There is something not right, I said to my roomate, when I want to listen to Mariah Carey all the time. Sunday afternoon, on my way home from a run, I had her new song in my head (as it has been for the past two weeks), and it's just so damn catchy. Perhaps I'll have to turn it on now, and give Shakira a break...
...There, that's better. Completey irrelevant to my current romantic situation (no, I have not lost someone), but oh, Mariah, how you draw me in. The one line in particular which I sang over and over again while washing dishes
Tryin' to keep it together, but I'm fallin' apart.
All out of my element, throwin' things, cryin,'
tryin' to figure out where the hell I went wrong...
Sigh, let's all have a moment for "tryin' to keep it together."
I'm so close to the end that I can taste it, but in that interim, shit is gonna go down. We just got [what I consider] a shitty grade on a presentation for one of our grad classes, and the disjunction between what I am currently studying and what I want to be studying is now presented before me in that much starker relief. Oh, for a film class! Oh, for a literature class! Oh, for a theory class! Oh heart, heart! O bleeding drops of red! Shit, I didn't write that, did I?
I miss the abstract, the theoretical, the second-hand, the altered, adulterated, the already-interpreted. I hate "best methods" presentations which rely on diagrams and posters. Booooooooooooooo. Note frustration expressed by repetition of multiple "o's." Return me to my Ivory Tower, O Princes of Philology! I think they're going to kick me out for good. Can I have an Ivory pedestal to sit on? A small Ivory Country Cottage?
I miss archaisms, the Romantics and their fucked-up ideals, Jane with her seemingly well-intentioned cultural critique, and Umberto with his Ego (yes, that's a Capital E.).
Maybe it's the antique fair that I went to on Sunday, maybe it's me re-reading selected quotes from Quijote and the Pendulum, maybe it's thinking about learning Italian all the time in my TESOL class, but for some reason or another I am having a longing for all things old, all things nostalgic, all things far from my present state of being. My students, and I believe ninth graders in general, do not have an appreciation for the richness, subtleties, hypocrisies, and palimpsests of history.
I suppose I shouldn't get mad at them, and just give them a chance to "grow up" but it's so hard.
Damn, how did it get to be this late!?! Every night, the same. O, for eight hours of Sleep. Yes, that's a capital S. The Shins complete the Soundtrack to My Life for now.
I'm trying hard not to give in,
battened down to fair the wind.
Read my head, at least pretend
Allow myself no mock defense
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, May 24, 2005
Saturday, May 21, 2005
Apples and Oranges
In the world of figurative language, there exists the time honored and tired simile of "it's like apples and oranges." In the past few weeks, some stark contrasts in life have been illuminated for me, and it's gotten me thinking in dichotomies, ratios, and contrasts.
Wednesday, one and one half weeks ago, I set of for Philadelphia, for my last visit to Haverford College this year. I hung out, read books, slept in, ate in cafeterias for a few days and divine resaturants for a few more; generally speaking, I forgot all about life in Miami. People drove like sane persons, there was actually a "downtown," nobody spoke Spanish (except for my professors, but then again, I hardly speak Spanish any more so what's the big deal?), and nobody called me "Ms. Williamson." That's the apples.
Now the oranges. None of my friends were there, it wasn't my Haverford, few people really understood what my life has been like this past year, and it definitely didn't feel like home. No cat, no real shower (oh, right, we didn't have one in my REAL home either, so it was fine. Not.), no comfortable bed.
But Dave was there (apples), along with his extended family, whom I was genuinely glad to finally meet. They took us out all over the town: brunch at Bleu, dinner at Taquet with salmon tartare and divine orange roughy; molten chocolate cake TWICE (once with gold leaf. swoon.); Valrhona gelato at Savona, white chocolate and earl grey mousse; amouse bouche, amouse dessert; champagne and bubbly conversation.
Life in Philadelphia, with its chilly skylines and One Liberty Place, is apples and oranges. It is familiar and strange, and old friend and new possibilities, dinner at a long-anticipated restaurant, but not with my friends, with a new one of Dave's.
There are apples, there are oranges, and then there are mangoes. Right now, I'm living the mango. I mean, with apples and oranges, you've got at least a couple of things going for you: they're readily available in the grocery store, have radial symmetry, and are often eaten in segments. With mangoes, you're pretty much stretching it. Oranges and mangoes have a lot of vitamin C? That's stretching the comparison pretty thin.
It stretches even thinner, because right now the mango is rotten. It's waaaay past ripe, and it's pretty putrid. My mango returned with a debacle of an airport pickup which involved me leaving my cell phone in the restroom, exiting security, pleading with TSA to let me back in, then being stuck on two different airport levels running around like a frantic hen trying to find Virginia, who was only 12 feet below me, through 6 feet of concrete and steel roadway.
From there, life pretty much as beat the shit out of me until this afternoon, in various fashions. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I left my house at 6:45 am and did not return until 9:30 pm from class at FIU. We had a group presentation on Thursday, some state visit at Central one day, and much to my chagrin I'm still not even REGISTERED for my Wednesday class yet (see very bellicose post of last week). My mother is worried about me living in sin with my "friend" DDH at the family reunion this summer, and as much as admitted this on the phone while pestering me about trip logistics for July. Are you insane? I can barely make it to Saturday, let alone an entire other season of the year. Our shower broke, turning into a pathetic trickle, nicely mimicking the way my brain felt like it was flowing out of my ears as the week went on. Then, the lake from our air conditioning unit reappeared in the kitchen, flooding everything, AND we heard that our slum landlords are going to raise the rent $200 next year. This brings us to roughly Wednesday. Shower is finally fixed circa Thursday afternoon, and by then I'm done. I'm pissed, I'm tired, and I haven't been planning for school.
Friday rushes by in a whir, Prom after school (and an awful dinner at a lame ass restaurant), but even that couldn't be just normal. For some reason, when I went to get gas, I picked up a pen on my dashboard without thinking. Said pen had exploded in the nuclear heat of Miami midday, leaving huge, dark purple splotches all over my hands. They are still there. "Hi, kids, this is your freakish teahcher. She has some odd sort of tropical disease."
Then, after a relatively stress-free Friday, I woke up at 7:00 this morning to drive an HOUR to motherfucking Broward County for our Saturday class. I didn't believe Mary and the rest of the TFA contingent when they said he was the worst professor ever. Is should have known better. The man threw a small object at a student because he was talking in class...about educational theory. He asked Amanda "Do we need to move your seat?" because she and Mary were being a little chatty BEFORE CLASS STARTED. He is the rudest, most idiotic man alive, and he's a horrible teacher. Did I mention three FIU students offered to buy him a gift today? Right. What is this universe I live in, because clearly it's not normal. Oh, right, and I'm probably going to fail his class because I have to miss two lectures for a family function.
I spent 10 minutes after class crying in the FIU restroom. Low point of the weekend, most likely. Life is very angry at me right now. Virtually pelting me with rotten mangoes.
So I ran off to Aventura, the land of artificial perfection and stadium-seating movie theaters, to have some sushi and a large glass of plum wine before StarWars Episode III (I swear it was after noon before I started drinking). George, ye hath redeemed thyself for thy sins of Episode I and II. Yet, after the delicious escapism of alcohol and movie popcorn, I returned to my life at Design Place, and my mildew-flavored, ant-infested kitchen.
dPlace really is a special establishment, emblematized by this delightful vignette: they think that by painting decorative stripes on the gym walls, it will make the 5 broken workout machines function better. Hey, guess what, they still don't work. I know, because on my way over there this evening to check it out, I stepped in a huge pile of dogshit, c/o my happy neighbors.
This is beyond apples and oranges, this is beyond fruit. It has got to be something in the cosmos; some starry pattern has misaligned, and I am suffering the wrath of the Force.
But as Jedi Master Yoda might say, "Helpful it is not, to dwell in the dark side." So I made a huge batch of summer happiness in a pitcher (gazpacho a la Carmen), and fixed a large glass of liquid joy (tinto de verano), and here I sit, merrily typing away. There's a movie on the docket tonight, and I think our soup might be just about chilled, so I'm going to try and get back to what is left of my life.
I can't *wait* to see what the Citrus State has in store for me next week. I don't think my life could get any harder.
Wednesday, one and one half weeks ago, I set of for Philadelphia, for my last visit to Haverford College this year. I hung out, read books, slept in, ate in cafeterias for a few days and divine resaturants for a few more; generally speaking, I forgot all about life in Miami. People drove like sane persons, there was actually a "downtown," nobody spoke Spanish (except for my professors, but then again, I hardly speak Spanish any more so what's the big deal?), and nobody called me "Ms. Williamson." That's the apples.
Now the oranges. None of my friends were there, it wasn't my Haverford, few people really understood what my life has been like this past year, and it definitely didn't feel like home. No cat, no real shower (oh, right, we didn't have one in my REAL home either, so it was fine. Not.), no comfortable bed.
But Dave was there (apples), along with his extended family, whom I was genuinely glad to finally meet. They took us out all over the town: brunch at Bleu, dinner at Taquet with salmon tartare and divine orange roughy; molten chocolate cake TWICE (once with gold leaf. swoon.); Valrhona gelato at Savona, white chocolate and earl grey mousse; amouse bouche, amouse dessert; champagne and bubbly conversation.
Life in Philadelphia, with its chilly skylines and One Liberty Place, is apples and oranges. It is familiar and strange, and old friend and new possibilities, dinner at a long-anticipated restaurant, but not with my friends, with a new one of Dave's.
There are apples, there are oranges, and then there are mangoes. Right now, I'm living the mango. I mean, with apples and oranges, you've got at least a couple of things going for you: they're readily available in the grocery store, have radial symmetry, and are often eaten in segments. With mangoes, you're pretty much stretching it. Oranges and mangoes have a lot of vitamin C? That's stretching the comparison pretty thin.
It stretches even thinner, because right now the mango is rotten. It's waaaay past ripe, and it's pretty putrid. My mango returned with a debacle of an airport pickup which involved me leaving my cell phone in the restroom, exiting security, pleading with TSA to let me back in, then being stuck on two different airport levels running around like a frantic hen trying to find Virginia, who was only 12 feet below me, through 6 feet of concrete and steel roadway.
From there, life pretty much as beat the shit out of me until this afternoon, in various fashions. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I left my house at 6:45 am and did not return until 9:30 pm from class at FIU. We had a group presentation on Thursday, some state visit at Central one day, and much to my chagrin I'm still not even REGISTERED for my Wednesday class yet (see very bellicose post of last week). My mother is worried about me living in sin with my "friend" DDH at the family reunion this summer, and as much as admitted this on the phone while pestering me about trip logistics for July. Are you insane? I can barely make it to Saturday, let alone an entire other season of the year. Our shower broke, turning into a pathetic trickle, nicely mimicking the way my brain felt like it was flowing out of my ears as the week went on. Then, the lake from our air conditioning unit reappeared in the kitchen, flooding everything, AND we heard that our slum landlords are going to raise the rent $200 next year. This brings us to roughly Wednesday. Shower is finally fixed circa Thursday afternoon, and by then I'm done. I'm pissed, I'm tired, and I haven't been planning for school.
Friday rushes by in a whir, Prom after school (and an awful dinner at a lame ass restaurant), but even that couldn't be just normal. For some reason, when I went to get gas, I picked up a pen on my dashboard without thinking. Said pen had exploded in the nuclear heat of Miami midday, leaving huge, dark purple splotches all over my hands. They are still there. "Hi, kids, this is your freakish teahcher. She has some odd sort of tropical disease."
Then, after a relatively stress-free Friday, I woke up at 7:00 this morning to drive an HOUR to motherfucking Broward County for our Saturday class. I didn't believe Mary and the rest of the TFA contingent when they said he was the worst professor ever. Is should have known better. The man threw a small object at a student because he was talking in class...about educational theory. He asked Amanda "Do we need to move your seat?" because she and Mary were being a little chatty BEFORE CLASS STARTED. He is the rudest, most idiotic man alive, and he's a horrible teacher. Did I mention three FIU students offered to buy him a gift today? Right. What is this universe I live in, because clearly it's not normal. Oh, right, and I'm probably going to fail his class because I have to miss two lectures for a family function.
I spent 10 minutes after class crying in the FIU restroom. Low point of the weekend, most likely. Life is very angry at me right now. Virtually pelting me with rotten mangoes.
So I ran off to Aventura, the land of artificial perfection and stadium-seating movie theaters, to have some sushi and a large glass of plum wine before StarWars Episode III (I swear it was after noon before I started drinking). George, ye hath redeemed thyself for thy sins of Episode I and II. Yet, after the delicious escapism of alcohol and movie popcorn, I returned to my life at Design Place, and my mildew-flavored, ant-infested kitchen.
dPlace really is a special establishment, emblematized by this delightful vignette: they think that by painting decorative stripes on the gym walls, it will make the 5 broken workout machines function better. Hey, guess what, they still don't work. I know, because on my way over there this evening to check it out, I stepped in a huge pile of dogshit, c/o my happy neighbors.
This is beyond apples and oranges, this is beyond fruit. It has got to be something in the cosmos; some starry pattern has misaligned, and I am suffering the wrath of the Force.
But as Jedi Master Yoda might say, "Helpful it is not, to dwell in the dark side." So I made a huge batch of summer happiness in a pitcher (gazpacho a la Carmen), and fixed a large glass of liquid joy (tinto de verano), and here I sit, merrily typing away. There's a movie on the docket tonight, and I think our soup might be just about chilled, so I'm going to try and get back to what is left of my life.
I can't *wait* to see what the Citrus State has in store for me next week. I don't think my life could get any harder.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
afsadfasdgDG
fuck you, FIU. Fuck you and your little administration too!
fufufufufufufuufufuck you!
14 hour days as a teacher are not acceptable. i have not eaten a normal meal since Saturday night. i have not slept a normal amount since Friday. am angry, tired, and very, very bitter.
i can't take this schedule much longer before i self destruct. when is summer? please, when?
fufufufufufufuufufuck you!
14 hour days as a teacher are not acceptable. i have not eaten a normal meal since Saturday night. i have not slept a normal amount since Friday. am angry, tired, and very, very bitter.
i can't take this schedule much longer before i self destruct. when is summer? please, when?
Sunday, May 01, 2005
May: the Month
I've bought my plane tickets to various places, I have a dress to wear to 3 out of 4 special occasions, I've paid my rent, cable internet, and power bill, registered for my last standardized test, nearly been accepted to FIU, and have painted my nails red. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I believe I'm ready for May.
It feels a bit like summer around here in Miami, and not just because of the weather. Miraculously, it has stayed around 77 degrees for the past 2 months, confounding my sense of the passage of time, but thoroughly delighting my senses. Without grad school papers and work to do the past week, I've felt a bit like I'm playing hookie. I had a day "off" last week for another Read 180 training, which felt deliciously illicit, and on Tuesday I get to take a day off to go observe classes at a private school in Coral Gables. I feel like a bit of a sham, even though things in English class are sailing along smoothly, and the kids are tearing through the Odyssey.
This past week, what with progress reports and my life just beginning to get back in order, was supposed to be rough. Fortunately, it wasn't.
There has been a good deal of retrospective self-analysis running around Design Place among TFA members of both the '03 and '04 corps. It's so true that you can't even begin to analyze an event/emotion/person/place without some sort of distance, be it spacial, temporal, or emotional space. All of a sudden, life has slowed down to a manageable pace; perhaps it's because some of my responsibilities have loosened their hold on my schedule. As soon as my mind is given a little free rein to do its own thing, I of course start thinking about one of my favorite topics: Myself!
I have decided, along with some other sagacious TFA-ers, that I've been through the same sort of emotional rollercoaster that we experienced during Institute, only on a larger scale. There was the inital trepidation, the abstract knowledge of "it's going to be hard," confronting reality, being pissed of and frightened at reality, and then a sort of scrambling to get things done, ending in a final sense of relative calm/accomplishment. I feel "okay" with my life right now, which is, professionally, quite a goddamn feat.
True, there are nearly 7 weeks of school left, but May is chock-full of activity for my personal and itinerant life. I was so scared of April, with no Dave, no days off, and no hope of school ending. Then, all of a sudden, April ended.
It ended not in grand style, but with a stylish flair. Not bad, all told. Considering the sad Thursday occurrence when the most evilest man on the planet stole the O.C. from the airwaves with his bullshit about "Fixing Social Security!" Whatever. Boo. There were other good things this week (Ashley and I watched 16 Candles instead. I felt very weepy and romantic.) I finished a book for FUN (gasp! shock! scandal!) yesterday, and managed to find time all last week to work out. Not getting exercise just makes me a little batty, so exam week was even more stressful because of that factor. It's nice to be able to sit around on a Friday night and just chat with people to wind down from the work week. It's even nicer to go to Uva and sip pinot noir with flourless chocolate cake after a healthy dinner of eggdrop soup for my under-the-weather roommate. Then, it's even nicer still to get all of my errands (okay, well, most) done early on Saturday morning, lay out by the pool and read, then top off the day with a shopping expedition in the Grove.
As I mentioned to Dave, this weekend I did all the things that make me unwind tangled thoughts, the things that are comfortable, familiar: I read a LOT, I cooked good meals with quality food (yay for finding an Asian market in Miami! Who knew there were Asians in South Florida?), I bought a pair of shoes, I cleaned my room, and I cleaned up the car.
I slept in on Sunday, bought the New York Times and immersed myself in Spring news and style while eating pancakes and drinking my Starbucks Latte, then cleaned house with Mary, got yelled at for washing my car at DPlace (irritating inconvenience number 131a of this month), and then read some more. It's lovely, I did NOTHING this weekend! How liberating.
One of these days I'm actually going to make it to the beach, the Bass Museum, and other cultural sights. For now, I'm okay with taking mental health weekend, recharging my brain on quality (and grade B) literature, and starting to think again. Gotta get my rest in now, 'cause May is going to be nuts.
It feels a bit like summer around here in Miami, and not just because of the weather. Miraculously, it has stayed around 77 degrees for the past 2 months, confounding my sense of the passage of time, but thoroughly delighting my senses. Without grad school papers and work to do the past week, I've felt a bit like I'm playing hookie. I had a day "off" last week for another Read 180 training, which felt deliciously illicit, and on Tuesday I get to take a day off to go observe classes at a private school in Coral Gables. I feel like a bit of a sham, even though things in English class are sailing along smoothly, and the kids are tearing through the Odyssey.
This past week, what with progress reports and my life just beginning to get back in order, was supposed to be rough. Fortunately, it wasn't.
There has been a good deal of retrospective self-analysis running around Design Place among TFA members of both the '03 and '04 corps. It's so true that you can't even begin to analyze an event/emotion/person/place without some sort of distance, be it spacial, temporal, or emotional space. All of a sudden, life has slowed down to a manageable pace; perhaps it's because some of my responsibilities have loosened their hold on my schedule. As soon as my mind is given a little free rein to do its own thing, I of course start thinking about one of my favorite topics: Myself!
I have decided, along with some other sagacious TFA-ers, that I've been through the same sort of emotional rollercoaster that we experienced during Institute, only on a larger scale. There was the inital trepidation, the abstract knowledge of "it's going to be hard," confronting reality, being pissed of and frightened at reality, and then a sort of scrambling to get things done, ending in a final sense of relative calm/accomplishment. I feel "okay" with my life right now, which is, professionally, quite a goddamn feat.
True, there are nearly 7 weeks of school left, but May is chock-full of activity for my personal and itinerant life. I was so scared of April, with no Dave, no days off, and no hope of school ending. Then, all of a sudden, April ended.
It ended not in grand style, but with a stylish flair. Not bad, all told. Considering the sad Thursday occurrence when the most evilest man on the planet stole the O.C. from the airwaves with his bullshit about "Fixing Social Security!" Whatever. Boo. There were other good things this week (Ashley and I watched 16 Candles instead. I felt very weepy and romantic.) I finished a book for FUN (gasp! shock! scandal!) yesterday, and managed to find time all last week to work out. Not getting exercise just makes me a little batty, so exam week was even more stressful because of that factor. It's nice to be able to sit around on a Friday night and just chat with people to wind down from the work week. It's even nicer to go to Uva and sip pinot noir with flourless chocolate cake after a healthy dinner of eggdrop soup for my under-the-weather roommate. Then, it's even nicer still to get all of my errands (okay, well, most) done early on Saturday morning, lay out by the pool and read, then top off the day with a shopping expedition in the Grove.
As I mentioned to Dave, this weekend I did all the things that make me unwind tangled thoughts, the things that are comfortable, familiar: I read a LOT, I cooked good meals with quality food (yay for finding an Asian market in Miami! Who knew there were Asians in South Florida?), I bought a pair of shoes, I cleaned my room, and I cleaned up the car.
I slept in on Sunday, bought the New York Times and immersed myself in Spring news and style while eating pancakes and drinking my Starbucks Latte, then cleaned house with Mary, got yelled at for washing my car at DPlace (irritating inconvenience number 131a of this month), and then read some more. It's lovely, I did NOTHING this weekend! How liberating.
One of these days I'm actually going to make it to the beach, the Bass Museum, and other cultural sights. For now, I'm okay with taking mental health weekend, recharging my brain on quality (and grade B) literature, and starting to think again. Gotta get my rest in now, 'cause May is going to be nuts.
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