Aaaaand Scene

So that's it. I'm done. My first semester as a teacher is done. Today, I disseminated report cards, said goodbye to my classroom, and came home to eat left over shrimp and cheese grits (recipe below) and an inordinate amount of brownies. Now, I'm sitting denuded at my computer typing to my sparse public (that would be you, dear reader).

Now that I have all this free time, three months to be more exact, I haven't the slightest clue of what to do with it. No more fretting over being prepared for the coming week or having nightmares about my students or busily mulling over the time needed to grade papers. Nope, I'm free. Freedom does not become me; I may very well sit in this house and eat myself fat and depressed until September comes. I need friends.

Anyway, I'm photo logging my hair growth cuz I'm lame. While taking updated pictures of my "Good Times" fro this morning (yes, a student told me that I look like a character from "Good Times," and not a cool, foxy one like Willona or Thelma but Florida Evans or, worse, James. She didn't say Florida or James, but I know what she was thinking), I took this really cool picture. Isn't it bitchin'?

That's all I got.

I'm so proud of myself! I made shrimp n' grits and homemade biscuits for the first time yesterday. Everything was delicious.

homemade biscuits (about a dozen)

2 cups flour (good flour, like Gold Medal)
1 tbsp baking power (a little less if using buttermilk or sour cream)
1 tsp salt
1 tbsp sugar
1/3 cup butter, which is about 5 1/3 tbsp (cut into cubes and chilled) - i always use unsalted butter; it's fresher
about 1 c milk, buttermilk or sour cream (chilled) - i always prefer buttermilk because it gives a country twang, but I had none so I used sour cream

preheat oven to 425 degrees

grease a pan (i use butter cuz i'm fat)

whisk together flour, powder, salt and sugar thoroughly (very thoroughly. otherwise, you will taste the soda). cut in butter (i just use my hands to squeeze everything together) until the mixture resembles cornmeal (having some larger globs of butter is okay. just don't over agitate until the fat melts. the butter must remain relatively cold). slowly pour in milk, buttermilk or sour cream until the mixture pulls away from the bowl (if using sour cream, add just a little water or milk to thin it). depending on how dry or humid the weather is, you may or may not need the entire cup of liquid.

dust hands with flour. with a hand, scoop up a piece of dough, gently form into ball and place in greased pan. i do this while the dough is still sticky. this way, i get light and fluffy (not tough) biscuits. repeat until all dough has been used.

bake in preheated oven for 11-15 minutes.

again, i'm fat, so i rub the tops of the biscuits with butter before and after baking.

enjoy!

Cheese Grits (very easy)

Old Fashioned grits, made to the box's specifications
sharp cheddar cheese
garlic salt (dash)
lots of pepper

I made enough for four people, used 1/2 cup of cheese and seasoned to taste. this part was easy.

Shrimp

1 tbsp unsalted butter
1 tbsp olive oil
1 small tomato (chopped)
fresh basil (about a teaspoon)
garlic (the amount is totally up to you. i love garlic, so i use a lot.)
about 9 large shrimp (trader joe's precooked, frozen variety works for me)

melt butter, add olive oil. saute tomato and garlic til tomatoes soften. toss in basil and shrimp. cook very briefly until shrimp is heated. any longer and the shrimp will be tough.

pour the shrimp mixture over some hot cheese grits, grab some biscuits, and eat like a pig.

It's Summer! (Sorta)

Hence, the new color palette.

Mosey on over to my other blog. It's about knitting. Sounds fantastic, doesn't it?

Not So Much Creepy As ... Different

This is clearly my theme for the week. I thought I was done, but I couldn't let this one juicy nugget go unnoticed and unblogged about.

One of my sixth period students remarked on my appearance today:

Student: Ms. Weirdo*, you look different today. I've never seen you dress like that.

Me: What do you mean?

Student: You look so normal today. Well, I don't mean ... not to say that you never .... You just dress ... different.

Me: Oh.

Hilarious. And here I was thinking I had toned it down for teaching. Apparently, I still dress like a freak. Through the slacks and teacher sweaters, I still exude a certain je ne sais quoi.

*Not my name, though it should be

Well, at least I'm not as bad as Kool Keith

Creepy Update

Remember this post. Yeah, well I was leaving my classroom the other day and got a nice reminder of my creep factor. My department, the English department, was down the hall commiserating and generally debriefing after a day of dealing with unruly students. (Everyone--all the teachers, administrators, support staff, and students-- is so done with this school year. Let it end already.) So, I walk out of my classroom and I look down the hall, as I am prone to do whenever I exit a room. They all looked up and got silent.

My creepiness strikes again, my pretties.

Also, I've realized that I attract the "strange" kids. Each teacher attracts a core group of youngsters who gravitate toward them for some reason or other. Well, for the past couple of weeks, my classroom has been hosting the "strange" kids, the ones who read manga, learn Japanese, write poems about vampires, darkness or any other morbid topic, and wear all black. I love it. One kid is filming the prelude to The Evil Dead with his friends. Awesome! We all know The Evil Dead is like my favorite movie! Long live weirdos, man. It's so good to know that there's a new crop of awesomely weird awesomes just waiting to take over when my friends and I are done.

That's It, That's All

No more classes
No more books
No more teachers' dirty looks

That's right, dear reader (otherwise known as Monica); I'm done with school. I stayed up late last night typing/writing (yes, at once; i'm quite the procrastinator) my last paper. It's over and done. I am officially done with school. I may never go back. No more degrees.

Graduation is Friday, but of course I won't be attending. I'll be torturing other students who are all too ready for summer break.

If you stumble across my page, PayPal some money to me. Negroes are super broke.

I'm feeling good people. Can you feel it?

I'm Creepy

I guess I've known this for a long time. Or maybe I've been wrestling with having to adopt such a moniker. I mean, who wants to be creepy? Creepy connotes child molesters and masturbating homeless men on public transportation, the eerily quiet girl with the bad hair and church clothes. I am none of the above. I only like to teach (not touch) the children; I do not masturbate in public; and my fashion sense is marvelous! (I must admit to having bad hair for the moment, but I'm working on that.) I am, however, extremely antisocial. What's worse is my seeming inability to change it. I've been at my school for three months and only recently realized that most of my coworkers have possibly formed an unfavorable opinion of me. I was, as I may have mentioned before, a mid-season replacement; I did not start teaching at Creature High* until the second semester. My colleague (don't you just love the fastidiousness of that word?) also started at the semester. We came from the same school. However, she can often be seen in the hallways yukking it up with other teachers or administrators, while I scuttle to and fro, efficient and dependable for sure, but not the most ebullient person. I never go to visit other teachers or stop to chat in the hallways.

Yesterday, after administering the ACT/PSAE to our junior class, some unsuspecting teacher invited me to lunch. I went, and enjoyed the hell out of my Georgia peach and pecan pancakes, but I probably said a total of ten words the entire time, including "please pass the syrup" and "anymore sausage?" I started to notice sideways glances and slightly too easy smiles directed my way; you know, the kind of smiles people give the mentally handicapped and physically impaired. I thought to myself, "Hey, why are they looking at me like that?" Then, "Oh no, they think I'm creepy!" There was nothing to be done folks. I wasn't particularly interested in who I was with nor did I have any pressing questions for my companions. I also felt no need, unlike some annoying blabbermouth at the table, to share my entire life, or even a sliver of it, with complete strangers. So, I shovelled back my food and stared off into space until every one was finished. Needless to say, no one invited me to any lunches today.

Look, I grew up an only child. Despite having three brothers, I spent the majority of my childhood in the house by myself. I'm used to silence and only talking when necessary. I've never really had the chance to practice talking to make people feel more comfortable. A few years back, I had started talking to folks, just talking, to combat the constant indictments of being "cold" or "robot-like" (yes, someone once called me a robot, and they were not trying to be cute or funny). I really thought I had made progress, but alas, I have not. In fact, I think I'm worse now. Old age and a generally disagreeable demeanor plus the added stress of having adult responsibilities has given me a devil-may-care-attitude about pleasing others or making them comfortable. Their comfort is their business, not mine. So, if you see me on the street, I may not speak; and if you sidle up to me hoping to strike up an impromptu conversation, I'll listen, but I won't say much in return. I'm sorry, I'm creepy.

*What the hell

Dun Dun Duhhhhhh

So......yeah.

It's about 7:33 in the morning, I'm up, and I thought to myself, "Self, maybe you should write an entry for your blog." So, here I am.

I've been up since about 5:00 and after catching Madame Sousatzka (wonderful movie starring Shirley MacLaine) and crying at its finale (once again), Roshomon is on and I've just had my morning vitamins.

Where to begin.

I think I'm getting to that place where I'm starting to enjoy my job. The first five weeks have been filled with the requisite doubt and frustration and temptation to quit. My eighth period class is a black hole of chaos, and my stupidity in thinking I could teach full time while taking two classes is showing. Despite this, all this, I sat down Friday after my last student had left, after I had entered the five week progress report grades and thought, "Self, these kids are freakin' crazy, but I think we like them." (Brace yourself reader(s), there will be a alot of third person in this post.)

On to the next topic. Did anyone catch that Beats something something documentary about hip hop on PBS? Some dude, former football player and former man's man, decided, after some amount of self reflection, to do a documentary highlighting the issues of misogyny and homophobia in hip hop. It was only an hour long, but it was good. Mind you, there was nothing groundbreaking about his discoveries (at least not to me. you're reading the blog of a girl who wrote rhymes about killing people with her vagina ... seriously), but it's always wonderful to see a person questioning the hegemony they've been force fed. It's especially impressive to see a man take misogyny seriously. I won't go on too long about this. We've heard all the arguments before. I will say that you (yes you) should check your local PBS listings to check for the next airing. I would love a copy to show to my kids. It could possibly spark a lively debate.

What else, what else? Oh, I attended my first union meeting. Incredibly boring and pedantic stuff. Boo! We're probably going to strike in the fall. What an auspicious sign of things to come in my teaching career.


Finally, let me rail against one of my university professors. I won't be extra bogus by typing her name, but I will say that she is wholly ridiculous and inefficient. See, she teaches my SEED/EDUC 480 class, the class one takes to reflect (I now hate this word by the way) on one's teaching, presumably in order to improve. To be fair, I'm clearly going into this situation with a bad attitude. After teaching five periods of rowdy adolescents, one wants to go home to watch mindless sitcoms and eat creamy, delicious foods. Instead, one must trek downtown, pay exorbitant prices for parking (for one is now too good for public transportation), and sit in class while suffering the indignity of being read to, kindergarten style (semi-circle around teacher, legs crossed steeze), from a frickin' children's book every week. That's right, she reads children's stories to us; she's even kind enough to hold the book up to every face in the room after each page so that we can all see the pretty pictures. Worse, she makes some shoddy, tenuous connection to teaching pedagogies after her weekly crusades of demoralization. Example: Last Wednesday, she read a story about some little boy who finds pieces of clay pottery in his town/pueblo/whatever (let me tell ya, SUPER boring). Then, she proceeds to illustrate how this story is much like the deductive reasoning process involved in making sense of data. Huh? Why not just start with the salient stuff? I'm not quite done. Then we use puzzle pieces to further drive her ingenious observations of data collection home. Dude, by the time I leave that three hours of class, I'm ready to whoop (not whip, but whoop) somebody's ass for that shit. I know you face the task of having to fill three hours of instructional time, but dammit you've been teaching for twenty years. Do better! So yeah, can't wait for this to be over.

That's all I've got. See ya when I see ya.

Dude, I'm Tired

So, it's been a month since my last post. I'm clearly spent. I mean down-to-my-last-penny spent.

Teaching is hard. Those who claim the first year of teaching is hell are both accurate and geniuses. I have nothing, absolutely nothing, to give to my blog right now.

Ummm...my eating habits are still healthy, whole wheat products and oatmeal; long live fiber-induced regularity!

Stay posted for posts with actual content.

Oh wait, I'm not done. I've been a CPS teacher for three weeks and I already have venom to spew at both the Board and payroll. Here we go...SCREW YOU ALL!!! That's right, I'm telling you bureaucratic ass clowns to take a flying freak at the mooooooon!!! So, first they (meaning Human Resources) attempt to claim that I imagined the part where I came to their office to fill out stacks of paperwork. Then, payroll attempts to pay me one-third of my salary and expects me to find the rest. Huh? What part of the game is this? You mean after being thrust into a sea of 110 or so teenagers who haven't had order or instruction for 20 weeks and attempting to restore order to the universe, I can't get paid. And on top of that, you don't want to spell my name correctly despite my calling to correct at least three different people in three different departments? really? REALLY? Wow.

Yay me!

So I got the job.

Dude. I GOT the job.

I'll be teaching Survey Lit (again) and Creative Writing.

My load will be way heavier (five classes instead of four and no co-op teacher).

I'm both anxious and excited.

Dude, I'm a total grown-up and shit...wow.

Some Break

So I could be teaching again in as little as two weeks, and while that's fantatic (cuz I won't still be unemployed and running low [super low] on funds), I'm absolutely terrified. My anxiety levels are so through the roof whenever I must do anything new. I bet medication would help. Anyway, reputation and doing good work really does pay off sometimes. The only reason I have this opportunity is because an English department thought enough of me to recommend me for a job. Not only that, but they called me, e-mailed me and had the principal call. I was actually considering trying to get out of this. It seems like too much too soon, but I have to confront my swimming upstream fears at some point, so why not do it sooner rather than later?

That's about it guys. I have been sticking to my workout schedule--alternating days of Winsor Pilates and cardio, and I've been commited to not eating after 7 p.m., but I'm not at all sure I can keep it up with a hectic teaching schedule as well. I know me. When I'm stressed, I eat. That is my way. I guess we'll see.

I'm so sad; I miss my children, especially 5th period. I knew I would be a little put out at the prospect of suddenly up and leaving the first group of children I've taught taught (double taught intended), but who knew I'd get home and become a blubbering mess. I was fine during the actual act of leaving. We laughed, we lived, we loved. My children whined and gave me hugs, made me promise to come back and visit. Amy (my cooperating teacher) and I ate Thai from our favorite restaurant for the last time and drove to Cold Stone Creamery for ice cream (to be extra gluttonous); I was completely and totally fine. Then I take the walk from the school library (the English department's home) to the Harrison doors for the last time. I cross the street from the school for the last time and all of a sudden I'm completely rapt with this paroxysm of emotion. I was supposed to go out for food and drink with my ex-coworkers, but I was way too sad, so now I'm at home. I miss my children. I've never hugged so many people in one day ever, not even at family reunions. Student teaching is cruel business.

At least Pride & Prejudice is on. Though it's the inferiorly shitty version with Keira Knightly ruining the role of Elizabeth Bennet, it's enough to distract me for the time being. On Monday, though, I'll have nowhere to go and will feel completely useless as I'm now both unemployed and idle. Anyway, this MacFadyen guy makes the second crappiest Mr. Darcy I've seen, the first being that suspiciously fey Mr. Darcy from the 1940's production. (The women were decked out in historically inaccurate garb and the acting was too over the top, absolutely intolerable.) His acting is so wooden and he delivers his lines as if he's only just been able to memorize them. And that haircut! It's hideous. It's the early 18th century version of the shag. And the pacing of the film is all wrong. Yeah, this version is so not deserving of four stars or accolades, but people have bad taste. Nothing, in my opinion, will ever trump the magnificently accurate and gorgeous 1995 BBC miniseries. Long live Jennifer Ehle and Colin Firth.

I'm still sad, though.

Emotional

Dude, I got emotional today. For those who know me, there is an understanding that this is rare (or was before the devil in form of BC took over my hormone regulation). Anyway, I was sitting in 4th period today (I really do owe them an apology. Despite being oppositional and kinda dry, they did the best of all the classes on the mythology unit--yay them!) and I got misty, almost tearful--tearsty. I thought, "I'm really gonna miss these little scamps."

You see, I have less than two weeks left to my student teaching placement. Next Friday is my last day. After then, I may never see these kids again. So I surveyed the room from behind the desk (I'm no longer teaching, just observing, grading papers, and butting in every once and again) and I thought about how different the experience of being in the room with these kids now feels different from being with them on the very first day. Once, we were all strangers; they were these nameless faces with overactive bodies attached who heightened my anxiety and induced my fear of failure. Now, today, around 11:05 a.m., I looked around the room and saw faces that I know, that have personalities and attitudes and individual memories of interaction attached to them. I had, with these kids, done something that I rarely ever do; I had put myself completely at their mercy. I had placed myself in precarious and unforeseeable situations in front of them, had attempted and failed with them watching. I rarely do anything outside of my comfort zone. My motto is to only open my mouth or act when I'm darn sure of the outcome or reaction. I like to act in complete surety to avoid any danger of embarrassment or ineptitude. However, for 15 weeks or so, I had abandoned these things, and they--my students--had been there to witness every fuck up and success. Dude, I don't abandon myself in that way around my family or friends, even. This shit was hella special and shit (I'm hard, dammit!).

So yeah, I got emotional. Perhaps, it's simply the Desogen--which, by the way, sucks ass--but I feel, despite my anxiety of soon being both unemployed and idle, a sense of accomplishment. This was one of those infrequent experiences that forces folks to stop being so prosaic. I now have less of an issue with figuratively falling completely on my ass in front of people. That's pretty emancipating, bitches!

favoritism

so, i've come up with an unfortunate (and unfair) analogy for my freshmen classes. it follows the course of a basic and predictable dinner one has at eighth grade or senior luncheons held in moderately priced hotels (like the Hyatt or Ramada). you know those meals; they usually give you options that appear to be accommodating, but are really quite limited in their options--vegetarian? poultry? pescado? yeah, don't you believe for one minute that anything outside the standard limp stir fry, chicken in questionable cream sauce or bland white fish in copious amounts of oil and unidentifiable seasonings are available-those are the options, no filet mignon here. so, back to my analogy. first period, as my avid readers know, is my least favorite class. i liken them to that "salad" one receives to kick off the bullshit meal--a few pieces of lettuce (usually iceberg), a cherry tomato and a sliver of some other random vegetable. this "salad" is not at all satisfying; as a matter of fact, salad status for this half-assed disaster on a plate is really quite questionable. why, catering people, do you even bother serving it? no one eats this and no one wants to. bring more bread. just as this "salad" is a dispensable, rather unpleasant harbinger of the so-so dinner to come, so is first period's rather questionable behavior. i know that they're freshmen and can only be expected of so much maturity, but are they conscious, thinking beings at all? are the random shrieking noises, impromptu songs, and completely off-the-mark assignments really real? stop it already, first period. i'd rather have bread.

my fourth period freshmen class i liken to that passable meat dish served as the main course (or veggie stir fry for you assholes who just refuse to eat meat. sorry natalie if you're reading). it's pretty basic and it is food, so you'll eat it since you had absolutely no time to grab anything remotely edible in your hurry to make it to this crappy event on time. however, midway through this rather disappointing (and flavorless) dish, you feel a strong urge to hurl. this "cream sauce" is giving you the business, and you should really stop and have more bread to try to combat the deleterious effect of this poorly prepared calamity; but, you did pay fifty bucks (or whatever amount) to attend this function and there is no way you're wasting your hard-earned cash, so you keep eating, hating yourself as you do. yes, fourth period, you appear to be slightly sane in the beginning, and then you wild out into this crazed group of evil people. what's up with that?

then comes fifth period. after three periods (two freshmen, one junior) of being battered and bruised by the casualties of being a modern educator, you just want to go home and lose yourself in some mindless entertainment...and maybe a taste tip from the Honey 1 BBQ up the street, but you have just one more class to teach. i liken this, my last class, to dessert. after a rather mediocre meal, you accept dessert half out of resignation, half out of expectation. so, you choose between that disgusting ooze of raspberry cheesecake, the alarmingly unimaginative dish of ice cream (ice milk, who are they kidding?), and boring, but comforting chocolate cake. you, of course, choose the chocolate cake and it's fantastic! i mean, your taste buds may just be compensating for the caterer's lack of culinary expertise in other areas, but this cake slice is pretty moist, chocolately and flavorful. it makes you happy. finally, you've gotten something out of this god awfully long hell of an outing. thanks, fifth period, for being so smart and funny, and for "getting it."

eighth grade luncheons and other such events are actually pretty heartwarming in retrospect. hell, i totally hated mine, but i'm glad i went. though i've accused my poor students of being bland chicken dishes and limp salads, i'm really fond of them. how couldn't i be? they're kids and shit. plus, they really aren't that bad and i was waaaaay worse.

work y'all

hella papers to grade, y'all. hella papers.

tomorrow grades go in for the ten week period. the freshmen are up in arms because most of them (we'll say 95%) got d's or below on their thesis papers. now i'm stuck reading 90 revisions before tomorrow so that my students can have decent grades to show their parents on friday. i have kids freakin out over b's, high b's. nevermind that the grading scale we use is ridiculous (95-100 A, 94-88 B...), these kids need to chill.

gotta go, hella papers.

i'm not that asshole

okay, so all that stuff i said about those kids getting on my nerves and me doing a count down til the end of my student teaching experience...chuck it all. i love these little critters (today). so first and second periods were par for the course--kids jumping and screaming and getting merry like christmas (maya angelou anyone?). then fifth rolls around. now let me give some background: first period is a freshman class and my least favorite; having an alright time during first is no spectacular thing. second is my lone junior class; they're sometimey--there's a lot of love and hate there. fourth is another freshman class, and contains of strange mix of the quiet and the snarky; they're fine. and then you have fifth (yet another freshman class). this class is my clear favorite. they're hilarious and smart and gregarious and a little kooky, everything that freshmen should be. in this class are many characters; one, in particular, is a boy we shall call clem. clem has severe anxiety issues, like he hasn't been diagnosed, but we (my cooperating teacher and i) know that he has asperger's. he expects absolute perfection of himself and can never just let something lie; all assignments have to be done correctly the first time...now. yesterday, i passed back the freshmen's first real paper, the one where they were required to identify a theme and support it with their chosen text. now clem didn't do so well; he didn't do so poorly either, but that's not the point. yesterday, while trying to explain to him that he needn't worry about not having gotten the whole theme paper thing right away, he started crying. now i'm a cold mickeyfrickey with a heart of stone, but the sight of some fourteen year-old kid leaking at the eyes was too much for me to handle; i felt horrible. i tried to assuage his fears and told him to simply go home and work on the things that i had clearly identified as problems. "fine," he says, and i feel better. he feels better, too; he now has a plan of action. fast forward to today. now while his classmates are acting like crazy people, he's still shook about this paper. he is unable to let this paper occupy a smaller part of his existence. "it's driving me crazy," he says. i then launch into this exhaustive explanation and demonstration of how to rewrite, restructure, rework his paper. he smiles. he says, "thank you, ms. ellis." he makes an extra effort to tell me to have a nice day when he leaves. his anxiety has been eased, at least for now. i feel all warm and shit. i am an absolute softie.

in other news, and in an effort to toot my horn even louder, some random student who does not have me tells me that she's heard that i am an excellent teacher (pronoun soup), that she's heard from several students that i "rock." dude, i so needed that. these past two months have been really trying. i can do stuff. i'm a pretty confident person. i believe in my abilities. however, performance (as my first blog entry reveals) really isn't my thing (unless, of course, i've had four vodka-cranberries, rum and cokes or apple martinis and am at or near a karaoke bar). i've really struggled with transmitting the stuff i know, making it palatable and somewhat interesting, and making the kids give a damn. i remember high school. a lot of my teachers sucked balls. i do not want to be that teacher. it's good to know that at least to some kids i'm not that asshole. exhale.

Hambone Redux/Let's Move On

okay, so i totally feel the need to somehow put yesterday's events in perspective. after reading the slew of comments on "hambone" (two. i received two comments), i feel the need to point out that the brer rabbit incident really wasn't an issue. i simply like to be fastidious about possibly coonish moments. for example, shmoe-digga, monica and i tend to look down upon those who eat chicken (prepared in any manner) in public. we also disallow ourselves from eating or drinking any sort of watermelon product in public. see? it really is quite ridiculous. anyway, my kids (my freshmen) are sophisticated enough to understand context and know that dialect is not indicative of any sort of deficiency in intelligence. today's discussion of american culture (that of individuality and me, me, me) and the reception of american culture by outsiders proved to me that they get it, especially when some poor kid got checked for framing a comment about the immigration issue in a less than cultivated manner. these kids really are sharp, man. fifth period, especially, really makes me happy that some people chose to procreate. after identifying archetypes that commonly appear in american media and tradition, they were still able to understand that these archetypes are not the apotheosis of culturally transmitted images. they, in all their 14 year-old glory, understood and expressed (nearly unprompted) that culture, belief and experience are pretty relative and that there is not necessarily a right or wrong. one kid even knew who ed gein was; we enjoyed a delightful aside about sexually-repressed serial killers and their place in the horror movie canon. yay! (not yea, monica, yay).
*****************************
to move on, i'm still stressed everyday. this teaching stuff is hard and crap. how am i supposed to teach someone how to write? i can teach them mechanics--annoy them when they splice commas and bloody their papers when they use personal pronouns in formal papers, but i can't teach them style. looking over their first thesis papers, i'm surprised some of them can speak. stuff like, "i think the theme of this book is that people are really nice and then something bad happens and then they are not nice anymore" doesn't cut it. i need a theme, sweetie--an identifiable thread that you found throughout the book and can support. i cares not whether you thought one of the characters was really pretty (how can you see them anyway?). i guess they really are 14.
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in other news, i want some ribs.

Hambone

so all you "people of color" will be glad to know that i set the race back about 210 years today. in my freshman english class, we started a unit on mythology today. eventually, the kids will have to present the mythology of certain cultures on their own, so i figured i'd do a little modelling. emulating the mammies of days past, i decided i'd have the kids crowd around while i read an uncle remus brer rabbit tale in, get this, southern dialect. that's right, good ole q read in her best southern slave voice as the chilluns (mostly caucasian, hispanic and asian) gathered round and marvelled at my ability to sound so "country." it was fun. maybe i'll fry chicken in class tomorrow.

okay, so i might be overreacting. i will say that i did feel a bit weird though.
********
so schmoe-digga and i went to macarthur's today. it was a lot nicer than i expected (the restaurant, i mean). i was ready to pull up to some ramshackle hole-in-the-wall with a dilapidated awning. instead, i found an oasis of rather attractive appearance serviced by tired women ready to girl bye me; i was quite surprised. all in all the experience was okay. some asshole who looked like preemo's slightly smarmy older brother took the last bbq ribs so i had to settle for the bbq chicken. it was tasty, but i can do just as well at home. the yams and macaroni were adequate; but again, i can do better. i will go back for the short ribs, though. i do love the short rib.

greasy, fat meat--an introduction

this is funny, my having a blog and all. some years ago, i had a webpage, but failed to continue updating it because i fell into a depression and am a generally lazy person. it was called "the fruity pork page," which begs the question, "why am i so obsessed with meat?" that's a completely separate discussion, but here i am again, spilling my guts under the guise of extolling the virtues of various meat products. here again because i have recently embarked on the path of real adulthood, and i'm scared shitless. see, on september 5 i began student teaching, which is supposed to prepare me for actual teaching, which will be my vocation until i die in a freak accident or decide that i just can't do it anymore. for once, i'm not just working a job because it's fun and/or easy or because i need money to buy the overpriced and strangely placating consumables that i love so. i'm actually preparing to do something i've worked quite hard for and will be held accountable for, so yeah...i need to blog; and since i really don't have any friends anymore, i figured i'd share with the hollow and acquiescent web universe and strangers who don't know me from adam.

one instantly apparent aspect of teaching involves performance, is performance. when i decided to be a teacher, i never realized how much of the salesman, the court jester, the entertainer i'd have to be on a regular and consistent basis. i'm a moody, obstinate cow; i talk to people when i feel like it (rarely), never answer the phone, and have ruined a number of relationships through simple silence--the consummate performer, the gregarious funambulist i am not. now, though, it is up to me to make the sterile realm of English literature palatable and exciting to a bunch of teenagers. who am i kidding? i was once a teen-aged high school student; i hated it. however, i have put myself in the position to somehow re-write history and make the impossible possible. follow me as i fail (or not) and slowly become the cantankerous she-devil all English high school teachers eventually morph into after years in the system (unless they're male in which case they become he-devils). enjoy!