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.
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
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
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
b
b
a
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d
d
e
d
f
e
f
g
h
h
h
g
i
j
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j
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
b
a
c
d
d
e
d
f
e
f
g
h
h
h
g
i
j
i
g
k
j
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.
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