Back on the pitch, and rippin' shit up.
Tonight, on a whim, after spending a very depressing 4 hours in various Verizon stores, I hoofed it back out 195 to some park to meet some TFA chick who I didn't know and 4 guys I'd never heard of before. Played for 50 minutes, 5v5 and I scored 2 (3?) goals. Grin. Big grin.
God, it felt so good to have a ball on my foot again, to make those crossing runs, to see the field explode in zipping diagonals, and be at just that right spot at just that right time to feel in slow motion as the ball meets you, makes contact, and ricochets into the net.
It's a powerful feeling to have those "sweet" moments on the field, especially when your teammates, regardless of how well they know you, acknowledge them to your face. I've been on some teams where it felt good to lose because we knew we'd played our heart out, and I've been on some teams whose wins were empty because I didn't truly play a part in the game. I've been on very few teams where it felt really fucking great to win. Tonight, in its rec-league-half-assed-thrown-together way, it felt really good to win. The crazy thing is that we played a hard game; it felt like one of those days at Mario's Beach FC practices when we'd play 5 v 5 or 4 v 6 until I wanted to eat my own cleats; we played some really pretty soccer at times, for slightly out of shape adults.
Tonight, I needed a win.
In so many aspects of my life right now, I feel powerless. Fighting corporate America to a stalemate in the form of Verizon; ending up the big loser (so far) in the whole Student Cell Phone debacle; struggling in my own self-suffering way to make it clear that of all FIU students, TFA students are the most overworked, underappreciated, and clearly most meritous of slacking off: all of these things exhaust my poor pathetic little brain. Being a loser, even metaphorically speaking, is not fun. Also, many of these fights just came up on me unannounced; I didn't seek them out, and so I suppose I feel a little threatened and attacked by them.
I can't always control my kids, I can't control electronic equipment. I sure as hell can't control my academic life at the moment although this week I swear I'm going to get a handle on TESOL so I can pass my midterm. What I can control is making that far post run, taking that hard tackle, drawing the foul.
Or, for that matter, deciding to take a rest on defense, and leave that perfect run for someone else. Someone stronger, someone refreshed. Either way, we both get to be part of the win.
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
Monday, February 28, 2005
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
even the cat is scared of me
time of arrival, Fort Lauderdale airport: 2:15 am. time of sleep monday night: 2:49 am. time of awaking, tuesday morning: 5:45 am.
work blows.
my administration is incompetant.
security can't keep students on OUTDOOR SUSPENSION away from my goddamn motherfucking room during the middle of a schoolday.
i have no phone in my room. still.
i feel unsafe at school on a regular basis, ever since a fucking student attacked me over a cell phone.
i have too much FIU work to do.
i have had 3 alcoholic drinks and the equivalent of 5 caffeinated ones since 6:30 am this morning.
the "empowering" test that i gave to my students failed miserably; 75% of the students REFUSED TO COMPLETE 30% of the test.
i am so fucking tired.
work blows.
my administration is incompetant.
security can't keep students on OUTDOOR SUSPENSION away from my goddamn motherfucking room during the middle of a schoolday.
i have no phone in my room. still.
i feel unsafe at school on a regular basis, ever since a fucking student attacked me over a cell phone.
i have too much FIU work to do.
i have had 3 alcoholic drinks and the equivalent of 5 caffeinated ones since 6:30 am this morning.
the "empowering" test that i gave to my students failed miserably; 75% of the students REFUSED TO COMPLETE 30% of the test.
i am so fucking tired.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Satire is *so* sweet
After crying/sleeping through half of my planning period, and not really feeling like posting, I shall rely on America's most reliable online news source to pontificate for me. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the Onion speaks for Thea today.
Teach For America Chews Up, Spits Out Another Ethnic-Studies Major
NEW YORK—Teach For America, a national program that recruits recent college graduates to teach in low-income rural and urban communities, has devoured another ethnic-studies major, 24-year-old Andy Cuellen reported Tuesday.
"Look, the world is a miserable place," said Cuellen, a Dartmouth graduate who quit the TFA program Monday morning. "All people—even children—are just nasty animals trying to secure their share of the food supply. I don't care how poor or how rich you are, that's just a fact. I'm sorry, but I have better things to do than zoo-keep for peanuts."
Just one of the 12,000 young people TFA has burned through since 1990, Cuellen was given five weeks of training the summer before he took over a classroom at P.S. 83 in the South Bronx last September.
"I walked into that school actually thinking I could make a difference," said Cuellen, who taught an overflowing class of disadvantaged 8-year-olds. "It was trial by fire. But after five months spent in a stuffy, dark room where the chalkboard fell off the wall every two days, corralling screaming kids into broken desks, I'm burnt to a crisp."
Cuellen said his TFA experience "taught him a lot about hopelessness."
"The cities are fucked. The suburbs are fucked. The whole country is fucked," Cuellen said. "And there's not a goddamned thing you or anyone can do about it. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something. Or trying to get you to teach kids math."
According to Dartmouth literature, as a member of the ethnic-studies department, Cuellen learned "to empower students of color to move beyond being objects of study toward being subjects of their own social realities, with voices of their own."
Teach For America executive director Theo Anderson called ethnic-studies departments "a prime source of fodder."
"Oh, I'd say we burn through a hundred or so ethnic-studies majors each year," said Anderson, pointing to a series of charts showing the college-major breakdown of TFA corps members. "They tend to last a little longer than women's studies majors and art-therapy students, but Cuellen got mashed to a pulp pretty quickly. It usually takes ethnic-studies majors another year to realize that they're wasting their precious youth on a Sisyphean endeavor."
Continued Anderson: "Of course, we don't worry about it too much. Every year, there's a fresh crop to throw in the grinder. As we speak, scores of apple-cheeked students are hearing about TFA for the first time."
According to Anderson, a small portion of these students will lose interest after hearing horror stories from program alumni.
"But the majority of them will march on like cattle to the slaughter, thinking that pure determination and hope can change young lives," Anderson said. "I can hear their footsteps now, marching toward our offices like lemmings to a cliff. And believe me, we're ready for 'em."
Cuellen said he applied to TFA in search of a "character-building experience."
"I knew that teaching in a severely under-funded inner-city school would be challenging, but I wanted to get out into the real world," Cuellen said. "Well, breaking up fistfights between 8-year-olds all day long, I got a real ugly view of reality. Do you want to know reality? Look at a dog lying dead in the gutter. That's reality."
Although Cuellen quit the program early, his mother said he was with TFA long enough for it "to crack open his bones and suck out the marrow inside."
"Andy is a ghost," Beverly Cuellen said. "Those [TFA] people beat the idealism out of him, then they stomped on him while he lay there gasping for air."
TFA regional coordinator Sandra Richman said it is common to blame the TFA employees for the organization's high plow-through rate.
"Should I have said something to wake those kids up sooner?" Richman said, crushing out her seventh cigarette. "Probably. But listen, no one can tell you that you can't make a difference. It's something you have to figure out for yourself."
"You can only do so much," Richman added. "After a couple years of trying to teach our applicants about how difficult and depressing their lives will inevitably be—no matter what they choose to do for money—I just got burnt out. In the end, you've gotta resign yourself to failure and move on with your life."
Teach For America Chews Up, Spits Out Another Ethnic-Studies Major
NEW YORK—Teach For America, a national program that recruits recent college graduates to teach in low-income rural and urban communities, has devoured another ethnic-studies major, 24-year-old Andy Cuellen reported Tuesday.
"Look, the world is a miserable place," said Cuellen, a Dartmouth graduate who quit the TFA program Monday morning. "All people—even children—are just nasty animals trying to secure their share of the food supply. I don't care how poor or how rich you are, that's just a fact. I'm sorry, but I have better things to do than zoo-keep for peanuts."
Just one of the 12,000 young people TFA has burned through since 1990, Cuellen was given five weeks of training the summer before he took over a classroom at P.S. 83 in the South Bronx last September.
"I walked into that school actually thinking I could make a difference," said Cuellen, who taught an overflowing class of disadvantaged 8-year-olds. "It was trial by fire. But after five months spent in a stuffy, dark room where the chalkboard fell off the wall every two days, corralling screaming kids into broken desks, I'm burnt to a crisp."
Cuellen said his TFA experience "taught him a lot about hopelessness."
"The cities are fucked. The suburbs are fucked. The whole country is fucked," Cuellen said. "And there's not a goddamned thing you or anyone can do about it. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something. Or trying to get you to teach kids math."
According to Dartmouth literature, as a member of the ethnic-studies department, Cuellen learned "to empower students of color to move beyond being objects of study toward being subjects of their own social realities, with voices of their own."
Teach For America executive director Theo Anderson called ethnic-studies departments "a prime source of fodder."
"Oh, I'd say we burn through a hundred or so ethnic-studies majors each year," said Anderson, pointing to a series of charts showing the college-major breakdown of TFA corps members. "They tend to last a little longer than women's studies majors and art-therapy students, but Cuellen got mashed to a pulp pretty quickly. It usually takes ethnic-studies majors another year to realize that they're wasting their precious youth on a Sisyphean endeavor."
Continued Anderson: "Of course, we don't worry about it too much. Every year, there's a fresh crop to throw in the grinder. As we speak, scores of apple-cheeked students are hearing about TFA for the first time."
According to Anderson, a small portion of these students will lose interest after hearing horror stories from program alumni.
"But the majority of them will march on like cattle to the slaughter, thinking that pure determination and hope can change young lives," Anderson said. "I can hear their footsteps now, marching toward our offices like lemmings to a cliff. And believe me, we're ready for 'em."
Cuellen said he applied to TFA in search of a "character-building experience."
"I knew that teaching in a severely under-funded inner-city school would be challenging, but I wanted to get out into the real world," Cuellen said. "Well, breaking up fistfights between 8-year-olds all day long, I got a real ugly view of reality. Do you want to know reality? Look at a dog lying dead in the gutter. That's reality."
Although Cuellen quit the program early, his mother said he was with TFA long enough for it "to crack open his bones and suck out the marrow inside."
"Andy is a ghost," Beverly Cuellen said. "Those [TFA] people beat the idealism out of him, then they stomped on him while he lay there gasping for air."
TFA regional coordinator Sandra Richman said it is common to blame the TFA employees for the organization's high plow-through rate.
"Should I have said something to wake those kids up sooner?" Richman said, crushing out her seventh cigarette. "Probably. But listen, no one can tell you that you can't make a difference. It's something you have to figure out for yourself."
"You can only do so much," Richman added. "After a couple years of trying to teach our applicants about how difficult and depressing their lives will inevitably be—no matter what they choose to do for money—I just got burnt out. In the end, you've gotta resign yourself to failure and move on with your life."
Friday, February 11, 2005
Bang Bang
...goes the door to my room every day at 11:00 as students pester me to let them drop their bookbags off during lunch.
...goes the door in the morning as kids roll up to Central 30, 45 minutes late.
...goes my head on my desk during 5th period Wednesday, as the children lose any semblance of order, causing TWO students to receive the following instructions: "Do not touch anyone's desk. Do not touch any other people. Do not touch anyone else's belongings."
...went THREE cars on SW 112 Avenue on Tuesday night, turning FIU's campus into a traffic jam, and lengthening the 20 minute commute to an epic THREE HOURS.
...two more sets of paperwork down: I've officially applied to Florida International University's graduate program, and reminded the Internal Revenue Service that they owe me a fat chunk of change from last year.
...two kids who've been skipping my class since DECEMBER got caught, resulting in two parent conferences with two very angry grandmothers.
Everything seems to be happening twofold as of late, and I'm in a rhythmically repetitious mood since we're doing lyric poetry in English class this week. The big unit test is next Thursday, and I'm actually really excited to see if some of the kids have learned anything about poetic structure and figurative langauge. These past couple of weeks during the poetry unit, I've had several moments when I really do like my job.
They are usually fleeting, and usually shot down quite effectively when the children's attention lags. In every class, there are two or three (or six or seven) students who literally have no listening comprehension. A strained or strident "What did I JUST say 30 seconds ago?" has absolutely no effect on the cognitive absorption of details or directions. It's pretty impressive actually. But they're never going to listen, and I'm just going to have to keep repeating myself, or telling them to find out on their own. Everyone has their breaking point.
However, Miami in the wintertime is enough to rejuvenate even the most humbug spirits: how many people can have dinner at an outdoor cafe with friends on a Wednesday night in February? That's what I'm talking about.
Well, planning time is just about up, and I've got to get mentally prepared for 5th, 7th and 8th periods so that I can end Friday with a Bang and get started with my weekend. Shopping, a sojurn to the bead store in Kendall, and a Valentine's date with Virginia to the Red and Black Ball are all in store, and I'm ready to peace out
...goes the door in the morning as kids roll up to Central 30, 45 minutes late.
...goes my head on my desk during 5th period Wednesday, as the children lose any semblance of order, causing TWO students to receive the following instructions: "Do not touch anyone's desk. Do not touch any other people. Do not touch anyone else's belongings."
...went THREE cars on SW 112 Avenue on Tuesday night, turning FIU's campus into a traffic jam, and lengthening the 20 minute commute to an epic THREE HOURS.
...two more sets of paperwork down: I've officially applied to Florida International University's graduate program, and reminded the Internal Revenue Service that they owe me a fat chunk of change from last year.
...two kids who've been skipping my class since DECEMBER got caught, resulting in two parent conferences with two very angry grandmothers.
Everything seems to be happening twofold as of late, and I'm in a rhythmically repetitious mood since we're doing lyric poetry in English class this week. The big unit test is next Thursday, and I'm actually really excited to see if some of the kids have learned anything about poetic structure and figurative langauge. These past couple of weeks during the poetry unit, I've had several moments when I really do like my job.
They are usually fleeting, and usually shot down quite effectively when the children's attention lags. In every class, there are two or three (or six or seven) students who literally have no listening comprehension. A strained or strident "What did I JUST say 30 seconds ago?" has absolutely no effect on the cognitive absorption of details or directions. It's pretty impressive actually. But they're never going to listen, and I'm just going to have to keep repeating myself, or telling them to find out on their own. Everyone has their breaking point.
However, Miami in the wintertime is enough to rejuvenate even the most humbug spirits: how many people can have dinner at an outdoor cafe with friends on a Wednesday night in February? That's what I'm talking about.
Well, planning time is just about up, and I've got to get mentally prepared for 5th, 7th and 8th periods so that I can end Friday with a Bang and get started with my weekend. Shopping, a sojurn to the bead store in Kendall, and a Valentine's date with Virginia to the Red and Black Ball are all in store, and I'm ready to peace out
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Future Plans
I had an idyllic weekend, a nice little break from reality. My body has finally beaten out the sickness that had been kicking my ASS for two weeks, and I am starting to belive that the block schedule and extended day is not, in fact, a premonition of the apocalypse. True, there were several truly bad moments at school this week involving my "stolen" wallet [in the back of someone's car]; racism in 9th grade Reading; and several stopped class periods due to frustration and/or the implementation of Read 180, but after 48 hours of absolutely no school work, I'm starting to finally look ahead to the future.
My graduate plans are in full swing, even if it's costing me more than a small car; I've decided that intellectual engagement (however mediocre) is worth the money, and the classes are now at least relevant to issues that are in play in my class every day. Race matters, as I begin to understand more clearly every time I walk in the door and sign my initials on the time card at school. Serious, systemic, and dangerous instances of discrimination and inequality exist in so many parts of the country, and while I was exposed to this in theory during my time in college, I didn't really "get" what it meant. Telling someone that there exist 15 year olds who read at a 3rd or 4th grade reading level is one thing. You may be shocked, you may say something about how it's a travesty that the American public education system could have let a child slip through like that. What is entirely different, however, is seeing that child practice avoidance behavior when he is asked to read, "solving" his problem by abusing students physically and calling them faggots. Xenophobia, prejudice, and ignorance, are unfortunately not only the provenance of white society, and the inquisitive interest in all things different which was subtly taught to me as child is not the normal way of dealing with newness.
That said, it's all well and good to talk about these things, address and deconstruct biases, but I'm ready to actually do something about it.
Moving on to less socially conscious agendas, I'm ready for my personal life to get off the ground. I am consistently dumbfounded by my relatively easygoing relationship. Each time that one of us travels back and forth from PHL to FLL, after every hug at the airport hello and goodbye, more delicate connections are made between the two of us. By now, hundreds and thousands of little stretchy strings pull us closer and farther apart as we go about our daily lives, and I truly feel that the past 6 months apart have made us so much closer. We've both had to honestly think about why we're still together, what we want from each other, and what we're willing to do in order to keep things going.
This evening, as we drove down the familiar 21 miles of 95 to the Fort Lauderdale airport, talking calmly about David moving to Miami this year felt so good. Having someone be a huge part of my life has been a gradual process, and sometimes when I think about just how much of me I share with him it scares me. I mean, if I couldn't share my day with him, if he wasn't part of my life, I'd feel like a chunk of me was literally taken away. It's melodramatic, it's illogical, it's pretty unoriginal, but that's the way that I feel. Starting to plan for two instead of one is interesting. It's not easy, but neither is it bad. For the present, that's all I've got to say about that.
For now, that's also all I'd like to say about the future. I'd like to put off school, the rapidly encroaching FCAT, taxes, applications, FAFSA, and all sorts of real-world dilemmas and projects for another time, and spend a few sweet moments wallowing in my weekend.
[WEEKEND]
My hiatus from life began on Friday afternoon, circa 3:35 pm. Fiametta arrived in the Central parking lot to sweep me off to the 27th Avenue DMV for my Floriday driver's lisence. 45 minutes later, I left the ghetto with a legal state ID in my hand. My surname is no longer the irritating "Williamsen" from Virginia, and I'm one more step closer to completing FIU's irritating paperwork. I ran off to the gym briefly, and then Dave and I ended up getting caught up in conversation for 3 hours straight, completely missing dinner. At 10:00 pm, hungry as hell, we whipped up a gourmet salad and perfectly blissfully simple penne with cilantro and garlic. I ingested far too much of the delectable goodness too soon before falling asleep, so I conked out into unconsciousness pretty damn fast.
Saturday began at a reasonable hour, a leisurely light breakfast after the feasting of the night before, and we headed off on a sunshiney day to Key Biscayne. It's crazy tht there's this whole little island 5 minutes from Downtown, a little island oasis of white/affluent hispanic suburbia. Luckily, there's also beautiful state parks down there too. Our $4 parking fee at the south beach lot was more than worth it: ibises, sleeping terns, [I officially am becoming my parents], kite surfers, beach paths, and velvety sand kept us occupied for several windblown hours before we were forced to head back to civilization in search of sustenance. Craving seafood but seeing none, we settled for a late lunch at this crazy Argentinian place on Normandy called Vacas Gordas. I think we were a bit of an abberation to the serving staff since we 1. were white, 2. were not drinking alcohol, and 3. didn't order meat. They thought we were crazy, but luckily the staff didn't effect the taste of the food, which was stellar.
Also stellar was Saturday night. After a rousing game of scrabble to segue into the evening fun, we made Amaretto Angelfood cake for a midnight strawberry shortcake, then gave the Kitchenaid a workout with oatmeal cookies. It makes me so happy to share a part of my life that I love with the man I love. Grin. Cooking is fun.
When the other DPlace residents arrived home, we piled onto the yellow couch next door to watch "Start the Revolution Without Me," and really, if you can finish that movie without feeling good, then you must not be human. Sigh. Good night.
On that note, as I glance up to the top right-hand corner of my screen to see 10:06 staring at me nervously, I realize that it's time to wrap things up before the IMMEDIATE future kicks me in the rear. No plans for tomorrow as of yet, but hey, there's always 5:30 am for planning. I've got to break that habit eventually. Oh well, in the future I'll try to change that. =)
My graduate plans are in full swing, even if it's costing me more than a small car; I've decided that intellectual engagement (however mediocre) is worth the money, and the classes are now at least relevant to issues that are in play in my class every day. Race matters, as I begin to understand more clearly every time I walk in the door and sign my initials on the time card at school. Serious, systemic, and dangerous instances of discrimination and inequality exist in so many parts of the country, and while I was exposed to this in theory during my time in college, I didn't really "get" what it meant. Telling someone that there exist 15 year olds who read at a 3rd or 4th grade reading level is one thing. You may be shocked, you may say something about how it's a travesty that the American public education system could have let a child slip through like that. What is entirely different, however, is seeing that child practice avoidance behavior when he is asked to read, "solving" his problem by abusing students physically and calling them faggots. Xenophobia, prejudice, and ignorance, are unfortunately not only the provenance of white society, and the inquisitive interest in all things different which was subtly taught to me as child is not the normal way of dealing with newness.
That said, it's all well and good to talk about these things, address and deconstruct biases, but I'm ready to actually do something about it.
Moving on to less socially conscious agendas, I'm ready for my personal life to get off the ground. I am consistently dumbfounded by my relatively easygoing relationship. Each time that one of us travels back and forth from PHL to FLL, after every hug at the airport hello and goodbye, more delicate connections are made between the two of us. By now, hundreds and thousands of little stretchy strings pull us closer and farther apart as we go about our daily lives, and I truly feel that the past 6 months apart have made us so much closer. We've both had to honestly think about why we're still together, what we want from each other, and what we're willing to do in order to keep things going.
This evening, as we drove down the familiar 21 miles of 95 to the Fort Lauderdale airport, talking calmly about David moving to Miami this year felt so good. Having someone be a huge part of my life has been a gradual process, and sometimes when I think about just how much of me I share with him it scares me. I mean, if I couldn't share my day with him, if he wasn't part of my life, I'd feel like a chunk of me was literally taken away. It's melodramatic, it's illogical, it's pretty unoriginal, but that's the way that I feel. Starting to plan for two instead of one is interesting. It's not easy, but neither is it bad. For the present, that's all I've got to say about that.
For now, that's also all I'd like to say about the future. I'd like to put off school, the rapidly encroaching FCAT, taxes, applications, FAFSA, and all sorts of real-world dilemmas and projects for another time, and spend a few sweet moments wallowing in my weekend.
[WEEKEND]
My hiatus from life began on Friday afternoon, circa 3:35 pm. Fiametta arrived in the Central parking lot to sweep me off to the 27th Avenue DMV for my Floriday driver's lisence. 45 minutes later, I left the ghetto with a legal state ID in my hand. My surname is no longer the irritating "Williamsen" from Virginia, and I'm one more step closer to completing FIU's irritating paperwork. I ran off to the gym briefly, and then Dave and I ended up getting caught up in conversation for 3 hours straight, completely missing dinner. At 10:00 pm, hungry as hell, we whipped up a gourmet salad and perfectly blissfully simple penne with cilantro and garlic. I ingested far too much of the delectable goodness too soon before falling asleep, so I conked out into unconsciousness pretty damn fast.
Saturday began at a reasonable hour, a leisurely light breakfast after the feasting of the night before, and we headed off on a sunshiney day to Key Biscayne. It's crazy tht there's this whole little island 5 minutes from Downtown, a little island oasis of white/affluent hispanic suburbia. Luckily, there's also beautiful state parks down there too. Our $4 parking fee at the south beach lot was more than worth it: ibises, sleeping terns, [I officially am becoming my parents], kite surfers, beach paths, and velvety sand kept us occupied for several windblown hours before we were forced to head back to civilization in search of sustenance. Craving seafood but seeing none, we settled for a late lunch at this crazy Argentinian place on Normandy called Vacas Gordas. I think we were a bit of an abberation to the serving staff since we 1. were white, 2. were not drinking alcohol, and 3. didn't order meat. They thought we were crazy, but luckily the staff didn't effect the taste of the food, which was stellar.
Also stellar was Saturday night. After a rousing game of scrabble to segue into the evening fun, we made Amaretto Angelfood cake for a midnight strawberry shortcake, then gave the Kitchenaid a workout with oatmeal cookies. It makes me so happy to share a part of my life that I love with the man I love. Grin. Cooking is fun.
When the other DPlace residents arrived home, we piled onto the yellow couch next door to watch "Start the Revolution Without Me," and really, if you can finish that movie without feeling good, then you must not be human. Sigh. Good night.
On that note, as I glance up to the top right-hand corner of my screen to see 10:06 staring at me nervously, I realize that it's time to wrap things up before the IMMEDIATE future kicks me in the rear. No plans for tomorrow as of yet, but hey, there's always 5:30 am for planning. I've got to break that habit eventually. Oh well, in the future I'll try to change that. =)
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