Love that J-Rock!

You have redeemed yourself, Gackt-san! I love this new album.

Moronic

To give you an idea of what students are like in the community where I teach, I shall tell you some stories that have been passed around in department gatherings:

I. "No Child Left Behind"

The No Child Left Behind (NCLB) laws are really targeting teachers' and schools' accountabilities for the quality of their education. In order to ensure quality education, NCLB weeds out teachers who are not qualified to teach in their subject matter. A math teacher can't teach English literature because they are not competent to teach that subject, and this will result in children being left behind because they are not getting the proper education.

So, a counselor was sharing a story about how this law got misinterpreted by a parent. A student who just transferred into the school had to register with the counselor. The counselor reviewed the transcripts and found that the student is deficient on credits and will not graduate on time. The parent piped, "But what about No Child Left Behind?" because he feared that his child will be left behind by not graduating on time. In other words, this parent thought that the NCLB law was a "free credits if you're deficient" program that will ensure his student will graduate on time. This parent thought that by transferring to another school, our school would give his student all the lost credits that he failed to complete at his other school. Yeah fucking right!

II. "No Grades for Tardies"

A fellow English teacher who teaches freshmen shared this story. One of his students who thought English was too hard decided not to attend English class anymore. This teacher hasn't seen this student for the past two months. Said student was going to tardy sweeps instead where students have to stay quiet and write out standards. He attended tardy sweep for the past two months rather than going to class.

The grading period just ended, and said student went to the tardy sweep supervisor and asked him, "What's my grade in this class?" The supervisor told him that there is no grade in this class because it was a tardy sweep; it's a holding tank for late students. The supervisor advised the student to ask his regular teacher to find out his grade. The student goes back to the English teacher and asked him what his grade was. Given that he did not attend class, he is failing. The student complained that English was too much work, so he went to tardy sweep in lieu of regular English class. He thought copying and writing standards in a holding tank was an easier way to get an A than reading a book and writing essays.

III. "But I Need My Credits!"

This is my own story. I was helping a student after school doing an essay, and we worked on it until about 5pm--well into dark. As she was leaving, I told her to walk home safely (she only lived across the street) and escorted her out the door. All of a sudden, I saw the assistant principal marching down the corridor ready to pounce on anyone walking down the hall. She shouted at my student, "Are you in credit recovery? Why aren't you in class?"

"She's not in credit recovery. She was with me," I explained. My student walked away, and then the principal--the most intimidating (yet much loved and admired) woman on campus appeared, too. "What's going on?" I asked.

"Credit recovery classes have a fifteen minute break from five to five-fifteen. Break is over!" the principal muttered under her breath. "What do these students think? I am tired of giving them chances and they're... " she trailed off with a shake of her head.

Suddenly, in the main hall, we spotted six to seven students walking down the corridor with Jack-in-the-Box food in their hands. They're talking loudly with nonchalance as they head back to class without a care or worry that they were about twenty minutes late. The principal and the assistant principal pounced.

"Excuse me! Get over here!" the principal called out to them.

Five or six ran away (stupid cowards!), leaving one student behind with her hand in a Jack-in-the-Box bag grabbing fries. The principal tried to follow the other students who ran off. As she walked off, she said to the girl, "Don't bother going to class. You are late."

"Awww, come on..." the girl started to whine.

"I already told your teacher to mark you absent and anyone else who is not on time from the break. So you can go on home. Get out." The principal pointed to the exit double doors.

"But I need my credits!" The student said with a laugh, thinking she could ease her way back into class with humor.

"No, you needed your Jack-in-the-Box--now get out." The principal kept on walking to find the runaways who high-tailed it back to the classroom. I am sure she found them.

God save the principal!

She's Awesome

My idol. I never thought that in my lifetime would I actually get anywhere near her. Like a complete fangirl, I was speechless. Why am I always rendered silent when I meet great people?

Although it looks classy with just her name, I am debating now whether I should have asked her to personalize it for me.

Communism is the Answer!

Surprisingly, I'm finding that many of my sophomore students are on the verge of communism. I find this startling, yet a little refreshing at the same time. Startling, for the obvious reason that it's anti-American. Refreshing because, as much I have thought to myself that this generation of teens who practically have everything handed to them on platters (i.e. iPods, PSP, cell phones, DVD portable players, brand name clothing), some of them actually do have this great ambition to actually find equality and justice across social classes. They actually do want to try and help others, but they're so pessimistic (i.e. "what's the point if we're going to die anyway?" or "what's the point if no one listens to teenagers anyway?") that it's detrimental at the same time.

Then again... these are my advanced students. If there's one thing I've learned, and most AP teachers have warned me, is that advanced students are one-sided in all their opinions; never really doing full research. Add arrogance to that--they think they're geniuses just because they're in an honors program--and you have a person who is ready to conquer the world with all the wrong ideas.

Poker Night

Coworkers decided to start a poker night: once a month. Twenty dollar buy-in. I thought that was a bit expensive, but with ten people playing, that was a pretty high pot. I lost; ended up in fifth place. Before leaving, I convinced the crowd for a ten dollar buy-in at the next game.

Discipline Is Not an Emotion

Tonight, some asshole made some comment to me about being cold and unemotional. Coming from him, makes it all the more insulting.

The first time he said it to me was in regards to my teaching. "You have a different connection to students because you don't know what they're going through," he said.

"I realize that students have personal problems that they bring into the classroom. I'm not unsympathetic to their needs. I do talk to them, and adjust assignments if they need it."

"But that's it," he said. "You're just... sheltered."

"Sheltered?" I repeated with disgust.

"You've had a perfect life. You've never experienced something emotionally traumatizing, so you don't connect with students like I do."

"I don't think I need a traumatizing event that has shaken me so emotionally to better connect with students. I can pretty much understand what they're going through when they start ranting to me or crying to me."

The gist of that conversation was that he believed that if I were in tune with my emotions more, I can have better connections with my students. I don't believe in that. I don't believe that a person needs to have an emotionally trying experience to be more understanding of one's own emotions or another person's emotions--or in our case-- to have better understanding of teenage emotions or better relationships with students.

Tonight, this conversation came up again, in regards to actual teaching. I made a constructive criticism about his teaching, which I think can be improved if he works on it. He took it as a personal affront and got defensive about it. He starts to make a comparison between us that I'm a better teacher because I can turn off my emotions. "I'm not emotionally balanced as you, so I can't balance my work. I'm not like you. You have high standards, but we all can't meet that."

I've heard his story before, and I was sympathatic at first, but if he's going to start using that as an excuse for everything that he can't do, I'm not buying it anymore.

"They're not my standards, neither am I holding you to them."

"I am more emotional than you. I can't turn off my emotions like you."

"Don't even go there," I shot back. "It's not about emotional balance; it's about discipline. I choose to stay here and work my ass off. I choose to stay here and organize and pull my shit together so I'm not running around with my head cut off tomorrow morning."

"Again, I'm not like you. You don't understand how the imbalance in my personal life affects my professional work. I don't have that balance that you have because you don't know the emotional things I go through."

We were just arguing two different things at that point.

"No, we're not even going there," I said and waved off the conversation. "It's discipline, not me turning off my emotions."

His argument about an emotional imbalance affecting his work is equivalent to a former student saying that she didn't do her homework because she's black. I really wanted to tell him that his "emotional imbalance" is a lousy excuse for not pulling his own weight because he's been using that excuse for a while already. As they say in the workplace, "Get your shit together."

Teachers and Students Are Just Alien to Each Other

Random thoughts...

I.
Teachers have unique personalities. We have to--in this job, it's almost needed, especially in the English and history departments. Those teachers are just plain freaks; they study people and personalities and society. Compound that with all the learning they have done, you have a genius who is sociable and witty, but still a generation away from their students, therefore, crazy by students' standards.

II.
I played Depeche Mode in class yesterday for background noise while the students worked on posters. One student immediately made a criticism: "I can't work in these conditions. Goth is so depressing and dumb and emo!"

"They're not Goth!" I shot back.

"How many Goths does it take to screw in a light bulb?" he asked. I just narrowed my eyes at him without saying anything. He continued with a fake falsetto, "I don't know. I'll just hit here in the dark and cry. Oh, boohoo!"

"They're not Goth!" I repeated. "They're 80's, and their music was called synth-pop. They're still considered rock now."

"Emo!"

"Oh, yeah... Slayer isn't death metal. It wasn't in my time and it still isn't now!"

Another class argued that Nine Inch Nails was also Goth.

III.
Today, a group of students asked if I could monitor their club because their current advisor had to leave early. They used my room to hold their meeting. Can you guess the club? Anime. I have always hesitated to be associated with the anime club, but now a good majority of students know I like anime. I think they are secretly plotting to overthrow their current advisor because they want me instead-- a knowledgable teacher who knows anime and a bit of Japanese culture. A few said that they saw me at Anime Expo this past summer. I don't want to see my students in my personal time. I'm going to avoid all of them if they make an attempt to say hello to me at next year's Anime Expo.

I Feel So Used...

I hate to say it. I really like my colleagues, but a certain teacher is beginning to annoy me. I shall call this teacher the Tick (gender will not be disclosed).

As a seasoned teacher, I thought that Tick would contribute more to help out new teachers as well as teachers who teach the same curriculum as Tick does. Tick has been coming to me before or after school asking how I teach certain things. I don't mind sharing tips and ideas, but I draw the line at asking for lesson plans. There's a limit to that. I'll give if a new teacher needs something to start on, I'll give if a teacher is really desperate, but I start to become selfish and irked when a teacher is just plain lazy. Tick was so lazy that it asked for worksheets that were found in the same teacher's edition that we were all given at the beginning of the school year. Tick went into my file cabinet looking for worksheets and lessons. Tick went into my teacher bookshelf and took out books that it wanted to borrow. When I'm typing up lessons or ideas, Tick will ask for a copy through email.

Lesson planning is an art. Sure, I've taken lesson plans from other teachers, but I always modify it to fit my style of teaching and edit certain things and focus on certain skills. I make it my own. Every little lesson plan I create is like a little part of who I am. I have never asked for a lesson plan, made a hundred copies of it, and then passed it out to students--out of pure desperation. I always make time to look it over, ponder how I'll teach it, and then modify it how I see fit. Even now, when I look back at the lesson plans I've created as a student-teacher, I can see how much I've grown and developed as a professional teacher.

I never want to look like a fool in front of students who will catch something that I can't explain or an error that I did not do--or Heaven forbid--can't teach a lesson that I did not make or understand. It's not professional. Because I am a professional, I take the time to look at things and plan, even if planning means having to stay five chapters ahead of the students, or having to stay until 9pm, or having to come in on Saturdays to plan accurately and perfectly.

If I put a great amount of labor into my work, I feel used when a teacher just takes my work without thinking of how they'll use it. When I hand off a lesson plan to a teacher, they think it's easy because they don't have to reinvent the wheel. But as a teacher, one should always think about reinventing the wheel to make it better. It's good for the teacher and for the students.

Feeling Great

When I began eating more healthy, I wasn't on a diet. I was just making a conscious decision to change my eating habits because my mother is always pointing out that I eat too much junk food. The salads I've been munching on are great, and I didn't really think that it would affect me that much because I still drink too much soda and munch on other junkie snacks.

The last time I weighed myself, I was at 155 lbs during the summer. I weighed myself yesterday, and I clocked in at 140 lbs. I can't believe I've lost that much! True, my jeans are more loose than before, but it's unbelievable. And even if it's incorrect, it's still an encouraging thought.

Is The Fun Over So Soon?

My afternoon classes have only tortured three students. We haven't seen any more. I think my method for disciplining is working... much to the dismay of my students, who are eager to put freshmen in their places.

With A Little Help From My Students...

To assist a first year teacher, I agreed to take her problem students into my class for a quick 10-min time out session. I warned my afternoon classes that we would be having "guests" every once in a while. They accepted the task I gave them with such glee and pleasure.

I began, "I'm helping out a teacher who has some problem students. She's going to send them here, and I want you to torture him."

The class reacted with an excited, "YEAH!!!!"

Caustic Tongue, my sarcastic student to date--he and I have a jokey yet respectful banter every once in a while--was especially excited. I gave the entire class rules on how I want them to torture the guest.

"I don't want you to insult him," I said. "I want you to make him feel bad. I want you to make him reflect about what he's done and be regretful about it. Stress the importance of school and passing classes because the bottom line is: this student wants to take a vacation by being suspended or detention in another classroom. I want you to make him see that that is not a wise decision."

Another student asked, "Can we mad-dog him? Can we get into his face?"

"No, you can't touch him physically, but you can give him dirty looks. In fact, let's all stare him down when he comes in. No laughing. Let's make him as uncomfortable as possible."

I could already see my students jiggling in their seats with enthusiasm. After setting the guidelines, I continued with my lesson. About fifteen minutes into it, a student poked her head in and asked if it was okay to send the problem student. I answered in the affirmative, and I heard Caustic Tongue add, "Yeah, send that loser in."

I continue with the lesson, and about thirty seconds later, a student walked into the room. He strutted in with that fake limp that all bad boys do, but as soon as he saw all twenty-eight of my students staring him down, I saw his shoulders slump.

"Have a seat," I said and pointed to the front corner desk near my teacher's desk.

The whole class continued to stare and got a good look at him since he sat at the front.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"[Bobohead]," he replied. [Pseudonym for confidentiality.]

I was hoping my students would start asking the questions, but they didn't know how, so I continued, "Why did your teacher throw you out?"

"Because I was... laughing." He kept looking at his two sheets of paper.

"You were only laughing?"

"Someone was making shadow-puppets on the [overhead] light."

"So, you were disrupting your class?" I rephrased.

At this point, some of my students just started shaking their heads in disappointment, while they continued to stare.

He made some more excuses, but I kept repeating, "You were disrupting your class?"

He shrugged it off.

"Do you have any work with you?"

"No," he replied with a little more gusto, like he didn't want to do any.

"Well, while you're in here, you're going to work. If you have paper, you can write a letter of apology to your teacher. You have ten minutes. Start working."

"What if I don't want to?" he threatened.

"Then you are defying a teacher, and I'll send a referral."

"Make him read it out loud, Ms. G," one of mine suggested, and the entire class agreed with nods and murmurs of approval.

His shoulders slumped again and he unfolded the two sheets of paper.

Caustic Tongue chirped, "I'll keep time, Ms. G."

"Thank you," I nodded.

My students finally pulled their stares away so I could continue the lesson. While I conducted class, I noticed Caustic Tongue kept looking over Bobohead's shoulder and reminding him how many minutes he had left. At the five-minute mark, Bobohead turned around and gave a dirty look to Caustic Tongue, like he wanted to start something. Fortunately, my student can hold his own. He towered over Bobohead and warned, "What! You're only in the ninth grade and already you're getting into trouble!"

I only nodded my approval, and Bobohead completely shut up.

My students gently reminded me that the ten minutes were up. So we all turned our attention to our special guest.

"All right," I said, "read your letter to my class."

He stumbled over the words, but his sentences were full of "I'm sorry for this-and that." There was a change in his story: he admitted to making the shadow puppets and confessed to being the cause of disruption. Because he stumbled over some words, my students said, "I didn't hear that. Can you read that part again?"

"Yeah, read that last part again."

With a sigh, Bobohead repeated a section of his letter. The best part was: "Please don't send me here again. The other students only embarrass me." At this, my students smiled with pride.

"Now, Bobohead, I want you to give that letter of apology to your teacher, and I don't want to see you again. If you have to come here again, I'll be the one to send a referral. Caustic Tongue, please escort him back to class and make sure that he gives that to his teacher."

They got up and left. As soon as the door shut, my students laughed. "He almost cried!"

"Did he?" I asked.

"He was sniffling!"

"And he changed his story, did you notice that?" someone else added.

"Yes, he did," I replied.

Thirty seconds later, Caustic Tongue returned and he was laughing his heart out.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He was about ready to cry. He said that he can't get into any more trouble because he's already in trouble with his parents for getting caught smoking weed."

My entire class burst into hysteria.

"He admitted that to you?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes!" he laughed.

"Should we tell administration about that?" another student asked.

"Well, his parents already know, and if he's telling people about it, then I'm sure that means the school already knows also. Good job, class!" I applauded them and they applauded each other.

"This class is so fun," added Caustic Tongue. "I hope that teacher sends another one tomorrow."

As soon as class was over, I went to the nearest Best Buy and bought Depeche Mode's new album. I had no expectations, but I really like the what I hear. My favorite songs so far are "Precious" and "John the Revelator." And of course, David's voice is so edgy-awesome.

My Inner Politician

This past weekend, while attending a party of a dear old friend, I met a fellow blogger, Alfonso. It's nice to meet other people who write blogs; it's like putting a name and face to what is normally just HTML and text. Alfonso likes politics. I normally don't post on politics but that is because I'm not as knowledgable as Alfonso or Derek. If I had any latent politician inside of me, I always felt that I was a Republican. I wouldn't dare mention that in the workplace. The majority of teachers are Democrats. This is why I never explored any political thoughts in depth and repressed any political ideals.

But after talking with Alfonso, and learning about the other parties and political idealogies out there, he says I'm a libertarian, which is an extremity of Republicanism. The only shocking thing about this is: I never thought my politics were very extreme.

Depeche Mode

In anticipation of their new album, Playing the Angel, I recently went on a Depeche Mode binge and bought four of their CDs: Violator, Songs of Faith and Devotion, and Catching Up With Depeche Mode. I'm still waiting for Ultra to be delivered in the next two weeks. I'm reliving my youth as I listen to Violator, but Faith and Devotion is quickly growing on me again. (I can't believe I used to own these albums on tape!) I like David Gahan's voice... haunting rich baritone with a smooth melancholic vibrato.

I can hardly wait until Playing the Angel finally comes out!

Life is Good

I. Career

Teaching students in the advanced courses is so much more different than the students I had last year. Being with students who actually want to learn is so rewarding. I feel I'm accomplishing something every day. They make me feel that I'm productive and that I am doing something right in the world... and all that time before, I was feeling guilty that I was just a bad teacher.

II. Health

Lunch is now consistent. Unlike last year, when I would snack on junk food or skip lunch occasionally, I'm now consistently eating salad. I make it every night before going to bed--leafy Romaine lettuce, red-leaf lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, mizuna, baby spinach, croutons, corn, Bacos, and Italian dressing. Maybe the croutons, Bacos, and dressing isn't as healthy, but they're still good. I'm feeling healthier. I noticed that I'm a little more active; I'm less tired during the day, and I always feel that little pep... like shots of energy that keep me going hour after hour. If only I had kept to swing dancing, it would complete my new healthy lifestyle.

Only the Money

I've lived in my new place for about two months now. Since then, I've paid two cycles of bills. At each of these times, I've notified credit card companies that my address has changed. Yet I'm getting a third round of bills with my old address still on it.

I don't think those collectors--or whoever opens the bills to take my checks-- ever bother to look for updated information. I mean, how many times do I have to keep writing my "new" address? It's not so new anymore.

Starting Over

Starting a new school year is like starting over. Not many professions are like that, where one can perfect their practice every year and make a conscious decision about it. There's that break between school years where I can pause to think about what I can do to make this year better, more perfect; it's a chance to really hone skills and actually see if I've made progress in being a better teacher.

I can't wait for this year to start. I'm teaching one junior class--and to my relief, no one from that tenth grade hell class from last year is in it. I sure don't want to see those kids again. The other four classes consist of advanced tenth graders... you know, the nerds, the gifted group. Oh, God... they'll actually turn in their homework. Here's to pulling long nights again...

A Waste of Webspace

Given that I blog, I often wonder if any of my students also blog. A fellow teacher pointed me out to www.myspace.com. It's a free site where anyone can sign up for space, just like Blogger.com.

While browsing through MySpace, I've seen that it's become a dumping ground for teenage personals. I've seen a couple of my students on there, but they don't keep a regular blog. The only things they post are their stats and the latest quizzes they've taken.

I would really like to read some teenage blogs, especially from my students. They don't think I'm technology savvy, and oh, how I would love to email the URLs of their personal want ads to their parents. Many of my students answered to the affirmative when asked about drinking, and there's a profuse amount of profanity in their introductions alone. Like a potty mouth is attractive? What is up with this generation?

Wallflower

I went out and tried swing dancing. Although I'm a beginner and it was intimidating to go out on a dance floor with experienced dancers, the best way to learn is to get your feet wet. I spent the majority of the evening sitting and watching other people's foot patterns. I did dance, and I think I did okay. I danced with four older men, but I think they were the best partners. They were patient enough to teach me new things, like in a fatherly way. From what I've seen, a lot of the young men like to dance fast. I'm not ready for that yet.

To sum it up: it was fun.

Artistic Inspiration

I've just realized that this summer was my first official summer vacation--sort of. When I think about the past summer vacations I've had in the past, I was always taking a summer course to catch upon professional development or teaching summer school. Although I had conferences this summer, it didn't dominate 2/3 of my summer.

I actually had a lot of free time this season, so lately, I've been inspired to pursue my artistic and creative whims; hence my swing dancing lessons. Next up... possibly guitar lessons? I'm itching for the school year to start, so I can figure out my schedule of free nights to rendezvous with Apollo.

Work Is Fun

I am attending a conference this week on training teachers how to use their newly district-adopted textbook. If you think your taxes are being wasted on such a training, believe me, we teachers thought it was a waste of our time. But as we trudged through the first day, some of the stuff is really interesting. Since our school is switching textbooks, there's so much supplementary stuff and technology that's integrated with the textbook that it's no wonder why we have to be retrained or introduced to all this material. But I digress...

Many of the teachers are from my district, and about half the class is from my school and from my department. We're livening up the class with inside jokes, snarky remarks directed at each other, and other snide comments to make this conference a bit more jovial. We couldn't stop laughing. This conference is going to be fun if we keep this up all week.

It's moments like these when I realize that I work with a cool bunch of people and that I genuinely like my coworkers.

New Circles

Upon coming home from dance lesson this evening, a strange man called out to me--by name! For some reason, I wasn't too freaked out about it. The residents at the apartment complex I moved into all seem to be quite acquainted with one another. Unlike my former apartment complex, everyone pretty much stuck to themselves; individuals holing themselves up in their individual units. Anyway, this stranger called me out by name and waved hello. I wasn't surprised that he knew my name; word traveled fast that a new tenant moved into the empty apartment, so I waved back without knowing his name.

Right after I had just publised the previous post, there was a knock on my front door. At 9:40pm, I should be freaking out, but I wasn't. In fact, I thought it was all noise that my sister was making because she's still settling into her room. I didn't answer the door right away, but then I heard someone calling out my name again. I opened up the door and found two men at my doorstep, both of them were neighbors, and one of them I had already met. They were inviting me and my sister to go to a bar with them.

Mother never told me to go out with strange men, but I wanted to get to know my neighbors. My sister refused since she had to work early in the morning, but I was game. The three of us went to a local bar, which took me by surprise because I didn't expect to see such a homey pub behind the door of what looked like a hole-in-the-wall dive bar. There were lots of young people my age--again, something I didn't expect from such a neighborhood known for its historic sites and posh restaurants.

My neighbors and I had enlightening and intellectual conversations. One is an English teacher, so we talked about books and our jobs. The other is a writer for the local newspaper, so conversations varied from the mundane to poker. The funniest thing they ever said was their commentary on tattoos on girls' lower backs. They asked my opinion, and I thought they were just a trend; they are so common that it's not a fashionable statement. Then one of the guys said, " They're like a whorebrand. You know how they brand cattle?" Although it was just a humorous remark, both gentlemen find tattoos on that particular spot on women to be a turn-off. And as every young woman passed by with camisoles and low-rise pants, it was depressing for them, yet we'd laugh it off because we'd think of branded cows.

I had a good time with them. It was totally unexpected that I would be socializing with strange men at a late hour and actually having fun. Mr. Reporter, being a poker fanatic, invited me to play poker tomorrow night. I haven't played in a while, so I'm game for that. It's kind of nice to start actually socializing with neighbors again. It feels like I'm rebuilding a new community of my own, adapting to a new niche, like hitting a "jackpot." I like it here.

New Hobby

I've been taking swing dancing lessons. Tonight was the third lesson. I really like it, and it's really fun. But I'm not practicing as much, only when I have lessons. As my instructor says, I should go out dancing socially to start practicing and getting used to other partners so I won't get used to dancing one way. I'm afraid of going out alone. Another girl tried going out dancing and some strange partner wanted to throw her and she threw out her back because she didn't expect it. I don't want that to happen to me. So, a group of us beginners are thinking of going together as a group. Safety and support in numbers...

Where Was I?

I finally got cable again... I'm back in the land of mainstream pop culture with reruns of "The Real World," non-stop geek activity at the Sci-Fi Channel, and artsy BBC shows on Bravo, A&E, and BBC America. I can finally start recording educational tidbits on the History Channel if there's something good for the classroom.

I have TV again!

So the first thing I see on Sci-Fi was a rerun of "The X Files," in which the lovely Mulder and Scully are on their happy way to solving another paranormal whatever. In the last five minutes of the show, Mulder and Scully are watching New York City's bash to ring in the New Year, at which point--Mulder kisses Scully!

Where was I? Why haven't I ever seen this episode!? They kissed! OMG!!!!

This is my repressed excitement rearing its ugly head after a five year delay!

Moving

I moved again. What a tiresome chore! The laborious part is actually unpacking and organizing all the little things, whether they are ornaments or the daily necessities of life. The new place doesn't have air conditioning either. There are days when the rooms feel like a sauna, but I need to sweat. I haven't sweated this much since high school P.E. I feel like all this is a workout.

Off tangent: an old roommate used to say to me that "girls don't sweat; they glisten."

Sometimes Humanity Sucks

During this year's Comic Con International, I lost my wallet. In a panic, I called up my credit card companies and had my cards cancelled. An hour later, someone had turned it in to the lost and found. Of course, cards were intact but my money was all gone. I only had $40 in there, but I'm still bitter about that; it's not like I was planning to spend a hundred dollars at the convention. I shouldn't complain because I got my wallet back, but moments like these make me feel like I should be just as bad, and that if I were to ever find a wallet, I should also take the money. Evil spreads evil, whereas passing niceties forward apparently comes to a dead end.

Finally!

My vacation officially starts now. School is over.

Mmmm...

Originally, I didn't have plans to go and see Fantastic Four because I have my doubts, but hopefully, Mr. Fantastic

will make it all better...

Life Might As Well End Now...

School is almost over. I'm highly stressed.

And I can't find that short novella that I wrote last year, which I would like to start working on again. I won't be able to relax this summer at all now.

L.A.

My sister pointed out something to me recently: in LA, you get LA news. In San Diego, you still get LA news.

Now that I live in the Riverside/LA county, all I see on the news are just live coverages of police pursuits, an updated count of shootings and deaths, and one sad reality of just how many stupid people who actually live in this tiny corner of the earth are around me.

Now I know understand why--after six years of living in this area--my sister has become so cynical.

And I teach here. Oh. My. God.

Dear Gackt

This albums sucks! I have never been so disappointed as a fan. Please get back to your ROCK roots as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

A devoted fan of seven years

I Touched Connecticut and Massachusetts

I spent the weekend in the East Coast to see my youngest sister graduate from college. Massachusetts and Connecticut are really lovely states, especially the rural areas. I wished I did my studies in the east. We drove by Amherst at night, had sushi in Hampshire, drove over the Connecticut River several times, and awed at old brick buildings and spires that reached the sky.

Maybe I'll post pictures this weekend when my family comes back from their New York trip. It sucks not having a vacation when I want to.

Teacher Myths

A friend of mine pointed this out to me: The Teacher Salary Myth

My mother likes to point out that I'm underpaid, but in all honesty, I don't feel underpaid or overpaid. When I get my paycheck every month and look at the numbers that stare back at me, I feel that I am paid just about right. But one must also take into account my situation in life: I'm single, I'm not raising a family, and my debt (three credit cards and one student loan) is under $12,000. I like to think I'm financially stable.

I'll lay my cards out on the table to respond to the article as best as I can: I'm a second year high school teacher making $43,000/year. The $43,000/year is misleading. Teachers only get paid ten months out of the year because we're not working during summer. My monthly paycheck for ten months amounts to approximately $3200 after taxes; but if I were getting paid a full year, my paycheck would come to $2620/month.

In a recent study (and for the life of me, I can't find the article), California was rated the highest for teacher salaries, averaging at $56,000/year. When most people read that, they automatically assume that that is a new teacher's starting salary. The average salary for a new teacher in California starts at $36,000/year. Teachers who are earning $56k are usually veteran teachers who have taught seven years or more.

Arguments about teachers' salaries are frustrating. Those who argue that teachers are already overpaid believe that teachers work nine months only, have shorter work days (6 hours), and play with kids all day. That does seem like a luxurious job for $56k/year. But the reality is: teaching is divided into three stages: prep time, execution, and follow-up. Prep time is when teachers make their lesson plans, execution is the actual instruction and teaching, and follow-up is when teachers assess the work of their students. The six hours that teachers spend at school is only execution, which means the prep time and follow-up stages are outside of the contracted six-hour work day. This is the argument for why teachers are underpaid: they are doing too much work outside of the normal work day. And personally speaking as an English teacher, grading 165 essays (if I were to do that nonstop) would take me 8-16 hours. That's about two working days--working days that I will not get paid for if I have to bring that stuff home on a weekend.

As my mother likes to point out that I am underpaid, it's also people like her who count a job's value by how much work is asked of you and how much it pays. I agree that there must be a balance between the two, but I don't complain anymore. I love what I do, despite how frustrating it can be sometimes. Money was not the first thing I thought of when I decided I wanted to be a teacher, and most teachers will agree to that statement; we knew that there wasn't much money in teaching.

But one day, I know I will be making $56k/year. When that time comes, I know that I'll be hearing comments that I'm just an overpaid teacher who got to go home at 3pm after a hard day's work of playing with kids... and she gets summers off, too!? But the reality is is that I will be an experienced teacher who cut the prep time down to nothing and maximized my work day to include execution and follow-up within a respectable time frame, preferably between 6-8 hours (rather than my current 12-hour workday). That's my goal, and in seven years, I know that I will have earned and deserved every red penny of a $56k/year salary.

For now, I can only liken my career to that equal of a parent; after all, teachers have the same responsibilities as parents: raising and educating kids. No amount of money in the world can put a price on parenting. It's the same fate for teachers: there will always be a dispute about how much we are really worth.

Street Fighter

I went to a Street Fighter video game party last night, hosted by a co-worker who is a fan of Chun Li. She actually owned one of those arcade-style video game machines. I never really played Street Fighter during the height of its popularity, so I didn't know any real combos for fighting. I thought I wouldn't last the first round, but I made it all the way to the finals. I used Chun Li and got bitch-slapped by the host.

I Need to Find a New Career

New Secretary of Education

Is it me, or is California slowly descending to hell?

Oh, I guess it's just me and my job.

I Like Making Kids Cry

Today is Friday. I was extremely tired this week and just down from fatigue, so I was partially glad and pissed off when I had a parent conference at the last minute today... on a Friday!

But this was good: I called up a parent to give her an update about her son's progress in class--which was not very good anyway. We talked and when I told her that her son is still getting an F, she freaked out and said, "You said he was getting a C-, and that he's doing well in class."

"Um... no, I don't remember saying that. Shorty* was absent yesterday and he hasn't brought his book to class, so he's not even paying attention."

"But in your note, you wrote, 'doing good' and that he's getting a C-. Your signature's on this note."

"Is that an old note? He's not getting a C."

"But he gave me this note today."

"I haven't signed any paperwork for Shorty for a long time."

"Are you still there... at school?"

"Yes..." I replied, not liking the sound of that question.

"Can I come over? I'll be there in, like, three minutes."

"Sure," I replied unenthusiastically.

Lo and behold, she got there in three minutes with her son. After a short introduction, the first thing I asked for was the note. There it was: this awful lie in the comments section of a weekly progress report staring at me in the face: "Doing good. C-" My last name was written next to it.

"That's not my signature," I instantly replied. "You never gave me this paper during class."

The student started lying, "Yes, I did. You signed it."

I invited his mother to my classroom and showed her her son's current grade that was posted in class for the last week and a half. The date was written on it. I proceeded to tell his mother what Shorty does in class, his behavior, his progress, his habits, as well as the assignments and homework that were due. His grade could not have jumped from an F to a C- in less than two weeks--not with his poor habits. After studying the fake progress report, his mother noticed that three other comments from three other teachers looked suspicious because all the handwriting was the same. When his mother demanded to know who signed the fake progress report, Shorty started swearing up and down to God that he gave me the report and that I signed it during class. But I refuted that by giving his mother a sample of my signature. As soon as she saw it, she recognized it from previous reports that I officially signed in the past. She started shouting at her son, and at this point, Shorty started crying.

I gave his mother the homework that Shorty should be working on, and he seemed to be weakening knowing that his mother now controlled his upcoming weekend.

It's great to have a parent on my side. It was great to see her get mad at her son and yell at him--because I can't do that. But I am pissed off that he tried to forge--or got a friend to forge-- my signature. Even though it didn't look anything like my signature, I felt violated that some student tried to take a part of me. Strange as it may sound, that's what it felt like. Then he swore to God that I signed it. When he said I did, and I insisted that I didn't, it sounded like a childish "Nuh-uh. Uh-huh. Nuh-uh" argument. That was infuriating!

But I got to see him cry. That felt kind of good.

Mental Wellness Day

I'm at that point in the school year where I am reaching a burnout. My fire is dying and I'm always tired. Geek Colleague convinced me that I should take a "mental wellness" day and not go to work. He had to persuade and convince me that I should take a personal day to just de-stress myself. I'm a perfectionist and a control freak when it comes to teaching, so it's hard to let things go and just blow off one day.

But GC was right: a refreshed teacher is more effective and productive than a burnt out teacher who will be moody and snappy at students. So I will enjoy my unofficial three-day weekend.

God, I'm going to hate Monday.

Death Comes in Three

In 1997, I can recall three famous people who died during summer:

Princess Diana
Versace
Mother Teresa

Now in 2005, three famous and controversial people died during Easter season:

Terri Shiavo
Pope John Paul II
Prince Ranier

In both these sets, there is a religious person, a royal person, and lay person.

Everything I Know, I Learned from Horses

There are two quotes that come to mind when people ask me what teaching is like. These are also the same quotes I say to myself to make myself feel better when I feel like I'm a lousy teacher.

The first quote: "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink." No matter how well I try to teach and teach to the best of my capabilities, I still can't make a student want to learn. I can teach them to read, but that doesn't mean they'll understand. I can teach them to write, but that doesn't mean they'll think and have ideas on their own. I can teach them compassion, but that doesn't mean they'll practice it.

The second quote: "... like beating a dead horse." I can pound these lessons over and over and over again... and I'll still get nowhere.

It's depresssing, but at times it can be uplifting. I know it's not my fault if these kids fail. I know that I've done every little thing I possibly can. I've reached my limits. The kids still need to reach theirs.

Go Home!

I had tutorial after school today from 3-4pm. At 4pm, it was actually nice and quiet and peaceful. I locked my door and got down to work. I was working as a busy bee when at 5:15pm, Needy comes knocking on my door. Luckily, it was locked and I was working at my desk where I can't be seen from the windows. A few moments later, he went away.

Only nerds stay at school past 5pm, and Needy is not one of those kids. Oh, he irks me!

Highs and Lows: Two Boys

No, this is not one of those pedophile stories.

This story is about the highs and lows of teaching.

I have two boys in two different classes. One has been with me since the school year started, and the other just transferred in at the beginning of the second semester. The first boy shall be called Needy and the other one shall be called Indie (for Independent).

Needy was generally a good kid until his grades started slipping. Since that time, he didn't feel the need to try anymore. But at the last part of the first semester, he wanted to work again--much to my joy and dismay because that meant more work for me (grading all that late work?). It's now halfway through the second semester, and he's slipping again. I've seriously tried to help in the past, but I'm at the point where my own patience is wearing thin with him, and it's not even for academic reasons. I'm beginning to see that he's so needy. He hangs around my classroom when the school is almost empty, save for administrators, custodial staff, and other students participating in school events past 6pm. The thing that irks me most: he comes into my classroom just when I need to be alone for myself. I hold tutorial sessions after school for one hour, and he never shows up for those. But when I'm ready to lock the door and work to catch up for my organizational sanity, he comes in and just... lingers there. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand the concept of a locked door either. He kept knocking on the door and the windows until I relented.

That's when I noticed that he just wants attention. When I give him attention, he stays longer. When I give him attention, he'll sometimes open up to me and sometimes he won't, but I think he just likes the fact that I ask; like one of those, "No, I can't talk about it... Okay, I will--No, I'm not ready to talk about it just yet... well, maybe I am..." That's what my conversations feel like when I'm with him.

I hate to say it, but I'm almost sick of him. I'm not his mother. I'm not going to give him whatever he wants (he keeps asking me to change his grade), I'm not going to give him any more attention, I've stopped being sympathetic, I've stopped giving him advice because he doesn't listen anyway. Bottom line: I'm done being nice with him. I've come to the point that whenever he'll ask me a question, I'll only help him as far as his question takes me. If he jokes around with me, I don't laugh. The only thing that matters to me now is his grade, which only means I'm getting tougher with him. It's a tough love--not that I love him because he drives me crazy. But I stopped caring about his personal problems because I know he just uses that to get attention from me. And it's not just me, two other teachers noticed how needy he is with them also. We're all sick of it.

The low part of this job is is that even kids can drain the energy and life out of you. Not to sound callous, but even I need my solitude after school just so I can recuperate. Five and half hours straight of instruction and being a disciplinarian, and 165 students later-- I am fucking tired, mentally drained, and I just want to be alone and enjoy the silence of an empty classroom. I know that my job means being involved with kids, but you know what else? I'm not their parents. AndI may sound unapologetic, but you cannot pay me enough money just to be a surrogate parent for someone else's messed up child. At 6:30pm, Needy should be at home with his parents, not hanging out in my classroom because he wants attention.

I noticed that when I don't talk to him or give him attention, he will go away. Sometimes I feel like a bad person for doing that, but I am seriously tired of spoiling him with attention. I am done.

On a good note, there's Indie. Indie's been with me only for two months, but he's such a great student. He does all his work, he participates in class, he gets along with everyone... I could go on about him. He transferred in from another school and he adapted so quickly to this school. He's humorous at the right moments-- appropriate humor for the classroom while I'm teaching and just funny with friends and peers.

When Indie heard about the special junior college program that our high school offered with the local community college, he asked so many questions to the counselor, and he was the first one to give me a rough draft of the college entrance essay because he wanted me to check it. I made him rewrite it three times. Most students would have given up if I told them to just do it again after I made corrections on their first draft. Not Indie. He would give me the next draft the very next day. We kept working on it until the deadline. After the deadline, he kept nagging me, asking me if I had heard anything about acceptance letters. He got upset when he still hadn't heard anything after a month.

Finally, the acceptance letters were being handed out this week. He kept nagging me again. I kept telling him that I never got anything. He was in suspense this whole time. Today, after school, he came into my class and gave me a hug.

"What's up?" I asked him.

He showed me his acceptance letter. "I just wanted to thank you for helping me with my essay. I'm in the college program."

I smiled and gave him my congratulations. That's the high part of my job.

Most people think that it must feel great to be a teacher because--and I quote the most common thing people say to me--"you're always helping people; you know you did something good at the end of the day;" like I'm doing it because I like feeling good and proud about myself. That never really crosses my mind. Yes, I feel great, but only because the student wanted to share his happiness with me. It's like when someone you care about wants to share personal things with you because he/she wants you to be part of their life. That's the feeling I get. It's only when a student says "thank you" does it hit me: "Oh, yeah, I helped you with that." That's when my pride overfloweth.

In this job, there are more lows than there are highs. Every little high is priceless.

I'm Not That Young

Many people like it when others assume that they are younger than they really look. I used to like it, too, until now--especially when I work in a high school.

Two days ago, the cafeteria women thought I was a student. While most people would find that flattering, I found it really upsetting. Why? Because they scolded me like I was a student. One woman kept telling me to slide my lunch chard through the scanner when I gave her a five-dollar bill. Another woman angrily told me to get back in the original line where I came from.

I hate being treated like a child, and I especially don't like being mistaken for a teenager. It really sucks.

Driving Hellhole

Potholes are bad, drivers are bad, too much construction on the roads, roads are too narrow from all the construction, too many dead dogs, traffic sucks... and the thing that irks me most: expired registration tags. I see at least one car a day with tags from 2004. And there aren't enough cops to monitor the roads.

When friends warned me saying that Riverside has the worst of driving, including the smog and accidents, I'd say it's pretty accurate.

She's Coming to California!!!

Anne's moving here!

White America

Last week, my students and I were reading a story by Alice Walker. In order to reflect on the story's message, I asked my students to think about their culture and heritage. Many of them have difficulty thinking about that--where they come from, their cultural identity, and their family traditions. They think that culture is limited to the ethnic foods that one eats.

It's even more difficult for students who are of European descent. As one of my students said to me, "This is an unfair question. I'm white; I have no culture."

I have no culture. Those are the most disappointing words one can ever say. When I hear students--especially white students--say this, I think to myself that multicultural America has done this. I believe in diversity, but not to the point where one culture, that of European descent, has been forgotten. Unfortunately, that's where we are today. Multicultural America, multicultural education, multicultural literature, and multicultural history has been the craze in the past decade in order to give equal time in the books to historically oppressed cultures. In implied ways, educators and even the common laymen have pointed the fingers that the whites are to blame for slavery, for oppression, for Hitler, and for being too dominant.

When talking about culture in the classroom, my white kids feel left out. They think being white means having no valid cultural experience. They sit with idle thumbs while they listen to Asian, Mexican, and black kids talk about how they spend Christmas, the foods they eat during holidays, and the superstitions that their mothers pass down. They think that being white is something to feel guilty over because their ancestors have historically oppressed other people. If America is supposed to be about pride in one's identity, my white kids don't have much to be proud of. They've been taught to oppress themselves while multicultural students have their moment in the "multicultural spotlight."

Pain

I've said it once, and I'll say it again: being a teacher, one is constantly surrounded by the boundless domain (oxymoron, people!) of stupidity.

It is painful to be around it... and it's only February.

A Different Breed

A teacher from San Diego who is also teaching at the same school where I work warned me that "the kids up here are a different breed." I thought that there couldn't be that much difference: kids are kids. They all hate homework ,and they all think school is just a six-hour social gathering.

Now that I'm into the second semester, I do agree with the above statement: the kids up here in Riverside are a different breed. They are lazier than the students I taught in San Diego. (Actually, there was this lower than low moment of stupidity in San Diego...)

Just a few days ago, I was in the computer lab with my class teaching them on how to format their essays using the MLA style. I gave out the handout with instructions. I even went the extra step and cut and paste pictures on the insructions so that kids had a visual when they looked at MS Word. We went over the directions before they started. Then I asked, "Does everybody understand what to do?" I got a resounding "YES" as a reply.

As soon as they logged onto the computers and opened up MS Word, I got a dozen hands up in the air and a bunch of whiny complaints of "What are we supposed to do?" or "I don't know how to do this." The handout of instructions was tucked under their keyboard or thrown on the floor. Some students stashed into their books and back pack thinking it was homework.

"Did you read the directions?" I asked.

"No. Where are the directions?"

I pull out the handout from under the keyboard. "Were you listening as we went over the handout?"

"Yes."

"Then follow the directions here." I turn to the side where there are instructions.

The student still stared at the blank screen of MS Word with a blinking cursor. "But I don't know how to make the heading."

"Read the instructions. They're there." I point to the pictures and the words--God forbid-- the words!

"I don't read. Nobody reads. You expect us to read?" the student whined. "Can't you just show it to me?" [In other words, "Can't you just show it to me by doing it for me?"]

"No," I disgustedly replied. You fucked up little snot, I thought to myself.

They are that fucking lazy to read up here. Reading a paragraph is too much for them. They sleep during a four-page short story. No one reads the daily agenda that I write every day. Every time they walk into class, they still ask me, "What are we doing today?" and when I point to the board to show them the daily agenda, they don't even bother to read it. They bring their books but they stare at the walls. They complain about the homework, which they never do. They turn in low quality work because no one believes in typing or neatness or careful work.

And they bitch about why they got an F.

I'd like to say, "You got an F because you're stupid." Let me define my meaning of stupidity. Stupidity to me, is not the incapability to learn, because all kids can learn, stupidity is when one fails to use common sense. Stupidity is the incapability to see how one's actions and the consequences of those actions are directly related. Stupidity is when one doesn't even use simple reasoning and logic to figure out their own mistakes and to see how everything is connected. Two plus two is four; no homework plus sleeping in class is an F.

"But I come to class everyday" does not mean credit. The kids up here are stupid. They think merely existing or taking up a seat in a classroom means they're passing. Where's the logic in that reasoning?

FAQs at the Semester

As the semester draws to a close, the two most commonly asked questions that I get asked are:

"What can I do to pass the class?"

My usual response: "Let's see what you could have done to pass my class..."

"Is there any extra credit I can do?"

My response: "I don't do extra credit."


And today's kicker question came from a Filipino student, who, after having explained to her that late work will result with a late penalty of ten points, asked me: "How about five points? Come on... It's about the Pinay hook-up..."

I uttered back: "I don't do racial hook-ups."

Causing Raucous

I participated in my first staff meeting. Participated meaning that I spoke out for the first time. I'm usually a passive person when it comes to faculty meetings, but I became frustrated when other teachers began bashing the English Department. You don't want to go there...

I tried to be objective, but the tone of my voice may have been misconstrued as "venting anger." First of all, the meeting was held in a large resonant room, but for the life of me, I still couldn't hear half of the people on the other side whenever they spoke. When I decided to speak out, I had to use my "teacher voice" in order to be heard. My loud voice must have been misinterpretted as the "angry teacher standing up for the department" as showed by some very strange emails circulating around the English Department praising me and an apology from the teacher who started up the issue that got me fired up in the first place.

I didn't mean to sound like a bitch, but in the end, somehow I always do. I hope that I'm not remembered as the bitch English teacher of the department--or even worse--of the entire faculty. And I hope this doesn't count against me during my probationary period.

2005

I'd like to say that the old drama from 2004 didn't follow me into the new year, but it has. The shit hit the fan and it's already looking pretty grim.