Did I mention that I spent 9 hours in the same middle seat of the van with my sister? It was merely country radio and copious amounts of diet soda which kept us sane, and from each others' throats.
I am also the proud owner of a TANGERINE Kitchenaid. Dad picked out the color, 'nuff said.
Thank you, and you may now return to your regularly scheduled holiday break.
If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Sunday, December 26, 2004
...There.
It's about 38 degrees and drizzling on the island today, and the whirring travel gears which have propelled me for over 2.000 miles up and down the East coast are finally grinding to a halt. I've been in the same house for about 3 days straight, and I think all 11 of us are itching for an outing. Clearly, the movies are in order.
But back to where and when my Holiday journeys began...
I left Miami on a Friday morning just over a week ago. The weather was cool-ish (high 60's) and drizzling, a little like today. Semi-frantic errands (drycleaning, daily coffee trip to dunkin donuts) and saying goodbye to Cervantes made me just a tad behind schedule, so when I ran smack into traffic in Ft. Lauderdale, I started to panic. Luckily, the logistical masterpiece which I'd arranged the night before worked out. Left the van at a friend of a friend's house, key under the plastic santa, and the cab *finally* found my location. Cell phones save the day, again. Pulled up to the gate about 8 minutes before they started boarding, and 3 hours later I touched down in a very cold, very dark Philadelphia airport.
Thank goodness there were warm arms to greet me, and give me a snack before we headed further north. Connecticut was our destination, where food and lodging were waiting at Dave's aunt's house. Warm beds, sharp cheddar, and fixing the nation's educational systems started off the vacation fantastically.
"Northwards ho" was the phrase of the week, as we set off "early" in the morning for New Hampshire. Saturday afternoon found us at the Henry house, with a homemade lunch and many holiday greetings. The younger generation set off in search of a piney pagan symbol, but we were stymied in our search for a tree. Turned into a nice tour of Concord, but no needley goodness to bring home. Shopping and more tree hunting on Sunday, cooking for 10 on Monday (cioppino and chocolate ganche cake
0, then by Tuesday I was ready for a day of nothingness.
Thanks to a light coat of snow the night before, I got my wish. Instead of packing up to go skiing (the cross country places were closed anyway), we settled for sleeping in and going for a run. Ha. Dave and I went out on a date that night, which was funny; dinner and a movie in Concord may not be as glamorous as some of our other outings, but it was fun.
As we drove home from Spanglish, I finally got in touch with my family after weeks of phone tag. For the Williamsons, the holiday spirit is most embodied by traditional recipes and familar scents. Of course, both sides of the Williamson clan, 1,500 miles apart, were gearing up to make lefse. I laughed at my sister's only half-joking lefse face-off and smiled as I imagined the scene in our kitchen: Dad reading the paper or a cookbook, swearing that the roast pork will be done any minute, mom nodding off or working on the lefse dough, and my sister prodding both of them along or throwing flour around. It made me feel a little homesick. I'd been so welcomed by everyone I'd met in New England, but it was still New England: a little cold, a little foreign, and not somewhere where they roast pork butt.
I have not been cooking a great deal lately, and since most of the presents I opened for our miniChristmas on Thursday afternoon involve food, I started to get a little wistful. The lefse I made in the hostile environemnt (without my trusty griddle and canvas) cost me more than a little frustration, so much so that I almost didn't want to bring them with me on the plane. At the end of it all, around the table for christmas dinner it was agreed upon that the TCW lefse outdid the ARW/CLW lefse for tenderness and moisture content, although for ease of making I clearly lost. Cooking should not be a once a while thing in my life, it should be every day. When I used to get stressed, I'd bake. Now, when things get bad, I either go to sleep, or have a glass of wine with my roommates while I yell and scream. I'm not sure how I feel about this sort of progression, and it hasn't helped me develop a palate for fine wines either.
Somehow, I'm going to have to find time, in between two more grad classes this semester; the extra hour of school; an extra class of students to grade; FCAT preparations; and my increasingly complex life to sit down and cook. I need to cook for myself, my roommates, my friends, or my family, but most of all for my own peace of mind. I'd better start figuring it out, and I need to do it before I get back There.
But back to where and when my Holiday journeys began...
I left Miami on a Friday morning just over a week ago. The weather was cool-ish (high 60's) and drizzling, a little like today. Semi-frantic errands (drycleaning, daily coffee trip to dunkin donuts) and saying goodbye to Cervantes made me just a tad behind schedule, so when I ran smack into traffic in Ft. Lauderdale, I started to panic. Luckily, the logistical masterpiece which I'd arranged the night before worked out. Left the van at a friend of a friend's house, key under the plastic santa, and the cab *finally* found my location. Cell phones save the day, again. Pulled up to the gate about 8 minutes before they started boarding, and 3 hours later I touched down in a very cold, very dark Philadelphia airport.
Thank goodness there were warm arms to greet me, and give me a snack before we headed further north. Connecticut was our destination, where food and lodging were waiting at Dave's aunt's house. Warm beds, sharp cheddar, and fixing the nation's educational systems started off the vacation fantastically.
"Northwards ho" was the phrase of the week, as we set off "early" in the morning for New Hampshire. Saturday afternoon found us at the Henry house, with a homemade lunch and many holiday greetings. The younger generation set off in search of a piney pagan symbol, but we were stymied in our search for a tree. Turned into a nice tour of Concord, but no needley goodness to bring home. Shopping and more tree hunting on Sunday, cooking for 10 on Monday (cioppino and chocolate ganche cake
0, then by Tuesday I was ready for a day of nothingness.
Thanks to a light coat of snow the night before, I got my wish. Instead of packing up to go skiing (the cross country places were closed anyway), we settled for sleeping in and going for a run. Ha. Dave and I went out on a date that night, which was funny; dinner and a movie in Concord may not be as glamorous as some of our other outings, but it was fun.
As we drove home from Spanglish, I finally got in touch with my family after weeks of phone tag. For the Williamsons, the holiday spirit is most embodied by traditional recipes and familar scents. Of course, both sides of the Williamson clan, 1,500 miles apart, were gearing up to make lefse. I laughed at my sister's only half-joking lefse face-off and smiled as I imagined the scene in our kitchen: Dad reading the paper or a cookbook, swearing that the roast pork will be done any minute, mom nodding off or working on the lefse dough, and my sister prodding both of them along or throwing flour around. It made me feel a little homesick. I'd been so welcomed by everyone I'd met in New England, but it was still New England: a little cold, a little foreign, and not somewhere where they roast pork butt.
I have not been cooking a great deal lately, and since most of the presents I opened for our miniChristmas on Thursday afternoon involve food, I started to get a little wistful. The lefse I made in the hostile environemnt (without my trusty griddle and canvas) cost me more than a little frustration, so much so that I almost didn't want to bring them with me on the plane. At the end of it all, around the table for christmas dinner it was agreed upon that the TCW lefse outdid the ARW/CLW lefse for tenderness and moisture content, although for ease of making I clearly lost. Cooking should not be a once a while thing in my life, it should be every day. When I used to get stressed, I'd bake. Now, when things get bad, I either go to sleep, or have a glass of wine with my roommates while I yell and scream. I'm not sure how I feel about this sort of progression, and it hasn't helped me develop a palate for fine wines either.
Somehow, I'm going to have to find time, in between two more grad classes this semester; the extra hour of school; an extra class of students to grade; FCAT preparations; and my increasingly complex life to sit down and cook. I need to cook for myself, my roommates, my friends, or my family, but most of all for my own peace of mind. I'd better start figuring it out, and I need to do it before I get back There.
Friday, December 24, 2004
Here, There, Everywhere
As I type, I am sitting off the coast of South Carolina, back at our usual Williamson wintering grounds of Kiawah Island, South Carolina. Two plane flights, over twenty hours in the car, several changes of climate, and two families later, I'm halfway through my holiday break.
Leaving Miami happened in a bit of a rush, and I'm really not entirely sure how things got done. Somehow, I remembered to hand in all three midterms (late, true, but oh well), finish my first graduate school class, attend several holiday parties, and pack clothing for the sub-freezing lands up north, as well as the palmy southern climes which I would hit later on in my journeys. Being an "adult" is tiring: arranging a sitter for the newest Williamson pet, finding a place to leave my plants, and managing to get through four full days of school.
Things were going quite well until my last day of work on Thursday. The kids were angels until 6th period, the last hour of the last day in the last month of the year. Clearly. 70 failure notices signed, distributed, and finally okay with the administration, I was more than ready to leave Central with no more hassles. Needless to say, I did not want to have security remove two children from the computer lab, nor deal with the events at North Miami Beach Park.
The girls had a game out against a not-quite-so-sportsmanly team, during which there was somewhat of a bellicose confrontation. A yellow card from their team, much trash talking, and some not-quite-so-accurate referees made everyone pretty angry, including the 40+ fans in the stands, perilously close to the sidelines. Two girls have a rough collision, one fist flies, and the stands empty. Cell phones flip and the police arrive. The clock on the game winds down and we wait around for a half an hour as the sun sets, while angry fans mill around our bench. I was steaming mad to feel unsafe at a goddamn girls' soccer game; to feel surrounded and defensive, on enemy turf while the smug, lazy athletic director sat in his folding chair and did absolutely nothing. Clearly, then, the next thing that I was expecting was a 25 minute lecture from our AD and ineffective AP about the paperwork that the call to the police would necessitate, as well as the bad press that Central would now have to deal with. Essentially, both administrators told us in patronizing tones that "oh, the little white girls got scared and overreacted."
Steamed as hell, I sped home, vented to the roomies (most likely over eggnog spiked with dark rum left over from the party) vented on the phone again, tried to make cookies for teachers at school, and finished most of my packing whilst making disjointed and somewhat incoherent lists of things to do in the next 14 hours before leaving the state. I did then as I will do now, stop all activity, and remind myself that nothing *really* needs to be finished until a reasonably late hour tomorrow. [grin]
to be continued...
Leaving Miami happened in a bit of a rush, and I'm really not entirely sure how things got done. Somehow, I remembered to hand in all three midterms (late, true, but oh well), finish my first graduate school class, attend several holiday parties, and pack clothing for the sub-freezing lands up north, as well as the palmy southern climes which I would hit later on in my journeys. Being an "adult" is tiring: arranging a sitter for the newest Williamson pet, finding a place to leave my plants, and managing to get through four full days of school.
Things were going quite well until my last day of work on Thursday. The kids were angels until 6th period, the last hour of the last day in the last month of the year. Clearly. 70 failure notices signed, distributed, and finally okay with the administration, I was more than ready to leave Central with no more hassles. Needless to say, I did not want to have security remove two children from the computer lab, nor deal with the events at North Miami Beach Park.
The girls had a game out against a not-quite-so-sportsmanly team, during which there was somewhat of a bellicose confrontation. A yellow card from their team, much trash talking, and some not-quite-so-accurate referees made everyone pretty angry, including the 40+ fans in the stands, perilously close to the sidelines. Two girls have a rough collision, one fist flies, and the stands empty. Cell phones flip and the police arrive. The clock on the game winds down and we wait around for a half an hour as the sun sets, while angry fans mill around our bench. I was steaming mad to feel unsafe at a goddamn girls' soccer game; to feel surrounded and defensive, on enemy turf while the smug, lazy athletic director sat in his folding chair and did absolutely nothing. Clearly, then, the next thing that I was expecting was a 25 minute lecture from our AD and ineffective AP about the paperwork that the call to the police would necessitate, as well as the bad press that Central would now have to deal with. Essentially, both administrators told us in patronizing tones that "oh, the little white girls got scared and overreacted."
Steamed as hell, I sped home, vented to the roomies (most likely over eggnog spiked with dark rum left over from the party) vented on the phone again, tried to make cookies for teachers at school, and finished most of my packing whilst making disjointed and somewhat incoherent lists of things to do in the next 14 hours before leaving the state. I did then as I will do now, stop all activity, and remind myself that nothing *really* needs to be finished until a reasonably late hour tomorrow. [grin]
to be continued...
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
"Intellectual Aah's"
First and foremost, I fucking hate Miami drivers. No words can properly describe my ire as I merged onto 95 after practice, when I was literally driven off the road onto the shoulder by someone merging behind me, passing me IN THE MERGING LANE and cutting me off. Thanks. I hope someone fucking hits that woman. Then, as if my merging experience weren’t enough, I got tailgated up the ASS exiting to go home. And I wasn’t even in the heavy traffic! Lunacy!
Whew, now that that’s over, I actually had something to ‘say’.
Our education professor, Erskine, mailed out our course evaluation yesterday, telling me that I experienced several “intellectual ah’s” during the course. As Dave so eloquently pointed out, this is irritatingly condescending. True, but it’s also useful at times to really get across that final acknowledgement of comprehension. Today I actually had a moment, somewhere around 5th period, when I thought to myself "Hey, self, this job is okay." Yes, it lasted for about 12.3 seconds, and was followed by 6th period, the memo about our exdended day, 7 classes instead of 5, and precariously hanging deadlines, but it did exist. It existed for a moment (fleeting, if you will), and that made me feel not so desperate. For a brief moment in time I did not hate my job.
This week, in order to engage the children and still talk about something intellectually valid, I started teaching them about film. We learned the "real" way to talk about movies, all the hot film terms, and what a reverse shot is. Warmed my fucking bitter heart when kids were talking to eachother about the cinematography in Ocean's Eleven; counting out the seconds in each shot; paying attention to characters' names, and asking questions. In this case, I didn't see the aah's in a disdainful manner, because realistically as their teacher, an adult, and a fairly educated person I do know more than they do, about some things.
For the first time in absolutely ages, I had 25 eyes on me, listening to my words like they actually gave a shit about what I was going to say. Why 25? Well, since you asked, it's mostly because of outdoor and indoor suspension, kids skipping, and parents deathly afraid of the "winter" weather in MIA at the moment. With windchill, it's supposed to be an icy 40 degrees. WITH windchill.
In addition to this emblematic moment during English class, there were revelations revealed after soccer practice. Is that redundant? Do I care?
One of our injured players, an extraordinarily talented young lady, said to me as she carried the balls off the field "Coach, can I tell you something? You know, you really inspire me to do better." Completely taken off guard, I falteringly thanked her, before the brutally forthright child continued "Yeah, we all really didn't like you in the beginning, but you're cool." Much to my surprise, my co-coach affirmed the judgement, proving yet again that life is cyclical and nothing really changes. Apparently, when people first meet me, they think I'm a "bitch," and then when they get through the cold, sarcastic exterior things change. Clearly, my amarga side is back.
In high school, I suppose as a teacher as well as a student, I just don't really feel the need to be very emotional. It used to be that expressing postitive emotions made me very uncomfortable, and while I've gotten somewhat used to that, rewards and praise are somewhat alien to me. If that makes me a bitch at first glance, then I guess I'm doomed =). This odd Quantum Leap-esque conversation brought me straight back to Beach FC soccer practice in the twitch of a fatigued muscle. "Cool" girls telling me "Hey, you're pretty funny" or "I never knew you were smart" as that intellectal aah! passed over their glazed, perfectly lined eyes. Sure, some people might have been slow on the uptake, but at least they got it eventually, right?
[as she smirks ever so patronizingly] Aah...woe to those who never really *get* what I'm about.
Whew, now that that’s over, I actually had something to ‘say’.
Our education professor, Erskine, mailed out our course evaluation yesterday, telling me that I experienced several “intellectual ah’s” during the course. As Dave so eloquently pointed out, this is irritatingly condescending. True, but it’s also useful at times to really get across that final acknowledgement of comprehension. Today I actually had a moment, somewhere around 5th period, when I thought to myself "Hey, self, this job is okay." Yes, it lasted for about 12.3 seconds, and was followed by 6th period, the memo about our exdended day, 7 classes instead of 5, and precariously hanging deadlines, but it did exist. It existed for a moment (fleeting, if you will), and that made me feel not so desperate. For a brief moment in time I did not hate my job.
This week, in order to engage the children and still talk about something intellectually valid, I started teaching them about film. We learned the "real" way to talk about movies, all the hot film terms, and what a reverse shot is. Warmed my fucking bitter heart when kids were talking to eachother about the cinematography in Ocean's Eleven; counting out the seconds in each shot; paying attention to characters' names, and asking questions. In this case, I didn't see the aah's in a disdainful manner, because realistically as their teacher, an adult, and a fairly educated person I do know more than they do, about some things.
For the first time in absolutely ages, I had 25 eyes on me, listening to my words like they actually gave a shit about what I was going to say. Why 25? Well, since you asked, it's mostly because of outdoor and indoor suspension, kids skipping, and parents deathly afraid of the "winter" weather in MIA at the moment. With windchill, it's supposed to be an icy 40 degrees. WITH windchill.
In addition to this emblematic moment during English class, there were revelations revealed after soccer practice. Is that redundant? Do I care?
One of our injured players, an extraordinarily talented young lady, said to me as she carried the balls off the field "Coach, can I tell you something? You know, you really inspire me to do better." Completely taken off guard, I falteringly thanked her, before the brutally forthright child continued "Yeah, we all really didn't like you in the beginning, but you're cool." Much to my surprise, my co-coach affirmed the judgement, proving yet again that life is cyclical and nothing really changes. Apparently, when people first meet me, they think I'm a "bitch," and then when they get through the cold, sarcastic exterior things change. Clearly, my amarga side is back.
In high school, I suppose as a teacher as well as a student, I just don't really feel the need to be very emotional. It used to be that expressing postitive emotions made me very uncomfortable, and while I've gotten somewhat used to that, rewards and praise are somewhat alien to me. If that makes me a bitch at first glance, then I guess I'm doomed =). This odd Quantum Leap-esque conversation brought me straight back to Beach FC soccer practice in the twitch of a fatigued muscle. "Cool" girls telling me "Hey, you're pretty funny" or "I never knew you were smart" as that intellectal aah! passed over their glazed, perfectly lined eyes. Sure, some people might have been slow on the uptake, but at least they got it eventually, right?
[as she smirks ever so patronizingly] Aah...woe to those who never really *get* what I'm about.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Alias: Thea Williamson
I felt a lot like Sydney Bristow this weekend (first season, clearly), changing roles, costumes, and personalities every 12 hours. It's definitely 10:00 on a Sunday night, and I have not yet finished the midterm exams which were due on Friday, nor have I planned lessons for some of my classes, or graded anything. There was a theft on Thursday, and the subsequent investigation of my missing key drive kicked off the secret agent fest this weekend. No leads as of yet, and I'm pretty dubious that it will ever be returned, but whatever, I'll try.
Friday, after being a teacher and a coach, I rushed home to shower and transform myself into "Thea, the Social Teacher." There was a holiday party for all the teachers and administration at this uber-sketch hotel in North Miami. The three white women that everyone thinks are the same person piled into Virginia's car and headed out to be friendly. The Knechtel-Rubinson-Williamson unit arrived to a rather bleak scene: two tables partially full, a sorry buffet of crudites and chicken wings, and bass pumping out of speakers larger than my bookshelves at home. Needless to say, nobody was dancing at 8:30 pm. We noshed, sat with the assistant prinicpals, and felt generally awkward and racially segregated. Awkwardness solved when Ms. Knechtel and I got up to dance with some of the other ESE teachers; the Macarena: bridging gaps all over the world. Warms my heart, really it does. Had fun times with the boys' coach Mr. Nehmi, including bonding over the '94 World Cup. He was a referee there, I was 13. Ha.
Immediately after playing the part of the jovial educator, I transitioned into "Thea, Domestic Goddess." Mary and I put on some music and scoured the apartment after the cookie dough was finished. Swept the floors, took out the trash, rearranged the living room, washed the floor, cleaned my room, hung lights, erased the lines from the new M. F. K. Fisher quote on the kitchen wall, and finshed up the evening with a little party planning. I was amazed that we stayed up till 1:30 on a Friday night. I NEVER stay up that late on Fridays. Don't know what came over me, really.
Up early, early to segue into "Thea, Party Planner" while running errands all over Aventura. Target for accessories to match the $8 thrift store gem that I'd purchased the week before, decor for the apartment, and cookie supplies for Mary.
Party Planner time spilled into "Thea, Graduate Student" time, making us late for our group paper meeting way out in BFE (at FIU). Worked like the devil on the last 5 pages of our paper on the 6th floor of the FIU library, with a gorgeous view of suburban South Florida. 80 degrees and clear, you could see for miles...
...miles away, another of the Party trio was hard at work getting things ready for our soiree. We joined Virginia in the late afternoon, icing gingerbread, screwing up a batch of berlinkranzer, hanging cookies, baking more cookies, cleaning up the mess from cookies, and then finally making the transition from Domestic Goddesses to Fashion Plates.
Vintage 1980's poufy dress, "jet" necklace, heels by Steve, and hair by Thea. I'd been craving a nice dinner out, and this time Teach for America came through. They rented out a thai restaurant on South Beach, and the '03-'04 Corps were out en force. It was nice to see people and talk about other things than school. Everyone looked nice, and a great deal of people mentioned that I looked nice too [vain smirk]. Oh, give me a break: I deserve one. Gemma mentioned that the ensemble reminded her of Holly Golightly, circa '58. Hot. Hot. [grin]
"Thea, Party Guest" transformed into "Thea, Party Co-Hostess" with a click of shiny black heels over Washington Avenue back into the Jetta, racing home with the rest of the 266 crew to get ready. A bunch of people came over, and we had a great party. Soft music, 2 living rooms, tastefully decorated, copious amounts of eggnog and red wine, gourmet cookies, and classy hostesses. Plus, as an added bonus, we had 6 (count them) SIX non-TFA people there, a veritable coup d'etat for party hosting in our social circle. Mingling winded down around 1:30 or 2, and we let the cat out of the, uh, bedroom. With tabby in arms, crinoline crinkling, and hair in a casual upsweep, I believe the Audrey vibes were radiating quite strongly. The stalker cat from the backyard was let in for a little while, c/o Mary's boyfriend, so there was a bit of a cat fight in our kitchen. No literally, the cats fought.
Anyway, it came time eventually to step out of my glamorous garb and become simply "Thea, Exhausted Human Being," sleeping all the way until a scandalous 12:45. Then, there came a series of roles to play: Thea, Laundress; Thea, Editor; Thea, Procrastinator; Thea, Personal Shopper; Thea, Time-Waster-On-The-Internet-Posting-On-Blogs. Now, the time comes to make one last switch, back to "Thea, High School Teacher"
I suppose the midterms are just going to have to be one more day late, the lesson plans will be thrown together in the morning, and I'll just be a bad teacher for a few more hours. The weather is changing, and my attitude is changing as well, inversely proportional to the outside temperature. As we strutted down the streets of South Beach in our party getup, it had dropped to a frosty 63, and tonight it's even cooler. It's refreshing to feel a little bit of a chill, and it helps make the holiday season feel a little more real.
As those days approach, I'm still a mediocre teacher, but at least I think I've managed this weekend to be a reasonably happy Person, in all of my other aliases. Thanksgiving is fading into the distant past, thankfully [ha, i'm funny]; all I've got to do now is complete my assigned tasks with the bare minimum of effor required for me to reach next Friday. God, I sound like a student. Well, I guess I am one sometimes, so that's okay.
Friday, after being a teacher and a coach, I rushed home to shower and transform myself into "Thea, the Social Teacher." There was a holiday party for all the teachers and administration at this uber-sketch hotel in North Miami. The three white women that everyone thinks are the same person piled into Virginia's car and headed out to be friendly. The Knechtel-Rubinson-Williamson unit arrived to a rather bleak scene: two tables partially full, a sorry buffet of crudites and chicken wings, and bass pumping out of speakers larger than my bookshelves at home. Needless to say, nobody was dancing at 8:30 pm. We noshed, sat with the assistant prinicpals, and felt generally awkward and racially segregated. Awkwardness solved when Ms. Knechtel and I got up to dance with some of the other ESE teachers; the Macarena: bridging gaps all over the world. Warms my heart, really it does. Had fun times with the boys' coach Mr. Nehmi, including bonding over the '94 World Cup. He was a referee there, I was 13. Ha.
Immediately after playing the part of the jovial educator, I transitioned into "Thea, Domestic Goddess." Mary and I put on some music and scoured the apartment after the cookie dough was finished. Swept the floors, took out the trash, rearranged the living room, washed the floor, cleaned my room, hung lights, erased the lines from the new M. F. K. Fisher quote on the kitchen wall, and finshed up the evening with a little party planning. I was amazed that we stayed up till 1:30 on a Friday night. I NEVER stay up that late on Fridays. Don't know what came over me, really.
Up early, early to segue into "Thea, Party Planner" while running errands all over Aventura. Target for accessories to match the $8 thrift store gem that I'd purchased the week before, decor for the apartment, and cookie supplies for Mary.
Party Planner time spilled into "Thea, Graduate Student" time, making us late for our group paper meeting way out in BFE (at FIU). Worked like the devil on the last 5 pages of our paper on the 6th floor of the FIU library, with a gorgeous view of suburban South Florida. 80 degrees and clear, you could see for miles...
...miles away, another of the Party trio was hard at work getting things ready for our soiree. We joined Virginia in the late afternoon, icing gingerbread, screwing up a batch of berlinkranzer, hanging cookies, baking more cookies, cleaning up the mess from cookies, and then finally making the transition from Domestic Goddesses to Fashion Plates.
Vintage 1980's poufy dress, "jet" necklace, heels by Steve, and hair by Thea. I'd been craving a nice dinner out, and this time Teach for America came through. They rented out a thai restaurant on South Beach, and the '03-'04 Corps were out en force. It was nice to see people and talk about other things than school. Everyone looked nice, and a great deal of people mentioned that I looked nice too [vain smirk]. Oh, give me a break: I deserve one. Gemma mentioned that the ensemble reminded her of Holly Golightly, circa '58. Hot. Hot. [grin]
"Thea, Party Guest" transformed into "Thea, Party Co-Hostess" with a click of shiny black heels over Washington Avenue back into the Jetta, racing home with the rest of the 266 crew to get ready. A bunch of people came over, and we had a great party. Soft music, 2 living rooms, tastefully decorated, copious amounts of eggnog and red wine, gourmet cookies, and classy hostesses. Plus, as an added bonus, we had 6 (count them) SIX non-TFA people there, a veritable coup d'etat for party hosting in our social circle. Mingling winded down around 1:30 or 2, and we let the cat out of the, uh, bedroom. With tabby in arms, crinoline crinkling, and hair in a casual upsweep, I believe the Audrey vibes were radiating quite strongly. The stalker cat from the backyard was let in for a little while, c/o Mary's boyfriend, so there was a bit of a cat fight in our kitchen. No literally, the cats fought.
Anyway, it came time eventually to step out of my glamorous garb and become simply "Thea, Exhausted Human Being," sleeping all the way until a scandalous 12:45. Then, there came a series of roles to play: Thea, Laundress; Thea, Editor; Thea, Procrastinator; Thea, Personal Shopper; Thea, Time-Waster-On-The-Internet-Posting-On-Blogs. Now, the time comes to make one last switch, back to "Thea, High School Teacher"
I suppose the midterms are just going to have to be one more day late, the lesson plans will be thrown together in the morning, and I'll just be a bad teacher for a few more hours. The weather is changing, and my attitude is changing as well, inversely proportional to the outside temperature. As we strutted down the streets of South Beach in our party getup, it had dropped to a frosty 63, and tonight it's even cooler. It's refreshing to feel a little bit of a chill, and it helps make the holiday season feel a little more real.
As those days approach, I'm still a mediocre teacher, but at least I think I've managed this weekend to be a reasonably happy Person, in all of my other aliases. Thanksgiving is fading into the distant past, thankfully [ha, i'm funny]; all I've got to do now is complete my assigned tasks with the bare minimum of effor required for me to reach next Friday. God, I sound like a student. Well, I guess I am one sometimes, so that's okay.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
EST ?
I think I'm still on Seattle time. Either that, or I'm so far gone that it doesn't even matter anymore. Got waylaid in Houston on my way home, and didn't make it back to the MIA until nearly 1:00 am. I literally teared up in the airport as I lugged my bags to the taxi stand, but refused to cry in a public place, on the last day of vacation no less. Up at 6:00 to teach school, go coach a soccer game, and "lesson plan," all of which was far, far too quickly followed by a day we like to call Tuesday. As some have said, I'm hard core.
I don't know quite what to do with myself. No, scratch that; I know exactly what my body needs: sleep. Unfortunately, guilt pangs about my aimless Reading class, my as-of-yet-unwritten graduate paper, my midterm exams (due to department chair 12-10), and compulsive consumerism which attacks in weekly fits, have stalled my sleep in a state of limbo. I can't quite sleep because I feel guilty sleeping, but I can't quite work because I'm too tired to be effective. Instead, I brood, I watch ALIAS, I shop. All of these things are deliciously justifiable to my conscience, in its present state of self-pity. The shops in Seattle, long plane rides, and Season Two are marvelous enablers in this whole endeavor, so we all get along swimmingly. Right.
Getting a grip on life just doesn't get any easier when at least every day another new, completely unforseen problem comes my way. This morning, for example, circa 6:00 after I get out of the shower, get dressed, and finish making worksheets for the terror-children in my 2nd period, Cervantes has a meltdown. Cat comes sliding off the desk, dropping ass-first to the tile floor. Fortuitously, there was a plastic cup of orange paint to stop his fall; one little hind paw shoots through two layers of saran-wrap, two inches deep in pumpkin colored pigment. Shit.
Clearly, as all felines do upon contact with cold-ish liquids, he freaks out, just about like I did whenever I think about the extra hour added to the school day starting in January. Of course, his next impulse is to run frantically around the house, shaking the sodden paw and sliding around on smeared orange kitty paw prints. Thus, circa 6:03 am, the apartment's tile floors look like a battleground. Containing the damage by encarcerating the naughty animal in the bathroom, I spend 20 precious morning minutes sniffing paint remover while scrubbing the most offensive of many stains in our living space. Does any of this ever get any easier? Will my children ever be able to recognize a noun? Will teaching ever be truly fun? Who he hell knows.
It's now 9:00, and my indecision has brought me to another late evening with little productivity as far as teaching, school, or exercise is concerned, so I think I'm just going to throw in the proverbial towel. Or did the cat already soil that this morning? I'm confused.
I don't know quite what to do with myself. No, scratch that; I know exactly what my body needs: sleep. Unfortunately, guilt pangs about my aimless Reading class, my as-of-yet-unwritten graduate paper, my midterm exams (due to department chair 12-10), and compulsive consumerism which attacks in weekly fits, have stalled my sleep in a state of limbo. I can't quite sleep because I feel guilty sleeping, but I can't quite work because I'm too tired to be effective. Instead, I brood, I watch ALIAS, I shop. All of these things are deliciously justifiable to my conscience, in its present state of self-pity. The shops in Seattle, long plane rides, and Season Two are marvelous enablers in this whole endeavor, so we all get along swimmingly. Right.
Getting a grip on life just doesn't get any easier when at least every day another new, completely unforseen problem comes my way. This morning, for example, circa 6:00 after I get out of the shower, get dressed, and finish making worksheets for the terror-children in my 2nd period, Cervantes has a meltdown. Cat comes sliding off the desk, dropping ass-first to the tile floor. Fortuitously, there was a plastic cup of orange paint to stop his fall; one little hind paw shoots through two layers of saran-wrap, two inches deep in pumpkin colored pigment. Shit.
Clearly, as all felines do upon contact with cold-ish liquids, he freaks out, just about like I did whenever I think about the extra hour added to the school day starting in January. Of course, his next impulse is to run frantically around the house, shaking the sodden paw and sliding around on smeared orange kitty paw prints. Thus, circa 6:03 am, the apartment's tile floors look like a battleground. Containing the damage by encarcerating the naughty animal in the bathroom, I spend 20 precious morning minutes sniffing paint remover while scrubbing the most offensive of many stains in our living space. Does any of this ever get any easier? Will my children ever be able to recognize a noun? Will teaching ever be truly fun? Who he hell knows.
It's now 9:00, and my indecision has brought me to another late evening with little productivity as far as teaching, school, or exercise is concerned, so I think I'm just going to throw in the proverbial towel. Or did the cat already soil that this morning? I'm confused.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
Ouch
Have just noticed that the phrase "Thanksgiving From Hell" recurrs in the past TWO postings...there is a problem with this. Maybe I should stop bitching about the 3 hour time change both ways,the 16 hours of flight time, the 3 hours of layovers, and my 12:30 am arrival Sunday night (a mere 6 hours before SCHOOL STARTS), and just get it over with. At least I'll get to hang out with my sister?
Educators Gone Bad
What happens when teachers get near vacation...it's about 8 school hours until Thanksgiving break, and the mood around the apartment is getting a little unstable, as evidenced by the events of the past few days, and the forthcoming 266 NE quotations.
1. Watch Cervantes dismember a 2" cockroach leg by leg by leg by leg by leg...by leg. The carnage lasts a full-on 20 minutes, including the cat dragging the indestructable creature around by one antenna.
2. V. Knechtel: "My new roommate Luis, who likes to cook for me, and who some people call good-looking."
3. T. Williamson, re: trans-continental flight to "The Thanksgiving From Hell" "So I'll have my good cheese and my nice olives, and I'll be all like 'Fuck you American Airlines'"
M. Ivy: "You're flying American?"
T. Williamson: "I have no idea."
4. T. Williamson, re: punishing kindergarteners: "Yeah, well you were going to go to the moon, but now *that* fieldtrip is canceled...Sucks to be you, doesn't it!"
I have not yet packed, have not yet finished grading tests, and have very few concrete plans for tomorrow, save packing my gourmet travel dinner, and making it through another day at Miami Central without crying during my planning period. Because I never do that. Ever.
More anarchy today, apparently I'm an "ASS" a "LIAR" and still don't teach anything. I love the precocious honesty of today's children. Also a shakedown on the threshold of Rm 14 c/o 2 cops, 2 security guards, and one very angry, very overweight assistant principal screaming "Why you runnin'? Who you gonna run from?" to a very angry, very tall high school student.
Drama, always drama. One of these days, all of the very carefully leashed and hidden anger inside of me is going to come out. It'll be on the "new New" reality TV show: Educators Gone Bad: tales from the class"
1. Watch Cervantes dismember a 2" cockroach leg by leg by leg by leg by leg...by leg. The carnage lasts a full-on 20 minutes, including the cat dragging the indestructable creature around by one antenna.
2. V. Knechtel: "My new roommate Luis, who likes to cook for me, and who some people call good-looking."
3. T. Williamson, re: trans-continental flight to "The Thanksgiving From Hell" "So I'll have my good cheese and my nice olives, and I'll be all like 'Fuck you American Airlines'"
M. Ivy: "You're flying American?"
T. Williamson: "I have no idea."
4. T. Williamson, re: punishing kindergarteners: "Yeah, well you were going to go to the moon, but now *that* fieldtrip is canceled...Sucks to be you, doesn't it!"
I have not yet packed, have not yet finished grading tests, and have very few concrete plans for tomorrow, save packing my gourmet travel dinner, and making it through another day at Miami Central without crying during my planning period. Because I never do that. Ever.
More anarchy today, apparently I'm an "ASS" a "LIAR" and still don't teach anything. I love the precocious honesty of today's children. Also a shakedown on the threshold of Rm 14 c/o 2 cops, 2 security guards, and one very angry, very overweight assistant principal screaming "Why you runnin'? Who you gonna run from?" to a very angry, very tall high school student.
Drama, always drama. One of these days, all of the very carefully leashed and hidden anger inside of me is going to come out. It'll be on the "new New" reality TV show: Educators Gone Bad: tales from the class"
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
My kingdom for...some stability?
"My horse! My horse! My kingdom for a horse!"
Ah, if only my problems were concerned with horses and battlefields. I have decided that one of the major problems in the public education system is stability and routine. Me, the non-linear, discumbobulated, spastic thinker, an advocate of structure and rigidity? Alas, it has come to that.
When an entire class roster changes over 4 weeks, when new students arrive on a regular basis JUST so that they can cancel out their failing grade from the high school down the street, there is a problem. There is no continuity, no follow-through, and hardly any sense of permanancy in many of these kids' lives, so when there's no structure or logic to school either, it makes you want to go insane. I don't blame kids for being confused or rebellious in a place where they can't even decide if you're allowed to have CD players in the building or not! Where fire alarms go off no less than twice a day, followed ten minutes later by...
"Students and teachers please pardon this interruption: please ignore the alarms, we're doing some testing on the fire system"
Hell, I wish I had some stability in my own life. My current routine of sleeping 6 hours a night is non-functional one, and soccer is devouring every free moment of my time. Too bad that's the only part of school which makes me happy in any way. To compensate, I've been travelling a lot, which is nice, but doesn't really help solve the problem of getting things accomplished and implementing a logical structure to my existence.
I got to see a bit of autumn in Philadelphia, got a dose of that lovely 37 degree rain that makes you want to kill yourself at the end of first semester, and saw the golden afternoon shadows stretch out over soccer players on Walton Field. Went to Hot Soup only to discover that I'd fallen completely out of touch with the rhythm and logic of glassblowing, and it took me till the end of my time there to get back into that routine. Pretty depressing, but not a total loss.
I'm off to Seattle next weekend for the "Thanksgiving From Hell" [really, I'm trying to be optimistic], but at the moment I'm trying not to think about that.
What I *do* need to think about in my immediate future is the test I'm giving on Sherlock Holmes next Monday, my lesson plans for the week, and the 160+ progress reports that must be filled out by Thursday night.
Man, I've really got to get back into the swing of things.
Ah, if only my problems were concerned with horses and battlefields. I have decided that one of the major problems in the public education system is stability and routine. Me, the non-linear, discumbobulated, spastic thinker, an advocate of structure and rigidity? Alas, it has come to that.
When an entire class roster changes over 4 weeks, when new students arrive on a regular basis JUST so that they can cancel out their failing grade from the high school down the street, there is a problem. There is no continuity, no follow-through, and hardly any sense of permanancy in many of these kids' lives, so when there's no structure or logic to school either, it makes you want to go insane. I don't blame kids for being confused or rebellious in a place where they can't even decide if you're allowed to have CD players in the building or not! Where fire alarms go off no less than twice a day, followed ten minutes later by...
"Students and teachers please pardon this interruption: please ignore the alarms, we're doing some testing on the fire system"
Hell, I wish I had some stability in my own life. My current routine of sleeping 6 hours a night is non-functional one, and soccer is devouring every free moment of my time. Too bad that's the only part of school which makes me happy in any way. To compensate, I've been travelling a lot, which is nice, but doesn't really help solve the problem of getting things accomplished and implementing a logical structure to my existence.
I got to see a bit of autumn in Philadelphia, got a dose of that lovely 37 degree rain that makes you want to kill yourself at the end of first semester, and saw the golden afternoon shadows stretch out over soccer players on Walton Field. Went to Hot Soup only to discover that I'd fallen completely out of touch with the rhythm and logic of glassblowing, and it took me till the end of my time there to get back into that routine. Pretty depressing, but not a total loss.
I'm off to Seattle next weekend for the "Thanksgiving From Hell" [really, I'm trying to be optimistic], but at the moment I'm trying not to think about that.
What I *do* need to think about in my immediate future is the test I'm giving on Sherlock Holmes next Monday, my lesson plans for the week, and the 160+ progress reports that must be filled out by Thursday night.
Man, I've really got to get back into the swing of things.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
I hate my country
I can't believe the citizens of the United States of America are so fucking stupid.
8 years. 8 fucking years.
I didn't go to school today.
8 years. 8 fucking years.
I didn't go to school today.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Fuuuuuuuuuck.
the world, in short, is going to hell.
I am at the *legal limit* in all of my classes except one, literally walked out of 6th period today because I could not remain in my class and not 1. yell, 2. hurt someone, 3. hurt myself/destroy property.
I voted today in Miami-Dade county, and the electoral college makes me want to hurt things/people. If Bush wins, I'm leaving the country as soon as I am contractually permitted.
My "graduate" class this evening ran overtime talking about how kids [gasp!] might not [shock!] have intelligence that registers on a "bell curve" or "IQ test." Imagine, if you will, my fingers making "air quotes" as I "speak." Please, visualize. Apparently, kids learn better [gasp!] when they are [shocking! scandalous! illuminating!] invested in and interested in the subject matter. When it "applies" to their "daily life."
Fucking revelatory.
Does that explain why 30 ninth graders refuse to sit in their seats?
Does that explain why the public education system here is so fucked that it's worse off than the prostitutes up on Biscayne underneath the Syphilis billboard ["It's back, it's spreading.]?
No, it does not. More nutella, more cabernet, more sleep.
I am at the *legal limit* in all of my classes except one, literally walked out of 6th period today because I could not remain in my class and not 1. yell, 2. hurt someone, 3. hurt myself/destroy property.
I voted today in Miami-Dade county, and the electoral college makes me want to hurt things/people. If Bush wins, I'm leaving the country as soon as I am contractually permitted.
My "graduate" class this evening ran overtime talking about how kids [gasp!] might not [shock!] have intelligence that registers on a "bell curve" or "IQ test." Imagine, if you will, my fingers making "air quotes" as I "speak." Please, visualize. Apparently, kids learn better [gasp!] when they are [shocking! scandalous! illuminating!] invested in and interested in the subject matter. When it "applies" to their "daily life."
Fucking revelatory.
Does that explain why 30 ninth graders refuse to sit in their seats?
Does that explain why the public education system here is so fucked that it's worse off than the prostitutes up on Biscayne underneath the Syphilis billboard ["It's back, it's spreading.]?
No, it does not. More nutella, more cabernet, more sleep.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
On Duty
I [heart] computer lab days.
Crawled in to work this morning after falling asleep this morning after I got dressed, opened the door seconds before the last bell rang, my head still pounding and feeling a little woozy. I think there's a virus going around school.
Dragged my ass to the office after first period and asked for a substitute, only to be told that there were no substitutes available. Oh, MDC-PS, how we love your efficiency. This is merely one of the myriad disappointments in the past week that make me count down the days till vacation, cross off boxes on a calendar, and wonder what the hell my purpose is here.
Apathy runs rampant in high school, and Miami seems to breed it like mosquito larvae. "If you don't complete the quiz, I can't give you a grade." "If you don't hand in the homework, you get a zero." As with pre-mayan mathematics, the concept of zero seems to be missing from these children's mental capacity. They think only in letters: A B C D F. Sigh.
I hated it in high school, and I hate it now: I truly do not understand a lot of my students, and at the moment I'm of a mind to think that this is hindering my teaching abilities. It's been a long week, and my time in the computer lab is almost over, so I've got to wrap this up.
I guess I'll be back 6th period.
Crawled in to work this morning after falling asleep this morning after I got dressed, opened the door seconds before the last bell rang, my head still pounding and feeling a little woozy. I think there's a virus going around school.
Dragged my ass to the office after first period and asked for a substitute, only to be told that there were no substitutes available. Oh, MDC-PS, how we love your efficiency. This is merely one of the myriad disappointments in the past week that make me count down the days till vacation, cross off boxes on a calendar, and wonder what the hell my purpose is here.
Apathy runs rampant in high school, and Miami seems to breed it like mosquito larvae. "If you don't complete the quiz, I can't give you a grade." "If you don't hand in the homework, you get a zero." As with pre-mayan mathematics, the concept of zero seems to be missing from these children's mental capacity. They think only in letters: A B C D F. Sigh.
I hated it in high school, and I hate it now: I truly do not understand a lot of my students, and at the moment I'm of a mind to think that this is hindering my teaching abilities. It's been a long week, and my time in the computer lab is almost over, so I've got to wrap this up.
I guess I'll be back 6th period.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Fall? More figurative than literal.
Living in a tropical (no, literally) climate, seeing the passage of time is different than it is in places where you can see the seasons change. It's hard to remind myself that time is indeed going by when I can still wear all of my summer clothes and go to the beach on the weekend. If it doesn't rain, that is. It doesn't feel like fall, mostly because apart from an innate desire to wear autumnal colors and eat pumpkin products, I haven't noticed much of a change.
That said, the past three weeks have been full of changes.
Dave was in town for a glorious ten days, and I took my first personal day to make a weekend vacation to the Keys. I'd never really been on "vacation" as an adult before, so that was cool, if a littl weird. The Florida Keys are a beautiful place, but odd. I couldn't live there. We went snorkeling at Pennekamp again, swam at Bahia Honda, and explored Marthon, key hopping each night. I felt so far away from school, and un-teacher-like.
Then, a slap in the face with reality when school started up: parents' night, uniform proposals, extended school day/year, and a mandatory staff "pep rally" the day after grades were due. I can now say, with a large self-suffering sigh that I have experienced the end fo a grading period at a large public high school. One quarter of the year is over. Late, late night filling in bubble sheets with grades, attendance, "comments," and mercilessly failing 54 students. At first I felt kind of harsh about it, then all qualms vanished upon reading a lovely little note to "Ms. Williamson and her stank self...smells like nut-ass." Thank you, children, that's why I feel no remorse.
That happiness culminated with the "Zone" meeting, where the school board officials told us that we'd be 1. working longer hours, 2. working more days of the year, 3. have mandatory saturday staff development, 3. "should try and make the Zone like the PeaceCorps" and 4. need to deal with the lack of resources and large class sizes on our own. Meanwhile, they somehow managed to find enough money to stage a full theatrical song and dance number (no, literally) about why kids should learn how to read. That's funny, I really thought teachers were the people who wanted kids to read. Clearly we need more convincing. There was also a budget surplus enough to purchase over 5,000 "School Improvement Zone" polo shirts for every staff member, technicians and custodians included. So they can buy me a lame-ass polo shirt, but they can't buy BOOKS for my reading class? I was a little perplexed at that.
But dwelling on such subjects makes me bitter, so let's move on. Enough with the amargura.
Reportcards. Oh wait, that doesn't get any better either. I never thought that teachers could hate report card day as much as students did. There was a mutiny (no, literally) in one class, and I had another student actually throw a balled-up report card at me. I was a little incredulous. A flurry of parent conferences have ensued.
Last week was eternal, and to make up for it I pampered myself this weekend. Bought new teacher clothes and painted shelves in preparation for the completion of my decorating scheme in the bedroom. Also, along with the roommates, picked out bedding (finally, the leopard sheets are getting retired), so that's on its way. I feel so *adult* sometimes; new linens really made me happy. I also got fitted for glasses today, which pleases me to no end, even though they won't be ready until next week.
Finally, to end on a positive note, I've confirmed my next jaunt to Philly, and have two glassblowing sessions at Hot Soup scheduled, which makes my freaking day. Saw a double rainbow over the beach on Sunday, and most of the girls on the soccer team really like me. Did I mention that I'm assistant coaching soccer and not getting paid for it? Yeah, I am.
Did I also mention that I started a Master's degree program? Yeah, well, did that too. Sigh. But that's another story for another day.
That said, the past three weeks have been full of changes.
Dave was in town for a glorious ten days, and I took my first personal day to make a weekend vacation to the Keys. I'd never really been on "vacation" as an adult before, so that was cool, if a littl weird. The Florida Keys are a beautiful place, but odd. I couldn't live there. We went snorkeling at Pennekamp again, swam at Bahia Honda, and explored Marthon, key hopping each night. I felt so far away from school, and un-teacher-like.
Then, a slap in the face with reality when school started up: parents' night, uniform proposals, extended school day/year, and a mandatory staff "pep rally" the day after grades were due. I can now say, with a large self-suffering sigh that I have experienced the end fo a grading period at a large public high school. One quarter of the year is over. Late, late night filling in bubble sheets with grades, attendance, "comments," and mercilessly failing 54 students. At first I felt kind of harsh about it, then all qualms vanished upon reading a lovely little note to "Ms. Williamson and her stank self...smells like nut-ass." Thank you, children, that's why I feel no remorse.
That happiness culminated with the "Zone" meeting, where the school board officials told us that we'd be 1. working longer hours, 2. working more days of the year, 3. have mandatory saturday staff development, 3. "should try and make the Zone like the PeaceCorps" and 4. need to deal with the lack of resources and large class sizes on our own. Meanwhile, they somehow managed to find enough money to stage a full theatrical song and dance number (no, literally) about why kids should learn how to read. That's funny, I really thought teachers were the people who wanted kids to read. Clearly we need more convincing. There was also a budget surplus enough to purchase over 5,000 "School Improvement Zone" polo shirts for every staff member, technicians and custodians included. So they can buy me a lame-ass polo shirt, but they can't buy BOOKS for my reading class? I was a little perplexed at that.
But dwelling on such subjects makes me bitter, so let's move on. Enough with the amargura.
Reportcards. Oh wait, that doesn't get any better either. I never thought that teachers could hate report card day as much as students did. There was a mutiny (no, literally) in one class, and I had another student actually throw a balled-up report card at me. I was a little incredulous. A flurry of parent conferences have ensued.
Last week was eternal, and to make up for it I pampered myself this weekend. Bought new teacher clothes and painted shelves in preparation for the completion of my decorating scheme in the bedroom. Also, along with the roommates, picked out bedding (finally, the leopard sheets are getting retired), so that's on its way. I feel so *adult* sometimes; new linens really made me happy. I also got fitted for glasses today, which pleases me to no end, even though they won't be ready until next week.
Finally, to end on a positive note, I've confirmed my next jaunt to Philly, and have two glassblowing sessions at Hot Soup scheduled, which makes my freaking day. Saw a double rainbow over the beach on Sunday, and most of the girls on the soccer team really like me. Did I mention that I'm assistant coaching soccer and not getting paid for it? Yeah, I am.
Did I also mention that I started a Master's degree program? Yeah, well, did that too. Sigh. But that's another story for another day.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Hidden Somewhere...
among graduate courses, report cards, staff development, soccer practices, traffic, commuting, TFA meetings, conferences, parent phone calls, seating charts, lesson plans, copying, errands, and groceries is my life.
maybe i can find it there somewhere.
maybe i can find it there somewhere.
Sunday, October 03, 2004
Slippage
It's a Sunday night, 9:09 pm, and I've gotten a grand total of zero work done today. That's zero school related work done. I've been doing other sorts of work (i.e. errand running) all weekend long, and feel as though my time is slip-sliding away, true to the great Paul Simon song.
My (ex)roommate wrote one of her theses on slippage, and now it seems to be invading my life as well. True, hers was more concentrated on signs and signifiers, whereas mine exists on a temporal level. See: Wednesday afternoon.
I gave a colleague a ride home, the van slowly blundering over speed bumps in DPlace, thinking to myself "Wow, self, hump day is over! You only have two more days of school left this week." Then, after a 45 minute drive that should have taken 10-15, spending a *fortune* at kinkos because we have no copy machine at Central, grocery shopping, prescription filling, and a trip to Pier One to redeem a gift certificate, I felt so bitter that my evening had been robbed from me by Biscayne Boulevard traffic and necessary errands that the prospect of rising at 5:30 the next morning for school absolutely depressed me. I probably watched an episode of Alias to make myself feel better.
Scratch that, I watched TWO, because I printed out the other 120 pages worth of "A Scandal in Bohemia" on my own printer instead of being cowed by the price-gauging at Kinkos-FedEx. FedEx is officially on my shit list after the fiasco with my computer parts. I refuse to write about it, because I may become irate if I think about it too much.
In any case, what shocked me was the fact that mere hours before, the amalgam of time ThursdayFriday seemed easily surmountable; by the time I went to bed, it seemed like an eternity. On a good day, time passes in a regulated, normal fashion; on a bad day (which are maybe 4 out of 5), what should be an hour slides into 3, and what feels like 45 minutes shrinks into 5.
Then, we are presented with the concept of Neutral Time. This is when worries, schedules, and priorities are suspended. We shall henceforth classify Thursday as Neutral Time. 8 TFA-ers gathered in apt. 1 for a 90 minute, commercial free television broadcast of the history-making 2004 presidential debate at UM. There was much yelling, much laughter and scoffing (vociferous, he said vociferous; Poland?; WMD's, what that what we were looking for?), and even a bit of praise for the presidential-looking smirk of John Kerry. I felt excited about politics for the first time in ages.
We slip over to Neutral Time #2, see: Saturday.
Nearly an hour searching for the nebulous Ocean Bank to no avail, followed en seguida by my birthday pedicure (mmmm); soaking up rays on the beach; phone bank calling for the Florida Democratic Party..."there's a lot at stake this election year, and the Florida Democratic Party is working hard to make sure your vote counts"; DSW for very non-teacher shoes; shelving at Target; and finally a foray into the monstrosity of upper-class consumer culture known as Aventura Mall. There are 2 Gap's, two Abercrombies, and a caviar stand. Apple Computers got a little more of my paycheck, and then all of a sudden Saturdy was over.
All day I kept asking people what time it was, or checking my cell phone. Every time I was at least 2 hours off. The boy and I also slipped by each other, missing phone messages by 30 seconds or so, until 1:00 am when our conversation consisted mainly of me slipping slowly out of consciousness.
Sunday slid away while I painted and hung shelves, cleaned my entire room, swept the dust and litter from the floor, and attempted to sweep the copwebs from my brain. I'm not feeling really psyched about school lately, and I can think of about 80 reasons why, but I dont' really want to get into it.
What really gets to me is the feeling of tiredness that I can't seem to get rid of. This is compounded when I am contantly disrespected in my classroom, have no supplies or technical support, and don't really know how to solve any of these problems. I thought it would go away a little bit once I started reading things that I actually cared about, but that's pretty hard in my reading classes, and I haven't had the time nor the desire to really get into the Sherlock Holmes story.
I need to get with it, and I need to to it quickly.
Meanwhile, the cat sleeps on in a blissful oblivion, caring only that I want to cut his claws and wondering when he gets to eat next. I count the hours until I drive to Ft. Lauderdale to pick up the boy for fall break, and have to remember that I'm planning a personal day for next Monday. [guilty grin]. Lke I said, I guess it's time to get back to work. C'mon Thea, just a few more days.
My (ex)roommate wrote one of her theses on slippage, and now it seems to be invading my life as well. True, hers was more concentrated on signs and signifiers, whereas mine exists on a temporal level. See: Wednesday afternoon.
I gave a colleague a ride home, the van slowly blundering over speed bumps in DPlace, thinking to myself "Wow, self, hump day is over! You only have two more days of school left this week." Then, after a 45 minute drive that should have taken 10-15, spending a *fortune* at kinkos because we have no copy machine at Central, grocery shopping, prescription filling, and a trip to Pier One to redeem a gift certificate, I felt so bitter that my evening had been robbed from me by Biscayne Boulevard traffic and necessary errands that the prospect of rising at 5:30 the next morning for school absolutely depressed me. I probably watched an episode of Alias to make myself feel better.
Scratch that, I watched TWO, because I printed out the other 120 pages worth of "A Scandal in Bohemia" on my own printer instead of being cowed by the price-gauging at Kinkos-FedEx. FedEx is officially on my shit list after the fiasco with my computer parts. I refuse to write about it, because I may become irate if I think about it too much.
In any case, what shocked me was the fact that mere hours before, the amalgam of time ThursdayFriday seemed easily surmountable; by the time I went to bed, it seemed like an eternity. On a good day, time passes in a regulated, normal fashion; on a bad day (which are maybe 4 out of 5), what should be an hour slides into 3, and what feels like 45 minutes shrinks into 5.
Then, we are presented with the concept of Neutral Time. This is when worries, schedules, and priorities are suspended. We shall henceforth classify Thursday as Neutral Time. 8 TFA-ers gathered in apt. 1 for a 90 minute, commercial free television broadcast of the history-making 2004 presidential debate at UM. There was much yelling, much laughter and scoffing (vociferous, he said vociferous; Poland?; WMD's, what that what we were looking for?), and even a bit of praise for the presidential-looking smirk of John Kerry. I felt excited about politics for the first time in ages.
We slip over to Neutral Time #2, see: Saturday.
Nearly an hour searching for the nebulous Ocean Bank to no avail, followed en seguida by my birthday pedicure (mmmm); soaking up rays on the beach; phone bank calling for the Florida Democratic Party..."there's a lot at stake this election year, and the Florida Democratic Party is working hard to make sure your vote counts"; DSW for very non-teacher shoes; shelving at Target; and finally a foray into the monstrosity of upper-class consumer culture known as Aventura Mall. There are 2 Gap's, two Abercrombies, and a caviar stand. Apple Computers got a little more of my paycheck, and then all of a sudden Saturdy was over.
All day I kept asking people what time it was, or checking my cell phone. Every time I was at least 2 hours off. The boy and I also slipped by each other, missing phone messages by 30 seconds or so, until 1:00 am when our conversation consisted mainly of me slipping slowly out of consciousness.
Sunday slid away while I painted and hung shelves, cleaned my entire room, swept the dust and litter from the floor, and attempted to sweep the copwebs from my brain. I'm not feeling really psyched about school lately, and I can think of about 80 reasons why, but I dont' really want to get into it.
What really gets to me is the feeling of tiredness that I can't seem to get rid of. This is compounded when I am contantly disrespected in my classroom, have no supplies or technical support, and don't really know how to solve any of these problems. I thought it would go away a little bit once I started reading things that I actually cared about, but that's pretty hard in my reading classes, and I haven't had the time nor the desire to really get into the Sherlock Holmes story.
I need to get with it, and I need to to it quickly.
Meanwhile, the cat sleeps on in a blissful oblivion, caring only that I want to cut his claws and wondering when he gets to eat next. I count the hours until I drive to Ft. Lauderdale to pick up the boy for fall break, and have to remember that I'm planning a personal day for next Monday. [guilty grin]. Lke I said, I guess it's time to get back to work. C'mon Thea, just a few more days.
Monday, September 27, 2004
I'm A Jetsetting Single Mom
Uh, if you consider "jetsetting" flying out of the E terminal on Southwest airlines, and if you consider Cervantes my kith and kin. The ever growing kitten is teething, so that's sort of exciting. I feel like such the parent; wasn't sure if the whole tooth losing thing was supposed to happen, so that was a little nerve-wracking, but the online vet's say that 6 months is when the baby teeth go. No worries. Disciplining is a bit of a hit and miss, but hey--that's the way it is in the classrooom too. Spraybottle and shouting at home, essays on "why you should pay attention to directions" and not-so-much shouting at school.
About that jetsetting then...Philly was wonderful. Wonderful.
Suburban consumerism at the Gap, no less; matinee showing of Garden State (Zack Braff is *too* cool); naps; sunny tree-lined walks; Haverford in its autumnal collegiate splendor (or something); stealing a kiss or two on the Main Line after dark (scandal!); lazy Sunday afternoons at Hanne's Breakfast Nook; Leeds suites?
Almost makes me forget Friday afternoon, when I literally stopped talking to my 6th period class because I couldn't not yell at them. All communication took place on the chalkboard..."because verbal communication has thus far been unsuccessful, I will now only write on the board. Progress reports went out two weeks ago; if you had any questions about your grades, I asked that you come see me. Very few people did..."
Almost makes me forget the eternal flying experience; note to self: NEVER fly out of Orlando ever again if possible. Ever, in my life. Over 6 children under 3, dirty diapers at takeoff, screaming children, irritating seat companions, *no bathrooms* argh.
It was 65 when I arrived in Pennsylvania, exhausted and emotional: positively arctic.
It is now 85 in Miami-Dade, and we ate outside on this fine Monday evening in shorts and tank tops at a swanky fast-food place called "Dogma." I sipped blissfully on an icy cold Corona as we reminded ourselves why we're not quitting our jobs. No definite conclusion was really reached, but man are those sunsets gorgeous.
Sigh, I guess I'm back in Florida. Back to work.
About that jetsetting then...Philly was wonderful. Wonderful.
Suburban consumerism at the Gap, no less; matinee showing of Garden State (Zack Braff is *too* cool); naps; sunny tree-lined walks; Haverford in its autumnal collegiate splendor (or something); stealing a kiss or two on the Main Line after dark (scandal!); lazy Sunday afternoons at Hanne's Breakfast Nook; Leeds suites?
Almost makes me forget Friday afternoon, when I literally stopped talking to my 6th period class because I couldn't not yell at them. All communication took place on the chalkboard..."because verbal communication has thus far been unsuccessful, I will now only write on the board. Progress reports went out two weeks ago; if you had any questions about your grades, I asked that you come see me. Very few people did..."
Almost makes me forget the eternal flying experience; note to self: NEVER fly out of Orlando ever again if possible. Ever, in my life. Over 6 children under 3, dirty diapers at takeoff, screaming children, irritating seat companions, *no bathrooms* argh.
It was 65 when I arrived in Pennsylvania, exhausted and emotional: positively arctic.
It is now 85 in Miami-Dade, and we ate outside on this fine Monday evening in shorts and tank tops at a swanky fast-food place called "Dogma." I sipped blissfully on an icy cold Corona as we reminded ourselves why we're not quitting our jobs. No definite conclusion was really reached, but man are those sunsets gorgeous.
Sigh, I guess I'm back in Florida. Back to work.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Two and Twenty
Wow, I'm old.
It being Sunday morning (afternoon) on the 19th of September, I have begun my 23rd year on the planet. In other words, I just turned 22. Saturday, the 18th of September, was an absolutely marvelous day. It began at midnight in the Aventura mall, after a "dinner" of cheesecake and a lovely, frivolous showing of Wimbleton complete with excessive sarcastic commentary from myself and Ana. Well done.
After the movie, 4 High School teachers piled on to a miniature racecar, plopped three quarters into a small slot on the dashboard, and rode away while the other moviegoers streamed out of the theaters. I sat demurely on the hood; let's just say others didn't quite behave in a manner befitting educational professionals. Oh, if the kids could see us now [grin]. At the end of our ride, exhausted from a long Friday at school and our exertions on the car, we extricated ourselves from the "vehicle" and observed that the weight limit on our toy was "75 pounds." Ha. Did I say I was old?
The day really officially began on Saturday morning, when I woke up at a beautiful 9:00 to fix myself a nice little breakfast before the trip. One hour later, 10 young teachers arrived at Key Largo, everyone humming the lyrics to "Kokomo" irritatingly under their breath. We piled out of the car at midday, the sun brillant overhead at Pennekamp State Park, and paid for our snorkel gear. Once we were slathered up with sunblock, the captain of "El Capitan" (how creative, no?) called the 12:00 trip to board. As we lined up by the dock, my phone began to ring, so I fumbled with my fins to answer it before whoever was on the other line hung up.
Dad said hello, offered birthday greetings, and laughed uproariously when I told him I was in the Keys about to go snorkeling. Hell yeah, southern Florida! El Capitan shoved off in the mangroves, among manatee signs and ibises, taking us eventually 5 miles off the coast to Banana Reef. We hooked up to a mooring buoy in aquamarine waters, slipped into fins, spit in our masks, and dropped into the salty water.
One of my irrational fears is deep water; that vertiginous blue space with motes of plankton reflecting light, soft sunbeams spiralling into darkness, and all the large creatures below scares the crap out of me. I was heartened to find that our reef was never more than about 28 feet deep, and I could always see either sand and seagrass or chunks of coral.
One thing that's odd about snorkeling though is that it's so non-auditory that it can disorient you completely. Once you go under water, you hear the sound of the sand in the current, and not much else. You can be looking below you, floating peacefully, and all of a sudden everyone has disappeared from your horizon. You spot a 4.5 foot barracuda below you, feel the adrenaline surge in your veins as your heartbeat picks up, foolishly beat your fins loudly in a circle to turn around, and you smack right into your snorkeling buddy who was right behind you the entire time. There were several of those moments yesterday, much swallowing of salt water after dives, and much fogging of masks forcing everyone up to the surface.
There were also angelfish (regular and blue), barracuda, sergeant majors, wrasse, parrotfish (striped and spotlight), blue tang, needlefish, minnows, and countless other small colorful yet unidentifiable beauties. I felt like the giddy little six year old that memorized all the tropical fish cards in preparation for our trip to St. John's and then refused to snorkel for a day because her mask leaked too much.
It was so refreshing, so NOT Miami, and so beautiful. Floating out on the water with hands dangling down into the depths, listeining to the sound of my own breathing through the snorkel tube, and marvelling at the abundance of life in the reef ebelow me was one of the best birthday presents ever. I'm so glad I went.
Icecream in the hot sun afterwards, and then a salty ride back to DPlace rounded out the afternoon before we all showered and prepared to head to the Carol City-Central football game at Traz Powell Stadium
NB: Cervantes is sprawled across my desk at the moment, with toes on the "y," hyphen, "r," and down arrow keys, his third eyelids glazed over, twitching contentedly in kitty dreamland. How cute is that? V. cute. Sometimes I forget he's such a psychopath. Yesterday, he opened up a Nature's Valley granola bar while we were gone, ripped the foil wrapper to shreds, and ate the entire 2 bars. Madness.
Anyway, so the TFA contingent broke up according to school loyalty: orange and black for Carol City, green and white on the Central side. The game began, the moldy concrete stadium filled with spectators, and the Miami Central Sr. High Rockets took the field. That's the football team, the dance team, the flag girls, the cheerleaders, the band, the coaches, and the waterboys. Let me say that for my first High School football game ever, it was quite the event. Scandalized by the Carol City dance team's uniform at halftime (transluscent white vinyl pants and matching crop tops), in hysterics over the spectacle of the entertaiment, we decided that we'd seen enough and headed home. Next time, I'm SO bringing my camera.
I arrived home to the smell of freshly baked cake, hung a picture with Mary, and invited over some of the D Place crowd for mudslides and conversation. Circa 11:30 the party died down after much hilarity with the cat, strong drinks, and butter pecan ice cream. A damn good night if I ever saw one.
Closed out the birthday feeling old again, after my positively juvenile activities of the night before, with a long-distance birthday greeting from Pennsylvania, dead asleep in my bed by 12:15. I had done the impossible, the unthinkable: I had a great birthday.
Now the grading encroaches on my Sunday afternoon, and the evening draws painfully close. I've got friends to call and thank, parents to greet, and much grading to be done by Monday, so I had better stop indulging myself, extricate the cat from my lap, and move on with my day, the birthday girl no longer =).
It being Sunday morning (afternoon) on the 19th of September, I have begun my 23rd year on the planet. In other words, I just turned 22. Saturday, the 18th of September, was an absolutely marvelous day. It began at midnight in the Aventura mall, after a "dinner" of cheesecake and a lovely, frivolous showing of Wimbleton complete with excessive sarcastic commentary from myself and Ana. Well done.
After the movie, 4 High School teachers piled on to a miniature racecar, plopped three quarters into a small slot on the dashboard, and rode away while the other moviegoers streamed out of the theaters. I sat demurely on the hood; let's just say others didn't quite behave in a manner befitting educational professionals. Oh, if the kids could see us now [grin]. At the end of our ride, exhausted from a long Friday at school and our exertions on the car, we extricated ourselves from the "vehicle" and observed that the weight limit on our toy was "75 pounds." Ha. Did I say I was old?
The day really officially began on Saturday morning, when I woke up at a beautiful 9:00 to fix myself a nice little breakfast before the trip. One hour later, 10 young teachers arrived at Key Largo, everyone humming the lyrics to "Kokomo" irritatingly under their breath. We piled out of the car at midday, the sun brillant overhead at Pennekamp State Park, and paid for our snorkel gear. Once we were slathered up with sunblock, the captain of "El Capitan" (how creative, no?) called the 12:00 trip to board. As we lined up by the dock, my phone began to ring, so I fumbled with my fins to answer it before whoever was on the other line hung up.
Dad said hello, offered birthday greetings, and laughed uproariously when I told him I was in the Keys about to go snorkeling. Hell yeah, southern Florida! El Capitan shoved off in the mangroves, among manatee signs and ibises, taking us eventually 5 miles off the coast to Banana Reef. We hooked up to a mooring buoy in aquamarine waters, slipped into fins, spit in our masks, and dropped into the salty water.
One of my irrational fears is deep water; that vertiginous blue space with motes of plankton reflecting light, soft sunbeams spiralling into darkness, and all the large creatures below scares the crap out of me. I was heartened to find that our reef was never more than about 28 feet deep, and I could always see either sand and seagrass or chunks of coral.
One thing that's odd about snorkeling though is that it's so non-auditory that it can disorient you completely. Once you go under water, you hear the sound of the sand in the current, and not much else. You can be looking below you, floating peacefully, and all of a sudden everyone has disappeared from your horizon. You spot a 4.5 foot barracuda below you, feel the adrenaline surge in your veins as your heartbeat picks up, foolishly beat your fins loudly in a circle to turn around, and you smack right into your snorkeling buddy who was right behind you the entire time. There were several of those moments yesterday, much swallowing of salt water after dives, and much fogging of masks forcing everyone up to the surface.
There were also angelfish (regular and blue), barracuda, sergeant majors, wrasse, parrotfish (striped and spotlight), blue tang, needlefish, minnows, and countless other small colorful yet unidentifiable beauties. I felt like the giddy little six year old that memorized all the tropical fish cards in preparation for our trip to St. John's and then refused to snorkel for a day because her mask leaked too much.
It was so refreshing, so NOT Miami, and so beautiful. Floating out on the water with hands dangling down into the depths, listeining to the sound of my own breathing through the snorkel tube, and marvelling at the abundance of life in the reef ebelow me was one of the best birthday presents ever. I'm so glad I went.
Icecream in the hot sun afterwards, and then a salty ride back to DPlace rounded out the afternoon before we all showered and prepared to head to the Carol City-Central football game at Traz Powell Stadium
NB: Cervantes is sprawled across my desk at the moment, with toes on the "y," hyphen, "r," and down arrow keys, his third eyelids glazed over, twitching contentedly in kitty dreamland. How cute is that? V. cute. Sometimes I forget he's such a psychopath. Yesterday, he opened up a Nature's Valley granola bar while we were gone, ripped the foil wrapper to shreds, and ate the entire 2 bars. Madness.
Anyway, so the TFA contingent broke up according to school loyalty: orange and black for Carol City, green and white on the Central side. The game began, the moldy concrete stadium filled with spectators, and the Miami Central Sr. High Rockets took the field. That's the football team, the dance team, the flag girls, the cheerleaders, the band, the coaches, and the waterboys. Let me say that for my first High School football game ever, it was quite the event. Scandalized by the Carol City dance team's uniform at halftime (transluscent white vinyl pants and matching crop tops), in hysterics over the spectacle of the entertaiment, we decided that we'd seen enough and headed home. Next time, I'm SO bringing my camera.
I arrived home to the smell of freshly baked cake, hung a picture with Mary, and invited over some of the D Place crowd for mudslides and conversation. Circa 11:30 the party died down after much hilarity with the cat, strong drinks, and butter pecan ice cream. A damn good night if I ever saw one.
Closed out the birthday feeling old again, after my positively juvenile activities of the night before, with a long-distance birthday greeting from Pennsylvania, dead asleep in my bed by 12:15. I had done the impossible, the unthinkable: I had a great birthday.
Now the grading encroaches on my Sunday afternoon, and the evening draws painfully close. I've got friends to call and thank, parents to greet, and much grading to be done by Monday, so I had better stop indulging myself, extricate the cat from my lap, and move on with my day, the birthday girl no longer =).
Monday, September 13, 2004
Aftermath
Yeah, about that. I've been a little out of touch lately, due to several external forces completely beyond my control, the first of which being a non-functional 5 year old mouse. Yes, that's right, the litle Macintosh rodent kicked the bucket circa Tuesday evening, leaving me lesson plan-less, and without any way to access the information in my computer. For the first time ever, I felt like Hansel in Zoolander wanting to get "inside the computer" and resort to physical violence.
Sigh. Also, Cervantes the devil cat, in his innovative search for amusement knocked the power source for the iBook off the bed and onto the tile floor one too many times, so that crapped out too. The entire DPlace network was down, sadness. It was strange, too, because for the first time in a while I felt like writing, getting things down on "paper." It has been nearly a year since I've put a literal pen to paper for the 'blog, and although I wanted to say something, I coudln't bring myself to go through the physical exertion of writing the old fashioned way. There's just something about the click clock of a keyboard that is music to my ears. This is why, in the absence of functional creative space, I felt stymied, stifled, squelched, and even thwarted with my lack of expression.
Random Aside: at some point this weekend, the gals in 266 were lamenting the diminishment of lexicons; I saw a big word and thought "gee, I used to use that all the time. I miss big words. I don't see them any more." The suitemates agreed, and DDH, in his GRE-studying glory, made me jealous of all the new words that he's learning. Thus (as evidenced by this post) I am now fighting an uphill battle to regain my lost vocabulary, and rescue the $50 words from the depths of underuse and neglect. Thank you, and you may continue with your regularly scheduled message.
I needed to vent about my surreal week, my surreal life, and explain why, in the midst of shittiness and long, long days at school, I was feeling happy for a bit. Perhaps my preemptory use of the past tense was a little fatalistic, but go with me for a bit.
The first two weeks of school dragged on pretty slowly, and somewhere along the way I started to get my kids a little more in line. It's exhausting to see the eensy weensy baby steps that each class goes through in terms of behavior management, and to realize that so much of how the school day goes is dependent on those 6 or 7 wild card kids. I selfishly got to wishing that they'd be in CSI (that's indoor suspension, in mystic code. Nobody is quite sure what it means) just so that my class would be better behaved. Then, there came the miraculous first paycheck and then suddenly life didn't seem so horrible. We painted the living room in South Beach hues, and I treated myself to a work outfit at Target (Tar-sshhhay). woo hoo, good times.
Impulsively bought a cat, continued to fumble through my Reading lessons, and finally started a real "story" in English. Yeah, too bad it's about nostalgia, a little difficult to explain to 14 year olds and chosen by the English department in spite of its 11th grade vocabulary. Whatever.
Week 3 began, with me counting the hours until 9 pm Wednesday night when a nonstop flight from Philly would touch down. Somehow, news of the hurricane leaked through my tunnel vision around Sunday, and before I knew it storm fever had hit South Florida. Without a television, using primarily the NOAA National Hurricane Center for information, we stayed pretty sane, but the rest of the city was high on media hype and dramatization. Then, to my great surprise, at 8:00 pm the school board announced that students would not report on Thursday or Friday. Halelujah!!! a five, count them, five day weekend (including Labor Day). Bear in mind, this is the longest I've had off of work in about 3 months, and Dave is there to spend it with me.
...and now for something completely different (a la Monty Python boys)
Thursday morning came, and Virginia and I slept in till a positively scandalous 7:00 am (normal wake-up is 5:15) and put trash bags on computers for about an hour until we got paid again and then skipped out of school. I proceeded to get gas for the car, buy a couple of jugs of water, and then take Dave to the beach. How hot is that? A hurricane day, and we get to go to the beach.
Friday was blissful, much sleeping and cooking, with Francis nowhere in sight. Candles were on the agenda, so we sniffed every scent in Target until I couldn't smell any more. We played hearts all afternoon with a Disney Princess card deck while singing the theme to Sleeping Beauty. Excuse me? Yes, that's right. Oh yeah, half of the D Place residents high-tailed it out of dodge, and they evacuated the beaches.
The entire series of events from Wednesday night to Tuesday morning was like a jumble of sureal ocurrences not at all related to my normal life. I got to cook again: real pasta sauces, whole *meals* instead of thrown-together one-serving sustenance-only things, and black beans and rice for our impromptu hurricane potluck (complete with *really* strong hurricanes [grin]), my first batch of cookies since arriving in Miami.
Sunday we spent trying like hell to make it to the water, but the fuzz was out everywhere, adn wouldn't even let us see the waves. Instead, we modified our plans and turned the day into a search for towelling to absorb the leak in the floor (which started mysteriously *before* the rains...), and a spray bottle with which to discipline the cat. Biting my ass while I'm sleeping is NOT acceptable behavior.
We spent one entire morning hanging pictures and listening to Duke Ellington; we spend an evening searching for the sketchiest liquor store on the planet (amaretto for the hurricanes); we walked to the park to see the wind pick up in the palm trees; we went running in the rain; we did no work whatsoever.
The entire city shut down on Saturday and Sunday, so that kind of sucked, and I think that everyone went a little stir crazy at the end, but all-in-all, a wonderful hurricane experience. Adding depth and irony to the non-sequiter nature of the break was the fact that we didn't even lose power. I spent most of the time watching the storm creep along the satellite tracking path online, perfectly safe from any meteorological harm. Bizarre, I tell you.
Sigh. And then Tuesday came, and I had to remember that I was a teacher again. More on this later, but unfortunately (or fortuitously) I am a teacher, and have lots of responsibilities that must be seen to this evening. I tell you, the paperwork never ends. If I have to fill out one more carbon copy form or Scantron sheet, I'm going to kill someone.
Sigh. Also, Cervantes the devil cat, in his innovative search for amusement knocked the power source for the iBook off the bed and onto the tile floor one too many times, so that crapped out too. The entire DPlace network was down, sadness. It was strange, too, because for the first time in a while I felt like writing, getting things down on "paper." It has been nearly a year since I've put a literal pen to paper for the 'blog, and although I wanted to say something, I coudln't bring myself to go through the physical exertion of writing the old fashioned way. There's just something about the click clock of a keyboard that is music to my ears. This is why, in the absence of functional creative space, I felt stymied, stifled, squelched, and even thwarted with my lack of expression.
Random Aside: at some point this weekend, the gals in 266 were lamenting the diminishment of lexicons; I saw a big word and thought "gee, I used to use that all the time. I miss big words. I don't see them any more." The suitemates agreed, and DDH, in his GRE-studying glory, made me jealous of all the new words that he's learning. Thus (as evidenced by this post) I am now fighting an uphill battle to regain my lost vocabulary, and rescue the $50 words from the depths of underuse and neglect. Thank you, and you may continue with your regularly scheduled message.
I needed to vent about my surreal week, my surreal life, and explain why, in the midst of shittiness and long, long days at school, I was feeling happy for a bit. Perhaps my preemptory use of the past tense was a little fatalistic, but go with me for a bit.
The first two weeks of school dragged on pretty slowly, and somewhere along the way I started to get my kids a little more in line. It's exhausting to see the eensy weensy baby steps that each class goes through in terms of behavior management, and to realize that so much of how the school day goes is dependent on those 6 or 7 wild card kids. I selfishly got to wishing that they'd be in CSI (that's indoor suspension, in mystic code. Nobody is quite sure what it means) just so that my class would be better behaved. Then, there came the miraculous first paycheck and then suddenly life didn't seem so horrible. We painted the living room in South Beach hues, and I treated myself to a work outfit at Target (Tar-sshhhay). woo hoo, good times.
Impulsively bought a cat, continued to fumble through my Reading lessons, and finally started a real "story" in English. Yeah, too bad it's about nostalgia, a little difficult to explain to 14 year olds and chosen by the English department in spite of its 11th grade vocabulary. Whatever.
Week 3 began, with me counting the hours until 9 pm Wednesday night when a nonstop flight from Philly would touch down. Somehow, news of the hurricane leaked through my tunnel vision around Sunday, and before I knew it storm fever had hit South Florida. Without a television, using primarily the NOAA National Hurricane Center for information, we stayed pretty sane, but the rest of the city was high on media hype and dramatization. Then, to my great surprise, at 8:00 pm the school board announced that students would not report on Thursday or Friday. Halelujah!!! a five, count them, five day weekend (including Labor Day). Bear in mind, this is the longest I've had off of work in about 3 months, and Dave is there to spend it with me.
...and now for something completely different (a la Monty Python boys)
Thursday morning came, and Virginia and I slept in till a positively scandalous 7:00 am (normal wake-up is 5:15) and put trash bags on computers for about an hour until we got paid again and then skipped out of school. I proceeded to get gas for the car, buy a couple of jugs of water, and then take Dave to the beach. How hot is that? A hurricane day, and we get to go to the beach.
Friday was blissful, much sleeping and cooking, with Francis nowhere in sight. Candles were on the agenda, so we sniffed every scent in Target until I couldn't smell any more. We played hearts all afternoon with a Disney Princess card deck while singing the theme to Sleeping Beauty. Excuse me? Yes, that's right. Oh yeah, half of the D Place residents high-tailed it out of dodge, and they evacuated the beaches.
The entire series of events from Wednesday night to Tuesday morning was like a jumble of sureal ocurrences not at all related to my normal life. I got to cook again: real pasta sauces, whole *meals* instead of thrown-together one-serving sustenance-only things, and black beans and rice for our impromptu hurricane potluck (complete with *really* strong hurricanes [grin]), my first batch of cookies since arriving in Miami.
Sunday we spent trying like hell to make it to the water, but the fuzz was out everywhere, adn wouldn't even let us see the waves. Instead, we modified our plans and turned the day into a search for towelling to absorb the leak in the floor (which started mysteriously *before* the rains...), and a spray bottle with which to discipline the cat. Biting my ass while I'm sleeping is NOT acceptable behavior.
We spent one entire morning hanging pictures and listening to Duke Ellington; we spend an evening searching for the sketchiest liquor store on the planet (amaretto for the hurricanes); we walked to the park to see the wind pick up in the palm trees; we went running in the rain; we did no work whatsoever.
The entire city shut down on Saturday and Sunday, so that kind of sucked, and I think that everyone went a little stir crazy at the end, but all-in-all, a wonderful hurricane experience. Adding depth and irony to the non-sequiter nature of the break was the fact that we didn't even lose power. I spent most of the time watching the storm creep along the satellite tracking path online, perfectly safe from any meteorological harm. Bizarre, I tell you.
Sigh. And then Tuesday came, and I had to remember that I was a teacher again. More on this later, but unfortunately (or fortuitously) I am a teacher, and have lots of responsibilities that must be seen to this evening. I tell you, the paperwork never ends. If I have to fill out one more carbon copy form or Scantron sheet, I'm going to kill someone.
Saturday, August 28, 2004
Almost Home
Miami, despite its incongruities and illogical ways is finally starting to feel like home. There are several reasons for this stealthy transformation, two of which are facilely identified.
1. Cervantes. No, not the underappreciated father of meta, but my new feline companion. Cervantes (nee Ronald) came to me from the 95th street animal shelter last Wednesday, a dashingly cute brown and dark grey tabby, with green and golden eyes. I hadn't planned on choosing a tabby cat, since they're *so* mundane and ordinary looking, but this little guy was too cute for words. Plus, the guy who worked at the shelter said that it was his favorite cat.
He is certainly good natured, and a priceless addition to the household; makes me feel all "responsible" and stuff, feeding him and taking care of another little being. Of course, I still haven't taken him to the vet, which I was supposed to do within 4 days of bringing him home...it's only been 5, so I'm not too irresponsible. Yet. So far we have had very few mishaps with rearing a kitten, save Cervantes's psychotic morning transformations.
I usually wake up at about 5:30, feed the cat, shower, and start my morning routine. This is all well and good, since the cat is usually awake when I get out of bed. On Saturday, however (and again this morning), the furry thing does a Jekyll and Hyde number, decides that he wants to attack my hair and ears, gnaw on my toes, and try to disembowel my stuffed animals. It's a little disturbing, but it only happens from the hours of 6:30-8:00 am. I'd say it's hormonal, but for god's sake, he's neutured! I'm just hoping he grows out of it. I'd also like to think that when he nuzzles his cute little nose into my shoulder to ask for his head to be scratched, he's not just doing it because I put kitty food in his dish and make sure that his litter box is cleaned. I mean, there's got to be some sort of intrinsic love in there, doesn't there?
All of my TFA friends have taken to him as the token pet in D-Place, which is fun. If people don't want to visit me, at least they want to play with the cat.
2. The other marked improvement in 266 NE 53rd is the new paint job in the living room. Mary and I worked from noon till five yesterday painting our living space a lovely light orange, with a stripe of green around the ceiling. We even have our front door 'goldfish orange' on one side. I'm not kidding, it matches the salty cheddar snack food so well that we put out a martini glass full of them on the coffee table for decoration.
The apartment is starting to feel quite a lot more like home, which is nice, now that I think I'm settling into the routine in teaching, gettting used to my new life (sort of). Dave is coming down, and there's another football game on Thursday night; I think a bunch of us teachers might make a cameo.
3. The third and final elment of the heimlich that has returned to my life (in complete and total regression to high school...but in a good way, I swear) is the Hot Hot Saturday Night. Ashley, Amanda, Virginia, and I went to CocoWalk to see Garden State, extravagantly treating ourselves to an outrageously priced bag of popcorn to accompany the movie. I love good movies so much, and it's funny that an outing such as last night is enough to constitute a good social evening. Plus, in true cyclical fashion, there were some lovely philosophical musings about the nature of "home" which made me both nostalgic, expectant, and sad all at the same time. Zach Braff is my new hero.
The last element that's missing is one that is soon on it's way; once we start having company over, it will really feel like a home instead of a living space. Got some phone calls from old friends who are far away, and that was comforting, especially when they might be on their way South. The place is almost presentable, and I can't wait to introduce them to D-Place. "Hi, this is where I live."
Sigh, the calling of independent life hearkens: there is laundry to be done, groceries to be bought, and a small cat chewing on my flip flop, which is still on my foot. I should get going, so I can be home in time for dinner.
1. Cervantes. No, not the underappreciated father of meta, but my new feline companion. Cervantes (nee Ronald) came to me from the 95th street animal shelter last Wednesday, a dashingly cute brown and dark grey tabby, with green and golden eyes. I hadn't planned on choosing a tabby cat, since they're *so* mundane and ordinary looking, but this little guy was too cute for words. Plus, the guy who worked at the shelter said that it was his favorite cat.
He is certainly good natured, and a priceless addition to the household; makes me feel all "responsible" and stuff, feeding him and taking care of another little being. Of course, I still haven't taken him to the vet, which I was supposed to do within 4 days of bringing him home...it's only been 5, so I'm not too irresponsible. Yet. So far we have had very few mishaps with rearing a kitten, save Cervantes's psychotic morning transformations.
I usually wake up at about 5:30, feed the cat, shower, and start my morning routine. This is all well and good, since the cat is usually awake when I get out of bed. On Saturday, however (and again this morning), the furry thing does a Jekyll and Hyde number, decides that he wants to attack my hair and ears, gnaw on my toes, and try to disembowel my stuffed animals. It's a little disturbing, but it only happens from the hours of 6:30-8:00 am. I'd say it's hormonal, but for god's sake, he's neutured! I'm just hoping he grows out of it. I'd also like to think that when he nuzzles his cute little nose into my shoulder to ask for his head to be scratched, he's not just doing it because I put kitty food in his dish and make sure that his litter box is cleaned. I mean, there's got to be some sort of intrinsic love in there, doesn't there?
All of my TFA friends have taken to him as the token pet in D-Place, which is fun. If people don't want to visit me, at least they want to play with the cat.
2. The other marked improvement in 266 NE 53rd is the new paint job in the living room. Mary and I worked from noon till five yesterday painting our living space a lovely light orange, with a stripe of green around the ceiling. We even have our front door 'goldfish orange' on one side. I'm not kidding, it matches the salty cheddar snack food so well that we put out a martini glass full of them on the coffee table for decoration.
The apartment is starting to feel quite a lot more like home, which is nice, now that I think I'm settling into the routine in teaching, gettting used to my new life (sort of). Dave is coming down, and there's another football game on Thursday night; I think a bunch of us teachers might make a cameo.
3. The third and final elment of the heimlich that has returned to my life (in complete and total regression to high school...but in a good way, I swear) is the Hot Hot Saturday Night. Ashley, Amanda, Virginia, and I went to CocoWalk to see Garden State, extravagantly treating ourselves to an outrageously priced bag of popcorn to accompany the movie. I love good movies so much, and it's funny that an outing such as last night is enough to constitute a good social evening. Plus, in true cyclical fashion, there were some lovely philosophical musings about the nature of "home" which made me both nostalgic, expectant, and sad all at the same time. Zach Braff is my new hero.
The last element that's missing is one that is soon on it's way; once we start having company over, it will really feel like a home instead of a living space. Got some phone calls from old friends who are far away, and that was comforting, especially when they might be on their way South. The place is almost presentable, and I can't wait to introduce them to D-Place. "Hi, this is where I live."
Sigh, the calling of independent life hearkens: there is laundry to be done, groceries to be bought, and a small cat chewing on my flip flop, which is still on my foot. I should get going, so I can be home in time for dinner.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
tuesday?
surly students, desk thrown at me, racial slurs, upperclassmen stalking my class, morning with the police (no, i will NOT press charges), tears, "CRACKER," more ID pictures, students grabbing stuff from me, my desk, more referrals, 20 hall passes signed, 120 7-digit codes, "you can't handle the lesson I had planned for today," what grade are you in?, "nobody respects you in this class 'cause you don't yell enough," that is inapppropriate, that is disrespectful, leave. my. class. now! After school 'visits' after hours, official observtions, sunshine state standards, gradebooks, and administrative checklists. The copy machine is broken, Miss.
over.
more tears. wine, nutella, then more work to do tonight: school starts bright and early.
over.
more tears. wine, nutella, then more work to do tonight: school starts bright and early.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Week 1, D-o-n-e.
Since time immemorial, Sundays have been a time of regrouping, organization, and work. Thus, in true Thea fashion, I have embarked on the great sojurn of getting my life back in order today. I have several important people to call, 2 more classes' homework and grades to calculate, and a bunch of errands to run. However, I feel as though I've gotten a jump start on the day's work, and that deserves a gold star in my gradebook.
I'm starting a small garden in the back yard of the apartment, which is interesting mostly because Design Place, like the Haverford College Apartments, used to be housing projects. Yes, folks, I've been living in the projects for 5 years. I dug up all manner of construction debris while trying to find some arable land for my basil and oregano. Yet dig I did, and filled a formerly concrete and sandy indention with fresh potting soil so that my herbs can survive the Florida heat. I"m shooting for pesto in 2 weeks. Shit, that means I'll have to buy a blender. Isn't my birthday coming up shortly?
Now that it's nearly 11:00 pm, there have been several more tasks crossed off the To Do list: printing and mounting my Botanical Garden 8x10 pic's, buying more school supplies, filling up the car with gas, finishing grading, calling parents, and sweeping my room (and endless and utterly futile task, but I try). Hmm, I guess I haven't been too useless today, all things considered. I even got two of my important phone calls done, and only two more must wait until tomorrow. Okay, maybe three.
The one thing that I haven't done (apart from find a DVD player that I can use at school) is lesson plan for the rest of the week, so I need to get ON that before it's to late. No more sleep deprived Thea for next week, I'll have none of that. Hasta pronto, all.
I'm starting a small garden in the back yard of the apartment, which is interesting mostly because Design Place, like the Haverford College Apartments, used to be housing projects. Yes, folks, I've been living in the projects for 5 years. I dug up all manner of construction debris while trying to find some arable land for my basil and oregano. Yet dig I did, and filled a formerly concrete and sandy indention with fresh potting soil so that my herbs can survive the Florida heat. I"m shooting for pesto in 2 weeks. Shit, that means I'll have to buy a blender. Isn't my birthday coming up shortly?
Now that it's nearly 11:00 pm, there have been several more tasks crossed off the To Do list: printing and mounting my Botanical Garden 8x10 pic's, buying more school supplies, filling up the car with gas, finishing grading, calling parents, and sweeping my room (and endless and utterly futile task, but I try). Hmm, I guess I haven't been too useless today, all things considered. I even got two of my important phone calls done, and only two more must wait until tomorrow. Okay, maybe three.
The one thing that I haven't done (apart from find a DVD player that I can use at school) is lesson plan for the rest of the week, so I need to get ON that before it's to late. No more sleep deprived Thea for next week, I'll have none of that. Hasta pronto, all.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Hoarding
I never understood why on earth teachers would get so irritated when they had to stay after school for a meeting, administrative workshop, or conference. I mean, I stayed after school every day for sports, yearbook, and all sorts of reasons so why couldn't they? Then I became a teacher.
All of a sudden, every free hour of my life is a precious gift, not to be squandered on such activities as "commuting" "working out" and "cleaning," but intensely guarded and cherished for things like "lesson planning" and "sleep." Leaving the two hour informational meeting about a Master's degree from Florida International University, I returned to my apartment feeling as though those two hours had been violently robbed from me. I wanted to physically snatch them back, wind the clock with my bare hands, or whatever other physical force I could muster, and go back to 2:30 when the bell rang after my 4th day as a High School teacher.
The first day was [relatively] easy, as predicted, because who wants to be an asshole on the first day? Day two slid downhill as my 5th period class of now 31 decided that they would rather throw things at each other and scream rather than interview each other. I decided that we should write an essay about working in a group. Day three with 5th period was a definite improvement over day two, especially with the implementation of the "clap once if you can hear me" policy. Then, I got three new students. Every day, in every class, I have a new student. I don't know where the come from; they seem to be hiding in the walls, ready to pop into my doorway schedule in hand. Sure enough, they all say "WILLIAMSON T" on their schedule, and should all be in RM 0014. To my dismay, I fill out another column in my gradebook, hand them a numbered index card with their assigned seat, and (of course) forget to hand them the rules and a letter for their parents.
Today, 5th period was a little better, but both Reading classes almost fell apart. I teach 3 sections of English 1 for 9th graders (and four 10th graders who failed the FCAT) then 2 sections of "Intensive Reading" which is essentially remedial English. In the past two days I have given a lecture on the word origins of "faggot" three times, explained the latin derivation of "bisexual" "autobiography" and "scholarly," as well as taught the proper procedure for tearing paper out of a notebook; using a pen; and saying one's name. Yes, I'm teaching high school.
As the first week ticks by, I laugh when veterans joke at the end of the day "178 days left, huh?" but I won't lie and say that I haven't thought about counting down too. I know intellectually that things are improving, and that at some point there won't be so much work to do at school that I want to sleep immediately after unlocking my front door, but right now that's hard to imagine. I know that there will come a time (hopefully not in the too distant future) when I won't be planning the night before each class, and decorating at 6:40 am before the students get to school, but right now that's where I'm at.
Another thing that is astonishingly difficult to comprehend is what exactly it means to earn a 9th grade student's respect. It was clear at the outset that it would be "hard" to do, but knowing that a task will be difficult is categorically different from confronting that difficult task. When I stand in front af 34 students, some of whom have probably been arrested, seen a friend shot, or don't see their parents every day and tell them "you may not leave my class until I dismiss you, not the bell" there is a certain degree of incredulity that these children will ever respect me. Perhaps the first thing to remember is that they are indeed children.
They like cartoons, Sponge Bob is a favorite; their parents drive most of them to school, even if they might drop them off an hour early because they have to be at work by 7:00; most of them care more about their hair and the brand of shoes they wear than about who's paying the electric bill; a 'teacher look' can still make them squirm in their seat.
I wrote my first office referral today, shamefully, because I couldn't maintain discipline in my class, but what frustrated me is that it wasn't indicative of the progress that we've made in 5th period towards becoming a functional unit. 90% of the class seemed willing to stay until I had explained the homework assignment, but when one student sprinted out the door, I lost them. 34 students streamed towards the two exits to my room, and I could only block one. In a last-ditch effort to regain some sense of authority, I reached for the outswung door handle which that energetic little thing had opened, and yanked, pulling a little harder than was necessary.
The heavy iron door began to swing, and once I had set it in motion, I knew that there was no going back. Oh well, at least I was going to prove a point. My frustrations flung into that door, and as it gained speed I prepared myself for what was about to happen...THWAACCKKKKKK. It sounded almost like a gunshot as the metal door hit the metal frame, and immediately the 90% of my class that was in the room whipped around. I think I even saw several students scurry back to their seats. To any seat, as long as I didn't see them trying to leave. A curt "get back in class" rounded up a few more stragglers, who sat wide-eyed as I explained in dulcet tones (and I do mean drippingly sweet and mild-mannered) that they should save their classwork to use tomorrow, and that there would be a quiz on rules and procedures the next day.
One of the girls who had refused to do her work for the past two days even looked a little taken aback. In almost schizophrenic fashion, I told them that they were now dismissed, and to have a nice day. As a slightly more orderly mass of freshmen moved to the door, I heard that same girl remark "dang, she feisty!" At least I'm not a pushover, right? A fellow '04 corps member from Haverford told me at the end of the school year that I'd be fine, because I'm supposedly "tough as nails." It's not often that I feel that way, but I like to think that I hoard little bits of it to save for the right moments. Hopefully today was one of those moments.
Every day I suppose that things get a little bit better, but it's pretty sad when an accomplishment is not having students yell at each other too much, or walk across my room in the middle of class. I should also probably be thinking more from my students' perspective; maybe they've gathered up all the respect that they're going to give to authority this year, and I've got to bargain for it no matter how high the cost. I hope they've saved at least a little for me to earn.
Abstract concepts like "trust" "free time" and "respect" become so much more tangible, infinitely more important in the midst of an arbitrary bureaucracy and completely opaque administration caught up in state audits and local politics. I get the privilege of seeing amazingly beautiful Miami sunrises every morning, and every second of sleep is that much more precious. I also haven't spoken to old friends in a long time, and have to take 20 or 30 minutes after school to even fathom organizing the 6 new memos on my desk, let alone alphabetizing 5 classes of homework that I need to take home and grade.
At least we have gas for our stove (but the oven is still broken) and an internet conection (although the router won't function), and I have a desk to sit at (if not a real chair). Shit, and it's late already; I've got a quiz to write for tomorrow, and I need to leave my house in 8.5 hours so there's no more time to waste!
All of a sudden, every free hour of my life is a precious gift, not to be squandered on such activities as "commuting" "working out" and "cleaning," but intensely guarded and cherished for things like "lesson planning" and "sleep." Leaving the two hour informational meeting about a Master's degree from Florida International University, I returned to my apartment feeling as though those two hours had been violently robbed from me. I wanted to physically snatch them back, wind the clock with my bare hands, or whatever other physical force I could muster, and go back to 2:30 when the bell rang after my 4th day as a High School teacher.
The first day was [relatively] easy, as predicted, because who wants to be an asshole on the first day? Day two slid downhill as my 5th period class of now 31 decided that they would rather throw things at each other and scream rather than interview each other. I decided that we should write an essay about working in a group. Day three with 5th period was a definite improvement over day two, especially with the implementation of the "clap once if you can hear me" policy. Then, I got three new students. Every day, in every class, I have a new student. I don't know where the come from; they seem to be hiding in the walls, ready to pop into my doorway schedule in hand. Sure enough, they all say "WILLIAMSON T" on their schedule, and should all be in RM 0014. To my dismay, I fill out another column in my gradebook, hand them a numbered index card with their assigned seat, and (of course) forget to hand them the rules and a letter for their parents.
Today, 5th period was a little better, but both Reading classes almost fell apart. I teach 3 sections of English 1 for 9th graders (and four 10th graders who failed the FCAT) then 2 sections of "Intensive Reading" which is essentially remedial English. In the past two days I have given a lecture on the word origins of "faggot" three times, explained the latin derivation of "bisexual" "autobiography" and "scholarly," as well as taught the proper procedure for tearing paper out of a notebook; using a pen; and saying one's name. Yes, I'm teaching high school.
As the first week ticks by, I laugh when veterans joke at the end of the day "178 days left, huh?" but I won't lie and say that I haven't thought about counting down too. I know intellectually that things are improving, and that at some point there won't be so much work to do at school that I want to sleep immediately after unlocking my front door, but right now that's hard to imagine. I know that there will come a time (hopefully not in the too distant future) when I won't be planning the night before each class, and decorating at 6:40 am before the students get to school, but right now that's where I'm at.
Another thing that is astonishingly difficult to comprehend is what exactly it means to earn a 9th grade student's respect. It was clear at the outset that it would be "hard" to do, but knowing that a task will be difficult is categorically different from confronting that difficult task. When I stand in front af 34 students, some of whom have probably been arrested, seen a friend shot, or don't see their parents every day and tell them "you may not leave my class until I dismiss you, not the bell" there is a certain degree of incredulity that these children will ever respect me. Perhaps the first thing to remember is that they are indeed children.
They like cartoons, Sponge Bob is a favorite; their parents drive most of them to school, even if they might drop them off an hour early because they have to be at work by 7:00; most of them care more about their hair and the brand of shoes they wear than about who's paying the electric bill; a 'teacher look' can still make them squirm in their seat.
I wrote my first office referral today, shamefully, because I couldn't maintain discipline in my class, but what frustrated me is that it wasn't indicative of the progress that we've made in 5th period towards becoming a functional unit. 90% of the class seemed willing to stay until I had explained the homework assignment, but when one student sprinted out the door, I lost them. 34 students streamed towards the two exits to my room, and I could only block one. In a last-ditch effort to regain some sense of authority, I reached for the outswung door handle which that energetic little thing had opened, and yanked, pulling a little harder than was necessary.
The heavy iron door began to swing, and once I had set it in motion, I knew that there was no going back. Oh well, at least I was going to prove a point. My frustrations flung into that door, and as it gained speed I prepared myself for what was about to happen...THWAACCKKKKKK. It sounded almost like a gunshot as the metal door hit the metal frame, and immediately the 90% of my class that was in the room whipped around. I think I even saw several students scurry back to their seats. To any seat, as long as I didn't see them trying to leave. A curt "get back in class" rounded up a few more stragglers, who sat wide-eyed as I explained in dulcet tones (and I do mean drippingly sweet and mild-mannered) that they should save their classwork to use tomorrow, and that there would be a quiz on rules and procedures the next day.
One of the girls who had refused to do her work for the past two days even looked a little taken aback. In almost schizophrenic fashion, I told them that they were now dismissed, and to have a nice day. As a slightly more orderly mass of freshmen moved to the door, I heard that same girl remark "dang, she feisty!" At least I'm not a pushover, right? A fellow '04 corps member from Haverford told me at the end of the school year that I'd be fine, because I'm supposedly "tough as nails." It's not often that I feel that way, but I like to think that I hoard little bits of it to save for the right moments. Hopefully today was one of those moments.
Every day I suppose that things get a little bit better, but it's pretty sad when an accomplishment is not having students yell at each other too much, or walk across my room in the middle of class. I should also probably be thinking more from my students' perspective; maybe they've gathered up all the respect that they're going to give to authority this year, and I've got to bargain for it no matter how high the cost. I hope they've saved at least a little for me to earn.
Abstract concepts like "trust" "free time" and "respect" become so much more tangible, infinitely more important in the midst of an arbitrary bureaucracy and completely opaque administration caught up in state audits and local politics. I get the privilege of seeing amazingly beautiful Miami sunrises every morning, and every second of sleep is that much more precious. I also haven't spoken to old friends in a long time, and have to take 20 or 30 minutes after school to even fathom organizing the 6 new memos on my desk, let alone alphabetizing 5 classes of homework that I need to take home and grade.
At least we have gas for our stove (but the oven is still broken) and an internet conection (although the router won't function), and I have a desk to sit at (if not a real chair). Shit, and it's late already; I've got a quiz to write for tomorrow, and I need to leave my house in 8.5 hours so there's no more time to waste!
Saturday, August 07, 2004
AWOL?
in design place at last, trying like hell to get
1. gas for the stove
2. a telephone line
3. internet
4. working doors
5. air conditioning
6. pot hooks
7. THE FIRST DAY'S LESSON PLAN
organized before i become a high school english teacher in 8 days. fuck fuck fuck.
hey...at least i'm in miami, even if i haven't gotten a chance to visit the beach.
1. gas for the stove
2. a telephone line
3. internet
4. working doors
5. air conditioning
6. pot hooks
7. THE FIRST DAY'S LESSON PLAN
organized before i become a high school english teacher in 8 days. fuck fuck fuck.
hey...at least i'm in miami, even if i haven't gotten a chance to visit the beach.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Anger Necessitates Chocolate
and the more amarga the better.
I have just emerged from quite possibly the most poorly-utilized hour and a half of my life. Yes, folks, that's right. I am forced to attend professional development "classes" which are not required for my region nor school district every Tuesday night, where I can be patronized with POWER POINT PRESENTATIONS and SCRIPTED LESSONS, two of my personal versions of hell. All of this while people can spit acronyms back at me and tell me how I can use all of these things in the fall.
What irritates me more than anything else on this planet (and subsequently throws me into hyperbolic fits of fury) are conscious and deliberate wastes of time and energy. I can understand slacking off for mental health, procrastinating to sleep/do something fun, but what I REFUSE to comprehend or participate in are nonsensical, structured, scheduled events which take place merely so that someone higher up can check off a box somewhere on some arbitrary checklist (oh, and as a teacher now, I THINK I know a little bit about arbitrary assesments) and say to himself in a self-satisfied way "Yep, did that. Crossed that off the list. Whew."
Fuck that.
Did I also mention that the sprinkler system at Fordham remains on even through two solid days of rain? Does ANYONE find that ironic? Does ANYONE want to shut it off? Jesus christ, people, there's enough water on the grass already. Don't drown us...I mean, it.
I have just emerged from quite possibly the most poorly-utilized hour and a half of my life. Yes, folks, that's right. I am forced to attend professional development "classes" which are not required for my region nor school district every Tuesday night, where I can be patronized with POWER POINT PRESENTATIONS and SCRIPTED LESSONS, two of my personal versions of hell. All of this while people can spit acronyms back at me and tell me how I can use all of these things in the fall.
What irritates me more than anything else on this planet (and subsequently throws me into hyperbolic fits of fury) are conscious and deliberate wastes of time and energy. I can understand slacking off for mental health, procrastinating to sleep/do something fun, but what I REFUSE to comprehend or participate in are nonsensical, structured, scheduled events which take place merely so that someone higher up can check off a box somewhere on some arbitrary checklist (oh, and as a teacher now, I THINK I know a little bit about arbitrary assesments) and say to himself in a self-satisfied way "Yep, did that. Crossed that off the list. Whew."
Fuck that.
Did I also mention that the sprinkler system at Fordham remains on even through two solid days of rain? Does ANYONE find that ironic? Does ANYONE want to shut it off? Jesus christ, people, there's enough water on the grass already. Don't drown us...I mean, it.
Monday, July 19, 2004
Halfway There
the buzzword this week has been "half-way," yet I'm not quite sure how appropriate that is. I keep hearing that these last two weeks of teaching will fly, that Institute will be over before we know it, but I'm dubious. This weekend was great: refreshing and fun, but there's still a lot of work that needs to be done.
In any case, there were several incidents towards the end of last week that helped push me up and over the halfway point without completely cracking up like last Friday, the first of which ocurred on Thursday night...
With regards to my last, admittedly ambiguous post, the long string of lowercase letters refers to the rhyme scheme of Robert Frost's "After Apple-Picking." In a bit of a pissy mood due to collaborative miscommunication, fellow Miami CM Emily and I spent a long night searching for the perfect poem with which to teach symbolism that afternoon. Instead of writing lesson plans, for two hours of our blessed free night we read our favorite poems from the anthology, efficiency be damned! Those were two of the best hours I spent last week, liberating and bordering on pointless. Teach for America does not look highly on pointlessness, so we almost felt as though we were being naughty children. Almost, until we started doing a little poetic analysis.
Some people think that Frost is cheesy; that his metaphors are too in-your-face; that anybody can read his poems, but there are times when the man is good. That night, we honed in on one of those times. The poem is allegorical: literally every noun (excluding pronouns) has a symbolic meaning outside the context of apple picking on a cold winter's morning. What's more is that the poem is so simply written that even if it were "just" about apple picking it's appealing to read. With its wealth of symbols, we pounced on it for our lesson, and then set about figuring what we were going to teach. After a cursory reading we came up with our lecture, and feeling a little giddy already we decided to take it a little further.
Rhyme being the most accessible structure of the poem, we start scanning it for patterns. There's clearly something going on, but we can't quite put our fingers on it. The repetition doesn't seem to be consistent, and rhyming pairs are separated by 3, 4 and 6 lines. Things look dim for our out-of-practice lit crit minds, and then halfway through a light comes down from above...
...Chopping up the rhyme units into reflective sections, I hit up on a pattern of mirrored pairs with an irregular number of lines in between. Feeling quite pleased with myself (I believe there might have been shouting and high fives involved), I felt a bit of wistful nostalgia for my college days (yes, I know, they're so far behind me) and the thrill of intellectual discovery. Got over that pretty quickly when next I googled "after apple-picking rhyme scheme" and found a FANTASTIC critical article from some prof at University of Michigan talking about how the mirrored rhyme units mimic the narrator's fading and shattered memory reflected in the icy water. Can I get a hell-yeah for intellectual validation? Hell yeah. On that note we parted ways, had a great symbolism class on Friday, even if we didn't get to read all of the poem.
The weekend continued to improve with V. and I making it in to Manhattan for Spiderman, and a real Italian dinner (with gnocchi, albeit mediocre, but at least not cafeteria food!), then Saturday really did me in with
1. ART DECO and furniture at the Met, the rooftop garden open and Andy Goldsworthy (temporary all-natural installation pieces) installations foregrounding Central Park West
2. shopping on the Upper West Side, and my weekly 5 minutes with DDH outside of Staples
3. Amanda Eve Warren, even if a little morose post-boyfriend visit =)
4. Lunch at Zabars, MMMMMM.
5. dinner at Patsy's another movie, drinks at "Beauty Bar" (drinking establishment nee hair salon) and an indie rock concert
6. homemade blueberry pancakes on Sunday morning c/o Bonnie and Joe, Ms. Warren's familial relations
7. lunch from Zabars, fresh raspberries and marzipan
8. clothing sales in the Bronx, a walk and a run through the rain, dinner with friends (albeit cafeteria food)
9. kick ass posters for Monday's lesson.
And so that's half way. Two weeks of teaching down, 9 days at school, 3 actually in the classroom, and then it's all over. Will I be at ALL sad to leave the Big Apple? Probably. Will I be at all sad to leave Institute? Probably not, but I'll let you know when I get there.
In any case, there were several incidents towards the end of last week that helped push me up and over the halfway point without completely cracking up like last Friday, the first of which ocurred on Thursday night...
With regards to my last, admittedly ambiguous post, the long string of lowercase letters refers to the rhyme scheme of Robert Frost's "After Apple-Picking." In a bit of a pissy mood due to collaborative miscommunication, fellow Miami CM Emily and I spent a long night searching for the perfect poem with which to teach symbolism that afternoon. Instead of writing lesson plans, for two hours of our blessed free night we read our favorite poems from the anthology, efficiency be damned! Those were two of the best hours I spent last week, liberating and bordering on pointless. Teach for America does not look highly on pointlessness, so we almost felt as though we were being naughty children. Almost, until we started doing a little poetic analysis.
Some people think that Frost is cheesy; that his metaphors are too in-your-face; that anybody can read his poems, but there are times when the man is good. That night, we honed in on one of those times. The poem is allegorical: literally every noun (excluding pronouns) has a symbolic meaning outside the context of apple picking on a cold winter's morning. What's more is that the poem is so simply written that even if it were "just" about apple picking it's appealing to read. With its wealth of symbols, we pounced on it for our lesson, and then set about figuring what we were going to teach. After a cursory reading we came up with our lecture, and feeling a little giddy already we decided to take it a little further.
Rhyme being the most accessible structure of the poem, we start scanning it for patterns. There's clearly something going on, but we can't quite put our fingers on it. The repetition doesn't seem to be consistent, and rhyming pairs are separated by 3, 4 and 6 lines. Things look dim for our out-of-practice lit crit minds, and then halfway through a light comes down from above...
...Chopping up the rhyme units into reflective sections, I hit up on a pattern of mirrored pairs with an irregular number of lines in between. Feeling quite pleased with myself (I believe there might have been shouting and high fives involved), I felt a bit of wistful nostalgia for my college days (yes, I know, they're so far behind me) and the thrill of intellectual discovery. Got over that pretty quickly when next I googled "after apple-picking rhyme scheme" and found a FANTASTIC critical article from some prof at University of Michigan talking about how the mirrored rhyme units mimic the narrator's fading and shattered memory reflected in the icy water. Can I get a hell-yeah for intellectual validation? Hell yeah. On that note we parted ways, had a great symbolism class on Friday, even if we didn't get to read all of the poem.
The weekend continued to improve with V. and I making it in to Manhattan for Spiderman, and a real Italian dinner (with gnocchi, albeit mediocre, but at least not cafeteria food!), then Saturday really did me in with
1. ART DECO and furniture at the Met, the rooftop garden open and Andy Goldsworthy (temporary all-natural installation pieces) installations foregrounding Central Park West
2. shopping on the Upper West Side, and my weekly 5 minutes with DDH outside of Staples
3. Amanda Eve Warren, even if a little morose post-boyfriend visit =)
4. Lunch at Zabars, MMMMMM.
5. dinner at Patsy's another movie, drinks at "Beauty Bar" (drinking establishment nee hair salon) and an indie rock concert
6. homemade blueberry pancakes on Sunday morning c/o Bonnie and Joe, Ms. Warren's familial relations
7. lunch from Zabars, fresh raspberries and marzipan
8. clothing sales in the Bronx, a walk and a run through the rain, dinner with friends (albeit cafeteria food)
9. kick ass posters for Monday's lesson.
And so that's half way. Two weeks of teaching down, 9 days at school, 3 actually in the classroom, and then it's all over. Will I be at ALL sad to leave the Big Apple? Probably. Will I be at all sad to leave Institute? Probably not, but I'll let you know when I get there.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Lit Crit is the BEST
a
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take that, Robert Frost. Reflective units of rhyme, thank you VERY much. More on this later, when i *dont'*have to be up in < 6 hours.
b
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take that, Robert Frost. Reflective units of rhyme, thank you VERY much. More on this later, when i *dont'*have to be up in < 6 hours.
Monday, July 12, 2004
"looks like, sounds like"
Among my new teaching skills in the TFA bag of tricks is a popular new exercise called "looks like, sounds like." It consists of a t-chart (graphic organizer, to reach more learning modalities) with a description of what things look like, and quotes which may 'sound like' a certain situation. For example:
A respectful classroom...
Looks like everyone sitting in their desk, on task.
Sounds like "Yes, Alicia, you may answer the question. Thank you so much for raising your hand."
As part of my new life here in the big bad apple, I thought it might be fun to do a "sounds like." I've noticed lately that the biggest changes which I've experienced are best illustrated by sound, which is odd considering that I'm not really an auditory learner. Or maybe I am?
In any case, close your eyes and picture if you will quiet classrooms of Corps Members scribbling notes, 75 pairs of heels and dress shoes click clacking down the hallways of JFK High to sign in at the Faculty Lounge, the groan of yellow school busses struggling up hills in the South Bronx, and the sometimes unsettling peace of a closed (and barred) campus like Fordham, and...
July 3rd
Absolute Chaos
It's Saturday morning, my first real day off of Institute. I walk out of Fordham's verdant sanctuary complete with black sqirrels, and begin my sojurn into Manhattan. The sidewalks of East Fordham Road are jammed with street vendors blaring music and shouting on bullhorns, families shopping and running errands, yelping dogs on leashes, and small children laughing about italian ices. I can hear at least 3 different languages within 5 yards, and every storefront has lifted up the graffiti-crusted steel shutters to display their wares. I continue my quest for the 4 train, bombarded by the bright sunlight and crush of people out enjoying a summer afternoon.
In Manhattan, things are slightly less chaotic; the subway is at least mildly familar, and chatting with Morissa down at the seaport soothes my darting eyes and ringing ears. Midtown shopping, once we left 5th Avenue is relatively tame, and I shut myself deep within my silent room that night out of sheer exhaustion.
July 4th
"The bombs bursting in air..."
There are rockets outside tonight in the Bronx, but I wouldn't know if they're glaring red or not; I can hear the grand finale of someone's neighborhood show just outside the iron bars of Fordham's campus, and I'm sure that the grand spectacular on the East River is over and done with--it was too far away for me to actually hear. The distance accentuated my lack of involvement in the festivities that evening, as I sat at the computer, but it also reminded me that there were other sounds less peripheral that made my 4th a good one.
For one reason or another, okay, maybe several, I wasn't up for work on Sunday morning, so I opted instead for a walk through the New York Botanical Gardens, a mere 3 minute walk from my dorm. Again, once inside the gates and walls, my entire perspective changed. I was completely relaxed, and the sounds of "the City" were far away. Instead I concentrated on breezes ruffling the maples, buzzing insects, and the occasional snippet of conversation from other erstwhile plant enthusiasts such as myself. There wasn't even the click and whirrr of my camera to distract me, because the digital accompanied me on my journeys South and North this summer, and it's been a wonderful tool to have. I spent two full hours pacing the trails and getting lost among the waterfalls in the "woodland" section, amazed that I might just be hearing the exact same thing that Dave would be at that time. Then I saw an old motorcycle tire in the river, and heard blaring horns from traffic outside, and I woke up. It was nice, if surreal, while it lasted.
Another sound breaks my botanical idyll as the phone rings to remind me that the collaborative needs organizing, and there are lessons to be planned. Once a teacher, always a teacher?
July 6th
First Day of School
Chalk scrapes against the blackboard during my first day as a teacher; thwap, thwap go my hands all day as I try to brush it off of my clothing and skin. I can see this becoming a habit...
July 9th
Friday Thea = =( Thea
Any sound at all is absolutely excruciating circa 2:30 pm on Friday afternoon. I'm in the midst of my first migrane headache since the 4th grade, when I used to get them so often that they sent me to a shrink (yeah, and I only went once, a lot of good that did me). I stumble off the bus at 4:40, fall into bed at 4:45 and mute out all other traces of the world until some unidentifiable noise awoke me at 10:00 pm
July 10th
more adventures in Manhattan
As we hop on the NRQ uptown from shopping in the Village, my phone rings, then goes dead as our subway car enters a tunnel. "Unknown Number" it flashes at me, spiting me with its silence. I know D. is on the other end, on a satellite phone somewhere in northern Canada. We finally connect outside of Macys, and chat for a while, me on 34th and Broadway, he on a riverbank. Modern communication is odd sometimes, but the sound of his voice made me so happy.
Later on that evening, digitized clicks of the self-purchase ticket machine in the Village AMC, Time Square Lowes 18 and AMC 25 theaters scream "denied!" to Mary and me as we search in vain for a place to see Spiderman 2. All I wanted to do this weekend was see a movie, those bastards.
Luckily, we are saved by another processed sound: the Mr. Softee jingle. We both grab a cone before heading back on the D train to the Bronx. At least we got a full night's sleep.
July 12th
Week 3
begins auspiciously with a good lesson. The last few nights of working have been touched with echoes of a familar sound: "a low, dull, quick sound--much like the sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton". "The Tell-Tale Heart" has been our theme of the week, teaching literary elements, and I am back (as they say) in MY element, feeling much more confident about this whole "teacher" thing. My hour of class winds down to a close, and separating itself from enthusiastic but faltering English speakers, and one or two lathargic scholars is my own voice, in the thrall of Poe's words.
The finale of my lesson today was a dramatic performance of the last two paragraphs of the essay, accompanied with rhythm and percussion (various 'heart' sounds) from Braulio and LaTonia. My striding footsteps stomped across the room as my voice rose with the narrator's ire:
I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die!--and now--again!--hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!--
"Villains, I shrieked," [and I did indeed shriek] "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!--tear up the planks! here, here!--it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
I ended with a flourish, pointing guiltily at the floor beneath one of the students' chairs. It may have been my imagination, but I think some people were actually going to look for the body. Okay, so I wasn't like Lawrence Olivier, but at least I was scary. I mean, they *looked* scared. Whatever =).
As I gathered up my papers and notebooks to move on to the rest of the sessions at school that day, I noticed that it was finally raining; a cool, steady, drizzle was audible outside the grated windows of the 5th floor classrooms, so even though I couldn't see the refreshing precipitation, I could hear it nearby. I went for a run this afternoon despite the incessant wetness, and it felt so good, so cleansing, especially after my less than coherent last week. The halfway point is near, and I can feel it starting to become just a teensy bit easier. In bed by 11:00 pm was my goal tonight, and I can just make it if I hurry. The rain outside our window tonight will lull me to sleep; those drips and occasional torrents should be the ambient noise for the next few days, according to the weather reports.
"Sounds like" I'm doing okay, for now at least =).
A respectful classroom...
Looks like everyone sitting in their desk, on task.
Sounds like "Yes, Alicia, you may answer the question. Thank you so much for raising your hand."
As part of my new life here in the big bad apple, I thought it might be fun to do a "sounds like." I've noticed lately that the biggest changes which I've experienced are best illustrated by sound, which is odd considering that I'm not really an auditory learner. Or maybe I am?
In any case, close your eyes and picture if you will quiet classrooms of Corps Members scribbling notes, 75 pairs of heels and dress shoes click clacking down the hallways of JFK High to sign in at the Faculty Lounge, the groan of yellow school busses struggling up hills in the South Bronx, and the sometimes unsettling peace of a closed (and barred) campus like Fordham, and...
July 3rd
Absolute Chaos
It's Saturday morning, my first real day off of Institute. I walk out of Fordham's verdant sanctuary complete with black sqirrels, and begin my sojurn into Manhattan. The sidewalks of East Fordham Road are jammed with street vendors blaring music and shouting on bullhorns, families shopping and running errands, yelping dogs on leashes, and small children laughing about italian ices. I can hear at least 3 different languages within 5 yards, and every storefront has lifted up the graffiti-crusted steel shutters to display their wares. I continue my quest for the 4 train, bombarded by the bright sunlight and crush of people out enjoying a summer afternoon.
In Manhattan, things are slightly less chaotic; the subway is at least mildly familar, and chatting with Morissa down at the seaport soothes my darting eyes and ringing ears. Midtown shopping, once we left 5th Avenue is relatively tame, and I shut myself deep within my silent room that night out of sheer exhaustion.
July 4th
"The bombs bursting in air..."
There are rockets outside tonight in the Bronx, but I wouldn't know if they're glaring red or not; I can hear the grand finale of someone's neighborhood show just outside the iron bars of Fordham's campus, and I'm sure that the grand spectacular on the East River is over and done with--it was too far away for me to actually hear. The distance accentuated my lack of involvement in the festivities that evening, as I sat at the computer, but it also reminded me that there were other sounds less peripheral that made my 4th a good one.
For one reason or another, okay, maybe several, I wasn't up for work on Sunday morning, so I opted instead for a walk through the New York Botanical Gardens, a mere 3 minute walk from my dorm. Again, once inside the gates and walls, my entire perspective changed. I was completely relaxed, and the sounds of "the City" were far away. Instead I concentrated on breezes ruffling the maples, buzzing insects, and the occasional snippet of conversation from other erstwhile plant enthusiasts such as myself. There wasn't even the click and whirrr of my camera to distract me, because the digital accompanied me on my journeys South and North this summer, and it's been a wonderful tool to have. I spent two full hours pacing the trails and getting lost among the waterfalls in the "woodland" section, amazed that I might just be hearing the exact same thing that Dave would be at that time. Then I saw an old motorcycle tire in the river, and heard blaring horns from traffic outside, and I woke up. It was nice, if surreal, while it lasted.
Another sound breaks my botanical idyll as the phone rings to remind me that the collaborative needs organizing, and there are lessons to be planned. Once a teacher, always a teacher?
July 6th
First Day of School
Chalk scrapes against the blackboard during my first day as a teacher; thwap, thwap go my hands all day as I try to brush it off of my clothing and skin. I can see this becoming a habit...
July 9th
Friday Thea = =( Thea
Any sound at all is absolutely excruciating circa 2:30 pm on Friday afternoon. I'm in the midst of my first migrane headache since the 4th grade, when I used to get them so often that they sent me to a shrink (yeah, and I only went once, a lot of good that did me). I stumble off the bus at 4:40, fall into bed at 4:45 and mute out all other traces of the world until some unidentifiable noise awoke me at 10:00 pm
July 10th
more adventures in Manhattan
As we hop on the NRQ uptown from shopping in the Village, my phone rings, then goes dead as our subway car enters a tunnel. "Unknown Number" it flashes at me, spiting me with its silence. I know D. is on the other end, on a satellite phone somewhere in northern Canada. We finally connect outside of Macys, and chat for a while, me on 34th and Broadway, he on a riverbank. Modern communication is odd sometimes, but the sound of his voice made me so happy.
Later on that evening, digitized clicks of the self-purchase ticket machine in the Village AMC, Time Square Lowes 18 and AMC 25 theaters scream "denied!" to Mary and me as we search in vain for a place to see Spiderman 2. All I wanted to do this weekend was see a movie, those bastards.
Luckily, we are saved by another processed sound: the Mr. Softee jingle. We both grab a cone before heading back on the D train to the Bronx. At least we got a full night's sleep.
July 12th
Week 3
begins auspiciously with a good lesson. The last few nights of working have been touched with echoes of a familar sound: "a low, dull, quick sound--much like the sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton". "The Tell-Tale Heart" has been our theme of the week, teaching literary elements, and I am back (as they say) in MY element, feeling much more confident about this whole "teacher" thing. My hour of class winds down to a close, and separating itself from enthusiastic but faltering English speakers, and one or two lathargic scholars is my own voice, in the thrall of Poe's words.
The finale of my lesson today was a dramatic performance of the last two paragraphs of the essay, accompanied with rhythm and percussion (various 'heart' sounds) from Braulio and LaTonia. My striding footsteps stomped across the room as my voice rose with the narrator's ire:
I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die!--and now--again!--hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!--
"Villains, I shrieked," [and I did indeed shriek] "dissemble no more! I admit the deed!--tear up the planks! here, here!--it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
I ended with a flourish, pointing guiltily at the floor beneath one of the students' chairs. It may have been my imagination, but I think some people were actually going to look for the body. Okay, so I wasn't like Lawrence Olivier, but at least I was scary. I mean, they *looked* scared. Whatever =).
As I gathered up my papers and notebooks to move on to the rest of the sessions at school that day, I noticed that it was finally raining; a cool, steady, drizzle was audible outside the grated windows of the 5th floor classrooms, so even though I couldn't see the refreshing precipitation, I could hear it nearby. I went for a run this afternoon despite the incessant wetness, and it felt so good, so cleansing, especially after my less than coherent last week. The halfway point is near, and I can feel it starting to become just a teensy bit easier. In bed by 11:00 pm was my goal tonight, and I can just make it if I hurry. The rain outside our window tonight will lull me to sleep; those drips and occasional torrents should be the ambient noise for the next few days, according to the weather reports.
"Sounds like" I'm doing okay, for now at least =).
Saturday, July 10, 2004
Week One: done.
I have now finished my first week of teaching summer school, and by first week, I mean 4 DAYS. I have never been so exhaused on a Friday in my life. In my LIFE.
It's been years since I had a migrane, not since about 5th grade, but I had one yesterday. Circa 7:00 am, after running around since 5:40 trying to print my damn lesson plans on non-functional Fordham printers, I began to notice a pain behind my left eye. Said irritation increased all through class, up until it was time for me to teach at 10:40. By the time we ate lunch, I wanted to die. I hadn't eaten dinner the night before, because I'd slept through it (again), and even looking at lunch made me nauseous my head hurt so much. I barely made it through our whole-school meeting and the bus ride home, before collapsing fully-clothed on my plastic dorm bed at 4:40, and sleeping until 10:30 pm. My lovely roommate and fellow Miami corps members were sweet enough to bring me some snacks from the dining hall, but I was in no condition to eat them. I threw way the sadly melted ice-cream this morning with strawberry glops in it; that was about how my brain felt yesterday.
Teaching is hard, and Institute is harder. The only thing that I keep telling myself is that it will never be this bad again. I will never have my entire day made into a madatory schedule. I will never have to coordinate with 3 other people just to work out an hour long lesson plan. I will never have to deal with being trapped with no car and no transportation 2 miles from 1. a grocery store, 2. an office supply store, 3. FUNCTIONAL PRINTERS AND COPIERS. I will never have my computer network go down at random times the entire week.
The Teach for America administration and corporate-structured body is on the receiving end of much of my wrath as of late, and our Faculty Advisor gets a bit of that too. All I know is that I can't afford to be broken-down every Friday night, nor can I afford to not eat dinner because I'm too exhausted to pull myself out of bed.
When I'm not comatose, things are pretty okay. I went for a run in the Bronx or in the beautiful Botanical Gardens 5 days this past week, and when I wasn't freaking out about the work that was due the next day, I felt okay. This morning at breakfast, I took 1.5 hours to eat an english muffin, some canteloupe, 2 cups of tea and a piece of toast. The wonderful thing was that I actually got to *talk* to people in a social manner, instead of talking only with my collaborative about lesson planning, and why we're so fucking tired.
I've also got to find a less tiring way to spend Saturdays, because while exploring Manhattan's various shopping districts is fun, and increases my teaching wardrobe in a way that it desperately needs, my body can't take all the walking AND function in a meaningful way on Sunday to get work done. Mary and I were quite bitter at the end of the night when all of Manhattan was conspiring against us seeing Spiderman 2 or De-Lovely, which pissed the fuck out of me, because ALL I wanted to do this weekend was see a movie, and now it turns out that I was too tired yesterday, too disorganized today, and too busy tomorrow (i already know), but oh well. Institute will be over soon?
We did have a great Thai dinner in the Village, I DID finally get to talk to Dave (true, it was for 9 minutes and 41 seconds, and I won't talk to him again until next weekend), I heard from Kaitlyn, and it was a beautiful day outside. I guess that's got to keep me going through the next 5 days of teaching. Whew, let's *hope* tmie flies. Peace out, y'all, I've got to s-l-e-e-p.
It's been years since I had a migrane, not since about 5th grade, but I had one yesterday. Circa 7:00 am, after running around since 5:40 trying to print my damn lesson plans on non-functional Fordham printers, I began to notice a pain behind my left eye. Said irritation increased all through class, up until it was time for me to teach at 10:40. By the time we ate lunch, I wanted to die. I hadn't eaten dinner the night before, because I'd slept through it (again), and even looking at lunch made me nauseous my head hurt so much. I barely made it through our whole-school meeting and the bus ride home, before collapsing fully-clothed on my plastic dorm bed at 4:40, and sleeping until 10:30 pm. My lovely roommate and fellow Miami corps members were sweet enough to bring me some snacks from the dining hall, but I was in no condition to eat them. I threw way the sadly melted ice-cream this morning with strawberry glops in it; that was about how my brain felt yesterday.
Teaching is hard, and Institute is harder. The only thing that I keep telling myself is that it will never be this bad again. I will never have my entire day made into a madatory schedule. I will never have to coordinate with 3 other people just to work out an hour long lesson plan. I will never have to deal with being trapped with no car and no transportation 2 miles from 1. a grocery store, 2. an office supply store, 3. FUNCTIONAL PRINTERS AND COPIERS. I will never have my computer network go down at random times the entire week.
The Teach for America administration and corporate-structured body is on the receiving end of much of my wrath as of late, and our Faculty Advisor gets a bit of that too. All I know is that I can't afford to be broken-down every Friday night, nor can I afford to not eat dinner because I'm too exhausted to pull myself out of bed.
When I'm not comatose, things are pretty okay. I went for a run in the Bronx or in the beautiful Botanical Gardens 5 days this past week, and when I wasn't freaking out about the work that was due the next day, I felt okay. This morning at breakfast, I took 1.5 hours to eat an english muffin, some canteloupe, 2 cups of tea and a piece of toast. The wonderful thing was that I actually got to *talk* to people in a social manner, instead of talking only with my collaborative about lesson planning, and why we're so fucking tired.
I've also got to find a less tiring way to spend Saturdays, because while exploring Manhattan's various shopping districts is fun, and increases my teaching wardrobe in a way that it desperately needs, my body can't take all the walking AND function in a meaningful way on Sunday to get work done. Mary and I were quite bitter at the end of the night when all of Manhattan was conspiring against us seeing Spiderman 2 or De-Lovely, which pissed the fuck out of me, because ALL I wanted to do this weekend was see a movie, and now it turns out that I was too tired yesterday, too disorganized today, and too busy tomorrow (i already know), but oh well. Institute will be over soon?
We did have a great Thai dinner in the Village, I DID finally get to talk to Dave (true, it was for 9 minutes and 41 seconds, and I won't talk to him again until next weekend), I heard from Kaitlyn, and it was a beautiful day outside. I guess that's got to keep me going through the next 5 days of teaching. Whew, let's *hope* tmie flies. Peace out, y'all, I've got to s-l-e-e-p.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
oh yeah...
Did I also mention that one of our collaborative team members quit this weekend, so I ended up doing all of her work today?
yeah, at some point I had some nice things to say about starting a new career, being in NYC, and the great weekend that I had, but I've pretty much forgotten all that now.
How far is Friday?
yeah, at some point I had some nice things to say about starting a new career, being in NYC, and the great weekend that I had, but I've pretty much forgotten all that now.
How far is Friday?
you've *got* to be kidding me
I just finished my first day as a teacher, followed by a 3 hour nap during which I missed
1. dinner
2. a mandatory meeting
3. one of my collaborative members randomly deciding to leave for the night and go drinking with friends.
Not only did our faculty advisor tell us that we were selfish and ineffective, but that the kids didn't learn anything today, and it all "went over their heads." We started the period with 4 students, ended with 6, and have absolutely no idea how many will be in class tomorrow. I have no idea what my partner is teaching tomorrow in the second half of our class, and have received lukewarm (at best) responses to my efforts at lesson coordination, so our kids think we look like assholes who don't communicate and who have no idea what's going on.
I am not allowed to print copies, make copies, or in any way transfer digital documents to a print form (which might be useful for classroom activities, yes?) unless i purchase MY OWN PERSONAL PRINTER because my print password does not function in ANY of the 5 computer labs at Fordham, 3 copy machines broke at 9:00 pm (the copy center closes at 12:00 am) and so they stopped taking orders for copies at 10:15. At 10:15, there were approximately 85 people in line for copies.
Apparently this is BUSINESS AS USUAL at the Institute.
You have GOT to be kidding me.
1. dinner
2. a mandatory meeting
3. one of my collaborative members randomly deciding to leave for the night and go drinking with friends.
Not only did our faculty advisor tell us that we were selfish and ineffective, but that the kids didn't learn anything today, and it all "went over their heads." We started the period with 4 students, ended with 6, and have absolutely no idea how many will be in class tomorrow. I have no idea what my partner is teaching tomorrow in the second half of our class, and have received lukewarm (at best) responses to my efforts at lesson coordination, so our kids think we look like assholes who don't communicate and who have no idea what's going on.
I am not allowed to print copies, make copies, or in any way transfer digital documents to a print form (which might be useful for classroom activities, yes?) unless i purchase MY OWN PERSONAL PRINTER because my print password does not function in ANY of the 5 computer labs at Fordham, 3 copy machines broke at 9:00 pm (the copy center closes at 12:00 am) and so they stopped taking orders for copies at 10:15. At 10:15, there were approximately 85 people in line for copies.
Apparently this is BUSINESS AS USUAL at the Institute.
You have GOT to be kidding me.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
And it just keeps getting better
My meeting began with me being informed that I was the teacher with a day off on Tuesday, and thus was not required to hand in a rough lesson plan tomorrow morning. Hot damn for no homework. Time for unheard of activities such as "socializing" "calling parents" and such strange events as "relaxing."
But that's not even the greatest thing that happened today. What made my day was mail. I have to admit that the possibility of not talking to Dave for 5 weeks was a little depressing, and I wasn't all that psyched about it. Saying goodbye in Miami was hard, and although I'm busy here it doesn't mean that I just forget about him.
It sounds a little ridiculous when I explain things to people who don't know me very well, to smile sheepishly when I talk about my signifiant other, but it's a big leap for me to feel comfortable with that. For someone who didn't believe that love existed outside of literature for about twenty years, admitting (or embracing) the fact that I'm in love with my boyfriend is quite a remarkable achievement. It's not that this is a particularly recent development, but it's not one that I have felt comfortable saying in public. To use some of Cathy's best euphemisms, he's "someone special in my life" or someone I'm "pretty serious" about, and today's mail reminded me of just how great he can be. Not to be that girl and gush all over about her relationship, I feel the need to express how cool this was. I irritatingly found myself a little watery-eyed reading part of the note in the box which included
1. a NYC MetroCard, with four rides to get me around the city safely
2. Valrhona chocolate, in three different versions of amarga
40%, 56%, and my favorite, Le Nori Amer 71% cacao.
accompanying this chocolatey treat were these words [yes, I'm aware this is violating Dave's privacy in sharing...but I don't think he'll mind too much, and I just have to share]:
Here is some chocolate for you. I got chocolate with three different amounts of Cacao. My initial motivation was so (sic) show off my new found knowledge of "amarga" from reading you (sic) blog and make some witty comment regarding moods and chocolate. But no wit ame readily to mind, and it seemed unwise to suggest matching moods with chocolate. I now hope that since you are a multi-faceted and multi-talented person that you will most enjoy a diversity of chocolate.
How fantastic does that make me feel? I'll tell you: fantastic. Life is good, people; no matter how little sleep I get, life is good.
But that's not even the greatest thing that happened today. What made my day was mail. I have to admit that the possibility of not talking to Dave for 5 weeks was a little depressing, and I wasn't all that psyched about it. Saying goodbye in Miami was hard, and although I'm busy here it doesn't mean that I just forget about him.
It sounds a little ridiculous when I explain things to people who don't know me very well, to smile sheepishly when I talk about my signifiant other, but it's a big leap for me to feel comfortable with that. For someone who didn't believe that love existed outside of literature for about twenty years, admitting (or embracing) the fact that I'm in love with my boyfriend is quite a remarkable achievement. It's not that this is a particularly recent development, but it's not one that I have felt comfortable saying in public. To use some of Cathy's best euphemisms, he's "someone special in my life" or someone I'm "pretty serious" about, and today's mail reminded me of just how great he can be. Not to be that girl and gush all over about her relationship, I feel the need to express how cool this was. I irritatingly found myself a little watery-eyed reading part of the note in the box which included
1. a NYC MetroCard, with four rides to get me around the city safely
2. Valrhona chocolate, in three different versions of amarga
40%, 56%, and my favorite, Le Nori Amer 71% cacao.
accompanying this chocolatey treat were these words [yes, I'm aware this is violating Dave's privacy in sharing...but I don't think he'll mind too much, and I just have to share]:
Here is some chocolate for you. I got chocolate with three different amounts of Cacao. My initial motivation was so (sic) show off my new found knowledge of "amarga" from reading you (sic) blog and make some witty comment regarding moods and chocolate. But no wit ame readily to mind, and it seemed unwise to suggest matching moods with chocolate. I now hope that since you are a multi-faceted and multi-talented person that you will most enjoy a diversity of chocolate.
How fantastic does that make me feel? I'll tell you: fantastic. Life is good, people; no matter how little sleep I get, life is good.
Meta-Institute
My brain is positively twisted in knots, and my subconscious doesn't know if it's supposed to be thinking what it's thinking, or it's just thinking it on its own. We spend all our days in classes about classes, reading lesson plans about making lesson plans, listening to lectures about lectures, and participating in group discussions about group discussions.
I see all of our instructors modeling (the catch phrase of TFA) the proper behavior of a teacher while they're teaching it, and I have lost the ability to differentiate between how they would genuinely instruct and how they're trying to convince us to instruct. It's mind-boggling, I tell you. The power of group mentality and persuasive speech is frighteningly powerful, and my awareness of the 1984-esque quality of the Opening Ceremonies jars uncomfortably with my genuine (?) excitement and enthusiasm which resulted from the presentations. Just because you're aware of the structures in place which are acting on you does NOT mean that they lose their effect. It's weird. Weird.
All this instruction about internalization pushes my contemplation one step further; what have I internalized in the past two weeks? Will I be able to notice it if I've already internalized it? Who has the right and power to do these things? What if teachers used their power for evil? All valid questions. It's like we're training super-heroes and mad scientists, with a little bit of the Wizard of Oz. Wizards who have to speak in a firm but kind tone.
So confusing.
That said, today was a Good Day, capital letters included. Although there were attention span dips and swings, the absolute low coming when I could see two CMA's (Corps Member Advisors) wavering in front of two identical posters, 6 tables, and bobbing heads during our CMC sesssion (Classroom Management and Culture...TFA likes acronyms, did you notice? An acronym (TFA) to describe another set of acronyms (CMC, CMA); the meta just doesn't end!), classes actually began to be relevant, and I didn't want to die 45 min into our 90 minute class.
Then, in a moment of random affirmation, my CMA handed me a post-it note as we boarded the school bus to go back to the dorms, both modeling the random positive reinforcement and encouraging intrinsic learning desire also advocated by the TFA doctrine. I must admit that at first I didn't quite clue in to the fact that he might just be practicing the "raise your students' self-esteem" lesson objective, but dammit, why can't I have done a good job too? These whole multi-layered, textured motives are so confusing, they make me apprehensive.
More meetings! more meetings, and my good day didn't stop after that, so I'll be back after a reunion with the Miami peeps. Oh, how I miss them so.
I see all of our instructors modeling (the catch phrase of TFA) the proper behavior of a teacher while they're teaching it, and I have lost the ability to differentiate between how they would genuinely instruct and how they're trying to convince us to instruct. It's mind-boggling, I tell you. The power of group mentality and persuasive speech is frighteningly powerful, and my awareness of the 1984-esque quality of the Opening Ceremonies jars uncomfortably with my genuine (?) excitement and enthusiasm which resulted from the presentations. Just because you're aware of the structures in place which are acting on you does NOT mean that they lose their effect. It's weird. Weird.
All this instruction about internalization pushes my contemplation one step further; what have I internalized in the past two weeks? Will I be able to notice it if I've already internalized it? Who has the right and power to do these things? What if teachers used their power for evil? All valid questions. It's like we're training super-heroes and mad scientists, with a little bit of the Wizard of Oz. Wizards who have to speak in a firm but kind tone.
So confusing.
That said, today was a Good Day, capital letters included. Although there were attention span dips and swings, the absolute low coming when I could see two CMA's (Corps Member Advisors) wavering in front of two identical posters, 6 tables, and bobbing heads during our CMC sesssion (Classroom Management and Culture...TFA likes acronyms, did you notice? An acronym (TFA) to describe another set of acronyms (CMC, CMA); the meta just doesn't end!), classes actually began to be relevant, and I didn't want to die 45 min into our 90 minute class.
Then, in a moment of random affirmation, my CMA handed me a post-it note as we boarded the school bus to go back to the dorms, both modeling the random positive reinforcement and encouraging intrinsic learning desire also advocated by the TFA doctrine. I must admit that at first I didn't quite clue in to the fact that he might just be practicing the "raise your students' self-esteem" lesson objective, but dammit, why can't I have done a good job too? These whole multi-layered, textured motives are so confusing, they make me apprehensive.
More meetings! more meetings, and my good day didn't stop after that, so I'll be back after a reunion with the Miami peeps. Oh, how I miss them so.
Monday, June 28, 2004
Let the madness begin?
I'm sitting here at my own computer, hooked up to a cable line again (thank GOD; I'm so internet dependent it's not even funny), a beach towel wrapped around my legs, but I'm not in Miami any more. Yes, the 62 members of the 2004 corps have migrated North this summer, as avian species do, although I doubt that the Bronx is the destination for many migratory birds. We're camped out at Fordham University in frigidly air-conditioned dorms, so the beach towel at my waist is doubling as a warmth providing garment in the absence of sweat pants. Who thought it would be cold where I would be this summer? Clearly I underestimated the ability of Teach for America to refrigerate my living and working environments. I need some sweaters.
In the meantime, I'll wake up multiple times during the night due to an indistinct mix of anxiety and chilliness, and stare incredulously out my window at the faint predawn light that I saw at 5:00 this morning. Fifteen minutes more of sleep, I swear, that's all. Speaking of which, I should be hitting the proverbial sack pretty soon, but I feel the need to at least post something, because I've been so out of touch, and today has been intense. A quick shout-out to Rachael and Kaitlyn, as well as Alex...I'm not neglecting you, I just haven't had any reasonable hours to make phone calls lately.
John F Kennedy High School, 5,000 students, 8 floors, 40 English teachers, 6 assistant principles, and 70+ brand spankin' new TFA teachers this summer. If i think the word "inspiring" to myself one more time in the next 6 hours, I'm going to shoot myself, for serious. Yet, despite my inner protestations, I have to admit that it was pretty empowering to FINALLY talk about concrete lessons, what these kids have to know at the end of the summer to pass their Regents exams, and why we're actually here in New York for the summer.
With all the stupid evaluations, personal reflections, and pedagogical theory that we've gotten thrown at us, not to mention a healthy dose of "be humble" alongside "you're the best and the brightest" (just to make things consistent...you know), it's alarmingly easy to forget why we all decided to join "the Movement," (capital M required) as it's known, and withdraw into a self-suffering little ball of ego and defensive id. It's about helping students learn, about being an effective force in the classroom for others, and remembering the communities that we SERVE, not bitching about what's going on in our lives, what's happening to us, and all of that shit.
Note to self: re-read all of this in about 9 days' time, when you've been getting up at 5:00 all week to ride in delayed yellow busses so that you can stand around in heels for 10 hours straight.
But anyway, we had this *amazing* opening ceremony tonight, chock full of the inspirational (shit, there I go again) propaganda that still gets to me despite my more cynical views on indoctrination, stories about real teachers, real schools, and real people that CAN achieve "significant gains" in the classroom. The founder of TFA (a Princeton grad that wrote the mission statement as her senior thesis, how fucking cool is that!??! Seeing your work actually make it into public policy? Almost makes me want to go to law school. Okay, just kidding.), some alums, and a few current corps members had really amazing things to say about trust, the role of teachers in society AND in education, and all sorts of warm fuzzy "oh, it's hard as hell but the job will love you back" kinds of anecdotes that are hard to ignore. Even hearing clearly ex post facto Journal Entry presentations from East coast urban teachers got to me, and the closing line " [insert student name here] is why I teach for America" that every story recited didn't sound cheesy, it sounded sincere. What am I coming to when I can't tell the difference between literary devices and my own emotional reaction? Sad, you are so sad in your lack of detachment, Thea.
Sigh, alas, accept your near-conversion and get on with it. 4.8 weeks left, and you can do it. Just got to get some sleep in there somewhere...
In the meantime, I'll wake up multiple times during the night due to an indistinct mix of anxiety and chilliness, and stare incredulously out my window at the faint predawn light that I saw at 5:00 this morning. Fifteen minutes more of sleep, I swear, that's all. Speaking of which, I should be hitting the proverbial sack pretty soon, but I feel the need to at least post something, because I've been so out of touch, and today has been intense. A quick shout-out to Rachael and Kaitlyn, as well as Alex...I'm not neglecting you, I just haven't had any reasonable hours to make phone calls lately.
John F Kennedy High School, 5,000 students, 8 floors, 40 English teachers, 6 assistant principles, and 70+ brand spankin' new TFA teachers this summer. If i think the word "inspiring" to myself one more time in the next 6 hours, I'm going to shoot myself, for serious. Yet, despite my inner protestations, I have to admit that it was pretty empowering to FINALLY talk about concrete lessons, what these kids have to know at the end of the summer to pass their Regents exams, and why we're actually here in New York for the summer.
With all the stupid evaluations, personal reflections, and pedagogical theory that we've gotten thrown at us, not to mention a healthy dose of "be humble" alongside "you're the best and the brightest" (just to make things consistent...you know), it's alarmingly easy to forget why we all decided to join "the Movement," (capital M required) as it's known, and withdraw into a self-suffering little ball of ego and defensive id. It's about helping students learn, about being an effective force in the classroom for others, and remembering the communities that we SERVE, not bitching about what's going on in our lives, what's happening to us, and all of that shit.
Note to self: re-read all of this in about 9 days' time, when you've been getting up at 5:00 all week to ride in delayed yellow busses so that you can stand around in heels for 10 hours straight.
But anyway, we had this *amazing* opening ceremony tonight, chock full of the inspirational (shit, there I go again) propaganda that still gets to me despite my more cynical views on indoctrination, stories about real teachers, real schools, and real people that CAN achieve "significant gains" in the classroom. The founder of TFA (a Princeton grad that wrote the mission statement as her senior thesis, how fucking cool is that!??! Seeing your work actually make it into public policy? Almost makes me want to go to law school. Okay, just kidding.), some alums, and a few current corps members had really amazing things to say about trust, the role of teachers in society AND in education, and all sorts of warm fuzzy "oh, it's hard as hell but the job will love you back" kinds of anecdotes that are hard to ignore. Even hearing clearly ex post facto Journal Entry presentations from East coast urban teachers got to me, and the closing line " [insert student name here] is why I teach for America" that every story recited didn't sound cheesy, it sounded sincere. What am I coming to when I can't tell the difference between literary devices and my own emotional reaction? Sad, you are so sad in your lack of detachment, Thea.
Sigh, alas, accept your near-conversion and get on with it. 4.8 weeks left, and you can do it. Just got to get some sleep in there somewhere...
Thursday, June 17, 2004
MIAMI?
Okay, so it took me three days, but I'm here, getting gauged for internet access ($9.95 for 24 hours?!!?) at the Radisson, downtown Miami. I felt a little embarassed giving the keys to my flaming van to the valet parkers, but hey, the guy who took my car asked me all sorts of technical questions about the paint job and told me it was "a great work of art" so that made it okay.
Spent my first night in Savannah, GA at a Travelodge on I-95, bummed around the city for a while, stopped in St. Augustine, FL and took highway A1A all the way south to Cocoa, while Mandi serenaded me with the lyrics to the new Patty song about Florida. Yay for coastal highways, Waffle Houses in the mornings, animal crackers, and overzealous cops. Yes, officer, i WAS wearing my seatbelt. Thanks.
Cocoa was lovely, bought presents at Ron Jons, of course, and then I powered through to Miami (said with prerequisite spanish accent, claro), leaving A1A after Vero Beach, 'cause I was running behind schedule.
Tonight, I met the other 60 TFA Miami members (only 5 guys, hahahahah, sucks for them) and have settled in with my roommates, all of whom were in Seville during the spring either '02 or '03. How great is that? Fantastic. Anyway, I've got to get off the internet, and get some shit done. Like find out how to get fingerprinted.
Spent my first night in Savannah, GA at a Travelodge on I-95, bummed around the city for a while, stopped in St. Augustine, FL and took highway A1A all the way south to Cocoa, while Mandi serenaded me with the lyrics to the new Patty song about Florida. Yay for coastal highways, Waffle Houses in the mornings, animal crackers, and overzealous cops. Yes, officer, i WAS wearing my seatbelt. Thanks.
Cocoa was lovely, bought presents at Ron Jons, of course, and then I powered through to Miami (said with prerequisite spanish accent, claro), leaving A1A after Vero Beach, 'cause I was running behind schedule.
Tonight, I met the other 60 TFA Miami members (only 5 guys, hahahahah, sucks for them) and have settled in with my roommates, all of whom were in Seville during the spring either '02 or '03. How great is that? Fantastic. Anyway, I've got to get off the internet, and get some shit done. Like find out how to get fingerprinted.
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