Links for 2011-12-03

Learn to teach Earth and Space science in New York City through the Master of Arts in Teaching Urban Residency Program at the American Museum of Natural History; the first urban teacher residency program offered by a museum. *Full-time 15 month program with benefits and stipend *Small class sizes and one-on-one mentoring *Science coursework at a world-class museum *Learn to teach in a supportive nurturing environment *Work alongside scientists and urban teachers *Graduate with real-world teaching experience *Ongoing professional support following graduation

When someone prays in Shakespeare’s plays something bad follows quickly after. The Bard solves nothing with Jesus. He says we are such stuff as dreams are made on and our little lives are rounded with a sleep. That is not Christian theology, it is secular philosophy, poetic philosophy. John Keats does not, upon seeing the first specks of blood in his coughing handkerchief, begin writing Odes to Mother Mary. He says instead “When I have fears that I may cease to be…” when he is tortured by the thought of missing life as a celebrated poet, and missing love and family, he doesn’t throw himself before an altar, but rather goes down to the beach to stare at the ocean and think “til love and fame to nothingness do sink.” Natural beauty (and science beauty and its attendant oddly-unifying cosmic awe), and art, the very art of the poem, are historically sufficient to float the human heart across the sea of life’s troubles. Of course, it only works if you are aware of it.

My wife recently found the radio station that’s already playing nonstop Christmas music, now through Christmas day. Obviously, this has made my life a living hell. While there are some genuinely good Christmas songs, they’re few and far between. And if I have to listen to “Do You Hear What I Hear” one more time, I’m moving into a motel for the next month. What do you think are the worst Christmas songs?

It’s that time of year, the time I turn around and start sifting through the year behind with my best-of fine tooth comb in an exercise of meta-meta-curation. Having a well-documented soft spot for children’s books, I’ve decided to begin with my favorite 2011 treats for young readers, ranging from the classic to the quirky to the impossibly charming. Enjoy — you might find it hard not to feel like you want to be a kid again.