Group Story, Courtesy of My Students

So I have to preface this by saying:  I have done NO editing on this document whatsoever except to remove the contributors names from the content.  Spaces indicate when a new writer begins. Otherwise, it's as is and it's still evolving!  I started things rolling and even as I write this post, there is a new entry appearing via Google Magic on the page.  I'm getting a hoot out of the creativity of my students.  ENJOY!

On the night the zombies attacked, I was walking my dogs in the park, a typical after dinner activity.  But things were strangely quiet this night, with only the slightest breeze rustling the barren trees that had just be subjected by our first snow of the winter.  The sky was strangely illuminated as well, looking something like this, the shadows of the trees dancing lazily in the darkness.

Then the silence was broken by a single, strange crunching noise.

I twisted my head around like that of an owl to catch a glimpse of what may have caused the snapping of twigs behind me. My eyes squint as I scan the immediate surroundings. The dog, my guardian would be of no help tonight. His tail bent tightly beneath his legs while his ears were sharply pulled back. I knew he felt the same terror and uncertainty I had. I pulled out my flashlight, which was kept attached to my keychain. I had hopes of seeing a cat, maybe a squirrel, hell I would take the sight of a rabid dog over what I eventually saw. While panning the light back and forth over the bushes and large tree where the sound came from, I saw a slight rustle in the leaves. I slowly crept forward, my dog remained as if he was frozen in time, he would not move a muscle. I slowly bent down to put his leash on the ground before proceeding any further. That’s when it happened, that’s when I saw the worst possible sight. “Already?!? So soon!?! I thought we had more time, I thought we could leave before they ever made it here!” was the dialogue running through my head in the split second I caught a glimpse of the first undead in New Mexico.

I stood there for what felt like an eternity with my fear strictened guardian.  Debating what I should do to get both of us to safety, which turned out to be harder than I had originally planned for this worst case scenario.  Right now, the only thing I can think of doing is to throwing my flashlight in the opposite direction and running away for dear life while holding my loyalest friend.  I do not have much time to act, as the undead beast I believe has heard me moving by now.  I honestly do not know how distracted it can get, but I must try.  

So I throw my flashlight intending for it to draw the undead away from me.  Instead… it hits the beast smack dab in the head and it snaps its head quickly towards my direction.  I pick up my dog and run away like never before.  All I can think to myself is, “Undead? That thing… moved too fast… to be undead.  How?  Why? What are we really up against?”

It feels as if I have run almost a half a mile from where I spotted that thing.  I’m not sure if it has even followed me.  Suddenly, I run into an unsuspecting object.  All goes black for a few seconds, then realize it is my friend Jackson.  “Get up, now” he says while whispering,  “There are undead lurking all around us.  Keep yourself and that dog quite.”  I do as he says, while still in a haze not knowing fully where I am in this enormously oversized park...

We stood there looking, listening, stood so quiet you could hear the drop of a pin, then suddenly another noise crept near as and my dear friend and guardian slightly whimpers. As Jackson as I looked around we then realized we had to keep moving slowly and quietly to stay unseen and unheard. I am still unsure if the undead followed me but remembering how fast it had moved and still in the back of my mind, “I hit it with the flashlight! How could I be so reckless, so stupid?” Then we hear another creak, crunch, snap, and rustle in the leaves that have fallen from the trees, in the bushes, and twigs lying in the grass that my dear guardian loved playing fetch with so much. The noises seemed to be all around us.  We were terrified frozen and and still uncertain of what was called the “undead” when suddenly Jackson says were surrounded!!! What do we do where do we go????

I look at Jackson, who appears to be more calm than I. He suggests two options, we climb up the nearest tree and stake out up there for the night, then make a run for it during the day. Or we run now. I panic, as we do not really have much time to figure out which plan will be best. If we run now, we could attract more beasts by the sound of us rustling through the brush, and we cannot see clearly where we are going; “Stupid, stupid, me” I think to myself, for throwing my only source of light. On the other hand, if we climb up a tree, we’re stuck up there until dawn, and my four-legged friend will be a hassle to hang on to up in the branches. I ask Jackson, “Can those...beings climb?” Neither of us knows the answer to that question.
At this point, we can hear rustling getting closer, and know that either way, we need to act fast. Jackson picks up my terrier, zips him into his backpack, and starts his ascent. I have no choice but to follow.

It felt like we were on this journey for days when in reality it was less than an hour, with every step it seemed we were getting nowhere. Jackson still leading the way we are more than half way across the park, and have passed plenty of trees that seem suitable for the night yet we haven’t stopped. When just then he stops dead in his tracks and I follow not knowing what he has spotted. There it was so close I could touch it, holding my breath so that it didn’t notice we were there I hoped that my fury friend didn’t let a bark out..

Five minutes have passed and we are on the move again the question is “where exactly are we going?” When just then I see it, a tunnel with plenty of space for all three of us. As we get settled in we hear howling in the distance, what could it be.. A wolf? A dog? or is that the undead? Panicking we stay as still as possible. Whispering Jackson tells me “At dawn we leave, no exceptions.” Taking shifts on watch out I see one heading right towards our tunnel, now my decision is whether to wake Jackson or silently wait until it passes us by… hopefully!

I try to wait for the walker to pass by but suddenly I accidently bump into an old shopping cart as I was trying to hide in a more secure position. The noise alerted the walker and woke up Jackson, Jackson quickly stood up and saw that the walker was closing in on me. He grabs a pipe that was lying on the ground and sprints towards where im at. Jackson and I start to run out of the tunnel when more walkers start to appear, We stop and look for any escape routes, we’re trapped the only way out is to fight our way through the zombies. I grab two thick 4x4s, Jackson and I make eye contact as we both know that one of us may not make it out of this tunnel alive. Jackson sprints toward the walkers first, making a way for me to follow behind him, We start hitting, kicking, and punching as we fight our way through the tunnel. I hear a scream...Jackson is swarmed by 4 walkers. I try to go back to save him but he waves me off as the walkers take him to the ground and start eat away at Jackson….

I stood there terrified at the unimaginable horror of watching Jackson's helpless yelps as the walkers munched at his legs and torso. I stood frozen, unable to move a single muscle. My vision felt blurry and my heart was pounding while gasping for air. The fear of being eaten alive by these walkers had taken over my body. My legs felt so weak that I could hardly stand. “Breathe!!!” I kept on telling myself. “I need to run…. I need to run….”  I kept on telling myself. After a few more seconds, in what felt like minutes the fog on my vision began disappear.

I came to all senses and ran to……………

...the first tree that I could spot. I looked around, panicking. Trying desperately to calm down; to think straight. I dropped to the ground with my back against the tall rough tree trunk trying to catch my breath.That’s when I heard the ruffling of feet and groaning. SCRUNCH SCRUNCH SCRUNCH! The footsteps were getting closer and closer. My dogs started growling at the slow moving dark shadow. I thought to myself, “Shhhh! Please don’t bark or they will find us!”. I tried to calm him down by petting him, but he ignored my attempt to soothe him. I knew that it would only get worse from there…….and it did.

The groaning got louder as each step crept towards us . I started freaking out, trying to decide whether I should run or climb the tree. “Time is running out!” I thought. GRRARGH GRRARGH! It seemed as if the zombie were a few steps away from us. My dog’s growls soon turned into barks, and I knew at that moment I had no choice but to climb the tree. I pulled myself up the twisted branches with the last strain of energy I had left in me. I felt great relief that I was safe, for now at least.  I looked down at my dogs and at that very moment they pounced on the zombie, tearing at his flesh. I looked away, not bearing to see the horrific sight. I looked away only to see something more disturbing: there are more coming.

Everything started sinking in. I had thought this was a typical evening in the park with my dogs but it all turned so gruesome. In such a short time span me and my dogs were running away from what seemed an ever growing number of horrific monsters whose only purpose was to terrify us the living and make us one of their own. My dear friend Jackson, killed before my own eyes! It was too awful to think about, but at the moment I couldn’t manage to shed even a single tear for him. I was too frightened to cry. Could these undead be roaming the whole city? What if they are out there terrorizing and eating the flesh of the thousands of innocent men, women and children of my peaceful town? What if I make it home to find some of my family members and friends dead, having been eaten alive like Jackson was?

All of a sudden I grew even more fearful of the situation. This is silly I thought to myself. It must be a dream as it always is like on television. I pinched myself and closed my eyes hoping to wake up from this awful nightmare. Nothing. It was all the same. I looked down from where I was on the tree. One of my dogs was looking up at me while the other one looked into the large, noisy crowd of zombies that was approaching my tree as he growled and barked at them. Within that scary looking crowd of zombies I saw a familiar face: Jackson, now turned a zombie. He was a part of them now, and he wants to kill me. If I stay in this tree, I thought, I’m certainly going to be killed, and so will my dogs. I have to get off of here and make it home. I must know what happened to my family, not to mention I have weapons in my home in case I need them. I pulled myself together knowing this was the only way, and I slowly climbed off the tree.

As soon as my feet hit the ground my dogs and I started on an all out sprint to get home. I have never run so fast in my life, but the thought of not seeing my family again or even worse seeing them as a part of the living dead terrifies me to the point of near insanity. Finally after what seemed to be hours of intense all out sprinting to my home I raced inside to see what may have become of my family only to find them calmly sitting in the living room as if nothing were happening. This made me very uneasy, questioning whether in fact if what I just witnessed was real or all a fragment of my imagination. Then at that very moment I heard a very loud bang on the door reassuring me that what I experienced was real and had now followed me home. Quickly, almost instinctively I ran into the next room and grabbed as many weapons as I could carry and began distributing them among my family while also explaining to them the situation that was occurring right outside our door. Startled I  witnessed the same look of horror in every single member of my family’s eyes, the same look and feeling that I felt during my initial encounter with the undead, now however I knew we were in it together and would have to fight our way out in order to survive.

Quickly, I assured my family that these were walkers that will not only eat you alive, but will do so with no remorse as they were only looking to feed on flesh. I told my wife of 20 years, Jennifer Lopez to start locking all the doors and to bar all the windows. As for my only son Justin Bieber, I told him to take out the trash before it starts to smell like one of those walkers. As I was searching in the cabinets for alcohol, to make a Molotov cocktail, I noticed a face masked with blood looking through my kitchen window...it was Jackson. He was slowly scratching at the window as his nails ripped off his fingertips, there was only one thing left to do as he was smudging my window with those blood covered hands. I raised my .357 Magnum and aimed right between the eyes of Jackson, slowly cocked the hammer back and readied myself as I was about to deuce Jackson with a Hollow point. BAM!!! Shattering the window and blowing Jackson’s head to pieces, I got a glimpse as to what exactly kind of situation my family is in. The whole house was surrounded, at least 100 in the front of the house, and another 50 surrounding the rest of the house. I find some alcohol and ready a Molotov, as my wife screams from the back door, I rush to her plea and see that walkers have broken through the back door and were rushing in. My dogs were on the ready and were mauling the walkers as they swarmed in. With only five bullets in my .357, a box of 30 rounds and a Mossberg shotgun with 24 shells, my wife readies the shotgun and I light the Molotov rag, ready to fight...

My dogs started to bark abruptly when they heard the cracking in the background in the darkness of the night. I was cowardly afraid when I heard them barking my eyes started to dilate, my sense rose and my adrenaline was running fast through my body that I could feel my heart beating faster every second of anticipation. I didn't have time to react when suddenly another dog came out behind the bushes of the trees. This dog it didn't look normal it's body was decayed looking, you could see the muscles of it and some of its skin was drooling down from its mouth and exposing its big canine teeth, blood was covering every inch of it. My heart sunk to the ground in fear seeing this dog, as thought of in only horror stories that I have read.

This zombie dog let out a various sound and then it exposed its teeth even more and  jumped in the air and the dog landed on top of me, I tried to quickly grab a branch while trying not to get bit by this zombie dog by holding its neck. I then grab the branch and the zombie was biting down on the branch crushing  it with every crack and I was trying to get the zombie dog off me, out of nowhere my dogs started to attack the zombie dog. One of my dogs started to bite the zombie dog around its neck while the other one was biting at its side of its decayed body. Then I saw the most gruesome thing of all the zombie dog started to eat one of my dogs ripping its flesh open with its canine teeth, my dogs skin was all over the other zombies mouth.I could not scream because I was to terrified, I also wanted to puke at seeing this but I couldn't.Then the zombie dog looked at me with its piercing red eyes, still in shock without thinking I ran for my life leaving my dogs behind afraid of was to become of me if I stayed.

I ran and ran for what seemed forever, my dog chasing after me. I somehow was able to outrun the zombies as I reached an empty park. I sat on one of the picnic tables trying to catch my breath and to try and to process everything that was going on. Was this really happening? Where is everyone? Are they really zombies? as I started to calm down my dog started whimpering and whining. I suddenly just fell to the ground and started convulsing vigorously! I was terrified. I didn’t know what was happening. My dog, my companion was dying and there was nothing I could do. I fell to my knees and held his head in my hands, my tears gushing out. Then everything stopped.

My dog was dead. The night was silent, nothing but the sound of the breeze through the trees and the creaking of the swingsets. It took everything in my to get myself together and accept the fact that I was alone. I got up and picked up my backpack. I remembered I had a pocket knife. It’s something I thought to myself. As I put on my backpack and turned to leave I heard a growl behind me. I was petrified. I slowly turned around and I saw my dog right in his blistering red eyes growling at me for the first time…

I quickly pulled out my pocket knife, I had to choices, I could just give up and stop for safety i mean at this point what do i really have to lose? I had left my family behind not knowing if they made it to a safe place or if the would now be part of the hundreds of zombies behind me trying to feed off of me. Second choice, i could use the only weapon i had left to kill my my now zombie dog. At this point i was even considering giving up and letting my dog take care of me before any other zombie would, but then in between the dogs growling i hear my son yelling out my name, i looked everywhere and could not see him but his voice sound so close to me that it had to be real it could not be my imagination playing tricks on me. As i kept looking for my son my zombie dog got closer and closer when suddenly a bullet went straight to his head right in between his eyes.

Again my son’s voice called out my name, i looked up and there he was on top of the tree i felt so relieved to know that he had made it out of the house and most importantly that he had found me though i was wondering what had happened to his mother i kept my curiosity in. We then…

I heard the growls of the zombie dog, so I took off running towards my son. At this point I knew what I had to do, to protect my child. As I ran towards my son I could feel the dog close behind me. I yelled to jack to turn around and run to a safe place, that I would be right behind him. We ran into a nearby house and closed the door just in time before the dog got to us. We could hear the dog scratching and growling outside the door. Then we heard nothing but silence. I took a look out the window to see what had happen, when suddenly he breaks through the window knocking me down on the floor and my knife sliding towards the staircase as I fight to keep him from biting me. I felt his drool dripping out of his mouth as he was attacking me. I told Jack to run to the closet by the front entrance and close the door behind him.With every ounce I had I threw him off of me and reached for the knife. I got up off the floor looking for where he had gone. I looked all around and did not see him anywhere. I called Jack and told him let's go before he comes back.

We ran out the front door looking for where to hide. We came upon another home that seemed to be empty. We knocked on the door to see if anyone was home. No one came to the door so we turned the knob to see if the door was locked. To our luck it was. That's when we heard growls coming from behind us again. I grabbed Jack and took off running down the street yelling for help. I could feel the dog now scratching my legs with his teeth. As I ran with Jack in my arms I tripped over a tree branch that broke off. Falling to the floor I threw Jack into the lawn of the house in front and told him to run inside. I turn to see the dog right on top me now, and with my knife in my hand now I battled with the dog trying to stab it. I slowly open my eyes waking  up from my nap seeing my dog on top of me licking my face…

Is this just a dream or was this reality? As I am awakening from my haze I look around and wonder where I am at and how I got here. I see a house out of the corner of my eye and recognize the neighborhood. I glaze into the night sky wondering when this nightmare would end. The dog licks my face and I go to rub the slobber off finding what appears to be blood. Head wound, not good. This was reality, now it is time to survive.

I sprint unsteadily to the door as I am applying pressure to my head wound. Undone from reality I look over to Jack who gives me a reasurring look that says it will be okay. I look for something other than my hand to apply pressure to my wound. There in the cabinets I find towels and hastily apply.

Style Chameleon

I've been told, repeatedly, that I can write well.  That is, I can write well if I writing well you mean I can copy the style of famous writers.  I blame my high school English teachers, who encouraged us to write sonnets in the style of Shakespeare and Browning, cantos that would prompt a new level in Dante's hell, and tales that would make even Chaucer blush (and that guy was clearly a big old perv).

Take, for example, this little excerpt from a geocaching puzzle I created.

That's right: if you want someone who can copy pulp horror writers from the 1930s, I'm your guy (HP Lovecraft probably would have sued me though)

Or how about Arthur Conan Doyle?  Yep, I can copy him too:

I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. It is indeed true that fortune favors the few.  A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination.

"You are engaged," said I; "perhaps I interrupt you."

"Not at all. I am glad to have a friend with whom I can discuss my results. The matter is a perfectly trivial one"--he jerked his thumb in the direction of the old hat--"but there are points in connection with it which are not entirely devoid of interest and even of instruction.  Supposing we read this headline in your dear paper, Benevolent Benefactor Belays Funds.  And what would take from this, my dear Watson?"

I seated myself in his armchair and warmed my hands before his crackling fire, for a sharp frost had set in, and the windows were thick with the ice crystals. "I suppose," I remarked, "that, homely as it looks, this thing has some deadly story linked on to it--that it is the clue which will guide you in the solution of some mystery and the punishment of some crime."

"No, no. No crime," said Sherlock Holmes, laughing. "Only one of those whimsical little incidents which will happen when you have four million human beings all jostling each other within the space of a few square miles. Amid the action and reaction of so dense a swarm of humanity, every possible combination of events may be expected to take place, and many a little problem will be presented which may be striking and bizarre without being criminal. We have already had experience of such."

"So much so," I remarked, "that of the last six cases which I have added to my notes, three have been entirely free of any legal crime, such as the case of the Dowager Dowry who paid in Ducats."

"Precisely. You allude to my attempt to recover the Irene Adler papers, to the singular case of Miss Mary Sutherland, and to the adventure of the man with the twisted lip. Well, I have no doubt that this small matter will fall into the same innocent category. You know Peterson, the commissionaire?  He is a simple man and, as we well know, nothing favors the weak, twice again."

"Yes."

"It is to him that this trophy belongs."

"It is his hat."

"No, no, he found it. Its owner is unknown. I beg that you will look upon it not as a battered billycock but as an intellectual problem. And, first, as to how it came here. It arrived upon Christmas morning, in company with a good fat goose, which is, I have no doubt, roasting at this moment in front of Peterson's fire. The facts are these: about four o'clock on Christmas morning, Peterson, who, as you know, is a very honest fellow, was returning from some small jollification and was making his way homeward down Tottenham Court Road. In front of him he saw, in the gaslight, a tallish man, walking with a slight stagger, and carrying a white goose slung over his shoulder. As he reached the corner of Goodge Street, a row broke out between this stranger and a little knot of roughs. One of the latter knocked off the man's hat, on which he raised his stick to defend himself and, swinging it over his head, smashed the shop window behind him. Ah, the folly of fools forever follows us, does it not, Watson?  In any case, Peterson had rushed forward to protect the stranger from his assailants; but the man, shocked at having broken the window, and seeing an official-looking person in uniform rushing towards him, dropped his goose, took to his heels, and vanished amid the labyrinth of small streets which lie at the back of Tottenham Court Road. The roughs had also fled at the appearance of Peterson, so that he was left in possession of the field of battle, and also of the spoils of victory in the shape of this battered hat and a most unimpeachable Christmas goose."

"Which surely he restored to their owner?"

"My dear fellow, there lies the problem. It is true that 'For Mrs. Henry Baker' was printed upon a small card which was tied to the bird's left leg, and it is also true that the initials 'H. B.' are legible upon the lining of this hat, but as there are some thousands of Bakers, and some hundreds of Henry Bakers in this city of ours, it is not easy to restore lost property to any one of them."

"What, then, did Peterson do?"

"He brought round both hat and goose to me on Christmas morning, knowing that even the smallest problems are of interest to me. The goose we retained until this morning, when there were signs that, in spite of the slight frost, it would be well that it should be eaten without unnecessary delay.

So the question is:  how does this amount to anything other than a passing fancy, tripping daisies, or elucidating nonsense?  

Now there's the real question.

Designing a New Course OR Help! Please! NOOOOOOO! It Can't Be Time Yet!

Did I really get myself into this mess?  Why, oh my do I do this to myself?  I know!  Let's go read email instead...  spam, spam, and more spam.

Oh, yes!  There are papers to read for the Pop Culture Conference Awards.  Let's do that first. Wait, I finished that in 5 minutes.  Has Berkeley Breathed posted a new Bloom County yet on Facebook?  Oh, some more friend requests?  Who is this person?  Do I know them?

Okay, that's it, I have to do it!  After all, I'm a fairly "social network" kind of guy.  It seems a natural extension to create a writing course dedicated to writing for the the internet.  Let's have EVERYONE write a blog!  Yay, that's it!  And Facebook!  Of course I'll create a dedicated Facebook page on Cyberwriting (do I get some nerd cred for that title?)  And Twitter!  Let's not forget Twitter.  #engl211, #socialmedia, #WTFamIdoingCheckingtheChiefsPatriotsScoreInsteadofWorking.

Yeah, okay.  Let's get to it: the biggest issue with designing a course from the ground up is organization: what order do we do things?  Is it going to be all asynchronous or not?  Are the modules going to be linear or free flowing?  Am I adding too many videos or not enough?  Am I encouraging "analysis paralysis" by having TOO MANY OPTIONS?

Well, I've come to the conclusion that I'm dividing this puppy up into five main modules:

• An Introduction/Orientation thingiemajigger (the technical, pedagogical term)
• A History of Social Networks (better dust off the LiveJournal & MySpace accounts)
• Blogging (where we will all maintain our personal blogs for the class, like this one)
• Microblogging (which will include use of Facebook, Twitter, and other stuff; maybe Instragram and Pinterest?) AND
• A Final Project, which will likely include some video blogging as well.  

Which reminds me: when is Joss going to create a sequel to Dr. Horrible?  Or is NPH (@ActuallyNPH) too busy right now.  Okay, I'm getting sidetracked again.

The biggest problem with creating a course like this is taking something that I usually apply as a supplement to courses and making it the course itself.  How do I go from turning what is essentially a massive, online cabal of communication tools into a writing course?  It's a bit like teaching people how to drive a car by using those customizable "car design" apps on company websites: sure, it's fun to do and zesty to behold but it doesn't really teach you how to do the task.

So that's what I need to figure out: how to I actually teach people how to write a blog, make their Posts and Tweets more effective than just spewing about what they ate today or how much they hate spoilers for Star Wars.

I'm going to have to dig deep to figure this one out.  And if you're one of my students reading this blog post, I hope you know that we're in this together.  I'm as confused as you are.

So I’ll leave you with this final thought, in video form… Lost in the Wilderness.

TA!  For now.

Realizing Twitter

Connecting the Disconnected: Pedagogy Goes Digital Native

I remember the first time I encountered Twitter- everyone’s favorite, love-it-or-hate-it microblogging miasma- I dismissed as many do; it was too callous, too “mainstream”, too much about #twerking and not enough about #OnlineLearning.  Then a few years back, I was teaching a composition course when word came in that a tornado had just swept through Joplin, Missouri, where many of my spouses’ family lived.  Immediately, we stopped class to pause and reflect, looking for any sources that could give us information about loved ones.  The traditional narratives of local news and The Weather Channel told us nothing.  Then some students pointed out that people living there were #LiveTweeting video of the tornado’s destructive path, complete with videos of what used to be the south side of the city, now a stream of rubble and destruction.  In this brief and sobering moment, my students and I collectively realized that online education, even through the seeming banality of Twitter, was real and profound.  And like all tools, Twitter was more than steady stream of Miley’s latest shenanigans; it had powerful pedagogical implications as well.  

The reality is this: we must redefine online pedagogy because social media is here to stay.   Is it any wonder that popular culture pedagogy is moving more from a focus on liberation pedagogy to a commodity based one?  While traditional “brick and mortar” course enrollment has flattened or even dropped recently, online courses continue to see increased enrollments.  In the case of the university system I’m in, we’ve seen an overall drop in enrollment of 10-15% since 2010 but an increase in online sections of over 30%.  And we know the reason, in most cases- as tuition increases and salaries remain flat, more students are forced into full-time work, relegating their degree programs to the virtual realm.  In addition, the bulk of our students are now digital natives, at least as comfortable with online interactions as they are with face-to-face ones.  It’s no surprise then that their preferred method of learning is an asynchronous, virtual one?   

The challenge is for us to reflect on better ways to adapt our courses to meet the needs of our students, becoming members of the Digital Communitas.  This may seem foreign to GenX and Baby Boom Professors, who still look at email as a modern mode of communication and Facebook as our primary digital connection to the world.  Our pedagogical challenge then is to speak the language of the #DigitalNative, to overcome what Prensky calls our “accents” as digital immigrants and still be able to operate with authority.  Social media can play no small part in this but so can allowing the use of smart devices in the classroom, something many of us have been reticent to do.  

So as we continue to reflect on #BestPractices and #LifelongLearning, the challenge is to question our assumptions about what makes for effective learning environments for our current students.  As a “digital immigrant” myself, I find myself chaffing at the thought of students punching away on their iOS device as I am conducting a lecture, until I realize they are #tweeting key points or taking notes in #GoogleDocs.  Each generation of educator must learn to adapt to our upcoming learners to help ensure #lifelonglearning happens for teacher and student.  

As popular culture scholars already know, there is a growing intersection of popular culture and the global classroom, helping teachers ground content in the relevant and topical, thus making materials more relatable and accessible to students.  This need is even more important in online pedagogy, when disengagement is the biggest complaint that students have about the virtual environment.  If we can engage in our subject through contemporary topics that invigorate and excite our students and ourselves, that’s half the battle right there, tornados or not.

Is it winter? It must be time to revisit B5.

It seems to happen every year.  I want to reexplore my past.  Why is this?  Well, I can pop psyche myself forever.  Maybe it's the sequence of tragedies that seemed to emanate in my former Decembers.  In late '90, my mom and dad moved back from Cruces, my mom in the final stages of terminal cancer (although I was kept blithely oblivious of this fact until the very end).  In '93, a college friend ended his existence on this planet with a single round to the head.  And in '96, one of my closest friends and- according to a mutually close friend- "my spiritual twin", lost his war with life after his umpeenth heart attack at age 44 (yes, I meant war with life, not death; you can ask me about that later).

So, you can imagine, the Yuletide season wasn't exactly a time to look forward to.  It wasn't until marrying my exwife Allison that I started to actually enjoy Christmas; her enthusiasm for the holidays was palpable and contagious.  And some of my closer friends started to help me foster an interest in pagan traditions, Wicca, and other beliefs that centered around our small part in the universe rather than a shakily-reasoned landlord over this rock of molten core.  It's no wonder then that I gravitated also to escapism and speculation, whether it be the high fantasy satire of Terry Pratchett or reliving middle school by playing in some really kick ass D&D games (NOTE:  If you don't like games- role-playing, board, card or otherwise- this is probably not the blog for you).  Television was also a friend (?) during this time, a reluctant truth that I am somewhat loathe to admit although I will say that television writing really does blow film out of the water from the way it can actually tell a complete story, not an expurgated one for the 2-3 hour cinema (don't even get me started about how Joss Whedon ruined Firefly with Serenity, albeit through the fault of the medium as much as anything).  <tangent tangent>

My staple viewing during the mid to late 90s was ridiculous, escapist silliness like Hercules and Xena although, to be fair, these shows also experimented with serial formats, sometimes breaking from the routine of episodic, 43 minute stories.  And don't forget, The Bitter Suite predates Once More With Feeling by about at least 3 years.

But the standout for me was Babylon 5.  There, I said it.  Before any hardcore Trekkers decide to bludgeon me with DS9 sticks, let me remind you that B5 was conceived conceptually before DS9 and actually pitched to Star Trek producers, who declined at the time.  Now, I'm not going to get into the speculation about plagiarism that way too many fanboys like to keep speculating along, I will just say that B5 was a more fully formed and realized "novel on TV" than DS9 could ever hope to accomplish.  DS9's achievements as phenomenal genre television isn't even in question here (their Tribble reboot will always go down as one of the best single episodes in the Star Trek universe).  But B5's goals were somewhat loftier.  Yes, the criticisms are clear:  the first season seemed very episodic and Michael O'Hare's wooden acting was tough to get used to (it saddened me to learn years later that he had monumental and debilitating depression during the entire run of the show, which would follow him to the end of his days).

Even so, I saw something different in B5 that would become a staple of television: the serial television show.  No longer did you have to write a soap opera that centered on the 1% and their self-induced problems as the exclusive median of season long storytelling.    B5, even in those early episodes, foreshadowed so much more to come.  And all from the mind of some of the great Science-Fiction writers out there, not least of which was the show creator, J. Michael Straczynski.  I sensed in Straczynski a soul searching, spiritual atheist  who had given up on  but still deeply respected the ancient beliefs and wanted to reconcile them with a post-modern secular and rigorously scientific world.

That is what Babylon 5 is for me then, a reconciliation, an explaining story for how intelligent beings came to be that way... and what's keeping us back from being even more.  It's a spiritual quest, a secular yet deeply spiritual dystopian novel but also a work of great hope.  I think, during this drizzly January, it's time to reexplore this world again.  I'll give some progress reports along the way.

CAVEAT!
If you intend to watch B5 for the first time because you're actually reading this (hahahaha!), I should lay some ground rules here.  It was a syndicated, low budget TV show, animated on Amiga computers, really impressive for the time but still nothing like the big studios could muster.  Acting is spotty and heavy-handed at times.  And the Shakespearean theatricality of the entire production beggers belief, definitely setting it apart from the gritty, hyper-real, shaky cam shows of today (which have their strong merits as well; not a dis, I assure you).

In any case, I truly believe that Babylon 5 lays the groundwork for excellent Sci Fi/Fantasy serials to come, such BTVS and the BG reboot.  If you can get passed the low budget and early wooden acting, this is one to see through to the bitter end.  As such, it remains one of my five favorite shows of all time.  BE WARNED: there are a few of those Go Fish episodes.  If anyone wants to follow the whole story arc but also wants to avoid the mingers, let me know.  I'll send you a list of ones you can miss.  Now it's time to dive into the future by going back to the mid nineties.  FUN!

First Ones Are Always the Hardest

Okay, let's cut to the chase: I'll be the first one to admit that setting up a blog is an exercise in self-indulgence and narcissism.

Why would anyone be interested in reading the ramblings of a perfect stranger?

Clearly, I must think very highly of myself to believe that anyone would.  I must have fascinating observations on the world that brings unique, exciting perspectives to the unwashed masses, bringing my clever and clearly remarkable insights to cyberspace in a way that will excite a new generation of readers.

My views on on politics or religion or sports or the latest scandal that will excite, amuse, annoy, or otherwise challenge even the most callous blogosphere veteran.

What's more, I will bring to this arena something that isn't accomplished often, a sense of perspective that can only come from a critical reading of Life, the Universe, and Everything.

Additionally, my life must be an endless array of adventures and challenges that will inspire readers to achieve great things, to succeed in the mightiest of tasks, to soar into the annals of mystery and redemption, to bring forth best from their inner selves.

Uh huh... well, maybe that's what I'd like to think.  And let's face it: anyone who has bothered to put themselves out there, to blog about the world- whether it be about the grandest of topics or the minutest of moments- has a desire to have others read what they've written and gone, "oh, that's a great point.  I hadn't thought of it that way before" or, at the very least, "This guy is completely full of shit."

The worst possible reaction to get from a blog post is to receive no reaction at all, to see your words fall on deaf ears, to garner indifference.  Indignation is a veritable joy for a blogger because even in a reader's hostility, you can provoke something as primal as anger or hate, a far better fate than a shrug or a passing nod.  So I'll admit it: this first post is a confessional, an admission that what I most want is to be heard.  All of the other stuff- making a difference, social change, inspiring Jesus light & wonderment- that stuff can come later.  For now, let's start the new year right and just put it out there, overcoming fear and allowing myself the chance to fail in front of the entire internet.

One last note:  the name of this blog comes from Lao Tzu, Taoist dreamer and philosopher.  But I could just as easily have quoted Neil Peart, when he wrote the lyric "The point of the journey is not to arrive."  You'll see what means in future posts.  For now, I'll just say this: let's not just embrace 2016.  Let's sidle up to it and whisper sweet nothings in its ear.  We may not know how it will react to this, but it sure will make us more accepting of what it has in store for us.