Emails to David 3: Digital Tools and This Teacher

Dear David:

I have a great deal of hard copy resources, in my veteran teacher cupboards, and a great deal of resources stored digitally, mostly in bookmarks and in digital copies of hard copy material. [All photos . . . come from a few keystrokes with Google. So . . . they are NOT my office.]

About 12 years ago, my internet access sped up at the school then employing me. And suddenly, I could access so much stuff of use to me as I prepared classes or just to enhance my scholarship. So I did access it. And I saved stuff digitally, but mostly I printed the material and put the material in 3-ring binders.

Very quickly, I found myself overwhelmed and, frankly, anxious about how much stuff there is "that I must read!"

I quickly noted that the Law of Diminishing Returns had kicked in and I hadn't really noticed. In other words, I had been teaching my classes well, introducing good stuff, changing the curriculum formally and ad hoc, etc. And I had been doing this partially because I had kept orderly . . . cupboards, cupboards which I culled nearly every summer.

I note that a cupboard can only hold so much stuff. The area may not be an ideal space for storing material in that it may be too big or too small. The space was given me and arbitrarily so. But the space is limited and so it does compel me to revisit and reassess material.


Digitally storing? The Cloud is nearly infinite and so I fear I could become more acquisitive and, thus, less discriminating and less thoughtful. I hoard as if hoarding alone increases my scholarship. Moreover, I spend more time with my face in my laptop. Sure, a book is just another technology to convey symbols, but my cupboards and shelves and my library and my desk and my reading chair and my bedstand and my favorite cafe and my dining table and my sofa require somehow more human interactions with material. But this may not seem sensible to 14 year old.

And, I know, it's the human who makes a book or a bedstand human. I'll humanize whatever tech you throw at me. In the future, some child might say, "You could only carry one book at a time and they could be kinda' heavy?!!? It's inhuman!"

The future beckons and it's not beckoning on paper.

g

Faith

Wonderful high school kids conducted a forum about faith during lunch for three days. Here's my reaction to what I heard:

Believing in a transcendence, a deity, something supernatural . . . requires faith. Faith is what we use when we have no rational reason to expect something. Hebrews 11:1 "Now, faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." So says the Good Book. When the existence of something is wholly irrational, and therefore there is no rational evidence in support of its existence, then "faith . . . is the evidence." A god that can be rationally proven . . . is not a god.

I'm told that atheists use "faith," too, whenever we "park the car and expect it to be in the same place later." But that's not faith. It's rational to expect my car to be where I parked it: I don't need faith for this. When I expect my car to be where it's parked, I don't need and can't use faith that it's there. I have a rational expectation that's it's there. If it's not there, then there's a rational explanation: It was taken or towed or I mis-remember where I parked it. So, no, that's not where this atheist's faith lies.

I'm told that "it's a miracle when I wake up every day." But that's absolutely NOT a miracle. It's to be expected. It's rational and natural. Even for me at 56.

Faith is reserved for what we cannot rationally expect.

There's nothing rational about the existence of the transcendent and nothing rational about believing in it. The whole enterprise is irrational. But that's what makes faith remarkable: We believe despite all the rational world's rational evidence to the contrary. We believe despite the absurdity of it. Jesus: "I am in this world, but not of it." Kierkegaard tells us we must take a "leap of faith." We leap from the rational, over the abyss, to the irrational.


And when we find some other people who believe much the way we do, we congregate with them and start a religion. Or join in one already existing. How could we not? How could we keep this revelation to ourselves, a revelation so grand and absurd, and not share it with others who are similarly ecstatic or confused?

Faith is purer than religion. Faith is one person's commitment to the absurd. All it is is a devotion in heart and mind.

Religion is the human enterprise of bringing the faithful together and thus it is more flawed and fraught. At first, it's a celebration of like-hearted people. Then all too often they force the faithful to toe some line and all hell breaks loose.

Yet, it seems to me, faith as a human enterprise has to be a social enterprise. Unfortunately, it's the congregating that makes it less pure sometimes. Other times, we all see the light. . . together.

Faith should never be conflated with religion. But we do need to congregate with like-hearted people. Just need to avoid the hubris. The Southern Protestant churches I grew up in were all about the holier-than-thou hubris. I took what little faith I had and hid it away from the blowhards in those churches. Big smiles . . . followed by lots of talk of Hell.



I say "we" above, but I'm an atheist and relatively new to my atheism. Actually, perhaps I'm not an atheist. I just don't care if there's a god. If there IS a god, that being doesn't seem to care about us. And if I'm right, then what kind of god is that? Given whatever god there MAY be, what's the point? This god may as well NOT exist. We pray to God for a better relationship with a brother. Why SHOULD god answer that prayer? God or no god, it's OUR responsibility. You may say that the act of praying may help us sort out what we need to do. Well, that praying is also called quiet contemplation.

I do believe in things being greater than the sum of their parts. But not supernaturally so. I am moved by the Bluegrass and African-American Gospel traditions, by Hank Williams singing hymns, by Duke Ellington's "Come Sunday." I recognize that these beauties are an expression of faith. But for me, it's the glory of human expressiveness, not the spirit entering a soul. And this glory of human expressiveness is plenty for me.

I'm fascinated by faith as one of the gloriously human engagements with all things mysterious, with the great Mystery, with the absurd. And while mine never fired up whatever kindling there was in me (though there was an effort back in my 20s), I know also that when people discuss their waning faith with me, I don't tell them to join me on the dark side. I help them and encourage them to rekindle, to find, the faith they think they're losing.

Faith Music: The Substance of Songs Hoped For

I was asked by a magazine to create a CD mix informed by the theme of "Religion" and to write about the mix.


The Substance of Songs Hoped For

Every Sunday, every goddamn Sunday, off to a modest Presbyterian church for white folks like us, where the religious music was desiccated, and faith – an unpalatable medicine, a cure-all we were forced to swallow lest we die and go to hell. This faith did not assure us of eternal contentment so much as it provided bragging rights allowing the faithful to strut around with an “I got mine, you get yours” attitude toward backsliders. It did not uplift even though uplift was demanded of us. Certainly, the music wasn’t meant to uplift, and so it spilled from our mouths like exhalations of bad air. “Why are we singing?” We were certainly not making a joyful noise unto the Lord. The lyrics promised triumph and glory in God’s fold, but our singing, our inhibited, but so earnest singing – even when we’d turned to the rare, felicitous melody – resulted in astringent hymns. Paradise could not, absolutely not, be so tedious; God, not so grim, flinty.

And that’s why I’m an atheist. Because of the goddamn music.


Alright, actually, people, if anything will bring this lost lamb into the fold it will be African-American and Bluegrass gospel music. At a Catholic school in which I formerly taught, I created a Gospel Choir of teens and faculty of all backgrounds. We opened for Maya Angelou once, got invited into African-American churches in East Palo Alto, and rocked the Mass at school. If you don’t feel some spirit move you while singing and swaying amidst the hallelujahs and hollers, and it turns out there is a heaven, well, you ain’t goin’. Hell’d do you some good: at least you’ll feel something!

Bluegrass gospel evokes an ecstasy, too, but unlike African-American gospel, bluegrass compels me to sit perfectly still, shivering.

And while I’m certainly drawn to other music inspired by faith, you won’t find it here. I love it, but . . . no cantors, no Indian ragas, no Persian devotional music, nothing from the European classical tradition, no Rastafarians, no Tibetan chanting, no Gregorian chants, no “Christian rock” (as the term is, and forever must be, an oxymoron). No, here you have black and white gospel, mostly from the 50s or inspired by that era (see the Sounds of Blackness who open the CD), with a few oddities and musical commentaries thrown in: There’s the great multiple Tony award winner Audra McDonald pondering an abortion decision as she writes to her boyfriend in “Come to Jesus,” a lovely melody and lyric by Richard Rodgers’ grandson Adam Guettel, who sings with Audra here, too. Mahalia Jackson sings Duke Ellington’s great devotional piece “Come Sunday” with Ellington and his orchestra. Jamaica’s Jimmy Cliff sings “Many Rivers to Cross,” a Judeo-Christian motif if ever there was one and the song always sounded so devotional to me. The extraordinary and extraordinarily overlooked Percy Mayfield prays to God for Peace on Earth and “if it’s not asking too much, please send me someone to love.”

Then, I get gutsy: I provide the jazz singer Nina Simone’s brief, otherworldly, and, generally considered, definitive version of “Take My Hand Precious Lord,” and I follow it with Elvis Presley’s version in which he lays off the histrionics and sings beautifully, devotionally and, I like to think, well enough to honor and impress Nina. See what YOU think (insofar as I believe deeply in the pre-Army Elvis). We hear Elvis again inspired by the many great gospel groups here from the 50s: the Fairfield Four, the Swan Silvertones, the Pilgrim Travelers (with a young Lou Rawls), the Soul Stirrers (featuring a young Sam Cooke), and the Five Blind Boys of Alabama, with Pops Staples on the guitar, who are heard here in a production of “The Gospel at Colonus,” which is the Oedipus Trilogy presented in the African-American gospel tradition. Speaking of Pops Staples, he and his daughters are here with their weird, haunting, black country gospel.

The Sounds of Blackness add a brief traditional slave lament, “Ah Been ‘Buked,” in response to which the ethereal voice of Alison Krauss sings yet another startlingly lovely melody, this time on the theme of theodicy. But at least three artists aren’t having it: Randy Newman, a Jew and an atheist who has no truck with the “all will be revealed” nonsense of theodicy, caustically ridicules faith in “God’s Song.” Post-Beatles John Lennon is more gently dismissive in “God.” And Hayes Carll has lost his partyin’ girlfriend to Jesus and if he ever finds Jesus, he’s gonna “kick in his ass.” After all, “I’ll bet he’s a commie . . . or even worse yet a Jew.”

Finally, three songs of surrendering to faith, converting: There’s Hank Williams (Senior . . . accept no substitutes except maybe his grandson) seeing the light in one of the greatest white country hymns, John Prine with some extreme backwoods white country accapella, and for fun, a lot of fun, we’re near heaven with the penultimate offering, Stubby Kaye giving up craps and joining the Salvation Army in “Sit Down You’re Rockin’ the Boat” from “Guys and Dolls.”

Then, as promised, heaven: I ended it all with Aretha affirming faith . . . joyously. How can we resist this? Come on up to the altar with me now. Come right here and proclaim your faith in . . . the power of faith to give us all this beauty.

Emails to David 2: Teaching and the Digital Literacy of This Teacher

David is our new and quite excellent Director of Educational Technology. Igor is the king of all hardware and software. I am the old teacher who recognizes that digital literacy may be harder for me . . . . This is the second of three letters.

Dear David:

I have found that one of my more difficult dilemmas in planning curriculum is how to choose from everything I might choose from. How do I create a reader in Econ from the enormous amount of reading I've done? How do I narrow it down? Even with good criteria, I'm left with too much and I have to cull and cull again. Same thing happens in any history class, less so in English, but there, too. And, of course, my reading generates not just reading assignment ideas, but project ideas and different ideas for Greg-centric or Student-centric lesson plans.

And this is just a matter of trying to choose among things I've read with a smattering of movies, videoes, podcasts thrown in.

How much more difficult will it be then, i.e., how much more time consuming will planning be if I add the capabilities and resources made available by digital tools? The prospect is a bit overwhelming! And that's just the prospect!

Now, it will seem less overwhelming to those for whom digital tools do not present other media, alternative media, i.e., people for whom digital tools exist seamlessly with . . . books and periodicals. It will seem less overwhelming to those for whom the technical proficiency already exists or at least the intuition exists which is necessary to develop the proficiency soon. So for someone like me, I really do have to make adjustments while the plane is flying.

Fortunately, the plane is not going down. No emergency here. But the plane IS going, as I see it, smoothly. I am certainly willing to risk some turbulence. And it may very be that kids in the near future will regard my classroom as a plane that can't get off the ground due to some old fashioned pedagogy if I don't learn to use the tech. Nonetheless, I do fear that I won't develop the intuition and that proficiency will always be beyond my grasp as new iterations of the digital tools keep racing to market. And I'm concerned about being even more overwhelmed by choices.

Emails to David: Digital Literacy and This Old Teacher 1

David is our new and quite excellent Director of Educational Technology. Igor is the king of all hardware and software. I am the old teacher who recognizes that digital literacy may be harder for me . . . .


Dear David:

It may be that I've had an inordinate amount of tech difficulties -- perhaps for 6 years now, but certainly for these past couple of weeks -- because I actually try to use a lot of the technology, but I don't think I'm the least bit intuitive about how to navigate/negotiate/trouble-shoot it. And I'm never going to be intuitive about it. I'm always amazed at the solutions shared with me.

I DO try to follow directions, fix it myself, etc., sometimes, but often I have no idea what the problem is and no intuition about how to fix it. I think I am patient with the glitches -- ask Igor. And I'm generally told that the problem, "is not you, Greg, it's something weird with your" whatever it might be. (Ex.: No one seems to know how to permanently rid myself of the "Save this document" message from new Word docs. Having succeeded in the past, I followed the directions in Tech Cafe. Didn't work. Student tech crew member Lindsay worked on it last this summer. No avail. Michaela tried two weeks ago. No luck. ) I also remember or make note of how to fix many things. I also prioritize: what do I need fixed NOW and what can wait (Ex.: I've not asked Igor for help on the "Save this Document" conundrum. Not yet anyway. And another example: suddenly Ctrl-6 does not take me to my FC calendar, but to another one. This can wait.) Yet, I suspect others are more self-reliant and seem to know what to do.

I realize that the learning curve never flattens because the tech/software/whatever just keeps coming at us and once we master one thing, we're gonna have to move on to the next. Still, I have to wonder, why are we using Google docs when FC or Word seem perfectly suited to sending me a list? Even if things go as planned, I have to open an email, click on a link, sign in to something, then click on a document. Why not just give me the info in the body of the email?



I am an old teacher and while I'm willing to learn new tricks, and even enthusiastically engage these new tricks, I might not be as adept at it. I really don't think I'm the least bit intuitive about how to navigate/negotiate/trouble-shoot it. And as I noted, I am willing to commit to tech for tech's sake just to develop the proficiency necessary for imaginative use of tech. And I know that in order to realize the benefits of some new tech (and I gather Google docs is fairly new, at least to some of us at Urban), then there will be some stumbling. And I know that in my role here as an older teacher and a recent Admin member, I have to sort of set an example in attitude and engagement with tech. I never, ever badmouth tech with other faculty members or students.

But what I need now that classes have started, insofar as it's no longer summer and no longer faculty workshop week, is stuff that does not require a too-lengthy bit of trouble-shooting. The kids are here now and I need time to teach and assess.

g

Not Enough Foam at the Mouth

No one reads my blog for political commentary (or . . . no one reads my blog), but I can't let this pass. Still, I'll be brief: Apparently, Sarah Palin doesn't seem rabid enough for some conservatives anymore. Not enough foam at the mouth. And that's why conservatives have turned to Michelle Bachmann. Here's some information from a recent profile in the New Yorker magazine:

Bible: ". . . is the absolute infallible word of God." She believes in the inerrancy of the Bible which must be taken literally as history and science. She is a follower of fundamentalists who publish on this point. Bachmann points approvingly to a fundamentalist thinker who recently wrote that there may be "occasions when Christians are mistaken on some point while non-believers get it right." However, the foundation of non-believer thought is "false" so that "even individual truths will be seen through the distorting lens of a false world-view." This is from a book that Bachmann recently recommended.

Theocracy: She speaks highly of one fundamentalist writer, Francis Schaeffer, who believes that "Christians, and Christians alone, are Biblically mandated to occupy all secular institutions until Christ returns." Schaeffer argued for the violent overthrow of the the government if Roe v. Wade isn't overturned. Bachmann attended a Bible-based law school where a professor she admires called for a theocracy with Old Testament penalties for adultery and homosexuality: Death! Her mentor in law school has recently stated that the Confederacy, the last Bible-based government in his opinion, understood the Constitution better than Abraham Lincoln.

Slavery: She insists that the slave-owning, slavery protecting Founding Fathers worked incessantly to end slavery. Her law school mentor maintains that benevolence deterred Christian slave-owners from freeing their slaves. Another writer she recommends has written that "most southerners strove to treat their slaves with respect and provide them with a sufficiency of good for a comfortable, though -- by modern standards -- spare existence." This writer goes on to claim that Africans brought to America in slavery were lucky. "Africa, like any other pagan country (sic), was permeated by the cruelty and barbarism typical of unbelieving cultures." He also writes that "Slavery . . . was not an adversarial relationship founded upon racial animosity. In fact, it bred . . . mutual respect." And this happy relationship of slave and slaveowner was due, according to this writer, to Christianity.

Climate: "Global warming is a hoax."

Homosexuality: Being gay is a "personal enslavement" and with gay rights "little children will be forced to learn that homosexuality is normal and natural and perhaps they should try it." She follows a writer who has written pamphlets entitled: "The Homosexual Revolution: End Time Abomination" and "Communism, Hypnotism, and the Beatles" which, I'm happy to say, you can buy on Amazon!!!

Redwood Park in Oakland, California!!!

We moved from San Francisco to the Oakland Hills 20-some years ago (and we love SF!) mostly because of this remarkable 1800+ acre canyon on the eastern edge of Oakland. It has 50 miles of trails including two on either side of the canyon in the middle and a great many going up and down the slopes. And the park is connected by trail to a long line of East Bay parks extending from Richmond in the North to Castro Valley in the South and . . . all the way, by trail, to the top of Mt. Diablo in the east.


























Okay, the scene at the bottom is the view of Eiger from the Bachalpsee in the Swiss Alps . . . but with Redwood Park in my backyard, do we really need the expense of a trip to Switzerland to go on a great hike?

Well . . . .

Senator Al Franken . . . Impressive!

Watch 2 minutes of Senator Franken annihilating the credibility of one of the "Family Values" charlatans. Yes, the Senator is impressive, but, in all honesty, this was easy work.

Alice Waters and Cheetos

I'm informed by TC, that Chez Panisse restaurant will celebrate its 40th anniversary soon. I was not invited. Here's why:

Dear T: I was not invited to the 40th Chez Panisse thang. Prob'ly cause I saw Alice Waters at a Milpitas 7-11 one night 'round Xmas buying a bag of Cheetos. At least she was about to buy 'em.

I said, "Yo, Alice! Don't tell me you jones on junk!"

"Oh, Greg, one of my most thoughtful and conscious diners, mentor to Michael Pollan, godfather to Fanny, I must say it's odd to see you here as well. How's Tina? I still can't put her pork loin with foie gras marmalade and toasts of escarole and faux shark fin out of my mind . . . but, no, I'm not 'Jonesing' as you so rustically put it. This bag of Chev -- oh let me look at the label again -- ah, yes, 'Cheetos' -- will be part of a demonstration in which we inveigh against filthy food. And you're here because . . . . ?"

"Alice, we go way back," I replied, "so don't try to turn the kitchen table on me and stop your lying ways. My dear junkie Alice, you got Cheeto dust all over your shit: your fingers, all around your mouth, a 'lil bit in your hair, and . . . oh-oh, on your palms, Alice, and you know what that means!" At which point she started to wipe her hands on a handsome sage-colored linen apron I'd given her years ago after she finally learned, with my instruction, how to kill and slaughter her own livestock. "On your palms, Alice! You should be 'shamed. Means you been stuffin' 'em in your moth, pushing them in . . . with your palms! BOTH palms to make sure nothing falls out. Oh, you're jonesin' Alice. Can't deny it. And as for me, I'm just here to get the Sunday paper for the restaurant reviews. I covered for Mark Bittman in Shanghai last week."

But she was not be be daunted. "Bullshit!" she screamed. "No one comes to Milpitas -- no one! -- except to hide their filthy consumptions. You certainly didn't come here just to get 'the paper'! And, besides, I can wash off this yummy Cheeto dust," whereupon she extended her tongue all over her hands and around her mouth, making it hard to understand her, "bu you gong nee mumfs ta take off tha fory poun uh Ding-Dongs and Bud gut!" Then after having sufficiently dog-cleaned herself, she stepped up to me and warned, "You may have made me, but I'll ruin you if this ever gets out to anyone!"

Well, Alice, it's out. And it's on. Turn me away at the 40th party if you dare.

g

Favorite Typo by a Student

I teach Russian Literature right now, Dostoevski and Chekhov, wherein we're regaled with matters theological quite a bit. Today, I've been given a paper in which Chekhov's "The Bride" speaks of the prospect of the how the "Kingdom of Heaven [might] descend on earth."

Except this glorious student, and I emphasize that s/he is glorious, wrote: "Kingdom of Heave."

Sounds like a fraternity to me. Or a heavy metal band.

I will forever cherish this typo.

Second Favorite Question Ever Asked of Me By a Student Followed by the Favorite Question

An encounter today with a student in my office:

Second favorite question ever asked of me by a student: Greg, I have a splinter. Do you have some tweezers?

Me: No. I used them on my wife's tick and forgot to put them back into my Swiss Army Knife I carry with me always.

Favorite question ever asked of me by a student: Do you know anyone at school who would have tweezers?

I then named 5 people who first came to mind.

Student: Thanks Greg.

Me: No, wait. . . . Do you really believe that I have a list of tweezer carriers committed to memory? I mean, I know I may seem godlike to you with some awesome omniscience, but . . . I'm not a god and not omniscient.

[pause]

Student: Alright. Thanks Greg!


Often, kids ask questions that seem to presume omniscience on my part, but it's not my presumed omniscience so much as it is the students' real lack of investigative zeal.

Watching the NBA Finals with Tina

First hoops game either of us had watched in maybe 5 years: Dallas at Miami, 1st game, NBA Finals. Tina's commentary:

"The neckline of that team's jerseys are, I'd say, rather feminine."

Moments later: "Whoa, the other team, too, with the feminine neckline! I'd call it a 'modified sweetheart neckline.'"

Then: "Long shots are still 'from downtown'? They still say 'downtown'? A long shot should be from the suburbs."

Dallas misses 4 straight shots: "They're terrible. They deserve to lose."

"Long Story Short"

Whenever someone interjects "anyway -- long story short" into a story, the story is already too long.

Official State Weapons! An Idea Whose Time Has Come!

I savor recent reports from Utah and Arizona whose legislative bodies have established an official state gun. For Utah, the Browning M1911 pistol because Mr. Browning grew up in Utah and was the son of pioneers. For Arizona, the Colt revolver because it's made in Connecticut and was used to help settlers kill off the ancestors of Native Americans living in Arizona. That's my guess anyway.

NPR reports that the Florida legislature would bar doctors -- especially pesky pediatricians -- from asking their patients if they own guns, guns being a possible health hazard, especially to children if the parents are careless with the care of guns. Governor Scott says that asking this question of parents constitutes a violation of their Second Amendment rights. Perhaps Florida will honor the loaded-and-unlocked-and-negligently-stored-danger-to-my-child-and-other-children-but-goddammit-that's-my-Second-Amendment-right-and-I'll-give-it-up-when-you-pry-it-from-my-child's-cold-dead-fingers official state gun.

But why just firearms? Why not the official state weapon? Some creative states might designate the pox-infested woolen blanket as the official state weapon. Others, in the South perhaps, the rope! New Jersey might honor cement. And, of course, Nevada would trump everyone with its official state armament: the hydrogen bomb!

Yoko Ono Advises the Beatles from Bed

Took me three years, I think, at a couple of pages here and there now and again, but I just finished Bob Spitz's excellent 860 page biography "The Beatles." If you know me, you know I'm a Beatles fan. My tastes have shifted more toward John Beatles than Paul Beatles (and I've a very, very limited interest in post-Beatles Beatles) and I read the bio mostly for insight into their song creation and musicianship. Of course, there's much more than that including their personalities, the business end, the impact of adulation and millions of dollars, the drugs, the drugs, the drugs, and the drug-induced psychosis, especially in LSD-addled John Lennon who added heroin after deciding to throw in his lot with Yoko Ono.

I couldn't help but make the following assessment: Lennon and McCartney seem quite objectionable as mates, friends, or bandmembers. Yes, yes, yes . . . great music, but deeply unattractive people those two. McCartney was, perhaps is, egotistical, controlling, self-serving, pretentious, disingenuous, and unctuous in the extreme. Lennon was worse: violent, volcanically angry, homophobic, probably anti-semitic, deeply inconsiderate, and drug-addled.

George and Ringo? Princes. And perhaps Lennon outgrew his demons before he died. Hard to say.

But Yoko, with whom I've always tried to sympathize, may be the most comically objectionable of them all.

Consider the following episode from Spitz's biography (which, I'd have to say, is not sympathetic to Yoko):

After marrying John, Yoko had suffered another of her several miscarriages and to heal she and John visited Scotland on holiday. This was around the time of the "Abbey Road" recordings. John had never driven a car before, and though quite stoned, he insisted that he be given an Aston-Martin to drive around the treacherous Scottish backroads. No one says "no" to a Beatle and so off he went with four people in the car including his son Julian by his first marriage and, of course, he promptly crashed the car into a deep ditch to avoid an oncoming car. After a brief hospitalization for superficial wounds, John and Yoko returned to London where John intended to head back into the studio with the Beatles. By this time, Yoko had been attending recording sessions for about a year despite the deep resentment of the other Beatles. Here's Spitz:

"With John's reappearance in the studio came Yoko, back at his side, ever conspicuous as an intruder; however, this time, there was an even more offensive twist: Yoko was pregnant again, with strict orders from her doctor to remain in bed while recovering from the car crash. In a characteristically aggravating gesture, she had Harrods [London's Bloomingdale's] deliver a double bed to the studio and instructed a [studio] technician to suspend a microphone above her head that would adequately furnish her comments to the band."

Elsewhere, Spitz reports that upon attending recording sessions with John, Yoko would presume to advise the band on musical matters. She would cut into discussions with a forceful, "Beatles should . . . " followed by her expert recommendations.

I very much enjoyed reading about John and Yoko's record, the "Wedding Album," in which one whole side of the vinyl album consists of John and Yoko screaming each other's name. Imagine!