No Verb

If you have been to our house since a couple of weeks before Christmas, then you know about the enormous red wool rug that we bought whose sole purpose is to reproduce and make little red rugs ALL OVER OUR HOUSE! Seriously, this stuff is everywhere: in my hair, in our toothbrushes, in our mouths, IN OUR FOOD (the nerve!). Another thing you almost certainly don’t know about is the bee galaxy that is located RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR BEDROOM WINDOW; despite the fact that we keep the windows and screen doors closed all the time, I keep finding renegade bees around the house. They are driving me almost as crazy as the moths that keep walking on my pillow and leaving that awful brown dust (on my pillow!). But just now, the red fuzz redeemed itself! I heard a strange strangled buzzing noise, and it was a bee completely entangled in red fuzz! It was rolling around on the ground and clearly SUFFERING as all of God’s stinging creatures should. Three cheers for the red fuzz!

I really dislike teenagers.

My twenty third birthday has come and gone. On one hand, I feel kind of old. Not actually old, but it just seems strange to be twenty three when it seems like I was just anxiously anticipating getting my learner permit. Okay, now I sound old. I doubt very much that twenty three shall be as exciting as twenty two, but I hope it will be just as happy. At the age of twenty two, the following happened:
1. I student taught in Germany
2. I got engaged
3. I graduated from college
4. C and I bought a car
5. I got my first grown-up job
6. We bought and remodeled a condo
7. We got married
8. I baked my first pie from scratch (that’s not terribly exciting, but I felt like 8 was a more psychologically correct number than 7)

So far, as a twenty three year old, I have:
1. Eaten biscuits and gravy
2. Bought a “twinkle pop”
3. Bought new shoes
4. Scrambled around on Camelback Mountain
5. Taken pictures of a gila monster
6. Gone to a new (to us) and delicious restaurant with fairly-new and lovely friends
7. Not done anything related to school
8. Gone to church and eaten lunch with C’s (and my) family
9. Received, amongst other things, fifteen bottles of Jones Soda. Score

All of the above has been done with my fun and interesting husband. Yes.

So you can see that twenty three has been not only completely delightful, but also peaceful and stress-free so far.

The following paragraph is an excerpt from an online course that I have to take before the end of the year, because once I’ve taken it, then the state will know that I am qualified to teach ELL (English Language Learner) students.

“Next, you will read an article that is written as an allegory. An allegory is a story in which objects, persons and actions in the story represent ideas that have meaning outside of the story. In the case of “The Woodcrafters’ City,” the story is the author’s comment on standardized instruction and assessment. If you are feeling imaginative, pretend that you are a child listening to a caring adult read you this story. Whether you’re feeling imaginative or not, read the article with your adult mind, looking for the author’s hidden opinion and decide if you agree with him.”

Really? I get to decide whether or not I agree with him? I can’t wait! The best part about this thinly veiled allegory whose purpose is to bash standardized education and testing is that I’ve completed half of this 15 hour course in less than 30 minutes because it is so standardized that you don’t have to learn any of the information in order to pass the tests. No, all you need is 13 years of public education experience in order to know which tricks you have to do and which hoops you have to jump through in order to do everything 100% correctly with no effort put forth whatsoever. The sad thing is that we have to write a 5 page paper at the end of the course, and there are actually teachers (not in the English department) who are freaking out about this requirement so much that they are willing to pay for a weekend long course at ASU (the one through the district is free) so that they don’t have to write the paper. I’m not even going to begin to comment on the problems there.

P.S. I do fully agree that I should learn how to teach ELL students better;however, I took a 3 credit hour course on exactly this same material my last semester at NAU, and it was boring enough the first time to make me want to head butt walls. Good thing my school district says I need to do it again to fulfill their requirements.

Also, I fear that anyone who reads this website imagines me going through my day filled with anger and bitterness. I don’t. I’m actually quite cheerful and enjoy many things about my job. I just use this as a platform to mock and scorn everything I don’t like about it.

“In The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros people often take advantage of Esperanza Cordero, or marginalize her. Living in a neighborhood with full of reality but at the same time beauty. Her neighborhood was called ‘Mango Street’; full of difference in gender, race, and class. Even with so much pain that’s emotionally as well as physically these people didn’t forget the feeling of smile.”

That’s right, don’t forget the feeling of smile.

Monday afternoon greeted me with a phone message from an irate parent.  I seriously mean it when I say irate.  She actually said she was “exasperated” and didn’t “know what to do” with me.  Like I’m eight.  Apparently the problem was my refusal to communicate with her (this was the first communication I’d received from her).  When she finally answered her phone this morning, I gave her five specific dates on which I had sent home letters, progress reports, grade reports, etc.  She still insisted this was a lack of communication.  Her daughter has “no idea” she is failing, and I am completely “unavailable” to talk to the daughter.  Yes, when I am here for hours every day before and after school, I am refusing to see students.  News flash: your kid lies to you.  I did finally resort to pointing out that I have 150 students; her daughter is not my only responsibility.  Her response was that if I cannot handle 150 kids, we have some other issues to talk about.  Let’s just say I had a difficult time being kind at that point.

Also, I never posted last week about my run-in with death. Suffice it to say that I cheese-gratered half of my thumbnail off and passed out cold on the kitchen floor. Apparently, I shook a bit and rolled my eyes back. My chivalrous husband picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, figuring that whether I was dying, having a seizure, or merely unconscious, I’d be more comfortable on the bed. Good thinking. I survived with his help, and am now no worse for wear after getting it acrylic’ed back on (that word looked weird with no apostrophe).

Up until last Tuesday, I’ve been dreading an impending teaching requirement: Shakespeare. It isn’t that I don’t like Shakespeare or something, I guess I still feel somewhat intimidated by his plays. I feel fully confident to read and understand them, but teaching them is a whole different matter.

I started Romeo and Juliet (I can’t get the pesky italics to work here) with my freshmen on Tuesday, and as soon as I explained the first dirty joke to them, they were fighting over who got to read parts and freaking out over the next round of jokes. That was a huge relief. In Act I, Scene i, when Romeo is busy moaning about how miserable he is over his love for Rosaline, I asked them what they thought of Romeo’s character so far. One kid yelled out “That guy is super emo!” So we’ve decided to illustrate the play “super emo style.” According to the kids, you won’t be able to tell the difference between Romeo and Juliet, and they have to forgo the poison and knife in the end and slit their wrists. Um, I don’t know if that is school appropriate. Whatever, it’s funny.

I still have to start Julius Caesar next week with my sophomores. The success so far with R&J is not comforting. I’m less familiar with the play, and as a whole, I’m far less fascinated by the sophomore curriculum (which is boring, forgettable, long, and drawn out, to put it nicely), and all of the kids who have cussed me out and threatened me this year are sophomores. Lovely bunch, they are.

On a lighter note, I used a Trader Joe’s fresh pizza dough and scraped together some of the contents of the refrigerator to make a mascarpone, goat cheese, and apple pizza this afternoon. I was rather proud of it.

“O.O. Ooolivia…(insert random mouth noises here). ‘Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels,’ however did you get down there? Whoa! I found some more J’s and K’s! H, I, I, I, I, J, Lantern, Jurassic Five, Joy Division (fake gun noises and tapping on the floor)”
I’m currently listening to C as he alphabetizes his CD’s and talks to himself and to the CD’s.

I just finished watching “Born Into Brothels.” I just finished reading Nickel and Dimed and The Glass Castle. I highly recommend all of them.

So, our neighbor, whom we suspect may have an interest (economically and recreationally speaking) in controlled substances, was recently seen smoking a cigarette with a wrench.  Yes.  He was holding a full-sized, normal cigarette (Parliament?  Probably.) up to his mouth with a wrench.

Last night, C and I had dinner at my mom and dad’s house because it was Christine’s (my aunt who was visiting from France) last night in town. Kevin and Yolanda were also over, so it was very much a delightful evening.

To make a long story short, Yolanda, my dad, and Christine grew up together in Venezuela (and it was 1952 and my dad wore little white gloves. Seriously, I need to figure out how to post pictures so you can understand the hilarity of the situation), so there were 9 people and 3 languages packed around the dinner table last night, and we thoroughly enjoyed speaking/listening to French, understanding/speaking feebly some Spanish, and translating into English for my mom. My favorite was translating what Spanish I picked up at one point into French for my sister before she pointed out that, although she couldn’t explain how, she had also understood the Spanish. If this post is confusing, know that it is because the night was confusing. Dinner was delicious (including corn on the cob for Christine because the French apparently only believe in feeding it to animals–sad, huh?), and we left exhausted,hoarse, and completely satiated.

Allyson might move to Australia. They speak English there, so it won’t be that confusing.

(in no particular order)
-Toulouse with Jamie in 1999: What is better than a weekend spent cavorting around France with your best friend and no parents when you are 16?
-Grand Canyon river trip with Mattie in 2003: We ate tons of dutch oven cake, almost froze to death at night, played guitar and harmonica by the moonlight, and I got the coldest dunking of my life while going through rapids. We also invented HanHanLassey.
-Zurich in February 2005: C flew to Europe to visit me for the weekend, and to quote Mattie, “We frolicked around in the snow like twitterpated little cartoon animals.”
-Strasbourg on my 22nd birthday. Lori and I met in Strasbourg and had a delightful my birthday/Easter weekend.
-Paris with Lori, C, and Kelly the weekend that C and I got engaged. I’ll have to post a picture sometime.

My friend Jamie who teaches math in Texas sent the following note that she picked up in class the other day (she kept the spelling and grammar from the original note):

“Ways to make girls like you:
1. Where like tite shirts and work out n stuff so it looks like you gots mussles.
2. get like cargo shorts like chito has
3. make sexy faces
4. talk about intrestin stuff
5. be sweet
6. smell good
7. cut ur hair
8. walk all confident like
9. you gots to dress good where like cool shorts and shirts and new balance
10. you cant act like you like us to much girls don’t like that you gots to be hard to get like flirt but not to much
11. learn to flirt

Update: I think my 3rd period class scared Jen away from teaching. At least, it scared her away from teaching non-honors students. Aside from the general rudeness and laziness, here is a slice of the utter ineptitude that exists in that room:

Me: “Okay, who can find the noun clause in this sentence?”

Student: “in the room!”

Me (ever so patiently): “Remember-a clause has to have a subject and a verb. Where is the verb in there?”

Student: “In!”

Me: “In is a preposition; it shows location and position.” In my head, I am making a mental note to make the kids memorize the list of prepositions next year.

Student: “The!”

Me: “Is ‘the’ an action? Can I the?”

Student: “Uh, room! Room is the verb!”

Me: I think I said something a little more on edge at this point. I was trying to maintain outward control, but inside my head I was screaming and wailing and gnashing my teeth. I’m pretty sure this is when I decided that I need to get my master’s in English and teach at a community college or look for another profession. We’ll see how I feel on Monday.

Today, I have a student teacher (my friend Jen from NAU!) coming to observe me during 2nd and 3rd period. I do not feel qualified for this; however, Jen may learn a great deal from it: what not to do, how to bungle your way through teaching noun clauses, how to totally lose it when a kid whines for the 400th time, etc. Luckily, she is my friend and will still love me whatever happens…I think.

Yep, the self-proclaimed Wisest Human: timecube

I always get the stupidest injuries. I have skinned my stomach while riding a bike. I have gotten stuck in a bike while trying to fly a kite off of the back. I have cut my finger on a toilet. And tonight, WHILE WRAPPING PRESENTS, I ripped off half of my lip with a piece of tape. Yes, there was blood. I’ve never broken a bone, had surgery, or gotten stitches. I’m careful; I avoid all of the dangerous things that many people kill themselves doing, but I can’t avoid the unforseeable injuries that sneak up on me while I’m performing everyday tasks. If I die in some sort of unnatural way, I’m confident it won’t be in a car accident or a house fire. No, it will be making the bed or washing the dishes. At least I can be comforted in the fact that I have a sister who has to get stitches from peeling apples and gets stuck dangling upside down off the side of the boat because her bathing suit is caught.

K: Yells something inappropriate.

Me: “K, you’re skating on thin ice my friend.”

G: “I’ve skated on thin ice before! It’s dangerous!”

C: laughs

Me: “That laugh sounded like the laugh of a weak little boy on death row”

C: “Death row?”

Me: “I mean, his death bed”

They’re pretty much the same thing anyway. I’m sure there are lots of weak little boys on death row.

Despite the huge pile of papers to grade in front of me, I can’t seem to do much this morning beside sip coffee, eat Hershey’s Kisses, and listen to Burl Ives Christmas music on my iPod. I don’t even have one bit of remorse about it, either.