My profession

Two stories from the last two days.

Yesterday I worked with a colleague to help improve their performance. I had observed their practice for 45 minutes and taken comprehensive notes, mostly related to their management and communication skills. These topics had been decided upon in a thirty minute pre-observation meeting the week before. The colleague was gracious and enthusiastic about the opportunity to have someone watch their work. To prepare for the subsequent meeting I spent around 90 minutes reading through various journals, meta-analysis books and handbooks to find the right bit of research that I could use to frame our discussion. I reflected on my notes and chose a central theme that I felt would benefit her. The conversation was brilliant and quite inspiring on both sides. We shared theory and practical ideas that we'd tried and seen work in other settings. All up we've put in a couple of hours work on top of our usual business and it was wonderful. I'll observe her practice again next week to provide further feedback since now I'm invested in her development. I'll also need to make arrangements with two other colleagues to go through a similar process to help increase the capacity of my team to deliver on a number of KPIs and strategic targets. It's a major part of my leadership role in the organization.

The second moment involves a client who has proven, to be honest, quite difficult lately. She has been rude on occasion and while I've worked hard to deliver my service and expertise as required, she has not met her deadlines or obligations. And so it was again today when she kept making strange noises during our allotted time. Rather than draw attention to this I took a positive approach (an idea from the Masters I'm doing on the weekends so I can further myself in my profession). I focused on what she'd done right and recognized that she'd actually asked a good question, in between interruptions, and had acknowledged she wasn't sure how to proceed. While aspects of this clients behavior could be labelled counter-productive, immature and irresponsible, the fact they'd actually called on my expertise was encouraging. I was not about to let out previous problems resurface. I decided on a strategy whereby I help her begin her work and eventually paired her with someone who could fill in the gaps since I had 25 other clients to attends to at the same time. I did however free significant attention regularly and ensured she knew I wanted her to e successful. She left the meeting with a smile, as did many of my clients that day. All in all I saw 75 clients from 9am to 3pm. I gave each one the best attention I could and, using some of the strategies I'd developed during several recent full days of training, ensured each client got the best out of me. On average I only have 1.5 minutes per client a day. The rest is taken up with preparing for clients and providing them with improvement strategies to better their performance.

It felt good.

Until I went to a union meeting and was told that the government, my official employer, doesn't value what I do and wants me to see more clients, more often, at the expense of developing the capacity efficacy of my colleagues. They also don't really want to pay me more since they consider my current profession to be unproductive and inadequate. Apparently I'm not doing enough. Even more disturbingly, my colleague, who participated in the mentoring process on a good-will & voluntary basis, is being told the same thing. She has 125 clients she sees most days. She literally gave up free time in her otherwise hectic day to get better at what she has dedicated her life to.

But dedication isn't measurable.

Ted, if we are doing such an immeasurable and unprofessional job of looking after our children- imagine what our world will look like if we have to stop?

Handing the inmates the keys

I learned three things today. But first a little context about how I got there.

There are occasions when they drive me nuts. It isn't the lack of progress because I am patient. It isn't their idiosyncrasies because I am amazingly tolerant (though this isn't always apparent). It is the whinging. The whining. Some are vocal about this and that I can handle. When they harp on about being boring I know they are giving me feedback. But that feedback can be interpreted in a number of ways. Yes, sometimes the structure is repetitive. Sometimes the content is uninteresting. What the young, unengaged mind fails to appreciate is that sometimes repetition is necessary.

My class uses an objective goal sheet. I put the goal on the board, they write it down and score themselves at the beginning of the lesson. This efficiently tells me how much they think they already know. At the end of the lesson they score themselves again and hopefully realized they have learned something. They score their effort too. Most kids understand what to do and do it well. Sometimes they fill it in with the purpose of helping me achieve MY goal (which is to see a progression in their learning). Interestingly most tend to be pretty honest with their effort score. They know when they've tried and when they haven't been "feeling it."

Something happened yesterday that changed this pattern.

Five students gave themselves the maximum score of four at the start and end of the lesson. They were telling me they knew it before I taught it, and still knew at the end. My first reaction was immediate offense - how can they be so arrogant? How can they know something before I taught it? Why are they such smart alecs?

Then I thought - what if they are right?

I decided to test this group of students. In homeroom I announced they would be teaching the afternoon class. I literally handed them the keys and said you need to continue our learning as a class. Set the goal, deliver the lesson. There wasn't a randomness to this challenge since we are working our way through a novel. I'll admit I was petrified. What if the boss wanders by and sees the anarchy? What if they completely stuff this up and I've got to reteach the whole lesson tomorrow?

I decided to throw caution into the wind. I sat myself in a student's chair at the back of the room. And I learned.

Firstly, the students did not understand the implications of a learning goal. The goal they set was narrow. "React to Old Bill." Actually that was the second goal. The first goal was "do the same as yesterday." (It should be noted that Old Bill doesn't even appear until well into the section we are reading. For the most part, we weren't going to be reading anything to do with our learning goal.)

The negativity (and I'll admit it, glee) I felt towards this apparent failure was soon replaced by something grander. As I watched them and completed the lesson to their instructions I saw them copy my lesson format. Without notes. Without planning or discussing it at lunch (refer to that goal - they clearly weren't prepared.) They managed to organise people to read and set out a note-taking form for quotes and reflections. And the students followed them. Herein lied my second lesson - the students had reached a point of aromaticity in the learning process. For all intents and purposes the boring repetition has served its function. Their notebooks are full of good quotes and thoughtful insights into them. And now they could do it with minimal instruction. I had in front of me, a group of students who had been influenced by my teaching and could independently put it into practice. It was a joy to watch and complete the questions the students set alongside them. I offered my own responses at appropriate times and pointed out some interesting insights. I paired and shared with my table group. It was an opportunity to model from the back of the room. (What a great idea! How had I not done this before?) And I loved it.

They liked it to. Not the authority (for ultimately they had none). But they learned. There was five of them who had to be active and checking student responses and making sure the class stayed on track. They realised it was harder than it looked.

The third lesson was more of a confirmation than a new idea. Risk taking can work. Every once and awhile I need to throw away the lesson plan and rely on my instinct. These kids gave me some feedback so I gave them a challenge. And they responded. Not perfectly mind you, they need a hand with the learning goal and making sure the lesson stays relevant throughout. But so do lots of qualified teachers. It is a lesson we can learn together. They had picked up on the key aspects of my modelling though had not been able to apply them perfectly. There is time for mastery. Hell, Bob Marzano says it takes a reflective, expert teacher ten years to reach mastery. I can't expect these kids to get it in 45 minutes.

When I got home I continued reading Roland Barth's 'Learning By Heart' for my Masters. In a chapter on the need for teachers to be active learners and researchers Barth summed it up perfectly - "[schools] can become cultures where youngsters are discovering the joy, the difficulty, and the excitement of learning and where adults are continually rediscovering the joy, the difficulty, and the excitement of learning." The message my students had been sending me was clear. The message I replied with broke some new ground for them and helped them develop a new appreciation for what we do. And I learned more about my class by not being the teacher and perhaps taught more by being a fellow student.

So how do I top that tomorrow? I probably can't. But I'm certainly going to try.

Albums of the Year 2011

Happy New Years from Vegas! Here are my favorite albums of the year-

1. Wasting Light- Foo Fighters
2. Age Of Hell- Chimaira
3. Unto The Locust- Machine Head
4. Blunt Force Trauma- Cavalera Conspiracy
6. 13- Megadeth
7. The Hunter- Mastodon
8. Watch The Throne- Jay Z & Kanye West
9. Worship Music- Anthrax
10. Making Mirrors- Gotye

Honorable mentions:
21- Adele
Beast- Devildriver
King Of Limbs- Radiohead
The End Is Just The Beginning Repeating- Living End
Kosiosko- Jebediah

Forget About-
Lulu- Lou Reed & Metallica
Kaos Legions- Arch Enemy

Wasting Light is just a ripper and I listed to it again and again. These Days and I Should Have Known are the best songs Dave Grohl has written since Everlong (think about that- that included Best Of You, The Pretender and All My Life).

Chimaira's album was one that pushed their sound forward again. They even brought in saxophone (Clockwork) and slowed it down to Sabbath like grooves (Beyond The Grave). Year of The Snake and Trigger Finger are crowd pleasers. An awesome album . Unto The Locust was MH pushing everything they could to the limit. Epic arrangements and Robb Flynn singing his arse off. Not sure where they go with the long song format, I think they've done all they can. Maybe this explains the shorter more focused songs on Mastodon's album. It featured some great riffs too. Megadeth and Anthrax returned with really solid albums with excellent musicianship and great choruses.

Let me know what you think! What did you spend 2011 listening to?

Change shapes my reality

Someone requested that I sum up the year. So here goes...

The move to the new school is been good for me in every sense. Whatever staleness or cynicism I had about teaching last year has been swept away. Reinvigorated like a butterfly from a cocoon. (OK fuck this. I am not doing the cliche thing again. I've heard way too many graduation speeches full of the bloody things. And I won't swear again.)

So they year began with an oath. I wouldn't swear. See the best thing about changing school, the invigorating thing, was that I could start again. With much of the old reputation left behind I could forge a new way of doing things. Not that I would want to be anything but myself, and yet, I felt liberated by the chance to forge new relationships with people and choose how I would maintain the old ones. Evolution was the name of the game and I was hungry for the opportunity. So I didn't say a swear word in the office.

For about a week.

I lasted about two weeks in Year 12.

So The D'Aprano was unleashed in all his glory for all to see. Unashamed and brutally honest. Having been a chest beater in my time at RSC I was a little more humble this year. Perhaps the rejections of last year wised me up a little. And it helped. A sign of growth if you will. The staff accepted me too, though for a minute there, I thought it was a case of the Emperor wearing new clothes.

The staff here are, in a word, brilliant. They have, against all odds, been completely welcoming and up for anything I've presented. They have been unafraid to challenge me too. They are a diverse group, at very different stages of their life and careers. It makes for a great environment of opinions and talents. And talented they are! I'm lucky enough to have a number of leading teachers in my team, the timetabler, a god sent assistant coordinator and who knows how many future leaders. Specific people for ESL and English Language. People who ride bikes and people end up on Millionaire Hot Seat. I reckon I've met some of the best graduates since, well, us. It was been interesting and I've learned a lot from working with them. Amanda said this was the idea - work with people you can learn from. And I am. It helps that we have one kick arse trivia team and plenty of laughs in plenty of pubs. Celebrating our birthdays and successes is nice too. Their impact on me was such that it meant a lot that they came to watch Mel and I say our vowels.

The school itself is interesting and eye opening. The timetabling is a nightmare. Different rooms every period. It took me a week to get used to the shorter length. My first double finished twenty minutes early. My first single had barely got out of first gear when the bell went to end the day. There were plenty of these mis-steps. One Year 8, in an extra, called me a prick. TO MY FACE. So the kids are different too, or at least my reputation is. The year ended today with a Year 9 calling me a douchebag. That was a different too.

I don't want to talk about my Year 12s. I met some brilliant kids who worked really hard. I met some others. It was the biggest challenge I've had in five years. I'll be better prepared next year.

In many ways being in other school has improved some of my old relationships - both as a teaching peer and a friend.

And I guess that is the idea. The change has been a breath of fresh air (FUCK there I go!). I've had the privilege of working closely with some brilliant teachers and professional instructors. It has been a tremendous experience and one that I look forward to tackling again next year. There are a whole range of challenges we will face in 2012 and I really can't wait!

We are going to do some amazing things together.


My memoir "FUCK YOU I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME (and other stories about bulls on parade) will probably never come out. But if it does, this story will be in it.

Sentimental Bullshit

The bowels of Rod Laver Arena aren't the most intimate setting for a rock show. For a large percentage of the concert going audience this is where they see their favorite bands. Why they would subject themselves to the merchandise, beer and toilet ques is beyond me. A typical event is going to cost you in excess of a hundred dollars, often to sit in the upper and watch stick figures prance and preen on stage. The sound isn't bad most of the time I suppose though most people who come here for gigs don't go anywhere else so aren't going to be the harshest critics.

Actually it is their version of criticism that is the target of this blog. Friday night saw Cold Chisel play the last of three shows at the Arena as part of their latest reunion. I knew I was in for 'a night' when the guys with mullets out numbered the girls with long hair. Yes, this was Bogan-ville at its finest. A quick visual survey of the T-shirts being sported by punters revealed an eclectic and, somewhat, strange crowd. There was the usual AC/DC shirts (2010 tour) and a spattering of Metallica (2010 tour) but the odd Judas Priest helped lift my spirits. Maybe this would be a the day that Chisel would ascend the radio friendly fair that had plagued my previous experience.

But alas, the number of morons in Chisel singlets (2011 tour) and cheap (but being sold for $20) headbands outweighed any sense of musical diversity. They were here to hear the hits. I could smell it in the air. (If you're wondering, the average Chisel punter smells like they showered and sprayed Brut For Men just for this night.) For myself, I wore my Zappa t-shirt, perhaps my most snobbish act in sometime. Without realizing it I was making a statement about my musical knowledge- that I was in to something that was A) classic, and B) not played on the radio. Like the brilliant two-set tour Ringside (2005 I think) that occupied Festival Hall I wanted to hear some of the lesser known masterpieces from Don Walker. Home and Broken Hearted. Hound Dog. Fallen Angel. Yakuza Girls. Maybe even Last Wave Of Summer.

Of course the power of Chisel is in its singles and these would be welcomed too. The importance of hearing Chisel on the radio can't really be understated. Keep in mind that Khe Sahn was banned soon after it debuted on radio for being too explicit in its description of the post-Vet mentality. What other band has ensured that abortion is a subject of mainstream radio? Or prison life? Don Walker's best songs have a meatiness to them. Their subject matter forces the listener to consider his contention and feel something for his protagonists. Other songs capture the working class mentality, and for the majority, this is where their love of Chisel was born. I won't begrudge them their moment with these songs.

But I'm cynical. The Arena is full of people who only see shows here. This for them is a gig, despite it having all the hall marks of a show, rather than a smaller, more immediate experience. I remark to my wife that it would be awesome to see Chisel at Byron Bay Bluesfest at Easter. Most would never see the charm of standing on the edge of big top in the driving rain with 20,000 people singing along. There is magic in the Autumn dampness. A magic rarely found in the Tennis Center. My cynisim is well justified as thousands scream during Standing On The Outside, Cheap Wine and Choir Girl, but then head for the bar and loo when they break out Things I Love In You (which was their friggin' COMEBACK single for pete's sake!) I remark this to my wife who nods approvingly. I sing along anyway, one of only a few nearby. (Actually there is one guy I admire. Despite his poor choice of the Nitro Tour black singlet he rocks out to EVERYTHING all night. His unbridled joy at everything the band do isn't contagious enough for the people around him unfortunately.) The same thing happened at Meat Load in October. The crowd was welcoming and forgiving of the poor vocals when they new the Triple M approved songs but fled, leading to rumours they had walked out, when he played newer or more obscure stuff (if you call Rock And Roll Dreams Come Through obscure- its off his second highest selling album!) The crowd here wants their radio songs and Chisel gives it to them. The mother's club shrieks when they finally recognise the beat to Forever Now. Never mind that the band had been jamming on the bass line for a couple of minutes prior. So feeling smug about my judgements I bask in the knowledge that I am better than these average punters. My dad shares a similar sentiment- at the Ringside shows he lamented the fact that the crowd stood and sang along for Forever Now and My Baby but not Shipping Steel or Star Hotel.

Then something happens. The occasion gets to me. Even though I loved that they played Hound Dog and appreciated the acoustic interpretation of Yakuza Girls there was only one moment that a I lost myself. When Jimmy croons, "Who needs that sentimental bullshit anyway?" I close my eyes and sing with him. The moment of magic arrives. Forget the irony of me enjoying that line but my shield drops to the size and I embrace the light. I'm not embarrassed. I'm not ashamed. In that instant I am one of the Triple M punters. There is a power to that band to transcend class, gender and, indeed, time and trends themselves. That's why we give up the intimacy to share the music with thousands of strangers. The radio song got me. It does every time.

They rip through Khe Sahn and the crowd sits down again for Bow River. I don't retreat to my shielded, superior, elitist views. I enjoy the encore of Saturday Night, Don't Let Go and Four Walls (my favourite song). By the time they rip through Goodbye and we've headed out I'm reminded of why I bothered. This was my wife's first time seeing THE real band play When The War Is Over and, of course, Khe Sahn. There was probably several thousand of them tonight who had only ever heard crap cover bands play these Australian classics. These were songs they grew up hearing and singing about trains heading to Vietnam. They deserve their chance to see it live and in-person.

Even if half those morons paid $20 for a plain white headband.

A sample for Whose Reality - using Michael Leunig's THE LOT

'Our environment shapes our reality'

The family holidays of my youth have largely molded together in my head. Despite remembering nothing else about it, a clear memory of a trip to Joanna is the birth of a new born calf. As most holidays are a mental montage of theme parks, resort pools, or beach side caravans, baring witness to such a wonderful moment is entirely unique. There it was; defenseless, damp and incapable; the calf lied next to its mother as excited farm hands simultaneously kept us away and ensured we could see. Despite their familiarity with the lifestyle it was clearly a special moment for them.

Why then do I remember the moment but not the year? Hell, it took me two goes to remember the exact place! I remember it because of its wonder, its uniqueness, its natural beauty. I am distant from the calf's rural and raw lifestyle, even on holiday. Michael Leunig would no doubt knock my lack of authentic experience, though perhaps he could acknowledge my appreciation for this moment. He detests the rampant commercialism of modern society. Indeed he celebrates being entranced by the "widely peculiar" sight of foal born during the recent drought. He is right to knock me. Most of my holidays are common, the result of commercial bookings rather than a chance encounter with ugliness in an uncomfortable environment. But in this wiz bang society the package tour is easier than a chance encounter with God's work.

There is still room for the pure moment though. No travel agent could guarantee being able to witness a natural birth. I am glad that I have been reminded of this moment. I have traveled the Great Ocean Road many times but have never been to back to Joanna. Would I appreciate the moment if I saw it every year? Probably not. It has made me realise that these singular moments, often left in my unconscious, are precisely the best kind of memories. They are chance encounters that remind me how wonderful the world is. One trip to Skeene's Creek on the Great Ocean Road was rudely interrupted when a gale swept through the caravan park sending kids, adults and tents flying down the dirt road. While most braved the night, one simply scooped up the tattered remains of his tent and began the two hour drive back to Melbourne. It has become an iconic camping story in-spite of the plush toilets and availability of electricity. Whenever I stare up at another ridiculous roller coaster, smell chlorine in the pool or notice the trees that have been trimmed to ensure I see the Opera House, I am reminded of these distinctive moments. The natural juxtaposed with the forced reality of a commercial holiday. My favourite moment on the Gold Coast was being caught walking home in what can only be described as a Monsoon (and people say Melbourne's weather is unpredictable!) So soaked were we that no cab would pick is up, making for a long, damp walk back to the apartment. I could only laugh at the mess as we collapsed when we arrived.

Leunig can be cynical of society's obsession with artificial appearance, false wit and faux personality. He has every reason to smirk at Occupy Melbourne protestors who use iPhones and Twitter to spread their message. But the purity of nature can still be appreciated. As the recent drought and floods have shown, we can wear whatever mask we want, but our environment will always frame our perception. I choose to remember great moments of my holidays, the moments when, like the new born calf, the place allowed me to experience something new and utterly unforgettable.

Dead Cats, Puckdefenders and Buying Ponies

Now that I'm 30 I'd like to think I have the maturity to reflect on my youth with some degree of objectivity. 1997 was, undoubtedly for all who experienced it, a wonderful year. Bill Clinton was sworn in for a second term (arguably his best and most honest work), Jordan led the Bulls to greatness again, Versace was shot, Stuart Diver survived Threadbo. Colonel Tom Parker, Notorious BIG, Jeff Buckley, Mother Teresa and Princess Diana all died. Rebecca Black was born. OK, so maybe some people had a shit time and indeed one of these tragic events is intrinsically linked to my fondest memories of 1997.

A group of us braved the late spring heat and headed to Shed 14 to see a host of local Aussie music. It's a restaurant and function center now and, without Etihad Stadium giving it a boutique stadium shadow, it felt dangerous to be down that close to the docks. It felt, at 16 anyway, like the perfect place to see rock n roll. The day started with a local north-west band called Delirium. (Personal connection time- the guitarist was my best mate Rob's cousin.) They were great and were one of the few bands who brought a prop. Despite the occasionally aggressive lyric ("THAT GUY AT WORK IS FUCKED!") they wore singlets and bounced on a trampoline during solos. They were from our neck of the woods and were playing on the biggest small stage we'd ever seen. They weren't going anywhere (see the above lyric) but brought an enthusiasm that you just don't see anymore.

The day flew by with out incident. We say Dylan Lewis front Brown Hornet and discovered The Living End. This was before Prisoner of Society blew them up all over Triple M. So minor were they that they played early and didn't even headline the small stage. That was left to up-and-comers Grinspoon, who pre-'Chemical Heart', really just had this killer riff about a cat. (DEAD CAT! THREE TIMES!- how they got so big may remain a mystery.) Actually this was pre-'Just Ace.' What we saw was the best Aussie Hard Rock band since the original AC/DC. Big fat riffs and a front man with a bit of swagger. But they weren't the headliners either. That was left to ARIA winners Regurgitator and Finley's finest Spiderbait. They were at the peak of their powers in 1997- all 'Kong Foo Sing' and 'Calypso'. They were wonderful. A packed, sweaty shed on the docks with what felt like several thousand teens.I crowd surfed for the first time during Spiderbait and hit the ground with a wonderfully hard thump. It was everything I thought it would be.

The afternoon though remains the defining memory. Around 2pm, or maybe earlier, I passed the Triple J tent on my way to see Jebediah. Now later that year we would form our own band and play our first show in 1999, with mostly Jebediah covers. Clearly me seeing this band for the first time was a significant moment in my musical evolution but it is the trip to the stage that is burned into my head. As we passed the Triple J tent we noticed a sign with crudely, quickly written texta. That was the moment I first heard that Michael Hutchence had died. There it was, literally, in black and white. I was not the world's biggest INXS fan but I remembered the hoopla over their Wembley performance and, in the middle of a national tour, there seemed to be a rebirth in Australia's love for the band. It seemed strange that on the day I was discovering more about Aussie rock, somewhere a significant piece of its history had died. I liked their 80s hits, the song they did with Ray Charles and even their newer song 'Elegantly Wasted' made me tap my toe in between Martin-Molloy sketches.

Sometimes you immediately recognise the significance of an event. Pushover 1997 represented the best and worst of that year. It was, quite simply, the best Aussie music I had ever been exposed to. Soon after I was clamoring for CDs by the 'gurge, the 'bait and the 'spoon (Guide To Better Living is one of the better debut albums you'll ever here- even now.) This extended to discovering Powderfinger, Superjesus, Silverchair, You Am I, Tumbleweed, Magic Dirt, Frenzal Rhomb, Something For Kate and Shihad. These were one hell of a collection of rock bands. Raw. Honest. Not like that shit the kids listen to now.

And maybe that's how some people felt about INXS that day in November.

Maybe I can't take off the rose coloured glasses after all.

From my memoir "FUCK YOU I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME (and other stories about me getting my way)"