. I will mention to Kathleen how those miscues may come back to cost us later. She will ignore me and quite properly focus on the next play. 

For both of us, the very thought of the Hawks losing, as all but one team in the tournament certainly will, is both unimaginable and inevitable. We are Iowans, in the end.

No one can possibly understand what it's like to be Caitlin Clark, of course, and her bravado leaves Iowans bemused at times. We are wary of anything resembling hubris. 

But she is unique and, for once, that word is accurate, so we cut her a break. The tougher the situation, the calmer she seems. Almost everyone has felt overwhelming pressure, if only for a few moments and much more privately, and in various circumstances. That means we can feel some tenuous connection to a star athlete at the height of her powers, with the whole world watching. We so viscerally want her to do well, for the Hawks to triumph.

Here's a personal fleeting moment of pressure: 

I was a mediocre high school basketball player on a mediocre team but that didn't mean each game wasn't vital (to us). As a junior I was literally the 15th man on the team, remaining firmly seated as far from the coaches as was possible, silently hoping for a blowout (one way or the other)... the only chance I would see the floor. 

We were at Dubuque Wahlert in February of 1967 and, for once, we were handling them nicely. In fact, as the fourth quarter dwindled away, Regina was so far in front that Coach Norton had no choice but to insert the "final five" into the game. After about three minutes of mostly running back and forth as each team's subs fired up errant shots or tossed horrible passes, I found myself with the ball in my hands with the score stuck at 98-73, under ten seconds left on the clock (yes, there was more run-and-gun basketball in those days). A Wahlert player stumbled into me as I attempted a drive to the basket, and a foul was called by the dedicated refs. The crowd was appalled, just wanting the game to end, and that got their dander up, so to speak.

I stepped to the line to shoot two and I swear I had an out-of-body experience as the crowd went nuts, and all the noise joined together as a ringing in my ears. I made the first shot with no conscious thought. Well, I must have made it since the scoreboard added a point. The Wahlert crowd now had one goal: to keep their rivals (with me as the representative) from hitting 100 points... and they got even louder, if that were possible. 

Then I made the second foul shot, again with trembling limbs and not even having the wits to mumble a quick prayer before the ball left my hand (though since both teams were from Catholic schools, there is some doubt as to the deity weighing in). 

We had hit 100 and just seconds later the final horn sounded. There were pats on the back and smiles and a departing crowd that had at least enjoyed a cathartic experience of momentary but complete hatred for some skinny kid they would never think about again. 

I assume they all immediately forgot about it all. Clearly, I did not, despite those two free throws having no effect beyond the fleeting oddity of scoring 100 points. 

Caitlin Clark must feel that almost crazy enthusiasm constantly and it is evident that she welcomes the pressure. She claims to never get nervous during a game, though that's hard to believe... but there she is: doing amazing things time and again, no matter the score. There are times when it appears that Caitlin is functioning on some elevated level where we mere mortals can't intrude. 

Tomorrow, watching from 800 miles away, I will tense up during each foul shot she takes, silently lending my support and wondering if she ever gets used to crowd noise so loud that only ringing can be heard.

Then she will calmly swish two.

Ignorance plus apathy equals modern education?

Time flies when... well, it certainly flies whether we like it or not. And suddenly it's been three weeks since my last post. My excuse for two Fridays ago is that I was in the midst of the "Beauty and the Beast" show (as Belle's father, Maurice) and I didn't have the bandwidth to think about much else. The March 8 excuse? I was critiquing four Florida high school publications and was on deadline.

Could I have found a few minutes to post something? No excuse there. I was lazy... but I'm back. Were I in charge of my own snow shoveling, I might be using that for yet another excuse. We had about two feet of snow and the storm did not end until last night. It's that wet spring Colorado snow that we tend to get during our snowiest month of the year, and that might be a bit too much for an old guy to handle. Glad to see trucks with blades clearing our shared drive. If I had to I could get out and drive somewhere. 

I don't have to.

Interestingly, the "official snow total" for Denver was only 5.7 inches. That is the amount measured at DIA, which is the place such official measurements are taken, according to the National Weather Service. Another reminder that we should look for facts but never forget context.

But let's get to "top of mind."

I spent the morning grading Metro essays where I asked the students to analyze the rhetoric in six Super Bowl ads that I chose based on their popularity along with their varying uses of the three rhetorical appeals. The experience was an eye-opener. Most of those college students have only the most tenuous grasp of what each appeal might be. They really like to mix up ethos and pathos, with some students freely citing the same emotional appeals almost randomly as examples of appeals to ethos or pathos. 

Several students are quite certain that "ethics" is basically the same as "ethos," which leads to all sorts of weird theories and claims. 

It may have been the timing of the assignment -- it was due Tuesday and spring break starts after today (Friday) -- so maybe I'm reading too much into this. But the entire group of 17 completed assignments was, in a word, appalling. Childish (though I never can state this elsewhere -- the poor, well, children), vague, riddled with typos and comma splices and fragments, not to mention logical lapses that a fifth grader would laugh about... it was a tour de force of ignorance and apathy. 

The ignorance part is forgivable. Many younger college students don't connect with what mainstream TV commercials expect their viewers to possess. If you've never even heard of Flashdance (the T-Mobile ad), good luck seeing the allusion. If it wasn't on TikTok or YouTube, forget about it. But the apathy indicated by college students who can't be bothered to run spell check or grammar check and who clearly hit "submit" the moment they feel they have completed the minimum amount of writing to get by... that's not forgivable. 

If I had a relationship with those students I might be able to use some combination of shame, humor, sarcasm, and inspiration to push them to at least read over their work before they turn it in. But I don't, and I won't, and, in the end, none of us may care enough to find a solution. 

Of course, I typed for hours (the online version of interacting), questioning and supplying "correct words" they meant to type, and proposing places where some sort of proof should go. If sheer effort and time invested counts as caring, maybe I do care. 

Perhaps some of my students will read my comments and consider approaching their writing in different ways. I really do think they have things to share. There is at least some evidence that they don't read my comments, nor do they read the readings I share.

The problem, and I may have stated this many times before in the blog, is that they hate writing so much that they can't wait one moment to get it off their "to do" list and get back to scrolling on their phones. 

I know I will later -- in a couple weeks -- feel refreshed and willing to face another set of papers with optimism and courage... but today I know this: my Metro students are not clear communicators and their future professional writing is likely to be ineffective, if not ludicrous. 

Yet we press on. 

'What a drag it is getting old...'

Being old is in the news, particularly in our political season where two likely candidates are squaring off for their respective party nominations... and both are already older than any other American president in history. It is politics, of course, but also a nasty dose of ageism combined with U.S. voters and pundits more interested in live performance than wisdom or leading an effective team.

Jimmy Kimmel has a bit where we watch President Biden carefully descend steps from Air Force One where Kimmel pretends to hold his breath and agonize over whether Joe will make it to the tarmac. We all laugh, even while feeling a bit guilty. It was only three years ago when we all laughed at video of Trump shuffling carefully down a ramp at West Point after delivering a speech. 

Can we accept that neither man is at his best at this point? 

The media is, as usual, not covering itself in glory by focusing on the latest Biden memory slip ups and his somewhat quiet delivery. Trump apparently gets a pass no matter what outlandish thing he comes up with, maybe due to him being able to declaim loudly. Let's face it, both men deserve criticism and neither SHOULD be running for president, but we are not a logical nation.

A large portion of the country seems to prefer loud and stupid (perhaps treasonous) to quiet and considered. Bottom line: we are a nation of morons, by and large, led by the shameless and cynical, obsessed with the show and with the constant need to be entertained.

Honestly, we don't deserve nice things. 

In my own old age news, I am about to launch into show week for "Beauty & the Beast" which opens next Thursday night. I play Maurice, Belle's slightly odd inventor father, so my white hair and wrinkled skin are perfect. I don't know if I ever was a whiz at memorization, but this show has been a challenge. It's not the volume of lines, but there are cues and timing... and I have only recently felt even marginally comfortable with those lines. Five rehearsals in the next five days may do the trick.

In a month, St. Luke's is bringing back a pair of Holy Week services that involve selected songs from "Jesus Christ, Superstar," which I memorized back in the early 1970s, and still can conjure up with no preparation. I played the part of Judas, my favorite character from that rock opera, in November of 2004, when I was 54 and already the oldest and whitest Judas ever. 

I wrote some narration for weaving the history and meaning of the musical into Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services in 2019, and assumed that would be it. Judas is very angry and very loud and sings very high... and there is some point when we just can't hit the "old notes." I did OK, but...

During the last week of March (Easter is March 31), I will be attempting to rock it at 73.8 years of age. My hope is that my voice is already sort of wrecked, so what damage can really be done? And I also hope that I have enough energy to sing the songs one time (not like a multi-performance run of a musical). 

BTW, my partner over the past nearly 20 years is Patrick, who turned 65 today. He plays Jesus and must summon even higher screams than Judas does... and needs to be lots more sympathetic. 

Just to pull it all together, he is playing the Beast in next week's show. 

Neither of us is as old as Biden or Trump, but I guess we aren't letting that stop us. Will we be as good as we were 20 years ago? Who knows? Perhaps the congregation will simply gaze in wonder ass two senior citizens attempt to sing those challenging songs. 

It's possible it will all go sour, as Judas sings in "Heaven on Their Minds," but I give us a decent chance of pulling it off.

That requires a tiny amount of faith, and so does voting for Joe Biden, despite his increasingly frail physical condition. 

I choose a guy who makes sense and who seems to genuinely care for people and for the country over a guy who only cares about himself and who has lost the ability to make cogent sentences. 

Yay, old people.

History. 'Herstory.' Whatever it is, it is incredible.

So, how does Caitlin Clark top last night? Between breaking the NCAA points scored record with a 35-foot three-pointer, Coach Bluder stopping the game a moment later with a timeout to let the team celebrate, the 49-point Iowa record total for a game, and then 15,000 fans hanging out after the game to cheer and scream and, maybe, shed some tears... well, it seemed like a "valedictory" moment.

A valedictory is a farewell address given by the student earning the highest grade point, to be technical. Caitlin's (may I call you Caitlin?) GPA -- measured in points and amazing moments -- is clearly the highest in her class, which spans an entire nation. 

Here's the thing about valedictories: they are given as part of high school or college graduation. They mark a transition (we are always careful to avoid speaking of "endings," and we call the event "commencement," as in commencing adulthood). But, pragmatically, those left behind are symbolically saying goodbye to the student speaking and her classmates. 

Kathleen and I agree that despite our joy in the incredible success of the Iowa women's basketball team, next year should see Caitlin move to the WNBA, to the Olympics, to a stage that may embrace much of the globe. Yes, the fans chanted "one more year!" over and over, but there is a rhythm to college sports, particularly for women, that feels right at four years and then onward. 

Of course, Covid screwed things up, and the NCAA decided that the 2020 season would not count against athletes' eligibility, so Caitlin could return for a fifth season. But to what end? 

Her best friend (Kate Martin) is already in her sixth year (injuries, red shirts, it all seems loosy-goosy), as is Gabby Marshall. Molly Davis, the tiny ball of energy who transferred to a bigger stage last year, is in her fifth season. Those three will be gone. 

Whatever happens in the Big Ten tournament and March Madness, there is a logic to Caitlin joining her three friends in a fond farewell to their University of Iowa years and charging into whatever futures await them. 

From all appearances, Caitlin's teammates love her and support her without limit. They are a close team and they like to talk about their circle being tight. 

But Bluder is bringing in a terrific recruiting class, and Sydney Affolter and Hanna Stuelke are ready to become all-conference in their own rights. By all means, let's take this season as far as we can... but nothing is guaranteed. 

Iowa upset South Carolina last April in the national semifinals, and that was the only game that incredible team has lost in two years... but it happened against all odds. LSU rode some unusual shooting from unheralded players to beat the Hawks a couple days later. You just never know what might happen, which is one reason we love sports.

Nebraska celebrated like it had won a national championship just a week ago in Lincoln after pulling an improbable upset over Iowa... and then promptly traveled to #2 Ohio State a few days later only to be blown out 80-47. Can you say "let down"? 

Perhaps the most incredible thing about Caitlin Clark is that she hardly ever "lets down," and perhaps we have become a bit jaded. Ah, another logo three. Oh, there's another 40-foot bounce pass for a layup. 

College fans often embrace a feeling of "ownership." Iowa is proud of one of its own. It's great to be a Hawkeye! But it's not like we really "own" athletes who don our school's colors.

Caitlin will always be a product of the state of Iowa, but I sense that she is ready for a wider stage and more challenges. I would guess that many WNBA veterans will be licking their chops at the opportunity to put this young upstart in her place... to shut her down... 

But my guess is that she will be fine. 

It should just be in WNBA arenas across the country.

Deja vu, all over again

The first "big" essay for my Metro class was due Tuesday night and the results were mixed. This should never be a surprise, particularly considering my long experience with student writing, but I clearly am not a quick study.

This essay is on a significant scene, with the goal being to recreate that scene, complete with characters and details, and to avoid TELLING readers something meant a lot and instead SHOWING the meaningful moment. 

Here's an example from my own writing, just yesterday, sharing some random memories with two of my brothers of being an altar boy in the later 1950s. Now, we could have settled for some vague commentary on how wacky the experience of helping the priest give communion at the alter rail, followed by "you are so right." But would that even come close to recapturing the moment?

My most superficial thought in remembering the job of altar boys to hold the patin beneath each recipient's chin, just in case the host did not make it to the tongue (and saving the consecrated host from falling to the floor), was well, to leave it there. BTW: those vague comments could be perfectly spelled, grammatically correct, with sophisticated diction and syntax... and still the narrative would be unsatisfying.

But here is what I ended up sharing, though not after a few edits and additions and clarifications:

I often boasted (likely to Mike) that I held the St. Thomas More record for most "saves," totalling three over a number of years at the altar. I did fantasize at times about how easy it would be to clip an Adam's apple with a quick wrist flick, and Mike is so right about how, well, gross the whole enterprise was. Monsignor Conway was quite dextrous with his dispensations of the host, but there was some other guy (the name escapes me) who was quite erratic. Sometimes he seemed to reach the wafer right to the back of a person's throat, taking advantage of a wide-open mouth. Other times he might hit the side of the mouth, but continue on, bending the host and cramming it in there. The "saves" tended to be the fault of the congregant who might withdraw his or her outstretched tongue prematurely, creating a limbo with the host neither grasped by the priest nor resting snugly on the tongue. I lived for those moments but they did add some stress to what should have been a routine gig. Of course, hosts DID occasionally fall to the floor, despite our best efforts, and they were considered grave errors by all. I often thought that each save of a consecrated host might pay off with some Purgatory waivers. I always assumed I would not be admitted to Heaven without some further penance, even when I was 8. That likely explains much about me.

Of course, exploring that combination of fear and hope that is so nicely captured by the concept of Purgatory (sort of a waiting room for Heaven, according to the nuns, where things would be OK compared with Hell but always frustrating... until the eventual invitation to enter the pearly gates would arrive) would take much more thought and exploration. But that little scrap of memory at least recreates a sense of a scene that has significance to me. 

I was looking for a few more things from that first essay, though exploring a specific scene was the key to success. A few students submitted the entire essay in ONE paragraph, and my response was to insert a zero in the grade (to grab their attention) and then suggest that they submit a second draft. I even suggested specific places where the shift in scene, speaker, or voice should be a new graf. Others clearly could not be bothered to right click on typos, which continues to surprise me after all these years.

After all, the university provides a free Microsoft Word license to all students and the built-in artificial intelligence comes as a default setting. I often wonder about how much some students hate the idea of writing... they can't even be bothered to right click on the underlined word or phrase and choose the "solution" to the problem. 

The most common problem grew from students simply not following their own internal logic and adding some sort of example. 

The good news for the students (maybe)? They all have a chance to submit a second draft NLT Sunday night and I will replace their original grade (if things improve at all). The potential benefit for me? Future assignments may be less error-filled, allowing me to respond more about their content and use of rhetoric. Hey, it's win-win.

Nuttiness so crazy that laughter is the only response

"Never underestimate the stupidity of people in large groups."
                                                                                            - George Carlin

Hearing about some nutcases who seem deep into a complex plot to sway an election through the entire National Football League plus a world-famous pop star plus her tight end boyfriend... and a dramatic endorsement of a candidate at halftime of the Super Bowl... well, let's just say it's about as over the top as I could imagine.

But there we are. The good news (and I know I'm supposed to be looking for the positives in 2024) is that the entire fantasy will end on Feb. 11... when nothing at all happens at the Super Bowl other than a mind-numbing parade of commercials and what normally is not a very close game.

There could be some dramatic pronouncement at halftime, but I have nickel bet that it won't.

I do hope there are some terrific commercials and that the game comes down to a final play... though I don't really care much about who wins. There are former Hawkeyes on both teams, which feels like a personal connection, though it contains its own fantasy elements. After all, I never saw any of those ex-Hawks play in person while they were at Iowa and don't know much about them.

A selfish reason to hope for some excellent commercials is that I want to incorporate some of them into my Metro State Composing Argument course. After all, a commercial is an argument, either pushing us to spend or to vote or to act in some way, and Super Bowl commercials tend to appeal to a broad audience (with over 100 million watching worldwide).

Students tend to enjoy first watching a quick video and then analyzing HOW the commercial made its case. It's a nice way to "trick" people into doing some rhetorical analysis and I am not above using whatever tactics I can find to nudge my students in that direction.

Of course, it is only occasionally that the "learner" takes the rhetorical strategy to heart and incorporates it into an upcoming essay. But when that does happen it provides just enough motivation for the often-frustrated professor to try again, to create more such opportunities.

Plus, there is the comfort found in simply trying to raise the rhetorical level of students who may spend hours a day scrolling TikTok (which, of course, possesses its own rhetorical strategies). Were I younger and hipper I would certainly find some way to add TikToks to my inventory of rhetorical models... but that seems exhausting to me now. If I were back in a high school classroom? Oh, yes. 

Firing up some TikToks would cement my position of fun teacher who is tied into the zeitgeist. 

But then I would likely ruin it all by insisting that those students use spell check and complete sentences. 

"Oh, Mr. Kennedy. You're so last century."

Someone who is definitely not last century is Taylor Swift, who is a global phenomenon. She is idolized by millions, and she is #1 among a magical run of famous and talented young women who dominate their fields.

Iowa basketball player Caitlin Clark is one of those incredible young women, adored by many though not across the globe (yet). She is just 22, with so much basketball ahead of her, but she seems to transcend the sport much as Ms. Swift transcends music. 

But I read that Caitlin ("may I call you Caitlin?") may get squeezed out of the 2024 Women's Olympics team due to sheer numbers, returning starters, etc. 

It will be tough for a coach to deny America and the world such a dynamic player on a world stage. In the same way, it is a lock that Ms. Swift will be in Vegas on Feb. 11 for the Super Bowl after flying from Tokyo after a concert and that millions will be thrilled to catch a glimpse of her in a luxury box during the broadcast. 

The biggest thrill for me, however, will be when she rushes onto the field and grabs the microphone from Usher and commands the world to vote for Joe Biden. I just hope someone nudges Mr. Biden awake for that moment.