Our compatriots across the pond, the British and Irish, have many wonderful aspects to their language, not least of which is their multitude of accents. You've got the light lilt of southern England, the bouncy and jovial Cockney, the proper Queen's English, and the deeper Scottish and Irish brogues, to name a few. I love 'em all.
I have less love for some aspects of their grammar, on the other hand. In particular, I take issue with their use of the plural form of the verb "to be" in reference to a singular entity. Here's how it pans out.
When referring to, for example, football teams, the British headlines will read "Manchester defeat Leeds 2-1 in a fiercely-fought match." It's as if Manchester is a plural. To my mind, Manchester defeats Leeds. Manchester is a singular entity, regardless of whether we're talking about the city, or more precisely, the football team. If you want to use a plural correctly, then refer to a plural entity. Say "The players of Manchester defeat the players of Leeds."
Unfortunately, from what I gather, this would be a futile and uphill battle, were I to undertake such a battle abroad. But I have seen evidence of this inconsistency stateside, and I will oppose it. (Said our hero, shaking his fist at the universe.) Rolling Stone (the magazine) often uses this improper construction when discussing bands. "R.E.M. Begin Work on New Album," the headline will read, for example. It just doesn't make sense to me.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Spelling Bees and demographics
I'm potentially treading on thin ice here. Any discussion of superiority of race or nationality in one area or another is a lightning rod for controversy and flaming. So I will do my best to be sensitive, yet forthright.
It is no secret that Indians are dominating spelling bees nowadays. At the national level, the past five winners have all been Indian. Since 1985, when Balu Natarajan became the first Indian winner of the NSB, there have been 12 winners, 10 of whom have won since 1999. And at this year's bee, the top three spellers were all Indian. It really does beg the question: why?
I've been searching the Hexco website today. Hexco is a company that specializes in providing support and "educational tools for the serious student." The company originally specialized in just the spelling bee (I used their products back in my bee days), but has grown to include geography bees, computer education, and a litany of other subjects. And I found out, for the first time, all about the North South Foundation, which sponsors multiple competitions, including their own spelling bees. I recently found out about the South Asian Spelling Bee, also. Both cater exclusively to Indians.
At this point, I've just begun to explore this area, but suffice it to say that both of these institutions are catered to prepare Indian students for academic excellence. And aside from spelling bees, it is no accident that Indians are known for excelling in math, science, medicine, and yes...to bring up a stereotype, information technology. But I think that some stereotypes exist for a reason, and it's no quirk that Indians are exceedingly common in the IT world.
Back to spelling bees: if Indians place such emphasis on academic excellence, it makes you wonder: why not other demographics? I have no answer at this time. But I bet it has a lot to do with discipline, hard work, setting goals...really, no magic elixir, I'm sure. But the foundation for excellence is also placed in there.
It's interesting to note that in the history of the spelling bee, only one person of predominantly non-Indian Asian descent has won: Wendy Guey, in 1995. Interesting, because non-Indian Asians are also known for academic excellence, particularly in the realms of math, science, and -- perhaps moreso than Indians -- music. Again, why not spelling?
Jamaica, also, has traditionally been extremely competitive at the national level; although there has only been one Jamaican winner (Jody-Anne Maxwell, in 1998), this doesn't negate the fact that Jamaicans often are among the top spellers year in and year out. But they have an extremely dedicated coach who puts them through rigorous training; I had the pleasure of meeting him at this year's bee.
Is there a Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, written by an Indian, waiting to be published somewhere? Have priorities shifted for Americans of Caucasian descent?
It is no secret that Indians are dominating spelling bees nowadays. At the national level, the past five winners have all been Indian. Since 1985, when Balu Natarajan became the first Indian winner of the NSB, there have been 12 winners, 10 of whom have won since 1999. And at this year's bee, the top three spellers were all Indian. It really does beg the question: why?
I've been searching the Hexco website today. Hexco is a company that specializes in providing support and "educational tools for the serious student." The company originally specialized in just the spelling bee (I used their products back in my bee days), but has grown to include geography bees, computer education, and a litany of other subjects. And I found out, for the first time, all about the North South Foundation, which sponsors multiple competitions, including their own spelling bees. I recently found out about the South Asian Spelling Bee, also. Both cater exclusively to Indians.
At this point, I've just begun to explore this area, but suffice it to say that both of these institutions are catered to prepare Indian students for academic excellence. And aside from spelling bees, it is no accident that Indians are known for excelling in math, science, medicine, and yes...to bring up a stereotype, information technology. But I think that some stereotypes exist for a reason, and it's no quirk that Indians are exceedingly common in the IT world.
Back to spelling bees: if Indians place such emphasis on academic excellence, it makes you wonder: why not other demographics? I have no answer at this time. But I bet it has a lot to do with discipline, hard work, setting goals...really, no magic elixir, I'm sure. But the foundation for excellence is also placed in there.
It's interesting to note that in the history of the spelling bee, only one person of predominantly non-Indian Asian descent has won: Wendy Guey, in 1995. Interesting, because non-Indian Asians are also known for academic excellence, particularly in the realms of math, science, and -- perhaps moreso than Indians -- music. Again, why not spelling?
Jamaica, also, has traditionally been extremely competitive at the national level; although there has only been one Jamaican winner (Jody-Anne Maxwell, in 1998), this doesn't negate the fact that Jamaicans often are among the top spellers year in and year out. But they have an extremely dedicated coach who puts them through rigorous training; I had the pleasure of meeting him at this year's bee.
Is there a Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, written by an Indian, waiting to be published somewhere? Have priorities shifted for Americans of Caucasian descent?
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Wisdom from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
I watched this first of the Harry Potter movies last night. It's a wonderful movie, particularly for nerds like me. Through it, you live vicariously through a kid who has lived in dreary conditions for years, only to suddenly be swept up to a magical land where he is appreciated, even revered. But he has done nothing up to this point to earn any of it. He is told that he is an amazing wizard, and has been given, free of charge, the tools with which to create himself accordingly. And on a much more mundane level, he wanders through Diagon Alley with Hagrid, basically doing his back-to-school shopping. But for what other school do you require a pewter pot, an owl, and a wand? Magic suffuses this movie, and I'm not just talking about potions, herbology, or flying on the Nimbus 2000.
Along the way, he discovers, among other things, the Mirror of Erised. He sees his deceased parents in there, whom he has never known, beaming at him with pride and love. Understandably, it stirs his heart, and he begins to spend hours in front of the mirror. Perhaps days later, Professor Dumbledore finds him there, and tells him this about the mirror:
It shows us the deepest and most desperate desires of our hearts.Keep in mind that Dumbledore is talking about the Mirror of Erised. (Spell that last word backwards.)
Remember this, Harry: This mirror gives us neither knowledge, nor truth. Men have wasted away in front of it, even gone mad.
It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.
That is why tomorrow, it will be moved to a new home. And I must ask you not to go looking for it again.
For me, I must admit that the internet is a kind of addiction. I spend hours on it. It is my own Mirror of Erised. And I need to use it judiciously, to further my own goals, and not to get lost in my dreams.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Lightning vs. lightening
lightning (n): the flashing of light produced
by a discharge of atmospheric electricity from one cloud to another or from a
cloud to the earth; also : the discharge itself.
lightening (n): a sense of decreased weight and abdominal tension felt by a pregnant woman on
descent of the fetus into the pelvic cavity prior to labor.
I've seen far too many people (particularly on Facebook) use the word "lightening" to describe what happens during a lightning storm. PSA: please use "lightning" unless you happen to be an obstetrician, doula, or midwife describing what will happen during the last few weeks of pregnancy.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Cello Suite No. 1, Prelude - J.S. Bach
I'm a great fan of classical music. Actually, let me amend that. I'm a great fan of baroque music. Around the age of 11, I discovered how comforting and calming it can be, and how conducive it is to a great study atmosphere. Of course, there's a world of difference between, say, Tchaikovsky's boisterous 1812 Overture or Rossini's wild William Tell Overture (neither of which are baroque, of course), and calmer pieces like this.
Simply put, aside from the frequent ability for baroque music to create an ideal study atmosphere, it just puts one at ease. Give this a listen and see if it doesn't calm you down.
After the 2012 National Spelling Bee
So the 2012 National Spelling Bee has come and gone. I can't say that things turned out 100% as I would have liked. But I have very little room to complain, and after all is said and done, I'm immensely proud of Frank. Porwigle will haunt him to his dying day, but the sting of getting the one word he didn't know in the final rounds will slowly but surely fade. He performed tremendously, and definitely was a major contender. And hey...7th place in the nation? The highest placing first-timer from the US? Repeated accolades from Samir Patel (one amazing 5-timer from the mid 2000s) and Nupur Lala (1999 champion)? Nothing to bat an eye at.
I was so caught up in rooting for Frank that the winner, Snigda Nandipati, barely registered as a blip on my screen, so to speak. Especially after such killer rounds 5 and 9, everything else was, relatively speaking, nothing.
In the past, I've gone back and forth on whether Dr. Bailly's more jocular sentences were appropriate, but now that I've seen them in person, in an incredibly tense ballroom, I'm convinced that they really are appropriate...necessary, even. They are a great way to defuse some of the tension, and I'm grateful for them, actually. Even if a poor speller misses their word after hearing a funny sentence, the effort has at least been made to try and mitigate the sting of the bee.
And speaking of defusing tension with humor, this kid deserves a special award...and his place in bee lore is now secure.
The journey to the national bee was amazing, and the bee itself was agonizing, and perhaps not my favorite of all time, but still great. I'm happy to have been a part of it. I'm also very happy that studying is done and over with for now...it took a lot of time and preparation on my end. I'm taking at least a month off, and when I do start, it will begin at a slow, 2-hour pace, just like last year.
Yes, this is a short post. Hungry for more commentary from the point of view of a coach? Check the post I wrote for another excellent blog.
I was so caught up in rooting for Frank that the winner, Snigda Nandipati, barely registered as a blip on my screen, so to speak. Especially after such killer rounds 5 and 9, everything else was, relatively speaking, nothing.
In the past, I've gone back and forth on whether Dr. Bailly's more jocular sentences were appropriate, but now that I've seen them in person, in an incredibly tense ballroom, I'm convinced that they really are appropriate...necessary, even. They are a great way to defuse some of the tension, and I'm grateful for them, actually. Even if a poor speller misses their word after hearing a funny sentence, the effort has at least been made to try and mitigate the sting of the bee.
And speaking of defusing tension with humor, this kid deserves a special award...and his place in bee lore is now secure.
The journey to the national bee was amazing, and the bee itself was agonizing, and perhaps not my favorite of all time, but still great. I'm happy to have been a part of it. I'm also very happy that studying is done and over with for now...it took a lot of time and preparation on my end. I'm taking at least a month off, and when I do start, it will begin at a slow, 2-hour pace, just like last year.
Yes, this is a short post. Hungry for more commentary from the point of view of a coach? Check the post I wrote for another excellent blog.
Alex's Prayer
(Originally posted May 29, 2012.)
I'm here at the Gaylord National Resort and Convention Center just outside Washington, DC, again for the National Spelling Bee. And it is a wild time. It's always great to be back here. But for the first time, I am not in control of things, and this hits my nerves something fierce.
Let me explain. As a speller, yes, you are on stage, with all the cameras pointed at you, with everyone in the auditorium staring at you, as you try to spell words correctly. But you know if you know the word, and if you don't, you know if you think you can sound it out. As an audience member, you don't have that luxury. You can only hope the speller gets their word right. It's even worse if you are a family member, a friend, or a coach...you're not just enjoying the competition, you have a Vested Interest up there, and you want so, so badly for them to succeed, and you'll feel just awful if they don't.
For the last ten months, I have been coaching a young man whose father sent out a Craigslist ad asking for a spelling coach. This kid has been absolutely fascinated with the English language and all its intricacies. And with the help of movies, videos, and innumerable personal anecdotes, I have turned him on to bee culture in a HUGE way.
He won his district and state bees, and now he's here in DC, with 277 other peers, to compete. And as a visible previous national champion, I'm competing alongside him, also in a potentially very visible way. I may become a regular coach for spellers, and I've been slowly coming to the realization that with this bee rests a fair bit of my reputation going forward.
All the excitement in the world can be dissolved in an instant when you see your protege exit the written test round, mumbling slightly dejectedly about how he flat-out didn't know 4 of 50 words on the written test, and 2 others he kindasorta knew but still had to guess on. Here's the tough part: 25 of those words will count, and 25 are decoys. So this means that he could theoretically score as low as 19/25, or get a perfect score. If the former, then there is no chance he will make it to the semifinal rounds, which is his goal. If the latter, then his chances are virtually 100%. (See, he needs to spell two words out loud tomorrow as well, and hopefully get those right. Fortunately, those words are from lists he knows down cold.)
I'm trying to console myself with the thought that everyone will live and die by the same sword - the same 25-word test. And I'm probably overthinking and overdramatizing. But it definitely makes you pause: did I give him the right words to study? Did I give him the proper tools? Will he be okay? Suddenly, I find myself in the same position as other coaches...and more to the point, anxious parents who want their kids to succeed so badly.
So after this bit of unnerving news, and after some reflection, I walked down to the Hall of Champions, where banners show every winner at the moment of triumph from 1969 forward (along with their winning word). I'm up there, natch. There's also three displays with blurbs, pictures, and paraphernalia about the bee from its very inception forward.
Alex Cameron, for the previous generation of spellers (of which I'm a member), was the avuncular, comforting deep voice of the bee - literally and figuratively. His sentences were drier compared with Jacques Bailly's current jocularities. And he didn't radiate much charisma. But he was solid, stalwart, and reliable in a sea of chaos, and I really appreciated his presence and friendly nature throughout the bee. He unexpectedly died in 2003, after which a colleague of his wrote this poem/prayer in his honor:
God, bless all the keepers of words --
the most exotic of creatures --
because we need their precision to measure,
their colors to dream,
and their rhythms to sing.
Bless all the children learning to spell,
most of all when they are told
they must always go from left to right
and when they discover that every rule
at the worst possible time,
turns out to have an exception.
Bless most of all the children who stand alone,
moving a hidden finger along an invisible pad,
on a stage where the judges are armed with sentences
prepared in advance, and it is nearly impossible to be cool.
God, bless the words themselves,
as they flow through history
from the Himalayas, the Alps, and the Andes,
into the wide Midwestern river
where once, in a book,
a runaway boy sailed on an abandoned raft
and with a voice borrowed from servants,
spoke to a runaway slave,
and suddenly found the father he had always wanted
and the father he deserved.
God, help us to remember
the saints who sit on the porches of heaven,
practicing words like "euphuistic" and "pantagruelian,"
because they have lived in our world
and know that, sometimes, life is exactly like that.
Let them know that we are grateful
for every word
when we need to understand each other
and speak to you.
This poem is printed on one of those displays. It's a great reminder of the inspiration and legacy that Dr. Cameron left behind, and it somehow provided a bit of solace to me in the midst of the chaos at the bee right now. Bless these children up on stage, indeed, for they are about to go through a mighty crucible.
I'm here at the Gaylord National Resort and Convention Center just outside Washington, DC, again for the National Spelling Bee. And it is a wild time. It's always great to be back here. But for the first time, I am not in control of things, and this hits my nerves something fierce.
Let me explain. As a speller, yes, you are on stage, with all the cameras pointed at you, with everyone in the auditorium staring at you, as you try to spell words correctly. But you know if you know the word, and if you don't, you know if you think you can sound it out. As an audience member, you don't have that luxury. You can only hope the speller gets their word right. It's even worse if you are a family member, a friend, or a coach...you're not just enjoying the competition, you have a Vested Interest up there, and you want so, so badly for them to succeed, and you'll feel just awful if they don't.
For the last ten months, I have been coaching a young man whose father sent out a Craigslist ad asking for a spelling coach. This kid has been absolutely fascinated with the English language and all its intricacies. And with the help of movies, videos, and innumerable personal anecdotes, I have turned him on to bee culture in a HUGE way.
He won his district and state bees, and now he's here in DC, with 277 other peers, to compete. And as a visible previous national champion, I'm competing alongside him, also in a potentially very visible way. I may become a regular coach for spellers, and I've been slowly coming to the realization that with this bee rests a fair bit of my reputation going forward.
All the excitement in the world can be dissolved in an instant when you see your protege exit the written test round, mumbling slightly dejectedly about how he flat-out didn't know 4 of 50 words on the written test, and 2 others he kindasorta knew but still had to guess on. Here's the tough part: 25 of those words will count, and 25 are decoys. So this means that he could theoretically score as low as 19/25, or get a perfect score. If the former, then there is no chance he will make it to the semifinal rounds, which is his goal. If the latter, then his chances are virtually 100%. (See, he needs to spell two words out loud tomorrow as well, and hopefully get those right. Fortunately, those words are from lists he knows down cold.)
I'm trying to console myself with the thought that everyone will live and die by the same sword - the same 25-word test. And I'm probably overthinking and overdramatizing. But it definitely makes you pause: did I give him the right words to study? Did I give him the proper tools? Will he be okay? Suddenly, I find myself in the same position as other coaches...and more to the point, anxious parents who want their kids to succeed so badly.
So after this bit of unnerving news, and after some reflection, I walked down to the Hall of Champions, where banners show every winner at the moment of triumph from 1969 forward (along with their winning word). I'm up there, natch. There's also three displays with blurbs, pictures, and paraphernalia about the bee from its very inception forward.
Alex Cameron, for the previous generation of spellers (of which I'm a member), was the avuncular, comforting deep voice of the bee - literally and figuratively. His sentences were drier compared with Jacques Bailly's current jocularities. And he didn't radiate much charisma. But he was solid, stalwart, and reliable in a sea of chaos, and I really appreciated his presence and friendly nature throughout the bee. He unexpectedly died in 2003, after which a colleague of his wrote this poem/prayer in his honor:
God, bless all the keepers of words --
the most exotic of creatures --
because we need their precision to measure,
their colors to dream,
and their rhythms to sing.
Bless all the children learning to spell,
most of all when they are told
they must always go from left to right
and when they discover that every rule
at the worst possible time,
turns out to have an exception.
Bless most of all the children who stand alone,
moving a hidden finger along an invisible pad,
on a stage where the judges are armed with sentences
prepared in advance, and it is nearly impossible to be cool.
God, bless the words themselves,
as they flow through history
from the Himalayas, the Alps, and the Andes,
into the wide Midwestern river
where once, in a book,
a runaway boy sailed on an abandoned raft
and with a voice borrowed from servants,
spoke to a runaway slave,
and suddenly found the father he had always wanted
and the father he deserved.
God, help us to remember
the saints who sit on the porches of heaven,
practicing words like "euphuistic" and "pantagruelian,"
because they have lived in our world
and know that, sometimes, life is exactly like that.
Let them know that we are grateful
for every word
when we need to understand each other
and speak to you.
This poem is printed on one of those displays. It's a great reminder of the inspiration and legacy that Dr. Cameron left behind, and it somehow provided a bit of solace to me in the midst of the chaos at the bee right now. Bless these children up on stage, indeed, for they are about to go through a mighty crucible.
2011 Scripps National Spelling Bee
(Originally posted June 3, 2011.)
Now THAT is how a national bee should go! Easily the best bee I have ever
seen - a far cry from last year's debacle (and for that matter, a far cry from
the bees from the '80s and '90s). And I was lucky and blessed enough to see it
in person. Man, was I blessed. Best seats in the ballroom, no less: front and
center, right behind the judges!
Imagine hearing about a bee where the five top spellers ran through four consecutive rounds without missing a word. You'd think that maybe they all just lucked out on some easy words, right? Well, this year, this could not have been any further from the truth. Seriously, do any of these words strike you as easy? Uayeb. (No, that's not me writing backwards or in code. That's a real word. Mayan, even.) Zortzico. (From the Basque, which is universally acknowledged as the most difficult language.) Sarangousty. (Persian, this one.) Huipil. Puszta. Zwischenspiel. Abhinaya. Preux. (One of the most inscrutable words given; this one is roughly pronounced "pruh.") And all of them spelled correctly. That gives you an idea of the caliber of spellers that were up there. This was not a bee where luck came into play. It may have been the fairest bee I've yet seen. No speller breezed through on some word where others were pulverized by some skullbuster or other. These kids all went through a terrible crucible, and for four rounds, survived flawlessly. ("Easiest" words: solferino, pelerine, opodeldoc, capoeira, haori.)
As you know, Sukanya Roy won. I had the pleasure of meeting her and her parents tonight. She is but a wisp of a girl, shy and timid, but friendly and smiling, and when she speaks, it seems her voice trembles, regardless of whether it's on stage or with friends. But despite her appearance, I suspect that there's a very strong moral compass in her, along with a developing backbone. (She wants to dedicate her life to eradicating poverty worldwide.) Her parents were also very friendly and appreciative. And despite the fact that the title could have easily - and deservedly - gone to any of the top five finishers, Sukanya earned that title as well as anyone I have yet seen. (Here, runner-up and Canadian Laura Newcombe and third-place finisher Joanna Ye both deserve standing ovations for their efforts, poise, and intact senses of humor throughout the finals.)
And I am tickled to say it was the Denver representative, Dhivya Murugan, who captured the hearts of the audience during the finals. Seriously - cute as a button. She was the youngest finalist, a fifth-grader (!) and she soared through words like "helichrysum" and "crevecoeur," only to bow out with a smile on "ephelides," a word that Dr. Bailly defined simply as "freckles." She tied for sixth in the nation. And I got to meet her and her parents as well. Absolutely sweet and wonderful, all of 'em.
On the other side of the coin, the bee showed one of its cruelest sides for the very first time this year. Hanif Brown, Jr., the representative from the ever-competitive Jamaica, got the word "nataka," a style of drama prevalent in Indian theater. (I heard it, and thought that Dr. Bailly really should have pointed out a homonym with the clothing line Nautica.) Hanif, a deliberate speller, seemed even more deliberate than usual. After awhile, the head judge asked Hanif if he noticed the clock. He, uh, kinda acknowledged it.
But the time ran short, and he showed absolutely no sign of starting to spell. It felt like all the air was being sucked out of the ballroom. My jaw began to drop. Hanif was absolutely unresponsive! I saw the clock...0:03...0:02...0:01...The time ran out. And the judges gave what I felt was a good five second grace period.
DING!
But then, Hanif began to spell. After the fact. And he spelled the damned word right - ten seconds too late. And he was out. We were all in shock, and so sorry for Hanif. (It's kind of ironic, knowing that a fellow Jamaican speller probably instigated the time limit at nationals years ago with a notorious eight-minute stall before misspelling "aplustre.")
Interestingly, both this year's bee and last year's were pretty comparable in terms of the caliber of spellers. But 2010 was not only a premature bloodbath that led into one of the most controversial bees in history, it was not fun to watch, and a perfect example of how badly spelling bees can conform to a primetime format, replete with commercial breaks. (Example: forcing a prolonged commercial break between the penultimate word and the winning word is a travesty.) This year demonstrated the same difficulty with primetime, but for the opposite reason: two hours into the finals, there were still eight spellers onstage, and ESPN had not allotted more air time to the bee. (And this was after a semifinal that went 95 minutes longer than anticipated!) But whereas last year's bee felt like a desiccated bone in terms of palatability, this year's was a veritable feast of competition, and anyone who tuned in got to see the bee at its very best.
Other highlights:
Imagine hearing about a bee where the five top spellers ran through four consecutive rounds without missing a word. You'd think that maybe they all just lucked out on some easy words, right? Well, this year, this could not have been any further from the truth. Seriously, do any of these words strike you as easy? Uayeb. (No, that's not me writing backwards or in code. That's a real word. Mayan, even.) Zortzico. (From the Basque, which is universally acknowledged as the most difficult language.) Sarangousty. (Persian, this one.) Huipil. Puszta. Zwischenspiel. Abhinaya. Preux. (One of the most inscrutable words given; this one is roughly pronounced "pruh.") And all of them spelled correctly. That gives you an idea of the caliber of spellers that were up there. This was not a bee where luck came into play. It may have been the fairest bee I've yet seen. No speller breezed through on some word where others were pulverized by some skullbuster or other. These kids all went through a terrible crucible, and for four rounds, survived flawlessly. ("Easiest" words: solferino, pelerine, opodeldoc, capoeira, haori.)
As you know, Sukanya Roy won. I had the pleasure of meeting her and her parents tonight. She is but a wisp of a girl, shy and timid, but friendly and smiling, and when she speaks, it seems her voice trembles, regardless of whether it's on stage or with friends. But despite her appearance, I suspect that there's a very strong moral compass in her, along with a developing backbone. (She wants to dedicate her life to eradicating poverty worldwide.) Her parents were also very friendly and appreciative. And despite the fact that the title could have easily - and deservedly - gone to any of the top five finishers, Sukanya earned that title as well as anyone I have yet seen. (Here, runner-up and Canadian Laura Newcombe and third-place finisher Joanna Ye both deserve standing ovations for their efforts, poise, and intact senses of humor throughout the finals.)
And I am tickled to say it was the Denver representative, Dhivya Murugan, who captured the hearts of the audience during the finals. Seriously - cute as a button. She was the youngest finalist, a fifth-grader (!) and she soared through words like "helichrysum" and "crevecoeur," only to bow out with a smile on "ephelides," a word that Dr. Bailly defined simply as "freckles." She tied for sixth in the nation. And I got to meet her and her parents as well. Absolutely sweet and wonderful, all of 'em.
On the other side of the coin, the bee showed one of its cruelest sides for the very first time this year. Hanif Brown, Jr., the representative from the ever-competitive Jamaica, got the word "nataka," a style of drama prevalent in Indian theater. (I heard it, and thought that Dr. Bailly really should have pointed out a homonym with the clothing line Nautica.) Hanif, a deliberate speller, seemed even more deliberate than usual. After awhile, the head judge asked Hanif if he noticed the clock. He, uh, kinda acknowledged it.
But the time ran short, and he showed absolutely no sign of starting to spell. It felt like all the air was being sucked out of the ballroom. My jaw began to drop. Hanif was absolutely unresponsive! I saw the clock...0:03...0:02...0:01...The time ran out. And the judges gave what I felt was a good five second grace period.
DING!
But then, Hanif began to spell. After the fact. And he spelled the damned word right - ten seconds too late. And he was out. We were all in shock, and so sorry for Hanif. (It's kind of ironic, knowing that a fellow Jamaican speller probably instigated the time limit at nationals years ago with a notorious eight-minute stall before misspelling "aplustre.")
Interestingly, both this year's bee and last year's were pretty comparable in terms of the caliber of spellers. But 2010 was not only a premature bloodbath that led into one of the most controversial bees in history, it was not fun to watch, and a perfect example of how badly spelling bees can conform to a primetime format, replete with commercial breaks. (Example: forcing a prolonged commercial break between the penultimate word and the winning word is a travesty.) This year demonstrated the same difficulty with primetime, but for the opposite reason: two hours into the finals, there were still eight spellers onstage, and ESPN had not allotted more air time to the bee. (And this was after a semifinal that went 95 minutes longer than anticipated!) But whereas last year's bee felt like a desiccated bone in terms of palatability, this year's was a veritable feast of competition, and anyone who tuned in got to see the bee at its very best.
Other highlights:
- Fifth-placer Dakota Jones's adorable, winning smile.
- Fourth-placer Arvind Mahankali's uproarious response to receiving "Jugendstil": "You can steal?"
- Mashad Arora's (seriously) movie star-caliber eyes. (But don't quote me. Quote Shonda!)
- Prakash Mishra's modesty and - again - winning smile.
- Surjo Bandyopadhyay's hilarious demeanor onstage. ("Fail," he blurted, after missing "nachschlag.")
"Don, just give him the damned word!"
(Originally posted on May 29, 2011)
This undoubtedly qualifies as one of the most solipsistic blog posts EVER. But hey...it's now officially Bee Week 2011, so here's something for those of you into bee arcana.
The important words in my spelling career:
February - one of the first words I got in my first-ever spelling bee, when I was 8, at (of all places) a shopping mall. I got the word right, but was almost disqualified by the pronouncer for forgetting to capitalize the F. Fortunately, the judge ruled that it wasn't an issue.
population - My winning word that day. The bee bug bit, I got addicted to the feeling of winning, and thus began my obsession.
salve - The first word I ever really struggled with in a spelling bee, in 4th grade. It shot me through with terror. It obviously wasn't "save," but I couldn't figure it out. Through a murky vision, that "l" came to me, and I was, uh, salved.
cadre - The word I missed in that 4th grade bee, which meant I tied for 2nd place. Did it with a "k." Walked off stage with tears in my eyes, then was told to go back, just in case fate decided I had another shot at the top. No such luck. And man, when I walked back into my classroom, I hid my head in my arms and BAWLED. Quietly, of course, but man, I was useless for the rest of the day. Which, fortunately, was just another half hour.
ennui - A 4th grader getting this right on a written test at districts? I was excited, particularly when I overheard 8th graders asking each other what the hell that word was. It was a sign.
curliewurly - Hands down, the most fun word I've ever spelled onstage. I had made it past the written test and was on my way to 3rd place in districts. When this hummer came along, I just laughed and zoomed through it. It wasn't the word I got out on - actually, I don't remember what knocked me out. I was too happy to have made it so far, besting 7th and 8th graders along the way.
gynarchy - One of the 75 words I misspelled on the 2 hour, 100-word test at regionals in 4th grade. Naturally, that was the end of my career that year. That was one hellaciously brutal test. A few years later, the powers that be took pity on us kids and whittled it down to 50 words.
dewclaw - My winning word at the school bee in 5th grade.
onomatopoeia - HAAATE. The damned judges at districts remembered me from the previous year, and decided to hurl a curve ball at me in the very first round, hoping to knock me down. Mission, unfortunately, accomplished. What's worse, the second hardest word in that round was "bivouac." Everything else paled in comparison. But worst of all, once I stood up to get my word, there was a significant pause as the judges stopped, conferred with each other, and flipped through the word list to come up with this stinger. Just for me. Gee, thanks.
ratatouille - After an exponential leap in studying words, roots, and etymology in 6th grade, I won our district bee with what was then an impressive word with a wicked ending. Nowadays, it's just a Disney movie that kids are apt to recognize.
zoophilist - And that studying paid off: I made it to regionals, eked my way past the written test, and finally triumphed. A picture of brace-faced me pumping my fists and grimacing in what looked like more pain than happiness appeared on the cover of the Rocky Mountain News the next day. Didn't win me any dates...but it did get me to Washington that year.
shmnfkn - The very first word I heard given to me at Nationals that year.
shrunken - The first word I heard after I asked, scared out of my wits, for the pronouncer to repeat the word. I breathed a HUUUGE sigh of relief, rattled it off, and returned to my seat.
psittacine - The end of my 6th grade spelling career. I knew it was over when the pronouncer told me it was a homonym, then said "citizen." Had no clue whatsoever. But I was thrilled to have just made it that far. 41st in the nation ain't half bad, amirite?
cointise - My quasi-Waterloo at districts in 7th grade. Here I thought I knew the Words of the Champions back, forth, up, down, sideways, in photo negative, and every other which way. Heh. When the pronouncer gave me this one, my blood turned to ice, and I knew it was over. Well, relatively speaking. I had been ready to battle to the death with my archnemesis. Unfortunately, it was not to be. She got it right, then tiptoed through "concetto" for the win. RRRGH. I still made it to regionals, though.
incontrovertible - The first "out of the dictionary" word from regionals that year that I was given. Really controversial, since the pronouncer pulled an "onomatopoeia"-like trick on me, announcing that "this next word seems a bit too easy for you," and giving me this one instead. No worries. (The other one, which I don't remember, would have been just as fine. And yes, it was easier, but certainly within the realm of reason for that round.)
appellant - And off to Washington I went after this one. The pronouncer tried to do the exact same thing he did with "incontrovertible," but this time, virtually everyone yelled at the pronouncer and forced him to give me this word (and inspired the title of this post). Yeesh. Drama, drama, drama.
telencephalon - My swan song for 7th grade. I let nerves get to me - the kind that say, "Hey...you're taking a bit too long up here. Hurry it up, willya?" Shouldn't have listened. If I'd have given myself just 15 more seconds, I would have realized that this word denoting a tiny part of the brain contained the root enceph, meaning "brain." But fate told me to put an "a" where that second "e" belonged.
balmacaan - I wasn't given this word. It was given when there were only two spellers left onstage, in a nearly interminable endgame. Both missed it. But when I heard it, I went ballistic. I knew it! And once I heard them both misspell it, I knew that being up there among the top of the top was within reach. Maybe next year.
caoutchouc - Exact same scenario as "balmacaan." It just further reinforced the sense that I could make it as far as those top two had. Ironic, then, that for much of 8th grade, I felt that it was time to put the books up.
feral - Winning word from my 8th grade school bee. For a few interminable minutes, I could not for the life of me figure it out. I was top three, and had made the cutoff to regionals by that point, but damned if I wasn't gonna win! Finally it came to me. And on I went.
cotehardie - The first word in regionals that year that I had absolutely NO idea how to spell. NONE. By that point, the bee had been distilled into a battle between me and a classmate/friend of my archnemesis, who had fallen out earlier on "discigerous." My nerves were so shot by then, I actually unknowingly made the unforgivable mistake of spelling, starting over, then changing the letters. Certain death. Fortunately, the other speller also missed it. When we heard the correct spelling, we both looked at each other like "What in the WORLD was THAT?"
medlar - To keep this brief, it was nearly the exact same scenario as "cotehardie." We both missed it, and we both continued.
writhen - FINALLY, after an hour of torture, and after two minutes of trying unsuccessfully to picture this word, it came to me, and I nailed it. Thus ended, by far, the toughest competition I had ever been in. The second-place finisher forced me to claw my way back to Washington, and put up one hell of a fight. Honestly, he could have made it to Washington just as, uh, "easily." Here is where luck really came into play.
ideaphoria - The first word I struggled with at Nationals my last year. As it happens, it occurred as the first word I spelled when the competition had come down to the final two. Honestly, everything up to that point had been a cake walk. (It happens when you study for five years and make it to Nationals for three of 'em. Experience and time help.) Although I ended up spelling it correctly, I stood up there for like five minutes, racking my brain. Years later, it pains me to think of this: Ideaphoria means "capacity for creative thought or imagination." What was holding me back? I didn't know what that fourth letter was. In essence, I couldn't put together that another word for "creative thought" was "idea." Embarrassing.
spoliator - Duh.
This undoubtedly qualifies as one of the most solipsistic blog posts EVER. But hey...it's now officially Bee Week 2011, so here's something for those of you into bee arcana.
The important words in my spelling career:
February - one of the first words I got in my first-ever spelling bee, when I was 8, at (of all places) a shopping mall. I got the word right, but was almost disqualified by the pronouncer for forgetting to capitalize the F. Fortunately, the judge ruled that it wasn't an issue.
population - My winning word that day. The bee bug bit, I got addicted to the feeling of winning, and thus began my obsession.
salve - The first word I ever really struggled with in a spelling bee, in 4th grade. It shot me through with terror. It obviously wasn't "save," but I couldn't figure it out. Through a murky vision, that "l" came to me, and I was, uh, salved.
cadre - The word I missed in that 4th grade bee, which meant I tied for 2nd place. Did it with a "k." Walked off stage with tears in my eyes, then was told to go back, just in case fate decided I had another shot at the top. No such luck. And man, when I walked back into my classroom, I hid my head in my arms and BAWLED. Quietly, of course, but man, I was useless for the rest of the day. Which, fortunately, was just another half hour.
ennui - A 4th grader getting this right on a written test at districts? I was excited, particularly when I overheard 8th graders asking each other what the hell that word was. It was a sign.
curliewurly - Hands down, the most fun word I've ever spelled onstage. I had made it past the written test and was on my way to 3rd place in districts. When this hummer came along, I just laughed and zoomed through it. It wasn't the word I got out on - actually, I don't remember what knocked me out. I was too happy to have made it so far, besting 7th and 8th graders along the way.
gynarchy - One of the 75 words I misspelled on the 2 hour, 100-word test at regionals in 4th grade. Naturally, that was the end of my career that year. That was one hellaciously brutal test. A few years later, the powers that be took pity on us kids and whittled it down to 50 words.
dewclaw - My winning word at the school bee in 5th grade.
onomatopoeia - HAAATE. The damned judges at districts remembered me from the previous year, and decided to hurl a curve ball at me in the very first round, hoping to knock me down. Mission, unfortunately, accomplished. What's worse, the second hardest word in that round was "bivouac." Everything else paled in comparison. But worst of all, once I stood up to get my word, there was a significant pause as the judges stopped, conferred with each other, and flipped through the word list to come up with this stinger. Just for me. Gee, thanks.
ratatouille - After an exponential leap in studying words, roots, and etymology in 6th grade, I won our district bee with what was then an impressive word with a wicked ending. Nowadays, it's just a Disney movie that kids are apt to recognize.
zoophilist - And that studying paid off: I made it to regionals, eked my way past the written test, and finally triumphed. A picture of brace-faced me pumping my fists and grimacing in what looked like more pain than happiness appeared on the cover of the Rocky Mountain News the next day. Didn't win me any dates...but it did get me to Washington that year.
shmnfkn - The very first word I heard given to me at Nationals that year.
shrunken - The first word I heard after I asked, scared out of my wits, for the pronouncer to repeat the word. I breathed a HUUUGE sigh of relief, rattled it off, and returned to my seat.
psittacine - The end of my 6th grade spelling career. I knew it was over when the pronouncer told me it was a homonym, then said "citizen." Had no clue whatsoever. But I was thrilled to have just made it that far. 41st in the nation ain't half bad, amirite?
cointise - My quasi-Waterloo at districts in 7th grade. Here I thought I knew the Words of the Champions back, forth, up, down, sideways, in photo negative, and every other which way. Heh. When the pronouncer gave me this one, my blood turned to ice, and I knew it was over. Well, relatively speaking. I had been ready to battle to the death with my archnemesis. Unfortunately, it was not to be. She got it right, then tiptoed through "concetto" for the win. RRRGH. I still made it to regionals, though.
incontrovertible - The first "out of the dictionary" word from regionals that year that I was given. Really controversial, since the pronouncer pulled an "onomatopoeia"-like trick on me, announcing that "this next word seems a bit too easy for you," and giving me this one instead. No worries. (The other one, which I don't remember, would have been just as fine. And yes, it was easier, but certainly within the realm of reason for that round.)
appellant - And off to Washington I went after this one. The pronouncer tried to do the exact same thing he did with "incontrovertible," but this time, virtually everyone yelled at the pronouncer and forced him to give me this word (and inspired the title of this post). Yeesh. Drama, drama, drama.
telencephalon - My swan song for 7th grade. I let nerves get to me - the kind that say, "Hey...you're taking a bit too long up here. Hurry it up, willya?" Shouldn't have listened. If I'd have given myself just 15 more seconds, I would have realized that this word denoting a tiny part of the brain contained the root enceph, meaning "brain." But fate told me to put an "a" where that second "e" belonged.
balmacaan - I wasn't given this word. It was given when there were only two spellers left onstage, in a nearly interminable endgame. Both missed it. But when I heard it, I went ballistic. I knew it! And once I heard them both misspell it, I knew that being up there among the top of the top was within reach. Maybe next year.
caoutchouc - Exact same scenario as "balmacaan." It just further reinforced the sense that I could make it as far as those top two had. Ironic, then, that for much of 8th grade, I felt that it was time to put the books up.
feral - Winning word from my 8th grade school bee. For a few interminable minutes, I could not for the life of me figure it out. I was top three, and had made the cutoff to regionals by that point, but damned if I wasn't gonna win! Finally it came to me. And on I went.
cotehardie - The first word in regionals that year that I had absolutely NO idea how to spell. NONE. By that point, the bee had been distilled into a battle between me and a classmate/friend of my archnemesis, who had fallen out earlier on "discigerous." My nerves were so shot by then, I actually unknowingly made the unforgivable mistake of spelling, starting over, then changing the letters. Certain death. Fortunately, the other speller also missed it. When we heard the correct spelling, we both looked at each other like "What in the WORLD was THAT?"
medlar - To keep this brief, it was nearly the exact same scenario as "cotehardie." We both missed it, and we both continued.
writhen - FINALLY, after an hour of torture, and after two minutes of trying unsuccessfully to picture this word, it came to me, and I nailed it. Thus ended, by far, the toughest competition I had ever been in. The second-place finisher forced me to claw my way back to Washington, and put up one hell of a fight. Honestly, he could have made it to Washington just as, uh, "easily." Here is where luck really came into play.
ideaphoria - The first word I struggled with at Nationals my last year. As it happens, it occurred as the first word I spelled when the competition had come down to the final two. Honestly, everything up to that point had been a cake walk. (It happens when you study for five years and make it to Nationals for three of 'em. Experience and time help.) Although I ended up spelling it correctly, I stood up there for like five minutes, racking my brain. Years later, it pains me to think of this: Ideaphoria means "capacity for creative thought or imagination." What was holding me back? I didn't know what that fourth letter was. In essence, I couldn't put together that another word for "creative thought" was "idea." Embarrassing.
spoliator - Duh.
Headed back to D.C.!
(Originally posted May 22, 2011.)
Fourteen years ago, I said an abrupt farewell to the National Spelling Bee. My time as a staffer was tragically cut short by the death of my aunt and uncle in a plane accident, and so I left early to fly across the country for a funeral. But I did take the time to watch the bee on TV, and I witnessed my then-favorite, Rebecca Sealfon, take the trophy with what has to be the most fervent spelling of a final word ever. Yes, she was, uh, more than a little neurotic, and she kept the bee staff on their/our game, but having met her in 1996, I got a good sense of her intellect, and I predicted that she'd be back in full force the next year and a great candidate to win.
Last year, I watched the semifinals live, just to see if anyone stood out. Although she didn't get a particularly hard first semifinal word (osteomyelitis), and breezed through on it, I singled out Anamika Veeramani as the one to watch. And indeed, she won it all and maintained an admirable sense of composure and calm in a bee that had a hell of a lot of drama - more than just about any other bee I've ever witnessed.
But those are the only claims to me successfully picking who would win. So far, at least.
So here's some good news: I'm headed to Washington to see the national bee in person for the first time in 15 years! There was no real reason, other than I had felt it was time to go back, just for the fun of it. It's bound to be a blast. It'll be great to reconnect with friends from all those years ago who happen to work on the staff. There'll be the requisite "all champions" photo op, which will be fun. I'll be spending time with family just outside of D.C. And a few friends from Baltimore will also be around. But otherwise, it's gonna be me more or less on my own.
Since I'll be watching live, I'll definitely have to keep my poker face - something I'm not particularly skilled at. Part of the fun of the bee is spelling along with the kids, turning to your significant other/friend/invisible friend in astonishment or disgust at how hard/easy this word is, and expressing the emotions that you KNOW everyone in the auditorium is feeling, but can't express.
Yep, fun! Can't wait to head to D.C. again.
Fourteen years ago, I said an abrupt farewell to the National Spelling Bee. My time as a staffer was tragically cut short by the death of my aunt and uncle in a plane accident, and so I left early to fly across the country for a funeral. But I did take the time to watch the bee on TV, and I witnessed my then-favorite, Rebecca Sealfon, take the trophy with what has to be the most fervent spelling of a final word ever. Yes, she was, uh, more than a little neurotic, and she kept the bee staff on their/our game, but having met her in 1996, I got a good sense of her intellect, and I predicted that she'd be back in full force the next year and a great candidate to win.
Last year, I watched the semifinals live, just to see if anyone stood out. Although she didn't get a particularly hard first semifinal word (osteomyelitis), and breezed through on it, I singled out Anamika Veeramani as the one to watch. And indeed, she won it all and maintained an admirable sense of composure and calm in a bee that had a hell of a lot of drama - more than just about any other bee I've ever witnessed.
But those are the only claims to me successfully picking who would win. So far, at least.
So here's some good news: I'm headed to Washington to see the national bee in person for the first time in 15 years! There was no real reason, other than I had felt it was time to go back, just for the fun of it. It's bound to be a blast. It'll be great to reconnect with friends from all those years ago who happen to work on the staff. There'll be the requisite "all champions" photo op, which will be fun. I'll be spending time with family just outside of D.C. And a few friends from Baltimore will also be around. But otherwise, it's gonna be me more or less on my own.
Since I'll be watching live, I'll definitely have to keep my poker face - something I'm not particularly skilled at. Part of the fun of the bee is spelling along with the kids, turning to your significant other/friend/invisible friend in astonishment or disgust at how hard/easy this word is, and expressing the emotions that you KNOW everyone in the auditorium is feeling, but can't express.
Yep, fun! Can't wait to head to D.C. again.
2009 Scripps National Spelling Bee
(Originally posted May 26, 2009)
Okay people. Gather 'round. It’s my favorite soap opera of the year. Unlike many sports, which often have multi-month-long seasons, this one event is televised for just two days a year. So indulge me.
The 2009 Scripps National Spelling Bee is going on as I write. Fully 293 spellers have already taken a written test of 50 words. On Wednesday, all of them get the chance to sit onstage, approach the microphone, see the glare of the lights in their face, hear camera shutters clinically click shut, and spell a word for the world to hear. For two rounds. Then, in a cruel and brutish manner, the field will be slashed to no more than 50, as determined by their performance up to that point. Those few will continue on to Thursday morning, competing on ESPN for the opportunity to be broadcast live on ABC that evening. With skill, composure, and more than a little luck, one will eventually hoist the trophy and wield the title of best speller in the nation.
So why my passion for the National Spelling Bee? Simple. I won the whole shebang twenty years ago. I outlasted 221 of my fellow competitors over the span of two agonizing days. Unlike the bee nowadays, the entire competition was oral in 1989. It was also sometimes agonizingly slow…it was an endurance test just to sit on stage for one round that lasted over two hours, just to spell one word. But the end result was an accomplishment I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to eclipse. The best in the nation in your field of study? You can't top that. But it took a career spanning five years to get there.
So what about these kids? Are they bookworms? Nerds? Geeks? Well, yeah, some of ‘em. But really, the bee is more of a gathering of some really intelligent kids who also have lives. Interesting ones. Athletes. Mallrats. Musicians. Photographers. Wakeboarders. Artists. Aspirants to become the next Dale Earnhart, Jr. You get the idea. And they all get my unqualified respect.
From this exceptionally tense and short week, these kids will forge lifelong friendships. Many of them will, for the first time, not feel out of place or weird or be treated like an outcast because they are smart or because they study too much. They'll be among peers who are the same way, and they will quickly learn to celebrate their intelligence, rather than shrink from it. Parents, no matter how well-meaning, cannot teach this lesson as well as friends can.
As a speller's dad put it in the excellent documentary Spellbound, in sports, you get extra chances all the time. Like baseball. You strike out in the first inning? You’ll get up to bat again in the third, the sixth, and maybe the ninth inning. No problem. But with the spelling bee, should you blurt out one letter that’s wrong, that’s it. You’re out. Sayonara. Not even if you go back and spell the word correctly…what came out of your mouth the first time is what stands. It’s a fair but merciless rule, and I’ve seen disaster strike numerous times from it, like the boy who accidentally started “mayonnaise” with an “a.” Or the girl who began “m-a-u-s-e…” before just walking off stage, knowing that she couldn’t take back that “e” while attempting “mausoleum.” Or tragically enough, the girl who was the only one eliminated in the first round of the 1987 national bee because she accidentally said "j" instead of "g" when given "germproof." (She immediately corrected herself, but to no avail. And I think many of us who saw her would have voted to keep her in, including myself.)
As you’d imagine, the pressure that goes on during this bee is INSANE. I’ve been there, and I don’t envy these kids a single bit. How nervewracking is it to be front and center, underneath the spotlight of national TV as you try to get through some word you can barely pronounce, and may never hear again in any discernible context for the rest of your life? Under a time constraint, no less? It's scary as hell. I know one kid who was unable to sit on stage because of awful stomach cramps from the stress; he had to be practically carried out on stage so he could spell when his turn came. Another one was so freaked by the lights and the overconfidence of a nearby competitor that she had to sit offstage as well. (She was eliminated that year, but came back the next year and won.) And a third actually fainted a few years back, in frighteningly real (and very publicly televised) fashion…then placed second. Kids come off the stage bawling in some cases after missing words. It's heartcrushing.
There’s a reason that when spellers are eliminated and escorted offstage, they go to a sanctuary called the “comfort room.” Here, they can cry till all the tears dry up, have a pop and some cookies, get hugs, kisses, and support from loved ones, and consult the dictionary to see that really, the word that was their downfall is in there. In one of the best policies of the whole bee, the press is strictly forbidden from entering this room. Got a deadline to meet? Sorry…can’t do an interview until your speller comes out, even if it takes them an hour to face the music again.
But having said that, I was on the National Spelling Bee staff for a few years, and as stressful as it is to be on stage spelling, I found it more difficult to be sitting on the sidelines. At least if you’re on stage, you know immediately if you have the word right, or if you think you might be able to figure it out. You have at least some control of your destiny in this case, and it happens (if you’re lucky) a majority of the time. Parents may have it worst, not being able to control how their kids perform - and sometimes not even knowing if their son or daughter spelled a word right because they themselves don't know how to spell it. At least until the judges nod or the dreaded bell dings.
As for the bee itself…boring? Hardly. Fascinating. Yes, I’m biased, but many people have seen just how impossible it is not to get caught up in the tension and try to spell those skullbusters themselves. It’s drama of the best sort, with raw emotions shown by spellers who have yet to perfect their poker face, and that damned bell that dings if they trip up (and which has surely given more than one speller nightmares). Don’t believe me? Check out Spellbound. Watch Akeelah and the Bee. Watch the national bee live on Thursday night on ABC. You won’t be disappointed.
ABC, easy as 123
From small beginnings come great things. (And apparently, awful blogpost titles.) Confucius, thousand miles and a single step, blah blah blah. But who knows where this might lead? I've decided to separate my more shallow, rant and pop culture-heavy blog from my more cerebral outings here. I just finished coaching a speller from Denver in 2012 to a 7th place victory at the National Spelling Bee. This could very well be something I do from here on through. And what about tutoring other subjects, like math, algebra, English, grammar, science, music, that sort of thing? I did always have a knack for academia...if I go back to it, who knows where it might lead me? So here you'll find me honoring the nerd and geek in me...and, I hope, honoring other geeks and nerds and pushing them toward success.
So to start off, from here on through, my past postings about the National Spelling Bee shall be transferred here. Then we'll move forward accordingly.
So to start off, from here on through, my past postings about the National Spelling Bee shall be transferred here. Then we'll move forward accordingly.
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