Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Snow Day

I'm sitting here sipping coffee and much to the (mild, I'm sure) chagrin of many of my colleagues (who didn't want to give up Good Friday), I'm enjoying my Snow Day. Sadly I've been up since about 3 am. I'm not sure if this is due to the fact that I was really hoping for the day, or if my body just woke up after 7 (an extra hour!) hours of sleep. I know it's wrong, but I hate my job. I know you're shocked! Let me re-phrase, I hate my boss. What do you do about a hostile working environment when the person in charge is source? Since teaching limits a job search and has seasonal hiring binges the best thing I could think to do is pray my boss would be sick, called to a meeting, smite-ed by God or that I would get a "Free Day". I'm going to count my blessings on this one. 

Since I haven't had much time to read and comment on life this week (and I must have the Winter Blahs) I'll write about a few random things I've noticed. 

1. In Texas, whenever it dips below 32 degrees the local news stations act like the world is coming to an end. I don't mind this. I love living in Texas, really anywhere where 65 degrees is considered chilly or cold! But you have to admit the 24 hour coverage of "Winter Watch 2009" (!), after most things have been closed for the day is just a bit funny. Who's out to commit news?

2. I worry about my kids. I know that it sounds like I hate them. If you've ever had kids or nieces or nephews or little people you are even mildly responsible for young folks, you know that you worry. I worry because I know (have solid knowledge) that some of my kids don't eat unless they come to school. If they can't afford food, I can only imagine that heat is a luxury. 

3. Cold weather makes me want to bake and make soups. I may make chicken noodle today, and I took some bananas that we had from a meeting or something and I think I'll make a lo-cal Banana Bread.  I also have laundry to do, and I wish I had a book I was enthused about, but maybe other folks will be off and we can get out and hang a bit later (hint hint). 

4. I secretly (not so secretly) hope that the gym opens this afternoon so I can go work out. 


Sunday, January 25, 2009

Finally, the meaning of bittersweet

For years growing up I hated the term bittersweet. Actually I still do, but for years it was not a term that I understood. To my mind bittersweet was unnecessary, because I was sure it tasted like a SweeTart, and I loved those so I couldn't understand why bittersweet would be used to describe something that was unsatisfying. I'm sure this also had to do with the act that I tend(ed) to see things in Black or White, Light or Dark. For me the middle-of-the-road has always been an uncomfortable place for me to be. Now, as an adult, I wonder why bittersweet isn't used more often in our modern world where there is so much gray area, and hardly ever any Black or White. 

To me Sundays are the epitome of bittersweet. I love Sundays; the Lord's Day, A Day of Rest. There is nothing better than a lazy Sunday morning (even better when you get to wake up next to somebody!) where you just sip coffee and read the paper, yes the real Sunday paper. There's always brunch (preferably one with breakfast, lunch and dessert, not to mention copious amounts of alcohol), and after that if you're lucky you can laze in the living room or go read or go to the park, or a movie. Then there's dinner and "Desperate Housewives" and "Brothers and Sisters" (I love Sunday TV) or you can go out again (!). This should make Sunday the best day of the week, a haven to renew for Monday.

For the past year and half though, I have come to look on Sunday with dread. It's not about having to go back to work on Monday, I worked weekends for years and it's just what happens to you when you grow up. I dread Sunday's because I hate where I work, and instead of going somewhere I love or at the very least enjoy, I feel like I'm going back to prison, Parole Violation, back to where I have to stay in one room, doing tedious work, without a thank you or an acknowledgment of my skill. My boss runs her school like a fiefdom, where she is a despotic and all knowing ruler. Expressing a different opinion, no matter how well-informed, lands your head on the chopping block.  If you do your job the way you want you aren't doing it right. It doesn't matter that you know your students and what they need, it only matter about how good the Queen looks, and if you're teaching to her habits. So Sunday has become bittersweet. 

I'm sitting here writing this having slept in (with somebody I like...er, well you know...). I had coffee and read the paper (The NY Times and Dallas Morning News, even if it was online) and I went to brunch and ate an amazing breakfast with great coffee and wonderful conversation with a good friend. I did have to be a bit productive and not laze as much, but we're cooking dinner and having coffee again. I need to do lessons for the week but I can't bring myself to do it, not because I want to do my job, but rather because it makes me nauseous. The nectar of Sunday colliding with the shit smell of what I have to put up with on Monday.  

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Generation E

Right about the time I turned 18, my generation was being called the Y2K generation, the generation that was coming of age in the year 2000. We were the first to experience the Internet, the cell phone, text messaging, pager and MP3 players as an integral part of our growing up. Where our parents had taken typing in school we took computer class that concentrated in how to use the whole machine for every facet of your life rather than secretarial etiquette as our parents had. No to mention that all of this changed rapidly, there was always something new. The minute my grandmother learned to cope with the cordless phone, she had to contend with the cell phone, something she couldn't quite wrap her mind around. I'm curious as to what her reaction to we be today to learn of the demise of the pay phone and landlines. 

My other grandmother (who is about ten years younger) came of age not in the depression, but rather in the optimism and prosperity of a post-WWII America, in an age of consumption-ism and new technology that has only been outpaced within the last decade. While I agree that these advances are making us live longer, better, "healthier, " I have to wonder if we have created a generation of children (and perhaps adults) who are unable to fend for themselves. 

Before you go thinking I'm some Thoreausian  worshipper who wishes to withdraw from society and go live a life empty of the advances of society, read further for just a little perspective. I teach 5th grade, in an urban school district, with a population of children with their feet so firmly cemented on both sides of the Rio Grande that they haven't learned to speak (or read) either English or Spanish. While most of this is due to the fact that education policy has changed to rapidly to actually take hold and produce results, these children are also the product of what I'm calling Generation E. The Electronic generation that is no so saturated with instant gratification on the TV, on the computer, in the ear that they have lost, or never gained access to, the fundamentals. You the those things that I took for granted growing up: pens, pencils, paper, the written word, books, and how to read them. I won't even go into how they've been institutionalized in an education system that is such a slave to NCLB that all these children have learned how to do is look for every two or three words, circle this and that, and then fill in A, B, C, or D. Education has no become a business, profit is measured in the test score, not in what the child actually learned. 

Better yet, since these children are immigrants or the children of immigrants, they come from a home where the only option left to them was to come to the United States. They are the "huddled masses". One of my children told me today that they don't have any books in their house. This surprised me because he is one of the few that can read relatively well. On the other hand, because he (like most of the rest of my students) is a child of poverty, reading isn't exactly on the list of priorities. After my initial reaction, I just became enraged. 

Even worse, this is evident in my other classes, the "general ed" classes, even though most of these kids slip back into Spanish so frequently, in the hall, talking with friends in class, talking to me, that there is hardly a distinction between Bilingual and General Ed. In each class always the same thing. The same halting reading, not being able to explain what they just read, and even after being told the answer, not being able to repeat it back to me. I'm convinced that this has to do with the fact that no one ever sees Peter Griffin pick up a book on "Family Guy".  

So in the end, all of these things that Generation Y2K used because they were able to use it advantageously because they grasped the fundamentals, have turned into crutches of Generation E. Why read a book when you can scroll down on the Internet or learn something in a game. You don't need to know how to cradle (and cherish) a book because as long a you don't get the computer wet, it won't break. There is no need to read carefully (or for enjoyment) because all you have to do is read to bubble in a scan tron or find the Buzz Word. Not to mention that on the computer the Buzz Words are bold ed or flashing. There is no need to think, no need to process, just filling in the lettered bubble that corresponds to the right answer. Maintaining the Bottom Line. Then, because you're a child saturated in imagery from the TV and video games (remember no one plays outside anymore) there is no need no pretend or use your imagination. Not only do you not know what to do with the printed word, because you never use it properly, but you find no joy when you do see it because your brain doesn't know how to paint a picture in your head, only how to copy one from a screen. Sure, we're living longer, better, but are we really living smarter? At what cost are we paying for the convenience of 24-hour news and the world at a computer screen? Have we raised our tomorrow to be too helpless to help us when we need it?

Friday, January 23, 2009

Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!

So it would appear that I am not Superman, or as my girlfriend at school likes to put it, "You're human just like the rest of us." Somewhere between my third and fourth lap around the Village last night I got a dull pain and then a sharper pain until I could no longer come down even walking on my toes, without wanting to rip my foot off and beat the nearest passerby with it. I'm fortunate enough to say that in my almost 5 years of running daily this is my first injury, luckily more of a sprain than a break, but nonetheless I'm still furious. 

First of all, I like to run. I know this makes me weird (weirder) than most. I know that I can be obnoxious about this habit in my life. I'm sure it's on some one's Top Ten I Hate the Sonuvabtich List. But really, it's one of my final holdouts from my anorexia days that I still hold on too pretty feverishly. I look at running and the gym as my less crazed control mechanisms. For those of you who knew me when you might not see that much difference all the time, surely this is the case. I do tend to obsess about what I'm eating or how much I'm working out; things get tough at work or I feel less in control and that switch comes on. I know how I can sound, but I also know I eat more (quantity and quality) than I have before. 

These days I'm more about the fitness, I "get off" to copy that hippie fool one that one season of "Project Runway" on pushing myself, on running hard and fast and going to the gym. It's my inner-muscle head yearning to be free! But we all know I'd be lying if I told you that right now, sitting her typing this, ice pack on my foot, hobbled like a cripple, I'm terrified of this being something more serious than just a stressed tendon or a sprain. I'm sitting here, in the quiet, seeing me at the doctor's office hearing some Lab Coat tell me I won't ever be able to run again. After that I get lost in this blur of size 34 jeans, belly fat, acne and bad sex. I'm not sure if this is the Ghost of Christmas Past or Future coming my way. And I can't focus it out, because I can't run to have all the pieces fall into place.  Sick I know, but these days, the gym and the run are the only things that make me feel like I've done some good for the day. 

OK so now that I have the Oscar, I'll just count my blessings, ice down my foot and hope that I like riding the stationary bike. 

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

The Morning After

I imagine a certain (perhaps rather large segment of the US public) is waking up this morning, sheets sweaty, panic-stricken heart pounding in their chest, wondering where they are and what the hell just happened. No, I'm not talking about the drunk slut at the bar, who forgot her birth control, I'm talking about the majority of Republican (White) America. 

Let me preface this, which is usually my qualifier that what I'm about to say isn't going to be popular, and I'm wanting this to buffer my credibility. I come from straight (hetero) Republican stock, not counting my great grandparents who were Southern Democrats who were apparently unable to give up the ghost after turning into Cotton Choppers instead of Cotton Aristocracy. We weren't religious zealots, but look up WASP in the dictionary I'm sure you'll see our family portrait next to it. But then I shocked everyone and came out (not only as a liberal, but a queer to boot) and now my parents sit wondering what went wrong. Maybe before I should go on I should also note that folks at work treat me like the rest of the black folks. Summary? I can fit in most anywhere, and usually do, but it can make me a bit of an outsider with my kin. 

I thought about me being on the outside yesterday when I was watching the Inauguration. I got goosebumps, from the speech, to the prayer to the fact that I do have a renewed sense of hope, in spite of the fact that so many voices are shouting nothing but pessimism. Here's the breakdown:

What I Liked: 
  1. Rick Warren's prayer. Well this was basically the end when he just transitioned into the Lord's Prayer. I love the Lord's Prayer, and find so much comfort in hearing it and saying it, also I think it's universal. 
  2. I loved that both the old and new First Families seem to have a genuine respect for each other, and that Michelle gave Laura a gift. 
  3. Obama not throwing Justice Roberts under the bus. First African-American President, not of your party, semi-hostile (to Roberts) crowd,  you'd be nervous too.
  4. Rev. Lowry's Benediction minus the "white" part. Isn't that just reverse racism, and which is worse?
  5. The Bidens kissed their dad. I didn't grow up doing that and it's like seeing a foreign custom that you want to copy, but maybe it was a grass is always greener thing. 
  6. Sasha Obama now has the title Miss Thang, because you know she thinks she's cute.
  7. Michelle got down to the bands.
  8. Malia was taking picture of everything. Finally a student interested in history.
  9. Michelle's and Laura's outfits. The green gloves, especially, were off the chain. 
What I didn't like:
  1. Michelle's ball dress (It was not flattering to her). 
  2. Booing Bushie. He may not have made the best decisions. I look at the Presidency like Parenthood. There are precedents, not a manual. Bushie (yay Molly!) did the best he could with what he had, and he deserves respect. 
  3. Aretha's hat. While my inner queer wanted to snatch that off her head, it was just too much New Money and the WASP in me wanted to burn it on her head to teach her a lesson. 
  4. I wanted Aretha to wear fur. I mean for real, we all know she's on PETA's Top Ten Most Wanted. 
  5. Cheney hurt himself. Couldn't he hire movers?
  6. Reading into the wording of the inauguration speech. I mean really, can't we just enjoy the day. I'm tired of the Obama Muslim conspiracy. The Religious Right Conspiracy is far more real from where I'm sitting. Can anyone say Prop 8?
There it is. The Morning After, bright, shining, scary and new. Good luck Mr. President. We're watching you. 

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Oh the Possibilities

Do you want to know how awesome my 'hood is? Yes, notice that I said 'Hood. Well about 45 minutes ago I heard (and felt the vibrations) of about 5 gunshots. Awesome! This is the third time in three months that I have heard something like this. I ignored them on Christmas Eve, because you know how Mexicans get on holidays, when they start drinking...trigger happy. 

I'll be honest. I really like my apartment, I like the space and the geographical location and the fact that really, my area of town is undergoing redevelopment. But I'll also be honest and tell you that a year-and-a-half into my lease I'm pretty worn out. I'm basically paying more than $700 to get shot at, have to tape up my windows so that my head doesn't leak out (and yes, the plastic on my windows is so full of cold air it looks like the dress of one of those fat animated dolls). Last year about this time, my downstairs neighbors had switched my electric meter and were running bills upwards of $500. Even better I didn't catch it until April when my power was cut off for nonpayment 2 weeks in a row. After that they tried to break in. Not to mention that my car was broken into 2 times, in Sept. and December 07 respectively. 

I'd like to say that my landlords are great, and really for the most part, they are. They beefed up security, I have some energy saving appliances, and they installed security cameras on the property. They gave me a break on the rent the first month my electricity shot up and put in an alarm and exhaust fan. Those are all great things, and I feel like I have benefited from them, but I can't help but think that they might not have been done if I hadn't pitched a fit. I mean if you're going to sell yourself as the flippers and the oasis of middle class values then let's make some real changes. Put in energy efficient windows, and newer kitchen appliances. Then maybe charge more than $700, because then I'd at least understand why I'm risking bullets and frigid temps, not to mention that I wouldn't need painters tape and plastic pegged to my walls to keep me warm. 

I wonder though, if I would be this indignant if I didn't have someone who actively worried about me, who wanted me to be safe so that they didn't worry. Would I be writing this or even thinking this if I was not in a relationship, one where I get treated super nicely, where it would be nothing to have them help me break my lease and then we could just play house until we actually set up house? And does it make me insane or crazy or weak or "that girl" for thinking those things? What I'm hoping is that I would feel this way in a relationship or not, and instead of availing myself of my love interest, avail myself of my friends. 

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Nostalgia

The easiest definition I can give for nostalgia (ironically the same in both English and Spanish) is what folks like to call the "good old days." Everyone is subject to suffer under this emotion and look back, wistfully, and utter something like "Remember when," and "Do you remember," and then up come the memories, like water from the rock. What you fail to remember is that there was always a simpler time and place, something was always better, and forgotten are the troubles; sickness, sadness, trauma and depression. 

But I do miss the good old days, at least in certain respect. When my grandmother was my age (in the mid 1950s) women weren't allowed into upscale department stores with out a hat and gloves. Women did their hair and put on lipstick when they left the house. Men, wore ties and hats, and put thick, greasy pomade on their hair so that even with the hat, nothing moved. The illusion of perfection. To be sure, we know now that that was an illusion. There was teenage pregnancy and drugs and alcohol and vice. 

What I do wonder though is whether or not the lack of values is just more widespread or more widely discussed, more open as they say. I wonder if the fact that there was the illusion of perfection or at the very least, some pretense of pride (in your appearance and therefore yourself) helped one really have pride in themselves. Children were put out of the house, and into the classroom, in clean clothes so that they could take pride in themselves and learn something. This pride in appearance somehow glossed over the rest of your life into a decent (if not honest, and hard) job, food on the table, some kind of roof over your head, and something in your head. I would like to think that if we made women go out in nylons again, and men wear neck ties, or boys wear slacks and girls wear skirts that somehow that would make people want to aspire to fit their insides to the picture of their outsides.