Looking for Mr. Prog-Hop

It's not easy for someone like me, 52, white, and baptized in the waters of 70s rock, to come to terms with hip-hop. I tried, at least I always say I tried, to pick up on what people were calling the great masters of the genre.

Sorry Tupac, you're just another Jim Morrison to me: charismatic wild-child buried early but lyrically unimpressive and musically uninspiring.

What I need is some Prog-Hop. Something technically demanding, multi-layered, and with lyrics that lean into literature. My students have tried to to help. "Lupe Fiasco," they say, "Here, Mr. Rice," they proffer, "you must try Immortal Technique." Not even close.

Now, I pick up this week's issue of Seven, and am teased by a piece on Ekoh by Camille Cannon. She teases me with lines like, "This year, Ekoh’s poetic flow is rippling deeper than ever." Even more  tempting is the title of his latest release, Zzyzx Road, which strikes a Joshua Tree chord in my latter-20th century bosom.  

I haven't spun the digital turntable on Ekoh yet, but I'll let you know the outcome once I have the courage to get disappointed again.

This year, Ekoh’s poetic flow is rippling deeper than ever. - See more at: http://vegasseven.com/2013/09/25/ekoh-resonance-man/#sthash.fnYLttDC.dpuf

This year, Ekoh’s poetic flow is rippling deeper than ever. - See more at: http://vegasseven.com/2013/09/25/ekoh-resonance-man/#sthash.fnYLttDC.dpuf

This year, Ekoh’s poetic flow is rippling deeper than ever. - See more at: http://vegasseven.com/2013/09/25/ekoh-resonance-man/#sthash.fnYLttDC.dpuf

This year, Ekoh’s poetic flow is rippling deeper than ever. - See more at: http://vegasseven.com/2013/09/25/ekoh-resonance-man/#sthash.fnYLttDC.dpuf

This year, Ekoh’s poetic flow is rippling deeper than ever. - See more at: http://vegasseven.com/2013/09/25/ekoh-resonance-man/#sthash.fnYLttDC.dpuf

Pedagogical Resurrection

I gave my last high school semester exam in June of 2012, pulled the student projects from the walls, picking staples like nits from the orange peel drywall. I started this project in 2007 and its end came in a shrugging anticlimax of last-day checklists and whiteboard cleaner..

I knew I would miss the classroom, miss the students, miss the energy. The room echoed my emptiness. Cast adrift, I walked out, unlocked my car, and drove home. the reasons I left were varied, but they had nothing to do with the relationships I formed with my students. In fact, those relationships kept me tethered to a job that gradually seemed an exercise in futility.

Fortunately, I had picked up a job in 2010 as a freelance writer for Vegas Seven and Greg Miller, the managing editor, asked me to put together an essay on why, on that warming June day, I walked out of my classroom for the last time. Here it is.

http://vegasseven.com/latest/2012/08/23/back-school-not-me

Now it seems I can get back to building relationships and teaching again. I have missed the classroom more than I ever thought I would. I assumed my estrangement wouldn't be painful for long. My wife and I rolled across country in September and hopped around Europe in October. When we returned, I picked up a short gig filling in for Virtual High School and kicked up the output for Seven. Still, something was missing. And I'm not talking Jesus.

It looks like I've found a fix for my jones. Due to happy blend of synchronicity and networking, I picked up an adjunct teaching position at Nevada State College. Now I'm in my fourth week teaching English composition to 15 college freshmen. So far, so fucking awesome.