Ha. ha.

In searching for an appropriate writing sample today ("Does the Director of Communications really want to read my ten page paper on Venus and Adonis? Probably not."), I found this pre-blog-entry from before I had a blog. Probably written as a temporary mental vacation during the wee hours as I struggled through page seven, eight, nine...

Lessons Learned from Venus; or How to Get a Guy to Sleep with You:

The God of War wanted me and couldn’t get me, you should be honored:
“I have been wooed as I entreat thee now, / Even by the stern and direful god of war” (53).
“Yet was he servile to my coy disdain. / O, be not proud, nor brag not of thy might, / For mast’ring her that foiled the god of fight!”

Carpe Diem:
“Make use of time, let not advantage slip; / Beauty within itself should not be wasted.”

I’m not ugly!
“Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow…My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning; / My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt, / Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.”

Don’t be like Narcissus:
“Is thine own heart to thine own face affected?”

It’s your DUTY!
“By law of nature thou art bound to breed, / That thine may live when thou thyself art dead.”

Why NOT?
“What were thy lips the worse for one poor kiss?

You’re not a REAL man:
“Thou art no man, though of a man’s complexion, / For men will kiss even by their own direction.”

When all else fails, faint.

Snip snip snip SNIPPY!

"Caesar's wife, Calpurnia, is very psychic."

Is it possible for someone to be VERY psychic? Isn't it just, you are or you're not?

*

Today in class, C----- pointed out, "Miss, you're chewing gum."

(In any other circumstance, this would not seem out-of-the-ordinary; however, any of my students can tell you that NO ONE is allowed to chew gum in the classroom, and as a general rule I HATE GUM. HATE IT WITH THE PASSION OF A THOUSAND FIERY SUNS. This goes back to my first year "gum in the hood" incident.)

"Yes." I said. "I'm going to be chewing gum for the next couple of days. If you want, you can chew it, too. But I don't want to see it or hear it."

In the midst of the resulting excitement ("YESSSSSS! We can chew gum!"), no one asked why. I was prepared. I was going to say, "I am trying to get over a highly addictive habit by developing new habits," and leave it at that. If they asked, I would have told the truth. As it turned out, they were too busy passing around sticks of newly legalised juicy fruit, their minds distracted by the brittle bars dissolving into sweet rubbery pulp, chomp chomp mmmmmmmm...

Cinderella Complex

How I spent my standardized test day

The new rules for proctoring say: No internet, no walking around, no reading, no knitting (unfair!!); just sitting and staring at test-takers.

Ok, I said. If they can test for five hours, I can surely manage sitting.

Hour one started off HORRIBLY. No further comment except that I love my job and I especially love my co-workers. So hour one consisted of staring at my unsigned contract and working up the courage to sign "declined," thus forcing myself to find a new job.

Hour two I started writing. I decided, rather than dwell in the negative, to document my favorite/most memorable experiences teaching. I wrote on white legal paper using a Chase bank pen (whoops). I will share later.

Hour three I asked to be relieved for a minute to go get more coffee. I ate two snickers bars and a pack of animal crackers. I collected trash. I moved J---- because he kept hitting A---- in the back of the head.

Hour four I tossed an apple back and forth and shined it on my jeans. Shiniest apple ever. For the second half of hour four, I built a log cabin out of the popsicle sticks I gave them as bathroom passes.

Hour five (post-lunch) I glared at the students who were starting to get restless, transmitting via ESP "Don't you dare even THINK about talking I will hold you in detention for the rest of your life oh and by the way I know where you live."

The students came up with their own means of entertainment. My favorite was "drink all the water and then knock the water bottle over to produce that satisfying hollow sound as it rolls across the room." And so for the second half of hour five, I collected all the water bottles.

More tomorrow.

Love Letters from the Internet

I asked Googlism to write me a poem. You can, too! Mine was in need of editing, so I kept my favorite lines and cut the rest...

mary is thinking
mary is busy
mary is committed
mary is a devil
mary is hot
mary is the last thing i own
mary is the girl i love
mary is a gem
mary is no wonder woman
mary is a bonny lassie
mary is arrested for giving brownies to suffering patients
mary is smiling
mary is a chicken
mary is still there after all these years?
mary is the first creature to enjoy eternal life
mary is no hoax
mary is weeping
mary is 100 years young
mary is coming
mary is clever
mary is rich and positive
mary is contrary
mary is for everyone
mary is extemely likable
mary is barely even mentioned in the bible
mary is driving to work; so mary is driving
mary is not the whole story.

Teaching Shakespeare

In A Midsummer Night's Dream, Helena chases after her former love Demetrius, who wooed her and won her heart before turning his attention to Hermia instead. Helena cannot accept this. She chases after him for a good three acts, long after her charm has faded, professing love to the point where it becomes humiliating. She offers to be his "spaniel": "Spurn me, strike me, use me, neglect me," she implores, only let me stay by your side.

At this point, half my class sighs, "Poor Helena!"
"Poor Demetrius!" the other half argues.

We talk about love vs. obsession and the necessity of conflict in fiction; we make predictions about what might happen; and, God help us, we make real-life connections. Theirs are excusable; they are twelve. Mine are darker, buried, deeply embarrassing.

Because this is fiction, and because the conflict must be resolved, Demetrius eventually, unknowingly, submits to a magical enchantment whereby he's made to dote strongly, madly on Helena. The two couples (Helena and her brainwashed man, Hermia and hers) celebrate a joint wedding. How long will the enchantment last? Why not forever? No matter. This story has a happy ending, and that is why we call it a "comedy."

Icicle

You know the school is wasting money on air conditioning when, on April 12th, a student hijacked my scarf.

Yes, you read that right--I was wearing a scarf--WAS!--until it disapeared. The first one I ever knit. I am saddened by its loss and chilled by both the heinousness of the crime and the arctic air.

I'd be wearing gloves, too, if I had them with me.

Brrr.

On Advocacy

The premise: Children need an non-judgemental, "safe," adult figure they can turn to in order to talk about problems or life issues. Therefore, each teacher will be assigned 15-17 "advocacy" cases and meet with them thirty minutes a week.

The teacher next to me says: "I am not the person for this job. I am not warm and fuzzy enough. I don't care about their problems."

I say: "You do care about them."

She says: "I care about their math, and that is all."

She's right. I'm not that warm and fuzzy teacher, either. Nor do I want to be. Why don't we give them all kittens, instead?

Lessons Learned from the Cats

1. Any door that you witness being closed becomes instantly appealing, even if you were lounging happily on the couch before. It's the, "Wait, what's happening over THERE?" reflex.

2. It's ok to fight with your friends, but do it with your claws retracted. Catnip can cause errors of judgement in this case.

3. If you sit on someone's lap and purr, she'll be your friend forever; however, if you get overexcited and drool on her, she'll think you're gross.

Sometimes You Gotta Gobble

Spring heralds the coming of many things: Lovely warm breezes, budding flowers, longer days, rosy sunburned cheeks, flirtations, and, in my classroom, the animal noises start up again.

This year, the popular sounds are unidentified croaking frog noises ("grrruuuup"), bird whistles (this one will never go out of style), and "quack." (Periods of uncontrollable giggles, while not technically animal sounds, are popular as well.)

This morning: I am at my wit's end. One boy makes the frog noise. "Jonathan!" I hollar. "Hallway!"

He saunters outside and I accompany him, foot holding the door, one eye on the classroom. "Ok. You need to make animal noises? Now's your chance. Right now you have my permission to make whatever noises you want and get it out of your system."

He is silent.

"What, cat got your tongue? Go for it: quack, moo, bark, whatever."

Silence. After a hesitation, he lets out a small smirk, and a quick hiccuped "Gobble."

My class cracks up.

"Now can we please leave the noises in the hallway?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Act Natural

In a recent "what your daughter should do with her life" conversation with my dad (his choice of topic, not mine), he mentioned that he thinks some of my digital photos are better than the ones he's seen in museums. "You need to put them in a book," he suggested. "I'd buy it."

Yes, but you're my dad, I responded. That's his job. I really think my parents would buy my junk mail if I stuck it in a frame and signed my name. (Sidenote: one UH studio art masters candidate recently exhibited a few junk-mail themed sculptures. One friend thought they were a little too "pollution is bad" preachy. I thought they were pretty. There's no pleasing everyone.)

Which is not to say that I'm not proud of some of the pictures I've taken. Digital photography makes it easy for someone with minimal training to take good photos. Andrew Brown of the Guardian Unlimited agrees (via Mom.)

I started taking pictures after I graduated college, when I realized that entire years had passed and I had no proof of their existence. The pictures, like these blog entries, follow no clear narrative or artistic vision. Last night in an exercise of poetic futility ("I'll never be as good as her; why try?") I read Louise Gluck's Ararat--a series of poems dealing with the death of her father. What struck me was how well her collections work as books: looping around and inside each other, each poem adding something new.

I have to assume that sort of clarity and focus comes with age and experience. Most twenty-somethings I know are trying in vain to find that one perfect career, failing, and then winding up frustrated and unhappy. Andrea, who is wise beyond her years, put it this way: Out of so many possibilities, you just have to pick one and say to yourself, "I'm going to TRY this for now."

Or, as we say in the teaching biz, fake it 'til you make it.