string of profanities

Lesson #1: Why Didn't I Think of That?

My task at lunch duty is a simple one: make sure the students fill all the seats, one row at a time. Our cafeteria is generally filled, except for the isolation tables, and it just makes sense. I make exceptions for groups of three and rarely make anyone sit completely by themselves. Today at the next-to-last table, there were four seats left and a group of five boys who promptly sat at the empty table. "Come on guys--I need three of you over here. Two of you can stay together if you want."

The largest one took exception: "F--- that. I've been testing all day, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm not going to move." The others chimed in: "Yeah, Miss, give us a break."

"You--what's your name?"
"[mumblemumble] name's Duvall."
"Ok, Duvall. You actually make a very good point. If you had asked me politely using those reasons, I probably would have let you stay. But the way you just spoke to me was very rude, and you need to go sit by yourself."

He did move. When I later relayed the story to a co-worker, she just laughed. "Ok, Rosa Parks."

Lesson #2: A Midsummer Night's Sit-down and Shut-yo-mouth

Ricardo is used to getting thrown out into the hall. In fact, it's happened so often that he's made hall-buddies and decided that hall-life is far preferable to classroom-life. Today as we made our way through Act II, I could see Ricardo gazing wistfully out the narrow window to the hallway. When the time came, he refused to read his part, and then made a show of refusing to even follow along. "Ok, up," I said.

He bounced out of his seat and headed for the door.

"No." I pointed to the lone chair facing the classroom next to my stool. "Bring your book."

He picked up the chair and headed once more for the door.

"Nooooo.... sit."

I saw the desparation in his eyes, and the hamster wheel turning. What would it take, he calculated, to make it out that door. Deliberately and with enunciation, he looked at me and muttered: "f--- that s---."

"Nice try. Sit down. Right here next to me will be fine."

-----

I am the teacher. I AM the teacher. I always win.

you know you're eating in texas when...

...the school-sponsored teacher lunch consists of an enourmous baked potato blanketed in beef

Also, here are some secret tips from my students on how to do well on the TAKS:

-sharpen your pencil until it resembles a lance and can pierce through skin (not sure if your pencil fits this description? test it out on someone sitting next to you). the trick is to get it sharp enough so that the least bit of pressure will cause it to break, thus enabling you to go through the ever amusing skin-piercing test again... and again... and again...

-when given a highlighter, highlight EVERYTHING in your test book. it's prettier and easier to understand when it's day-go yellow

-the test says you can "take all the time you need" which means that if you need all the time, they probably won't make you go to class. good ways to drag out the test as long as possible include: sleeping, gazing off into nothingness, doodling in the test book, and putting your pencils together like a windmill and spinning them around.

The last one is a little insulting because I am pretty sure that my class is more interesting than this test... but I could be wrong. (I've been wrong before.)

new york city

...has been the topic on everyone's lips lately, at the bar or over weekend brunch.

Saturday night over two dirty martinis, I chronicled what I remember about NYC:

-8 hour car trips to visit my Grampa Rogers in Buffalo (Lancaster, actually). We listened to Winnie-the-Pooh stories and Garrison Keillor and fairy tales. As expected, I fought with my brother over car snacks, seat hogging, and the fact that he was generally annoying. Ok, this recurring memory has nothing to do with "the city" (we didn't go anywhere near it) but it illustrates that "New York" for many many years was actually a state in my mind. A big one, with too much road.

-my first trip with Heather (happy birthday) and her mom, a teacher, on a MCPS sponsored Broadway weekend. It was so cold that we left the hotel and my still-wet-hair froze. I saw RENT, a straight play, and a non-musical comedy starring some big shot actor... whose name escapes me.

-a post-high-school-graduation weekend trip with Heather, her friend ??, and Evan. I drove in my ever-trusted Pontiac Grand Am, which began to overheat as soon as we entered the city. On the way home, the trunk popped open as we drove (lost, of course) through busy streets looking for a bridge or a tunnel or something. There was lots of screaming, and Evan had to jump out and close it.

-freshman year of college with the Honors Humanities program. We saw RENT (again) and I met ogled Bernadette Peters coming out of the Annie Get Your Gun performance. I remember the soup nazi, playing on statues at Central Park, and staying for cheap at an incredibly shady youth hostel.

-January 2002, going up with Dan to visit some friends and family. We stayed with his friend Ben, and it was my first experience meeting people who *actually* lived in the city. The apartments, as a rule, were small and narrow and (to my mind) exceedingly "cool." We went to the Sept 11th site, which at the time was still clapboarded off and covered with homemade memorials. I remember sitting and drinking coffee with Dan while we waited with our tickets (a way to regulate traffic) for our turn to stand and stare. My hands were shaking. We drove home very late that night and _almost_ had enough cash to make it through the tolls without stopping (sadly, we were a dollar short and had to stop before the Baltimore tunnel).

In all scenarios, I left feeling in awe of and overwhelmed by the magnitude and buzz of the city. I remember the most recent trip the best, for obvious reasons and also because I was a visitor rather than a tourist. At the time, I realized that it is possible for someone like me to forge a life in such a city (millions have, after all), but who would ever want to? And why?

the last weeks of school...

...are an exercise in fighting apathy and anarchy.

(The students are misbehaving, too.)

Aye, me.

I want anyone who favors isolating English-Language-Learners to meet Stephanie M., who raised her hand the very first day of school and handed me a blank "interest inventory," a befuddled look on her face and a classmate who explained "she doesn't read English,"

who was placed in a gifted and talented class after one year of bilingual education in this country, who nearly cried during her parent conference when we told her that we wanted her to stay there,

who rarely spoke a word in English to me if she could avoid it, but listened to every word I ever said with an intent look on her face,

who got all A's the last two marking periods, who turned in every assignment, who raised her hand to read Hermia's lines in A Midsummer Night's Dream> yesterday,

who read: "If then true lovers have been ever crossed, It stands as an edict in destiny. Then let us teach our trial patience, Because it is a customary cross, As due to love as thoughts, and dreams, and sighs, Wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers" with such ease that the whole class spontaniously burst into applause, and I promptly fell off my stool.

what the tarot cards said:

Nothing I didn't already know.

It's not so much the impending career, lifestyle, and location changes that scare the pants off me, but the growing probability of going through them solo.

cat's away...

I'm celebrating Ryan's trip to Dallas by renting the girliest movies I can find and watching them on his DVD player. Last night was decadent. I heated up a Lean Cuisine, played some Morrowind, made popcorn, and watched Something's Gotta Give. Tomorrow, Mona Lisa Smile is in order.

Today I celebrated sunny weather with a crawfish boil down the street, a bbq at The Harp, and a sexxy farmer's tan. As in, I will be sporting one as soon as my sunburn heals. Walking back to my place, Jen and I passed by Pineapple Man's apartment and I intuitively grabbed her arm to speed up.

This is a good place to pause and write about the crazy man down the street from me who magically appears on his balcony every time I walk by. One time, I was carrying a pineapple. After grilling me about my plans for the fruit, he offered to trade me tennis lessons if I would save him some. (I did not; I ate it all.) Hence, the name.

So Pineapple Man was stepping out to say hello and I was just about to boogie past in feigned ignorance, dragging Jennifer with me, but her eyes had already found a different target. "Eric?" she called, to the young man digging in his truck. No no no, I'm thinking, stopping is out of the question. Must keep walking.

But stop we did, and hugs ensued, and in the span of about five minutes we discovered that Eric actually lives next door to the crazy pineapple man, and is thinking about moving into my complex instead. (I wonder if he's been propositioned for fruit as well.) "Wanna see my apartment?" I asked, sensing an out.

As we walked away, Pineapple Man threw me a tennis ball, which I threw back, and Eric muttered "that guy is CRAZY."

Later, of course, I had to wonder which is actually crazier: walking down the street carrying a pineapple, or stopping someone to ask about it.

we're all in the boat together

me: "Have you decided what to do about your contract?"

Jen (my fellow TFA-alum co-worker): "Yeah, I'm sitting on it."

"Oh, that's smart."

"No, really, it's on my chair. I've been sitting on it."

oh hellp

Until this point, I've been wavering back and forth between teaching for a third year at my school and not teaching for a third year at my school. I've become a pro at "the waver" (To move freely back and forth or up and down in the air, as branches in the wind--dictionary.com). I can waver effortlessly between one decision or the other in the span of days, hours, even minutes, committing only to inconstancy.

There's a signature line at the bottom of my contract, and I don't know whether to sign my standard "M. Di------" that has become so familiar to our school staff (attendance slips, ARD documents, referral forms: no one really cares about your first name when you're a teacher; for two years it's been "Miss") or a new possibility:

DECLINED.

M. Di----- (Generally, time is a precious commodity, so I don't have time for the "ckson" and it trails off into a line, or a flourish, depending on my mood) is the safe bet, with guaranteed steady paychecks and vacations and a room to work in with windows and my own desk and computer and 1.5 hours of "planning" a day to study for GREs and apply to grad schools. There's also a distinct possibility that 120 new 12-year-olds will age me indefinitely and drive me completely, irreversibly, insane.

"Declined," however, is completely unknown to me. I don't know who she is or what she does. I don't know if she's the type who can go out for drinks and sign a credit card receipt, or if she's counting quarters. And while a nice lazy vacation sounds very tempting right now, I'm also aware that periods of inactivity tend to make me depressed.

So I don't know what to sign. You tell me.

error message

After a week of repair and a new hard drive, my school laptop went from being a complete piece o' crap (with essential documents) to a undeniably crappy yet-completely-useless metal paperweight on my desk.

Maybe I don't understand what "fixed" means.

easter lights

This weekend I...

...went to see Tony and The Falcon, a local band. Tamar introduced me to "The Falcon" using that name. When we were talking about it later people kept referring to him. Yeah, The Falcon is such a nice guy. The Falcon is an amazing drummer. The Falcon etc... "Excuse me," I asked. "Does he have a real name?" "Paul." "Oh."

...BEAT Morrowind. That is to say, I completed the main quest. I am no longer cursed with the duty of the Neverine, but do not fear--there are still side quests to complete and adventures to be had. Neverminding the fact that I can try it again with a different sort of character. A healer this time, instead of an assassin. Rest assured there are days upon days of game-play left to be had.

...lived through tornado warnings and heavy, heavy thunderstorms. When the local news interrupted Men in Black with our important weather update, and we started to hear hail hitting the rooftops, I got a little jumpy. "Does the constant weather information make it better or worse?" asked Ryan. "Better." "Let's check out the weather channel--although they can be a little alarmist." The weather channel screen was entirely red, with the "beeep beeeep beeeep" of impending doom. We flipped back immediately.

...saw The Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. I cried a little, but not in the expected places.

...went the see The Darkness play at the Verzion Center. Confirmed that it's not really my thing.

...spent $20 at Value Village for 2 bags of clothes. Driving up there, this phone call occured: "Hi George, this is Lana and Mary. We are in urgent need of your expertise. We need to know, first of all, Einstein's views on time travel. Secondly, what exactly did he mean by 'time is relative'? Please get back to us as soon as possible. Thank you."

To the Victor...

This post should be subtitled "I Win at Internet" or "Why the Hell is my Sidebar Way Down There?"

Not only do I crush ponies, I also crush small dogs, comments, and pesky css code. When in doubt, just add more </div>'s

Yo quiero el perrito

I spent the afternoon with Agent Dale Cooper and Miss Bubbles at the Dog Park. It's a good thing I brought my camera, in case you've been wondering whether or not to get your dog neutered. (Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.)

the briefing

I do not understand.

What are these trees we are/are not supposed to be shaking?

And what's all this about a magical silver bullet?

Anyone who says that reading fiction is crap obviously hasn't been paying attention to the world we live in. Learn your metaphors well, children, or one day you'll be sitting in a briefing room and you won't be able to follow the line of questioning.

p.s. Howard Kurtz, I love you, please marry me.

tried it with the hens: it didn't work

Ferdinand the duck: Look, there's something you should know.
Babe the pig: Yes?
F: Humans eat ducks!
B: Huh? I beg your pardon?
F: Ah, most ducks would like to forget it, but the fact is that humans like to eat plump, attractive ducks.
B: Ohhh, I don't think so. Not the Boss, not the Boss's wife.
F: Oh, come on. Humans don't eat cats -- why?
B: Well, they're...
F: They're indispensable: they catch mice. Humans don't eat roosters -- why? They make eggs with the hens and wake everyone up in the morning.
B: Right.
F: I tried it with the hens: it didn't work. So I turned to crowing, and lo! I discover my gift. But no sooner do I become indispensable than they bring in a machine to do the job. Ohhhh-oh-oh, the treachery of it -- a mechanical rooster!
B: Ohhh dear me.
F: Oh dear YOU! Look, I suppose the life of an anorexic duck doesn't amount to much in the broad scheme of things, but it's all I've got.

get off my cool-aid

OMG this note I intercepted is priceless:

"Hey, what [up] me chillin well trying cause this f--king teacher won't get of my cool-aid. N-E-ways what [up] with you. Hey I'm going to the field trip f--k Mr. Hernandez I don't care if I don't play in the next game, hey each just one game I Love U so much!"

In case there was any doubt, I am "this f--king teacher." A year and a half ago, this might have upset me. Now I'm like, YEAAH--I am all up in your cool-aid, bi-YOTCH! Maybe if you spent a little less time "chillin" you'd learn something about punctuation marks.

In more cheerful news, Flipper might become an Art-Car.

tornado!

The sky is this dark, puke green color like any moment the apocolyptic horsemen might come galloping down on a thundercloud, and there's a steady grumbling like large vehicles on a gravel road. A minute ago there was a large clash of elements, the power flickered out, and everyone (me included) screamed bloody murder... but only for a minute.

And now inside room 227, twenty-four seventh graders quietly take their mood and tone test, even while we can hear the room next door going crazy, and do you know why?

MY VOICE IS LOUDER THAN THUNDER.

It's true.

weight--(they don't love you like i love you)

I was trained never to ask a lady this question, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

Ever since I was, like, three, I have weighed 128 pounds. Sometimes it fluctuates a few pounds up or down depending on the time of the month, the time of day, a gigantic meal I've just eaten, a long spell without food, a seven mile run (haah! like I would ever run seven consecutive miles, you fool), if I'm holding a fat cat, or if I've got someone on my shoulders--but in general it's very difficult to tip the scale in either direction past a very solid, consistent, 128.

I am not complaining. 128 is a good number. I can live my entire life at 128 and that would be fine. I expect that if and when I am ever pregnant, I'll *still* weigh 128 for the duration of the term.

So I was perturbed when the scales (two *seperate* scales, I should mention) recently registered a whole 10 POUNDS over the expected ticky mark and decided to take drastic measures--ie. cutting out the Taco Bell lunchbreaks (sniff: goodbye, three taco special) and the Late Night Pie sessions.

Yesterday, in order to track this goal, I bought a scale for the first time in my life. I set it to zero, got naked, and stepped carefully onto the offending white plastic.

128.

wtf?

Lana has says that I have the most healthy relationship with food of anyone she knows. The truth is that I do not understand food, nor do I attempt to do so, since obviously my body weight is governed by aliens and not by calories.

life on display? display your own pictures!!

I left this girl a comment asking her (nicely) to give me credit for my picture. She ignored my post, so I did it myself. If I had my school laptop, I would have changed the link to the picture of dead roaches, courtesy of Zuleika. Zing.

This weekend I helped the economy. Here's a brief snapshot of my life, based on material possessions.

Purchased from DSW:
-blue ballerina slippers
-black pointy toe heels

Purchased from Fiesta:
-cat litter
-cat litter deodorizer
-cat food

Purchased from Target:
-blue bead necklace
-red lipstick
-blue glitter lipgloss
-jeans
-sweater
-polo shirt
-t-shirt
-underwear
-slip
-flip-flops
-frozen pizza
-yogurt smoothie
-OJ
-lettuce
-carrots
-mushrooms
-blue cheese dressing
-cheese
-lunchmeat
-Glade refill
-bathroom scale
-Starbucks iced latte

I should mention that as I was pondering the necklace, a 12-year-old picked up the same one. She looked ridiculous. I looked adorable. (No bias whatsoever.)

It's sad when I base my shopping decisions on convenience: ie. buying clothing to avoid doing laundry for a couple more days, and buying food based on what I will eat (pre-made, easy to prepare finger food; frozen foods; juice I can drink straight from the container) and what will most surely go bad sitting in the refridgerator for a month (milk, vegetables, meat). When does this end? Does the domestic fairy come visit you one night and *poof* all of a sudden you're cooking meals with vitamins and sorting loads by color and fabric? Do I have to take classes? (Do they even offer classes?)

The cat goes under the knife next Friday. She's sleeping right now, but earlier she was a hyper fuzzy missle of destruction. I have had to remove my pictures in frames from the window sill (actually, the cat did it for me), and any papers I leave in piles get knocked over and spread out while I am away. Since the piles of paper constitute my entire organizational system, this is bad news for bills being paid.

Tonight I will go see The Mosquitos and later this week I'll see Bitch and Animal. I went to the opening of a film exhibit at the CAM, followed by a great performance by those Kiss Kiss Kill Kill boys.

The days pass quickly and turn into months. This is nothing new, you say.

I almost forgot...

I met more Canadian rock stars last night!!

*edit: okay, more like Canadian Irish folk musicians, but whatever...

Surely this means something, eh?

Relocated

So here's what happened.

Some students did a google search for a girl's name and found pictures I had posted from class. While my site tracking revealed that the googlers from HISD computers had only looked at that particular photo gallery and not at the rest of the (damning) evidence that their teacher is, yes, a REAL LIVE HUMAN BEING, I thought it prudent to hide the evidence anyway.

That being said, I'm not about to sacrifice the only medium that keeps me writing on a regular basis.

*

More proof that I absolutely must go see Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind in this NYTimes article about digital deletion (you might need a password, but it's worth it).

Dating in the information age means that more of my boyfriends than not have had e-mail, instant messenger, cell phones, etc., and yes, I've probably google-searched them. I've had serious confrontations over the "relationship status" box on Friendster ("what do you mean you're 'single'????"); sent scathing, relationship-ending emails; de-buddied and re-buddied ex's in my buddy list to avoid seeing their away messages; and cried about it all on my weblog.

It's all incredibly documented, and instantly deletable. Zap. Clean slate. What the article fails to mention that that it's also instantly regretable, which is why I recommend a 24-hour "waiting period" before you do something silly, like delete yourself from Friendster.