I made a couple of parent phone calls today to inform them of their child's progress in my class. Usually when I make calls like these, it's because the kids aren't doing good and they are on the way to failure--again!
ME: "Please make sure that he/she is doing the homework every night."
PARENT: (pause...) "Homework? He/She says they never have homework..."
ME: (twitch) "Would you like me to email you the assignment calendar?"
PARENT: "That would be great."
ME: "Glad to help."
Little snot kids...
Thursday, June 24, 2004
Monday, June 21, 2004
"I Have the Power!"
Today was the first day of summer school. I was expecting at least thirty kids, but about seven were absent. That's good. It means less students to deal with.
The first day was outstanding compared to my first day of teaching ever. I had plenty of stuff to do, the kids (knowing that summer school is their last chance to pass the course) were well-behaved. I heard no moans when they saw the course syllabus, nor any complaints about the many quizzes and assignments due on the first week. No one grumbled about bringing their book everyday, a heavy ten-pound behemoth of a text. Not only that, not all my students are staying for the entire six weeks, which means I could see some go and get new students maybe after the first three weeks are over.
It felt good... all that power and not one student brave enough to try and challenge me-- not when they know they can get possibly kicked out for little things. Summer school is strict that way. I'm feeling so confident because I already have old lesson plans and old things that I can use... and kids who have to be good and learn this stuff once and for all.
Power. Confidence. Happiness. Life can't get any better than this.
Shit. I shouldn't have said that; I might get into another car accident.
The first day was outstanding compared to my first day of teaching ever. I had plenty of stuff to do, the kids (knowing that summer school is their last chance to pass the course) were well-behaved. I heard no moans when they saw the course syllabus, nor any complaints about the many quizzes and assignments due on the first week. No one grumbled about bringing their book everyday, a heavy ten-pound behemoth of a text. Not only that, not all my students are staying for the entire six weeks, which means I could see some go and get new students maybe after the first three weeks are over.
It felt good... all that power and not one student brave enough to try and challenge me-- not when they know they can get possibly kicked out for little things. Summer school is strict that way. I'm feeling so confident because I already have old lesson plans and old things that I can use... and kids who have to be good and learn this stuff once and for all.
Power. Confidence. Happiness. Life can't get any better than this.
Shit. I shouldn't have said that; I might get into another car accident.
Sunday, June 20, 2004
My Mind Is At Ease
I sat to thinking of my new teaching job for the 2004-2005 school year. I realized something about the whole hiring experience: they didn't hire me because I was Asian.
That put my mind at ease. I recalled my first time in the competitive battlefield of job-hunting. One district hired me because they were desperate. In retrospect, I'm okay with that now. But what I remember most was an interview with another district that automatically labeled me as "affirmative action candidate," which infuriated me because I don't believe in that policy.
As I think about the new school year that will approach in September, I smile to myself that the district that hired me this time saw me for my qualifications and credentials. The representative at the job fair saw my resumé and saw my "English teacher" title. They needed English teachers--plain and simple. When the principal interviewed me, he was impressed by my portfolio and teaching experience in Japan. I knew I nailed that interview. The funny thing is: I never filled out an application, so they were never aware of my racial status until they laid eyes on me. Well... maybe my strange name might have alerted them of my "foreignness," but that didn't really make them all the wiser.
During the entire process of applying, interviewing, signing contracts, and orientations, there was nothing about affirmative action candidacy. Nothing of the sort was ever brought up. No issues about minorities and my "obligation" to them. I was glad for that because I want to be seen as an individual, not part of the minority group. I'm an English teacher, not an Asian person for the quota.
That put my mind at ease. I recalled my first time in the competitive battlefield of job-hunting. One district hired me because they were desperate. In retrospect, I'm okay with that now. But what I remember most was an interview with another district that automatically labeled me as "affirmative action candidate," which infuriated me because I don't believe in that policy.
As I think about the new school year that will approach in September, I smile to myself that the district that hired me this time saw me for my qualifications and credentials. The representative at the job fair saw my resumé and saw my "English teacher" title. They needed English teachers--plain and simple. When the principal interviewed me, he was impressed by my portfolio and teaching experience in Japan. I knew I nailed that interview. The funny thing is: I never filled out an application, so they were never aware of my racial status until they laid eyes on me. Well... maybe my strange name might have alerted them of my "foreignness," but that didn't really make them all the wiser.
During the entire process of applying, interviewing, signing contracts, and orientations, there was nothing about affirmative action candidacy. Nothing of the sort was ever brought up. No issues about minorities and my "obligation" to them. I was glad for that because I want to be seen as an individual, not part of the minority group. I'm an English teacher, not an Asian person for the quota.
Alchee (alkee)
I don't usually drink alcohol. I'm a lightweight and a sleepy drunk, too.
Yesterday, I attended the wedding of an old friend. One of the guests, another old friend who I hadn't seen in a long time, insisted that I should drink a little. He bought me a drink, and then another. After the reception, I went to the after-party.
Total drinks for the night:
1 small glass of champagne
2 glasses of mai tais
1 bottle of Smirnoff Ice
I felt a couple buzzes, but never outright drunk. Maybe I'm not a lightweight as I thought. Damn, I never drank so much at one event.
It was good.
Yesterday, I attended the wedding of an old friend. One of the guests, another old friend who I hadn't seen in a long time, insisted that I should drink a little. He bought me a drink, and then another. After the reception, I went to the after-party.
Total drinks for the night:
1 small glass of champagne
2 glasses of mai tais
1 bottle of Smirnoff Ice
I felt a couple buzzes, but never outright drunk. Maybe I'm not a lightweight as I thought. Damn, I never drank so much at one event.
It was good.
Saturday, June 19, 2004
An Eye For an Eye
First Nick Berg, now Paul Johnson.
Two things go through my mind:
1) If I were ever taken hostage, knowing that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists, would I be prepared to die for my country? Sometimes, I think yes, I would be, but that's easier said than done.
2) The other thing on my mind: anger and total frustration. What kind of country keeps taking hostages, and no matter how many times the world has said "NO, we will not negotiate," they still don't get the fucking message? I liken them to a spoiled child: they will never be satisfied no matter what is given them. Spoiled children need to be spanked. In this case, why can't we just bomb them already? I know that's harsh, but I'm saddened every time America's own servicemen are killed--endlessly it seems; I'm more frustrated when civilians are taken as hostages to be slaughtered, and I begin to HATE when I see or read of rotting corpses in the streets. Militant Islamists are beyond indecent and inhumane.
They didn't think 9/11 was enough that they had to keep piling on the woes for the American people. I'm wondering when (of if) America will ever seek vengeance. Those jihadists are all eager to go and see Allah; we should help them along. Kill them all in one go, and what's more--we shouldn't feel guilty because they all wanted to die anyway. And no one will miss them because they were a pain in the world's ass.
I'm so angry and frustrated right now.
Two things go through my mind:
1) If I were ever taken hostage, knowing that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists, would I be prepared to die for my country? Sometimes, I think yes, I would be, but that's easier said than done.
2) The other thing on my mind: anger and total frustration. What kind of country keeps taking hostages, and no matter how many times the world has said "NO, we will not negotiate," they still don't get the fucking message? I liken them to a spoiled child: they will never be satisfied no matter what is given them. Spoiled children need to be spanked. In this case, why can't we just bomb them already? I know that's harsh, but I'm saddened every time America's own servicemen are killed--endlessly it seems; I'm more frustrated when civilians are taken as hostages to be slaughtered, and I begin to HATE when I see or read of rotting corpses in the streets. Militant Islamists are beyond indecent and inhumane.
They didn't think 9/11 was enough that they had to keep piling on the woes for the American people. I'm wondering when (of if) America will ever seek vengeance. Those jihadists are all eager to go and see Allah; we should help them along. Kill them all in one go, and what's more--we shouldn't feel guilty because they all wanted to die anyway. And no one will miss them because they were a pain in the world's ass.
I'm so angry and frustrated right now.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
Grammar Atrophy
I've studied grammar just to know how to write correctly and proficiently, but sometimes my mind gets boggled that I can't even think about grammar anymore. I was reading through a grammar book, and I can't answer one of the questions. So I pose it to you:
What is the past tense for can? (Not the can made of metal, but the can of "I can do this!")
What is the past tense for can? (Not the can made of metal, but the can of "I can do this!")
The Start of the Teaching Blog
Summer session will start on Monday. Tomorrow is a prep day, so teachers can start doing lesson plans. I feel a little more prepared this time around unlike before, so I feel I'm a lot more ready than ever to get back into the classroom.
I am so excited about teaching again. I've already started my syllabus for the summer session (and for the 2004-2005 school year) and I'm working on lesson plans. My dad and I pulled out my old computer that had my grading programs, and I think I will install the testmaker in there as well. I'm so fired up with ideas, lesson plans, curriculum ammo, and books.
I like school. I can't wait till the real school year starts!
*smiles like a proud nerd*
And of course, I'll share my lovely stories of the [stupid] things kids say and do. You gotta love those.
I am so excited about teaching again. I've already started my syllabus for the summer session (and for the 2004-2005 school year) and I'm working on lesson plans. My dad and I pulled out my old computer that had my grading programs, and I think I will install the testmaker in there as well. I'm so fired up with ideas, lesson plans, curriculum ammo, and books.
I like school. I can't wait till the real school year starts!
*smiles like a proud nerd*
And of course, I'll share my lovely stories of the [stupid] things kids say and do. You gotta love those.
Friday, June 04, 2004
Vultures
From Yahoo! News: After Julie McMurry's husband died last summer, Verizon Wireless told the Enumclaw, Wash. woman that she would have to pay an early termination fee on his cell phone contract. "I said, 'This isn't an arbitrary thing, I'd be glad to fax you a copy of the death certificate. The man's dead.'"
The Verizon rep said McMurry could either pay the fee or give the phone to another family member.
Ms. McMurry complained and so she didn't have to pay, but still... I can't believe a company would try to profit of a customer's death. What if a customer who had no family suddenly died, and Verizon tried to collect some early cancellation fee? Who'd get charge with the bill? Other Verizon customers, of course.
The Verizon rep said McMurry could either pay the fee or give the phone to another family member.
Ms. McMurry complained and so she didn't have to pay, but still... I can't believe a company would try to profit of a customer's death. What if a customer who had no family suddenly died, and Verizon tried to collect some early cancellation fee? Who'd get charge with the bill? Other Verizon customers, of course.
Parents, Do You Know Where Your Chidren Are?
Last night I joined my friends to catch the midnight showing of the new Harry Potter movie. There are several things about a midnight showing that my friends and I find more advantageous than a regular viewing: 1) no little children; 2) mostly adults; and 3) beating that weekend rush. When we arrived at the theater-- three hours prior to midnight (we ate at a restaurant nearby)-- we couldn't believe that a line had already started. So rather than hang out at the giant bookstore, we decided to go in line and wait with the other fanatics.
Fanatics-- not that my friends and I are fanatics-- but we do like the books. But the midnight viewing brings out the strangest crowds-- true fanatics, fanatics that were willing to watch the midnight viewing and dress up in costume--no matter how poorly made. And what was up with that Spiderman costume? Hello, wrong movie! He and his little wizard sidekick made absolute fools of themselves as they chased each other down the corrider. The gnome-sized magician waved his plastic wand around, "freezing" Spiderman. Spiderman would stay close to the pillars in a stupid "I'm stuck to the wall" pose. And no, these weren't six-year olds; they looked like high school students.
That's right, high school students. Last time I checked, I was pretty sure that San Diego had a curfew law for minors. What the hell were high school students doing at a midnight viewing, which would last until 2:30AM? High school students, who would have school the next day. High school students, who have to wake up at 5-6AM to start school by 7:30AM?
And their behaviors! So appalling! When the lines got crowded and cluttered in the corridor, they opened up the theater so we could sit inside for the remaining hour before the viewing. I saw high school students running everywhere like it was a playground-- even after they chose their seats. They kept getting up and running down the aisles. There was one young man who irked me so much that I wish I had a wet wad of tissue to throw at him. He kept running across the aisle and shouting stupid phrases and throwing stupid handsigns. I think someone shouted for him to calm down or something, and his fucking-ass rude response: "THE MOVIE'S NOT STARTING YET!!!" and throws up more ridiculous handsigns. What is it with teenagers and wild behavior? Just because parents weren't around, they think they can let loose and be rude without consequences? They only end up looking idiotic and immature. And then they wonder why adults never trust them?
And the girls. Why don't parents monitor what their daughters wear? Hip-huggers or low-rise jeans never used to irk me so much until last night. The wrong kinds of girls always seem to be the ones wearing them. What's the wrong kind? The fat ones. Those jeans were so tight around their hips, pushing up their fat only to make it pour out on top of their pants. They all looked pregnant with their pudgy bellies flowing forward like muffins crowning the edge of the cupcake holder. Or there's the overly skinny girl wearing hip-huggers only to reveal protruding bones. Yeah, like that's sexy!
The movie was done by 2:30AM. As we shuffled out of the theater, we saw more high school students from another theater waiting outside for other friends. Too many people were still lingering about outside the movie house. Why weren't the cops there? Why weren't the parents there? And no, eighteen- or nineteen-year olds don't count as real responsible adults when a minor is under their care. Think about it: a nineteen-year old will take full responsibility to save the ass of a misbehaving seventeen-year old? Yeah, right-- not unless they're related. It's every teenager for himself.
And parents are partially to blame. Why would they let their teenager out past the curfew law on a school night? A cell phone call away doesn't necessarily mean that their child is safer just because they can contact them whenever they worry-- if they ever worry at all.
Fanatics-- not that my friends and I are fanatics-- but we do like the books. But the midnight viewing brings out the strangest crowds-- true fanatics, fanatics that were willing to watch the midnight viewing and dress up in costume--no matter how poorly made. And what was up with that Spiderman costume? Hello, wrong movie! He and his little wizard sidekick made absolute fools of themselves as they chased each other down the corrider. The gnome-sized magician waved his plastic wand around, "freezing" Spiderman. Spiderman would stay close to the pillars in a stupid "I'm stuck to the wall" pose. And no, these weren't six-year olds; they looked like high school students.
That's right, high school students. Last time I checked, I was pretty sure that San Diego had a curfew law for minors. What the hell were high school students doing at a midnight viewing, which would last until 2:30AM? High school students, who would have school the next day. High school students, who have to wake up at 5-6AM to start school by 7:30AM?
And their behaviors! So appalling! When the lines got crowded and cluttered in the corridor, they opened up the theater so we could sit inside for the remaining hour before the viewing. I saw high school students running everywhere like it was a playground-- even after they chose their seats. They kept getting up and running down the aisles. There was one young man who irked me so much that I wish I had a wet wad of tissue to throw at him. He kept running across the aisle and shouting stupid phrases and throwing stupid handsigns. I think someone shouted for him to calm down or something, and his fucking-ass rude response: "THE MOVIE'S NOT STARTING YET!!!" and throws up more ridiculous handsigns. What is it with teenagers and wild behavior? Just because parents weren't around, they think they can let loose and be rude without consequences? They only end up looking idiotic and immature. And then they wonder why adults never trust them?
And the girls. Why don't parents monitor what their daughters wear? Hip-huggers or low-rise jeans never used to irk me so much until last night. The wrong kinds of girls always seem to be the ones wearing them. What's the wrong kind? The fat ones. Those jeans were so tight around their hips, pushing up their fat only to make it pour out on top of their pants. They all looked pregnant with their pudgy bellies flowing forward like muffins crowning the edge of the cupcake holder. Or there's the overly skinny girl wearing hip-huggers only to reveal protruding bones. Yeah, like that's sexy!
The movie was done by 2:30AM. As we shuffled out of the theater, we saw more high school students from another theater waiting outside for other friends. Too many people were still lingering about outside the movie house. Why weren't the cops there? Why weren't the parents there? And no, eighteen- or nineteen-year olds don't count as real responsible adults when a minor is under their care. Think about it: a nineteen-year old will take full responsibility to save the ass of a misbehaving seventeen-year old? Yeah, right-- not unless they're related. It's every teenager for himself.
And parents are partially to blame. Why would they let their teenager out past the curfew law on a school night? A cell phone call away doesn't necessarily mean that their child is safer just because they can contact them whenever they worry-- if they ever worry at all.
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
You For a Day
I had this stupid idea when I got extremely bored one day. Since I had nothing to do, I thought about a "business" where a busy working individuals (i.e. you) can hire someone (i.e. a bored person like me) to do your errands for you. Hire these people for one day to do the little things that you don't have time to do, such as picking up your dry cleaning, picking up your lunch, picking up your kids, dropping off your mail, taking your car for routine maintenance jobs. You know, those little things that must be done between 9-5 before other offices close. We'll do everything you can't do because you are stuck in an office-- except housework and cooking because you can do that yourself once you get home from work.
It was just an idea, so don't call me.
It was just an idea, so don't call me.
Perspective
I found some old stories that I had written years ago, and I am thinking of rewriting and editing some of them, just for the sake of feeling that I completed them. The thing is I'm having a hard time writing again. I'm stuck with a very simple dilemma: should I write in first person, third person, or third person omniscient?
Until I solve this, I'm reading, rewriting, and recycling very sucky prose.
Until I solve this, I'm reading, rewriting, and recycling very sucky prose.
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
A Purpose To This Meaningless Ennui
I got a call today from one of the assistant principals from the former high school where I taught. He offered me a teaching position for summer school, teaching tenth grade English. Right on, Ms. Secretary who hooked me up! No interview necessary. Finally, I can get up in the morning without feeling like a lazy bum by the end of the day.
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