Paradox

I read this article and I'm puzzled. I first heard about the rape case when I read about it in the Japan Times back in June. A 19-year old woman was sexually assaulted in Okinawa by a U.S. serviceman. So many things went through my mind, from feminism, anger and hate for all men, sexist and cultural oppression, and international relations. As a woman, it sickens me when I hear and read about rape cases. It's violation, plain and simple. It's an act of violent aggression that cannot ever be justified. Unlike a murder case, the act of killing can be an act of unjustified rage, or it can be an act of self-defense. In a case that involves sex, the act is done by consent by two willing individuals. Rape is a violation of sexual rights and human rights. Raping a woman is the same as saying that a woman has no rights whatsoever. I immediately hated the man who could do such a thing, and I was even more disappointed when I learned that he was a U.S military serviceman, Lance Corporal Jose Torres of the Marines. 

There are many stereotypes of military personnel that describe them as having insatiable sexual needs. If you think about the history of military bases around the world, especially around Asia, prostitution rose where bases were founded: Philippines, Thailand, Singapore, and Japan. Areas like these only add to the stereotype of "horny sailors," and sexual interaction between individuals who have language barriers can be misinterpreted. Jose Torres did the opposite of breaking the "lusty military-man" stereotype; he only added to it. The residents of Okinawa already hate the presence of the military because of its long history of sexual assaults and other military accidents. Given these incidents, the relationship between the U.S. military and the Okinawans is highly sensitive, and Jose Torres only added more fuel to the fire. 

Many Americans are proud of the U.S. military. There are so many slogans about the pride of serving in the military. It advertises honor and perfection with its straight, clean cut image of soldiers. When I read about Jose Torres, I thought, "What a dishonor, what a disgrace." Not only that, he committed this act at a very crucial time: during the war on Iraq. Iraq and other non-supporters hate the U.S. and its military. They cry that American troops are evil. You think that American troops would watch their backs and watch their steps at a time like this, so that they don't make the U.S. look any worse than it is. American troops stationed out in foreign countries represent America, and it's the same for civilian travelers and tourists. When you step into another country, whether you want to or not, you represent your country and its culture. Someone is always going to ask about it. American troops are the same, but they have a heavier responsibility because they also represent the government. 

In the midst of war as the military is fighting Iraq, Jose Torres rapes a Japanese woman. Although it is the act of just one man, he represents the U.S. military and government, contributes to tarnishing stereotypes rather than maintaining a pristine image, violates a woman's human and sexual rights, breaks laws in another country... and people wonder why the U.S. is the most hated country in the world? Just because the U.S. is the most powerful country in the world does not mean its individual soldiers should exercise that power freely by breaking laws in foreign countries. It reeks of "imperialism" and cultural oppression. We hate the word "imperialism," but many people will read this as just that. What gives one man the right to rape a woman? Did it ever occur to him that he was breaking a law in another country? Did Jose Torres think that "I'm an American and I know my rights!" would bail him out of this? When you break a law in a foreign country, there is that strong possibility that you will be subject to that country's laws, no matter how much the U.S. might intervene. Did any one learn from Michael Fay's public caning in Singapore (and that was just for vandalism)? 

Japanese prosecutors are out to get Torres, and as much as I would love to see him get tried in the hands of the Japanese justice system, I don't fully trust the hypocrisy of the Japanese justice system. Japanese society is still primitive with its male dominant ideas. Sexual assaults are blamed primarily on the victim and the suspect serves only a light punishment that most victims describe as nothing more than a "slap on the wrist." If a Japanese man were to rape a Japanese woman, you never hear much about it because the victim is told that it was her fault. She is persuaded not to press charges and that she will learn to cope and move on with her life. As for their assailant, a light sentence and a pep talk. The Japanese are inconsistent when handling their own sexual assault cases that I find it hypocritical of them to suddenly want to prosecute Jose Torres with full force. I do hope that he will be discharged him from the military (without honor), and that he serves time in prison--whether in an American one or a Japanese one. All the better if it were a Japanese prison, so he will know how his rights have been violated. 

Read: Okinawa Nights

Military Misogyny 

Women Demand End to Military Violence 

US Troops in Okinawa 

Tons more of articles on Google.com, keywords: Okinawa, sexual assualts, U.S. military

Pop Culture as Cultural Literacy

According to E.D. Hirsch, "cultural literacy" is the basic foundation of knowledge that Americans should know in order to succeed in American cultural, both socially and professionally. I once read an article by him and he listed things that should be common knowledge if one was educated in the American school system. If you know these, then you are considered "culturally literate" in American culture and hold the key to succeeding in American society:

[looks into her old college reader]

1. Name the important events that happened during these years: 1066, 1492, 1776, 1861-1865, 1914-1918, and 1939-1945.

2. What is important about this year: 1984? (Hint: don't think of events, think of literature)

3. The meaning of these expressions or the origin of the quote:
-- Read between the lines.
-- Remember the Alamo!
-- Alas, poor Yorick...
-- All's well that ends well.
-- Beggars can't be choosers.

4. Defining words: bas-relief, aficionado, red tape, realpolitik, adagio, al fresco.

I used to proudly know all these things, but now that I haven't been in college for at least a year, nor have I seriously studied like I was a college sophomore, most of these things I have forgotten.

I write this because something struck me one evening as I was hanging out with friends. At this moment, I'd like to point out that many of my friends graduated college and have pursued professional careers. So, one evening, while drinking up beers and Smirnoffs, conversation topics varied from personal daily activities to TV episodes and pop music. Now, everyone has a different taste when it comes to watching television and listening to music, but I was surprised to discover that many of my friends can make references to the random everyday things, like television and music, and still maintain the fluidity of discussion and conversation as though it were a college lecture hall. Knowing the joke of a certain South Park or Seinfeld episode is just as important as knowing the politics of the California gubernatorial recall election, yet no one ever alluded to Hamlet or MacBeth and their similarities of characters usurping power.

Cultural literacy sounded good to me seven years ago, but I question its validity now that I am a teacher. Not only that, I found it to be pointless at times because then you just sound like a person with too-much-random-information-who-has-too-much-time-on-your-hands-so-you-read-up-on-random-American-historical-tidbits-so-you-can-sound-intelligent. I never liked watching TV too much, but it seems that knowing pop culture is just as important as knowing current events.

I better start watching the tube.

Perfectly In-Between

I took this Asian IQ test and I scored 50%. I guess that means I'm perfectly bicultural. ^_^

Wal-Mart: The State of America

Wal-Mart is becoming the shopping store of America. There are so many Wal-Marts in the country that some people protest its building or future construction sites. It's also become an icon of American living: goods at affordable prices for the middle class family.

I went shopping yesterday at Wal-Mart. Normally, I don't shop there because it gets crowded and chaotic with all the kids around, but I wanted to get some children's books, and books do get expensive, and since Wal-Mart was right next to Best Buy... why not?

I didn't buy any books. The book section was practically non-existent. It consisted of only two aisles, mostly of magazines, young adult, and tons of self-help books. Hmmm...

As I was leaving the store, I passed by the women's clothing section. Before I head back to Japan, I thought about stocking up on some clothes before leaving because I can never find my size there. The average waist size of women in Japan is 64cm (or 25in), so slacks are pretty slim there. As I browsed through the women's clothes, I was a bit shocked to find that I still could not find my size. It's not that everything was small-- it was all too big... and I mean BIG, for heavy set women.

In most stores, I find that average sizes overtake the floor, while plus sizes have a small section. It wasn't so at this particular Wal-Mart I went to: it was the other way around. When I looked at the advertisements around me, they were all heavy set women. The blouses were huge, like tents, and the pants were like balloons. I eyed the junior section, but I wanted something conservative, not T-shirts that bare my mid-riff and tight low-cut jeans that would expose me more than if I were naked.

Wal-Mart must really know their customers when they know what they're offering, but I wonder if this is the state of America: people who don't read unless they have a low self-esteem, and eating excessively to the point where the average size of women has gone from a size 10 to a size 14, and teenage girls dressing like miniature prostitutes-in-training.

I'm all for good health, and Americans hate the waif-thin models that adorn the pages of a magazine, but obesity is just as unhealthy. People need to lay off the sodas and potato chips.

And pick up a piece of literature or other book other than a self-help one. Self-help books only point out that one has low self-esteem.

And parents need to start watching their daughters. At Wal-Mart's affordable prices, girls can buy more of their clothes just by wearing them.

Absolutely Wrong

I heard the most awful thing today: Mariah Carey singing "Bringing On the Heartache" by Def Leppard.

She should be shot.

Reconfirmation

I'm back... and it's time to refamiliarize myself with politics in a language I can understand.

First of all, something interesting happened today. Upon my return from Japan last week, my father handed me a letter from one of the local universities. In this letter, they were requesting my presence to do a formal interview regarding my immigrant background. I had been part of this study for the past ten years, starting in 1992 when I was in the ninth grade. During that time, I had done numerous questionnaires regarding my educational experience in high school and college. They are now at the final phase of this study, tracking all the students they had once studied to see how they are in adult life. I was glad to do the interview for many reasons, mostly revealing my current beliefs about immigrant children, biculturality, cultural identification, and affirmative action... and the $100 check at the end of the interview played a part, too. =)

The woman who interviewed me was Filipino, and she had been helping the two sociological doctors who started this study eleven years ago. She interviewed me for roughly three and a half hours, starting with questions about my birth country and upbringing, trudging through my high school experience, comparing high school and college, living situations and experiences, all the way down to personal relationships, dating, friends, and career and personal goals.

She was particularly interested in my ideas of affirmative action. She said she doesn't normally ask the "affirmative action" question to some of the interviewees because many of the interviewees are not firmly grounded in their political beliefs. She was eager to jump on this question as much as I wanted to answer it. I told her about my thoughts and personal experiences about why I was against such a program, and how it seemed to invalidate everything I had worked for as an individual with my own merit.

So now it's on the record of some sociological study: I don't support affirmative action, and I hope to be successful without it.

This site will no longer be updated due to the fact that august23 has gone to Japan. She will return near the end of July. Please check back until then.

For now... a small poem to the people who protested the war...

"Wish You Were Here"

For all the free people that still protest.
You're welcome.
We protect you and you are protected
by the best.

Your voice is strong and loud,
but who will fight for you?
No one standing in your crowd.

We are your fathers, brothers, and sons,
wearing the boots and carrying guns.

We are the ones that leave all we own,
to make sure your future is carved in stone.

We are the ones who fight and die,
We might not be able to save the world
Well, at least we try.

We walked the paths to where we are at
and we want no choice other than that.

So when you rally your group to complain,
take a look in the back of your brain.

In order for that flag you love to fly
wars must be fought and young men must die.

We came here to fight for the ones we hold dear.
If that's not respected, we would rather stay here.

So please stop yelling, put down your signs,
and pray for those behind enemy lines.

When the conflict is over and all is well,
be thankful that we chose to go through hell.

written by
Corporal Joshua Miles and all the boys
from 3rd Battalion 2nd Marines, Kuwait

I got that from an email. Tah tah for now. --august23

Another Cowardly Act

From the NY Times:

"BAGHDAD, Iraq, Thursday, March 20 — Iraqi television broadcast a speech by a defiant Saddam Hussein this morning, a few hours after the first blasts on Baghdad. In it, he exhorted his people to "draw your swords" against invaders and referred to the United States government as "criminals" and "Zionists."

Now he's recruiting his people--untrained civilians--to participate in the war. Given that some of his own people don't like him, I don't think his call to arms will be taken seriously except for those who are as delusional as he is.

Saddam Is a Coward

From the NY Times:

“American military officials have been saying for some time that Mr. Hussein plans to make his final stand in Baghdad, a move that would allow him to play to world opinion and confront the United States with the prospect of urban warfare, possibly inflicting many casualties.”

Any man who puts his military defenses in a downtown area full of civilians and hopes to play on the sympathies of the United States military is a coward. He hides behind the safety of his people and puts them into harm’s way. Saddam is not a leader. He is a delusional power-hungry dictator who will ensure his “leadership” at the cost of innocent lives.

And the world calls the United States as heartless and blood-thirsty warmongers? Why haven't they seen first that Saddam is a monster for bringing the war so close to civilians?

Thank you, Kristina Sheryl Wong, for your humorous site. I'm still reeling from the Filipina Heart thing, and I needed a good laugh.

Filipina Heart, My A$$!

While working on this blog last night, the advertisement above my site caught my attention with this link: Filipina Heart. I thought, "Cool! A Filipino site!" So I clicked on the link, and I was almost offended. I did not think that mail order bride services still existed today, but maybe I'm that naive. 

Why did this site offend me? Two reasons: one--I am a bit of a feminist, and two--the site perpetuates stereotypes. First of all, the feminist inside of me screamed out, "Women are not possessions!" Although these women are not being bought or sold, per se, the site offers unfair services to men. Since this is a mail-order bride service, the men are not from the Philippines. Why would a Filipino man pay to meet Filipina women, you know? The men have to pay for using Filipina Heart's services, such as obtaining addresses of the women they are interested in. If they would like to meet the women, it's money out of their pocket to obtain immigration papers, such as visas, and possibly the plane ticket itself. This can get expensive, and the only men who would be willing to pay the financial costs and go through the legal paperwork often come from rich countries, such as the U.S. 

The fact that the women don't have to pay for using Filipina Heart's services perpetuates the "gold-digger" stereotype. In many third world/developing countries, people are desperate to leave their country for better opportunities. Filipino citizens are no different from other poor Asian countries, but the Philippines is a special case because of their connection to the United States. The U.S. acquired the Philippines in 1898 after the Spanish-American War and it became U.S. territory. The U.S. military built their bases and prostitution rose, giving birth to many stereotypes about vigorous Filipinas behind closed doors. And it was the military men in early 1940s that started stereotyping Filipina women as submissive and loyal--a stereotype that is still prevalent today about many Asian women, not just Filipinos. Here is a sample of Filipina Heart's generalization about its women using that very stereotype:

Why choose a Filipina? Women from the Philippines are noted for their beauty, grace, charm and loyalty. With their sweet nature and shy smiles, Filipina's posses an inner beauty that most men find irresistible. Filipinas are by their nature family-orientated, resourceful and devoted. What's more, English is one of the official languages of the Philippines, so communication is straight forward, and as the majority of Filipinas are Christian, cultural compatibility is easier than some other Asian countries.

I can give you socioeconomic reasons for why Filipina women are this way. The family structure in third-world countries is traditional with male dominance and female submissiveness. It's not surprising to find women in abusive relationships, or to be surrounded by husbands, brothers, or fathers with Filipino machismo running through their veins. Sweet nature and shy smiles, my ass! It's fear, and it's a catch-22. This same fear is what keeps them at home. 

For those who are already married, let's face the reality that the Philippines is a poor country. Even if these women decided that they could leave, where would they go? They've got kids, no job, no money, therefore, they are "devoted." Filipina women--whether they were prostitutes or not--found it easy to leave the Philippines if they married a man from the military, giving rise to the "gold-digger" stereotype. I realize that the owners of the company have decided that the men have to pay for their services, and that indirectly makes the women look like gold-diggers. But I've looked through the ads and some of these women are well-educated with Bachelor degrees or students working towards a degree. They must have decent-paying jobs. So why don't they pay? Even if it is a mail-order bride service and they are the ones being "bought," if they can't afford the plane ticket or the visa, they can at least shell out some money for the international on-line service if they can pay for college. That's a pittance compared to what the men have to pay. 

Unlike old traditional mail-order bride services of yore, these women are not recruited. The feminist inside of me believes that this service should be fair and equal to both men and women. If women willingly sign up to use the service just like men, then they should pay for it just like men. The fact that Filipina Heart's owners have decided that only the men have to pay makes me suspicious of the owners' intentions. The owners of Filipina Heart are an Asian-Western couple, so they say. That's great, but it makes me wonder why they specialize in mail-order brides. If they had met through a regular on-line dating/personals service, like Yahoo! Personals, I'm assuming they wanted to start a matchmaking service to advocate that on-line dating is successful. If that were the case, they would have had equal services for both men and women to open up the field a little wider, like having Filipino men post ads, too. I'm sure that all on-line dating services like to hear that the people who used their services ended up in marriage. It's a success story that any service would proudly advertise, but marriage is not the ultimate end-goal. Yahoo! Personals encourages friendships, pen pals, and dating. If there was a fee for subscribing, it's equal that both men and women pay for it if they are interested in it. 

With Filipina Heart, the end-goal is marriage, and since it's the men who shell out the cash, it makes me think that Filipina Heart is merely a service to help Filipina women get out of the Philippines. The men pay a fee, and this obviously goes to the owners (part income, part website maintenance, I'm sure). The marriage aspect guarantees that the Filipina women will leave their poor country behind them, and that the men who sponsor them out of the Philippines are usually financially stable. For the men, it would appear that they are getting a "perfect" bride who is submissive and loyal. And vigorous. If any man is interested in using their services, I should give fair warning about a Filipina woman's loyalty. After you marry her, she'll start asking you to sponsor her family to come over. That's extra $$$ to get her mother, father, give or take a couple siblings to come to the United States or wherever you live. If not, both of you will be sending money to her family. Also, like adopting children from poor countries, you want to make sure that your new bride is healthy and free of disease, and that she gets the proper immunizations upon arrival. That's right, "upon arrival;" poor people can't always afford regular doctor check-ups. 

Anyway, I'm a bit sick of this right now. I need to forget the sadness of my country's situation. Not that I take this mail-order bride thing lightly. Quite the opposite. I do think about poverty every once in a while because my mother has lots of stories about it. I am Filipina, but I was raised in the United States. My parents met in this country after they had immigrated from the Philippines. No mail-order bride services. They met the traditional way: bumping into each other, and falling desperately attracted to each other's Filipino wiles and common interests in ampalaya recipes. Maybe I take it for granted that I live in a country that is rich, and I don't know how desperate I would be either if I were living in the Philippines today. While writing this, I realize the good fortune I have. I have the luxury of making choices and of having numerous options that I can choose from if I want to improve my life, and not one of them involves getting married to fulfill a financial need. I do feel sorry for some of these women. Their option is to find a way out of poverty first by "selling" themselves.

Nuances of an Accent

This past Thursday, my parents and I drove up to Los Angeles to visit my sister in college. She was going to present her senior project to a committee of advisors and fellow students. Guests were welcome, so my family and I drove to see her. When we arrived, my sister was dressed in her sharpest suit. She looked very professional and confident. We sat down while her group rehearsed the last minute details of their speeches and refined the timing with their Power Point presentation. Her entire group consisted of fellow Asian students: a Chinese girl, Vietnamese guy, a Chinese girl raised in the Philippines and spoke with a Tagalog accent, and my sister the Filipina. 

While each member of my sister's group went up to present, their accents were noticeable, but the English was not difficult to understand. What I found most fascinating was my sister's speech--not the content of her presentation, but the way her voice sounded. Please excuse me while I go off on a tangent here, but my sister's presentation reminded me of an incident that happened approximately three years ago....

A friend of mine was driving me home, and while passing through the community that preceded my neighborhood, my friend asked me, "What are some good Filipino restaurants around here?" 

With excitement, I replied, "Oh, there are some good restaurants around here. If you go to that one, they have really good pancit. There's two shops on Eighth Street. One has really good lumpia, and the other sells baked goods like pan de sal, hopya, and --" 

"Stop it!" he sounded disgusted, but he was laughing. 

"What?" I didn't understand why he sounded so... "ugh." 

"You have an accent." 

"No, I don't. Do I?" The concept of me having an accent was impossible. 

"Yes. When you say Filipino words, like lumpia and pancit." He said the words without an accent, with elongated vowels and without the fluency of dipthongs. 

"Lumpia and pancit," I repeated. 

"You have an accent. Lumpia and pancit," he repeated as though I were to imitate him. 

"Lumpia and pancit," I repeated again. 

"See!" he exclaimed. 

I heard no difference, but he had. He said that there was a slight change of accent from English to Tagalog when I included foreign words in my speech. Since then, that incident has made me self-conscious of when I spoke. Not only that, I became more aware of accents--even amongst fluent English speakers. In the past years since that time, I've attuned myself to listen to the way people talk, and if I heard even the slightest difference in cadence, or even the way people talk in general, I ask where they are from. Most times I have been able to guess that they were not from California, or if they were from Northern California, from the east coast, or from the south. One time, I insisted that a co-worker had a southern accent. He told me was raised in Berkeley, in Northern California. I insisted that he had a southern accent or at least influenced by someone who spoke with a southern accent. He then revealed that his parents were from Georgia. 

Anyway... Now, back to my sister's presentation. My sister speaks perfect English. English was our first language growing up. In the house, with friends or family, English isn't spoken with an accent, not like a recent immigrant who arrived and has a noticeable thick accent. But when my sister stepped up the podium to present her section of the presentation, it was like listening to a different person. Her regular English appeared to turn up a notch to even straighter English. It was like professional English; she sounded like... a "white person." After she presented, she sat back down with her group. 

After all the presentations were finished, she came back to us and we talk a little about where to eat lunch. Her English went back down to the comfortable English... the English that is fading away from Tagalog influences, but never really was. Maybe the only thing that I heard was the difference between comfortable English used at home versus the professional English that is used in conference rooms. But it was like listening to someone who spoke with an accent suddenly erase it. 

Given that I live in a community with Spanish and Tagalog speakers, whenever I say foreign words, I naturally switch to their respective accents. I always thought that language was unique because of its sound. When another friend said that I had a beautiful accent when I tried to learn Japanese, I was flattered. I'll never be a native speaker of any foreign language, but I want to at least sound like one.

On Saturday night, while driving home from a party, a driver of Nissan Maxima (a very old one) drives into my lane without looking that I was there. I was able to avoid him, but not until I made it known that he could have avoided me. I honked the horn of my car then sped past the asshole. I swear I had flashbacks from my last accident; I almost collided with the center divide, and almost spun out of control. He drove casually like nothing happened--the damn fucker! What is it with Nissan drivers? It was also Nissan driver who cut me off and blocked my view before I hit that desk on the freeway last year.

This morning, I discovered that someone ran their key or knife alongside my car. There's a long scratch from the rear passenger door all the way down to the tail lights. It wasn't there yesterday afternoon when I was out with my parents.

My car is jinxed. When I go to Japan, my dad can do whatever he wants with it. There's been talk behind my back about trading my car in for a truck. I don't care anymore.

Live Journal vs. Blog

I've been trying to understand the difference between Live Journals and Blogs. These are two different Internet tools where people can express themselves and be published. But what makes one more appealing than the other?

Here's a fun link: Live Journal Drama. They don't have these for blogs, do they?

Squirrel fishing. I still can't decide if it was a valid experiment.

My Damned Writing Process
a vicious cycle that is stuck at step three

I tried my hand at creative writing again. I've only written a two page prologue so far. I've emailed it to my sister, who recommended that I should rework it because she got confused. Ah... the writing process...

Should I define what English teachers call "the writing process"? It's a step-by-step scaffolding method in which we teach to students to try to understand their own writing style and process. It goes something like this:

A) Pre-writing: students jot down ideas. They can outline them with the traditional Roman numerals, they make bubble clusters, they can draw diagrams, etc... It's like making a layout of all their ideas. If they have a ton of ideas, this is where they can see what is relevant, what should they focus on, and where their ideas are going.
B) Rough draft: students write a rough draft. This is where they are to actually write in words, in a structured format, no bubble clusters or diagrams. This is where they develop their ideas into a focused paper.
C) Editing/Revision: students share their work to edit. This can be with the teacher, who reads the rough draft and puts comments on it; or it can be a peer-edit with their own friends or classmates who also put comments on it. Then the student can revise their work.
D) Publishing: this is the final draft where the student turns in their work. Publishing doesn't necessarily mean that it gets published; it just means that it's a final draft. In some cases, like creative writing, publishing can mean "does it appear publishable?" With Internet activities, could the piece that the student wrote be put on a website? If it was a writing project, is the paper in a publishable format, such as in a writing portfolio; does it have a writing cover?

Before I even taught, this was already my writing process back in sixth grade when I first started writing silly stories. When I saw this method in a teaching course from college, it was like putting a name to a face. I already knew it, I just needed to put it in words. I still have short stories and ideas from eighth grade that are either at step one or at step three. These stories haunt me because I never finished them.

With my current story, I'm stuck at level three. I'm either a perfectionist, or I'm just never satisified at what I write. I've gone through a dozen revisions with this story already. The prologue alone has gone through several drafts and revisions. Then there's the other questions that come into play: first person narrative or third? Third person limited narrative or omniscient? Female narrator or male narrator? Was this character useless? Should I change that character's name? Was this scene needed at all? Did the mood and tone come out right?

I'm looking at my prologue, and I like it. Sure, there are a few loopholes that my sister noticed and got a bit confused. If I revise this prologue, I hope I can stick with this draft that it can move on to step four, at least. Back to the drawing--er, writing board.

Once in a while, I'm tempted to publish something of a creative endeavor on this site. But I'm paranoid that someone will read it and then steal my ideas...

I'm going to write... the old fashioned way... with pen and paper.

Marilyn Monroe Rediscovered

This is a cool story. I wish I could view that short piece of film.

I did 11 miles of bike-riding yesterday. My legs feel like heavy cramped iron. Next weekend, with a new riding buddy, we're pushing for 15 miles around a lake. I feel it's going to be torture, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Yes, it's fun.

If California's school district superintendents were to hire a professional fundraiser, who would it be? Certainly not Governor Gray Davis. I wonder if Californians would support massive fundraising beyond bake sales and car wahes for their schools?

In my quest to find something to do on a weekend, as I am no longer a full time teacher, I invited a friend to attend a recital with me on Sunday night. It's been a long time since I stayed up on a Sunday night without feeling guilty, and it's been a long time since my friend's been to a concert. So, who did we see? My one and only favorite satirical goth band: Rasputina.

I've always wondered how Melora Creager can play a cello and sing at the same time with a tight corset wrapped around her stomach. I was amazed by her versatility and talent--that woman has got some mad skills with a cello. She plays that instrument like Joe Satriani plays his guitar. I wish I could play like her. The bow literally bounced off the strings of the cello yet there is a full complete sound and timbre that doesn't scratch like screechy violins. It resonates like a natural echo in a grand auditorium.

I've been a fan of Rasputina since their debut in 1996, but I have never seen them in concert. My first impression of Melora: she's really tiny. All the pictures in the albums make her look tall. In reality, she's a petite thing, but that's the lovable irony that is her--she's cute in her small petite way, yet she's got bite in her whole attitude when she plays. Zoe, the relatively new cellist, was tall and graceful. During the recital, she whispered to Melora that she had to go to the bathroom, and Melora made the general announcement to the audience that they had to take a pee-pee break. That was funny.

I wish I had known that cameras were allowed on the premises. I would have taken pictures to last me a lifetime. But really, there are no words to describe the bewildering awe I felt while watching Melora and Zoe play heavy rock music on classical instruments.

I subbed again today. Given it was a Friday afternoon, the kids were very squirrely. They pushed my buttons but I was lenient... until one of the students drew phallic pictures on the white board. I drew the line and started writing up referrals to the assistant principals and started holding students after class. Their regular teacher called me after school was over, and we laughed and discussed the penalties for these students. When I handed the referrals to the AP's secretary, she nonchalantly shook her head as she read the names off. They were familiar to her, and she knew that I wasn't over-reacting by handing out referrals to these students.

During the day, I bumped into more of my former students, and they complained about the grades I had given them for the last semester. When one of the teachers who inherited my kids approached me about parents calling her regarding first semester grades, it raised some flags in my head. I think I may have bubbled the incorrect grades for one class of students. I'll have to go back in on Monday to see the roster of grades for my former classes.

Ugh... I have to look over grades and make parent phone calls again. >_<

*august23 pounds her head on the keyboard*

I bought Lasgo's new album. I don't know why I did. For the past two months, I've passed by their CD at the listening stations numerous times at three different stores. Each time I've always stopped to listen to it. It always appealed to me in that mind-candy way. Now that I bought it, it's not all that great. I'm not really a fan of repetitive techno-dance music, but I thought I was expanding my musical tastes. At least it was on sale.

I should just stick to what I know.

Subbing

Since I won’t be doing anything for the next month before I leave for Japan, I decided to help out my fellow English teachers and offered my services as a substitute teacher. Today was my first “sub job.” It’s a whole new experience. I actually have to sign-in and pick up stuff from the front office.

You know that feeling when you’ve been given a pass to access entrances freely without question, like having an ID with an access code that can get you through the back door? Let’s just say that having to sign-in at the front desk was like having those privileges taken away. I don’t have a parking permit, so I can’t park in the staff parking anymore; I don’t have my own keys to a classroom, and my computer account expired last week. Out of habit, I went to the teacher’s lounge and almost picked up my mail from my mailbox. But it’s not my mailbox anymore… it’s someone else’s box… although my name is still on it. Oh, the memories…

I’m a substitute now. *sigh* This bites. I feel like I'm totally out of the loop.

As I walked through the halls, many of the teachers were surprised to see me, and they were glad that I was subbing for a while. I bumped into a few of MY students, who all objected to their new teachers. My supposed white supremacist spotted me in the parking lot, and he said to me, “Hi, Ms. G. You’re supposed to be our teacher.” (Yeah, he said it just like that.)

“Hi, K------. How’s the new teacher?” I asked with a suppressed laugh.

“She’s mean.”

“She started this week, right? It’s only the second day you've had her.”

He shook his head. “She's mean. She's young like you, but she's mean. We all want you back.”

When I smiled at this, he said, “Have a good one. I’ll see you around.”

Oh, be still my aortic valve! They miss me. Throughout the day, I've encountered more of my students who all insisted that I come back because I was still their teacher. Oh, how sweet… But remember: I am only the lesser of two evils.

*august23 radiates with egotistical glow* Until I hear that my kids have warmed up to their new teachers, I shall bask in all the flattery they give me.

So many thoughts go through my head as I read Mr. Baluchi's story. I laud the man for an honest and humble attempt at world peace, acts like his are futile when you think about the world at this moment: peace will not come in our lifetime. Then again, he could be a border jumper, just like INS suspects. Why else would he want to delay bail, stay in jail, and not want to go back? The most that Mr. Baluchi can get is a nod from the Guinness World Book of Records.

There are artists... then there are weird artists...

Just Me

I went to have lunch with a friend today at the nearest Subway. I love sandwiches--they're healthy and yummy. At this Subway restaurant, I ordered a foot-long Southwest Turkey and Bacon. I’ve had this sandwich before; the crisp bacon is the best as it gently cracks between the brisk lettuce and bell peppers. The employees must have been new... all four of them. My friend and I watched as they read the list of ingredients for each sandwich that they were making. I didn't mind this, but the worker almost forgot the essential ingredient: southwestern sauce, for that mild spicy kick.

"You forgot the sauce... the orange one," I gently reminded her.

She smiled and added the sauce. As I proceeded down to the register, the cashier--an elderly Filipino woman-- charged me nearly $9.00!!!

"You want the meal, and that was extra bacon," she said in her Filipino accent as she rang up the register.

"Extra bacon?" I repeated. "I didn't order extra bacon. Bacon comes with the sandwich."

"Oh..." She looked at the register. "Which one did you get?"

"The Southwest Turkey and Bacon sandwich. Bacon already comes with it."

So, she rings up the register again, but only the sandwich.

“I wanted the meal, too,” I said shyly. My usual Asian submissiveness kicks in, so I wouldn't appear to be rude.

She does the calculation again, and it comes up to $8.32. I pulled out the debit card to pay. She handed two receipts to me, and I tried to figure out which was my copy and which one I had to sign. At this point, the woman starts to talk in Tagalog to another Filipino employee. I don’t understand Tagalog, but I understood what she said as she spoke to her co-worker.

[In Tagalog]
“She complained about the price, but they’re still the same."

"Is she Filipino?" the co-worker asked.

"Yeah, she’s Filipino.”

Obviously, they were talking about me. I signed the receipt and handed it back to her.

“Salamat,” she said, which is Tagalog for “thank you.”

I knew the respectful and proper way to respond to that, but I decided not to say anything. I was a bit pissed off because they were talking about me. The cashier incorrectly assumed that I was fluent in Tagalog, which I’m not. What if I were Guamanian? What if I were Chinese? I think it’s wrong for employees to talk to customers in a different language unless the customer initiates the conversation first. I hate it when Filipinos assume that I’m fluent, and they start talking to me in Tagalog. Then when I tell them I’m not, they look at me as though I should be ashamed of myself. Well, I’m not ashamed of not being able to speak in my native tongue. I grew up in the United States, and my parents knew that I would be primarily educated in English. They knew that I would not be speaking Tagalog for most of my life, so they never fully taught me the language. They do, however, speak another dialect, which they still use around the house, which I do understand. I’m not totally void of my culture. But that’s what most of these elderly Filipino people think. They think it’s shameful if the young Filipino generation don’t know their Filipino roots, or if they don’t know how to speak the native tongue; they go as far as blaming the parents for this cultural gap, claiming that they let the younger generation be “Americanized.”

It’s called biculturalism. I’ve lived with two kinds of cultures in my life. I can’t fully embrace both—but that itself is a culture. It’s also a skill that my generation has mastered in order to survive in two worlds. I am enriched with culture, and it’s nothing to be ashamed about, but I’m not going to live my life trying to prove that to the older generation.

The Great Outdoors

Ah… the great outdoors… Mountain biking across hills, the cool morning breeze in your face, the evaporating mist in the shade as the sun rises higher, the peaceful sounds of a babbling creek… piles of cobblestones to throw me off balance, acute dips in the road that slam against the front wheel, the wet squeaky shoes when I ride through the water, the precarious single trails on the edge of a steep hill, sharp rocks that protrude from a smooth path, scratches from a bike pedal, and of course… the crashes that leave bruises and welts on my legs and thighs. But when I crash, I'll either land on sharp rocks on a hard dirt path, or on wet grass with sharp twigs…

Ah… the great outdoors…

Driving With Idiots

I thought the only idiots that I had to deal with were drivers who left their furniture on the road, but I came across another idiot this evening.

When I heard a friend of mine was sick, I went to visit him to see how he was doing. He was doing fairly well, but a bit fatigued. He was getting ready to watch a couple of DVDs to pass the time away, so I joined him. Fear dot com was a waste of time. After that horrible movie, we both got hungry. Although I was willing to do a food run for the both of us, I wasn’t familiar with the area he lived in, and I wasn’t going to go out by myself at 9:30PM (three hours earlier, I would have had no problem), so I dragged him along for navigational purposes. He suggested we go to In-n-Out. He warned me that In-n-Out has the longest lines for drive-thru service, but I didn’t mind. I don’t usually go to In-n-Out, so their service and their food would be a first for me. While we waited in line, we discussed the menu and how to pay when we noticed that the car in front of us passed the speaker for ordering.

My friend said, “Don’t pull up too close. If he realizes that he didn’t order, then he might want to pull back.”

“True,” I nodded. I stayed my car well behind the driver of the red Acura to give him room to reverse if he needed.

A couple minutes passed and he continued through with the queue.

“Did he order? I don’t think he ordered,” I said.

My friend only shrugged. If he didn’t worry, I wasn’t going to worry. I pulled up to the speaker and I placed our order for one cheeseburger, a 3x3 animal style, and a medium Dr. Pepper. Our total was given, and we proceeded through the line.

Suddenly, I began to muse about the driver of the Acura. “What if the cashier gives him our food? That, or we’ll end up waiting in line longer because he’ll end up ordering at the window and they have to prepare his food, you know?” Yatta, yatta, yatta.

“No, they would make him pull aside. Besides, they know from your voice that a girl ordered," he pointed out to me. Then he added, "How can he forget to order anyway?”

When the driver of the Acura approached the window, we watched while there was an ordinary transaction of food and money. I watched the driver as he nodded and paid for the items simply and without complaints. It appeared that everything was in order and he drove off. I slowly approached the window, with money in hand. The employee poked his head out the window with a paper bag ready to go, but he had a suspicious look on his face. He hesitantly asked me, “Did you order the double-double with ketchup... and fries…?”

“No?” I replied, like a question. “I had a cheeseburger, a 3x3 animal style, and a medium Dr. Pepper.”

The employee’s jaw dropped and looked out to the street for the driver of the Acura. “I can’t believe that guy. He said that was his order.”

“What?” My jaw dropped. “He said that was his order?”

“Did he order?” the employee asked. “I didn’t think he ordered.”

“No,” I nearly laughed. My friend was laughing, too. “He never made it to the speaker.”

The employee, seeing as we were not upset about it, smiled, quickly apologized, and immediately got started on our order. From the conversation of the window employee with his other co-workers, it seemed that the driver of the Acura confirmed that the cheeseburger, the 3x3 animal style, and the Dr. Pepper was, in fact, his order. He even paid its full total of $6.52.

I turned to my friend. “He said it was his order,” I said. “How can you go up to the window and say it was yours when you never ordered?”

“How can he pass the speaker?” he laughed. “It has a big stop sign on it.”

“I know! It should have a different sign on it, like ‘Step One: Place Order Here.’”

“Stupid.”

So, not only did the cashier give our order to the driver before us, but my friend and I ended up waiting for our order to be prepared. When our food came (pretty quick, too), the employee confirmed our items. I smiled and nodded that it was our order. We paid him and went on our merry way. My friend and I had a good laugh on the way back home. Burgers were good, too.

Dear readers, beware of idiotic drivers who leave furniture on the freeway and stupid lying drivers who don’t know what to do at the drive-thru.

For every little thing that is popular, there is always someone with too much time on his hands.

Regret

Why did I spend $538.00 for my sister? That was a car payment and a half! Fucking shit!

Stupid un-selfish me. Why couldn't my cold greedy side just refuse her? UGH!!!

Stupid Nice Me

Yesterday, I went to the dentist to get my fillings replaced. While my mouth was numb, I think I accidentally bit my lip. I didn’t notice the flapping skin and the tiny bruise at the corner of my lip until the toothpaste started stinging.

Other thought for the day: I’m too damned nice. My sister begged and begged for a Louis Vuitton purse. It's her new obsession. What is so precious about a Louis Vuitton handbag? I don’t understand her obsession with bags, especially Louis’ bags? There is do difference between Louis' products and some other product at the nearby Mervyn's. The only damned difference is that it’s made by Louis (ooooh-gag!), and it’s got a serial number, and it’s own camel-skin wrap for storage. So fucking what? Fuck you, Louis Vuitton. You’re overpriced and overrated.

When I walked into that fucking store, Louis’ handbags are not all that great. They look like any other fucking bag you can find at a local swap meet. Why couldn’t I refuse her? She walked around the shop like a kid in a candy store. When she chose her new obsession from the shelf, the bag was half the size of a shoebox, maybe smaller. Total damage: a fucking $538.00 for a stupid purse that has the same function as any other generic handbag. Damn…it.

Why me? Why did she get me to buy that stupid thing? Does she think I'm made of money? Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I hate fucking girly things!

I'm so tempted to tell her husband about it. I know he'll get pissed.

Give to the Needy

I just got off the phone with a UCSD Alumni representative. She was asking for donations. You know what? I just ended my job. I just can't afford a $365 donation at this time. That's how much she was asking. The first time a representative called me about four years ago, she asked for nearly $500. To an affluent university, the word "donation" is still too much for my middle-class ass. I nearly dropped the phone when the representative proceeded to tell me that "$365 is the top bid." Is that really affordable? That's more than my car payment. Why would I spend more money on a tax-deductible donation when I could be paying off my car?

This boggles me: one of the richest schools in California, which is part of the world-renowned UC system, which receives federal and private grants, is asking for money. For what? To improve academic programs, such as the Literature Department (the representative had to mention that just because I majored in Literature). Oh, pull my friggin' heartstrings! Or was she really asking for money on behalf of Governor Davis? I think the President of Regents for the UC system is trying to ensure his financial security.

I’m not a football fan. I don’t even like football, but on Super Bowl Sunday, I found myself planted in front of the television while grading essays. I’ve never watched Super Bowl before, but since I was recording the game for Mr. Fun and Friendly-Male Chauvanist-Sports Fanatic while he’s away at sea, I ended up watching it.

I can understand why guys act the way they do when they watch sports—loud and obnoxious as they root for their team, putting down other fans who support the other team… you know, football fans. I found myself doing the same thing as I watched the last quarter of the game.

*august23 in front of the TV with essays sprawled around her*

“NO! Intercepted again!? Ugh! Get him!! Get him!!”

I guess you can tell who I was rooting for, but it was all a bias favor because I know nothing of football to even claim loyalty to a team. I was only cheering the Raiders on because Mr. Male-Chauvanist wasn’t here to cheer them on himself.

It was just a passing moment. Really.

I’ve been up since 4:15 this morning. My collegiate sister flew back to Massachusetts to start the new semester. After my family left the airport, I had to go to the high school and clean out my classroom. I got there and found the room open with a bunch of shelves and boxes piled outside. Some other teacher already started moving in, and all my things were in disarray in boxes and on student desks. It was a bit depressing. It took me a good four hours to pack up my stuff and put them in crates. I didn’t get any grading done, so I’ll be spending this weekend reading essays and entering grades into the computer. Blech!

On a good note, I won free soda at the grocery store. Woohoo!

Men and Women
Looking for the Perfect One

As I was checking my email on Yahoo last night, I accidentally pressed the Yahoo! Personals advertisement. When personal ads started appearing, I thought I would take a look and see what kind of people would actually have the guts to post personal ads. I’m not making fun of these people at all. I actually commend them for being brave for posting personals on an international web server.

Being female, I naturally went to search for “ideal matches” on the male side. I was surprised that there are actually a good decent number of men who are single in my city. Many of them are not even local because they were transferred here due to military careers. I could understand their need for some companionship in a city that is unfamiliar to them. But even with the influx of the male population from other states, my question is: why are they still single?

For a laugh, I went to the listing of women to see if I knew anyone—possible old friends from high school, former co-workers, or even women I knew currently. Being a woman, I had to say that I was ashamed of what I saw. Now I know why men are still single.

The differences between men posting ads and women posting ads are that men are more open to possibilities, whereas women are not. Although many men admitted that they were looking for commitment and relationships, they were also open to the women who could answer their ads. Not one male ad that I have seen restricted their ideal woman to be of a certain race, age, or occupation. Women, on the other hand, are so damn picky! Some women were looking for men only in the military, some women preferred only a single race; then there are some who had to be a certain religion, down to certain income, and even when women were divorced, they were looking for a single man who had never been married. Yeah, right! As if they can start their lives over with men who had never been chained to the ball!

There could be so many interpretations about this: Do men, who have no preferences except that a woman should be fun and friendly, have more opportunities to meet women because they are open to possibilities, or are they really shallow and take any woman who will answer their ads? Do women have higher standards and priorities, or are they just picky gold-diggers? After looking at their ads, it doesn’t even seem to be about standards but prerequisites. Men have to be this, this, and this before the women will ever date them. And then you hear them complain that there are never any good men to find.

Personally speaking, I dislike girls and “girly” ways (we’re all bitches, but we won’t admit it). I was ashamed to be one of them when I read their ads. It only takes a couple of girls like that to ruin it for the rest of us.

No, I’m not single. I am a Cynical Teacher with Cuddly Intentions and Mild Spontanaeity. I can be very demanding, yet Mr. Fun and Friendly-Male Chauvanist-Sports Fanatic keeps me happy. He’s not perfect, but neither am I.

I just bought Def Leppard's "X" album. I like it. The other night, while surfing the web, I discovered that my other favorite band, Cause and Effect, are finally releasing their new album. It's not really an album; they only have five original songs on it. I'm a bit disappointed; five years of working and they only release an EP of five songs. But I like what I heard, and I am excited and happy nonetheless. I can't wait till the CD arrives.

Ambiguous Thoughts

There are only three more days of school. Contract ends on January 23rd. As much as I’m eager to leave this semester, I’m torn about leaving my kids behind. That’s right: I feel as though they are MY kids.

Thinking Is Hard

Just as I had the most interesting day on Tuesday, I had the most exhausting day yesterday and today. The students completely drained me!!! The day didn’t end at 2:10pm when the bell rang after the last class. I had students suddenly stressing to do their essays, and they wanted me to practically tell them the answer on how to write them and what to write in them. The gall of some of these students! They don’t do their work—or they do half—and they expect me to do the rest.

Part I: The Beauty of the Essay (Thursday)

A student who was just starting his essay today finally revealed to me, “I don’t know what to write for my introductory paragraph?” In other words, he didn’t have a thesis, and so he didn’t know what to write. Mind you, readers: I asked for a rough draft last Monday. This student was just starting his rough draft.

We started with the choice of essay prompts that I had given them. He chose one prompt. I asked him what his idea was, and if he had an idea for a thesis. Nothing. He had absolutely nothing. He asked me instead, “What can I write for a thesis?” My reaction: *_*

Second student: he was working on the meat of his essay, which was polishing his opinions for objective literary analysis. He had some stuff down, but not strong enough to support what he was trying to prove in his thesis. I helped him by asking question after question, hoping that he would connect all his answers as proof and commentary for his analysis. He kept saying, “I don’t know. Why don’t you just tell me the answer?” My reaction: >_<

Third student: she really worked hard on her essay, and I saw light bulbs going on and on whenever we hit a great idea. When we were almost done, she said to me, “This is hard, Ms. G.” My reaction: ^_^

“Writing is not hard," I said smiling. "Thinking is. That’s the beauty of the essay."

She nodded back with a smile, too.

When all the kids left, I thought about what I had said to my last student. I realized that writing is not difficult to teach. Much of the time when I’m helping students with their essays, I’m not teaching the organizational skills of writing, I’m teaching—and almost telling—students how to think. That’s not why I went into teaching. I want kids to learn and think on their own. I feel that I’m not doing my part if I’m telling them answers. All these essays are going to start sounding alike because they got their answers from me.

Oh, the difficulty of teaching writing! Having the kids realize that thinking is a large component before writing is a lesson in itself.


Part II: Light Bulbs (Friday)

I thought I would get to leave campus early, but it never turns out that way. I had kids waiting for me in my classroom after school because they needed help on their essays. My last student didn’t leave until 5:30pm. Although I would have normally despaired at having to stay THAT late for a student who needed help on an essay, I was glad to help her because, in comparison to yesterday, I was actually teaching writing. She already had a rough draft and all her ideas were just jumbled in her brain. As we worked together, we hit on idea after idea, and it was just the writing process that was laborious for her. She had to write every thing down, even if she wasn’t going to use it because she visually had to see the words that represented the ideas in her head. Question after question, she connected all her answers, then tried to create flowing ideas into fluid sentences on paper. Every time I said, “Perfect!” for every mark she hit, I saw a light bulb turn on in her head as she feverishly wrote down more thoughts. Next, she would ask me if her ideas sounded right as she structured them into syntactically correct sentences, then she corrected her own mistakes, and did it over again. It’s interesting and wonderful to see students like her understand her own learning.

We stayed so late that her mother came in to wait for her daughter (we teachers love supportive parents!). She seemed to enjoy watching us laugh together. As they left, her mother expressed her gratitude to me because I spent so much time helping her daughter, but it meant more for me to see my student learn and to be part of that process. These are the positive moments that remind me why I went into teaching in the first place.

Feeling the Love

I had the most interesting day on Tuesday. I let the kids finish their poster projects, and about one-fourth of the class was in chaos in each period. I didn’t mind; they were still working. I shall share the highlights of the day:

Block A: My supposed future white supremacist student was a little off task. I have to admit: he intimidates me sometimes. He has never come up to talk to me, and whenever I talk to him, he has the usual apathetic sigh. I often wonder what he thinks of me, given my “minority” background. At the end of class, he approached me and said, “Hey, Ms. G… You have to see my ecology project.” He proceeded to show me his display board that had information on plants and his hate for a particular Sierra Club tree-hugger. The board also featured his favorite hobby: dirt bike riding. How is this related to ecology? It was all about the desert and how people affect it by partying and riding in it. Although I paid attention to everything he said, in the back of my mind I was thinking, “Wow, he’s talking to me… and in a friendly and intelligent way.” I may have been judgmental when I thought he was a future white supremacist, but I still wonder about the drawings of skulls, his high pride for Americanism, sentences he wrote about Nazis, and his sketches of the Confederate flag.

Block C: The slut is actually working and participating in class. I almost had a golden moment with her. While I was working with my A+ student to improve her essay, the slut came up to me and said, “Check it out.” Usually, when she says that, she would show me something to shock me. Instead, she showed me an image of a medieval coat of arms. “This is my family’s coat of arms. I found it on the Internet,” she said. Like my first student from Block A, although I was interested at the family coat of arms, I was more surprised that she was showing me something new, something not for shock value, and that she approached me willingly and with friendly intentions. She and I do not get along, and we both know this, yet I felt that this was one golden opportunity. I wanted to seize the moment and talk more about the coat of arms, her Irish heritage, and maybe even leave the semester with a positive note. I was well on my way to hooking her in and getting to know her in a more positive light, when all of a sudden, my A+ student commands my attention: “That’s not even school related. We have two minutes and my essay is more important!”

Damn those A+ students. Always so demanding.

With Governor Davis' budget proposals, I'm wondering if I'll be able to get a teaching job when I come back from Japan.

Genius At Work
august23's Ego-trip

I am a genius. I’m not a genius by Mensa standards, but when it comes to lesson planning, the Goddess of R&R is my muse. For some odd reason, I had this great idea of teaching poetry to my students, yet I’m not big into poetry. I don’t know how this brainstorm came about, but my laziness to teach on certain days can be an inspiration. Tonight's lesson plan only took me twenty minutes to complete.

Good notes: one of my students expressed to her mother how much she really liked me and how sad the class is because I will be leaving for Japan. It was flattering. Her mother, who's hearing good things about me from her daughter, is very disappointed that I would be leaving because her daughter is suddenly getting into English. I guess it's because of me. That's also flattering. Then I discover that her mother is on the school board.

*the wheels in august23's head are turning*

I could make a very powerful connection before I leave for Japan. (hehehehe)

Those Few Golden Moments

I went back to work today. It was hard to get out of bed. When the kids saw me in class, they told me they thought they were getting the new teacher today. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. On a negative note: the slut is still in my class. I already knew that she was denied transfer before we went on the holiday break, but I had to laugh at her predicament. She was rejected from the so-called "School of Rejects." That's like hell rejecting their own devil. On a positive note, her object of desire transferred out today. I support him because this would be a good move for him. He seemed happier about it and I really wish him well. Another postive note: 90% of the students completed a rough draft of an essay that they were supposed to do during the holiday break, which really surprised me because always half of the class never do their homework.

Remember when I said, "That one student who smiled at me is worth more than a class full of A students"? It appears that I'm getting my cake and eating it too: my depressed student is suddenly happy and my other students are actually doing work! Can life can any better?

*august23 does her happy little dance*

Nah... I shouldn't jinx it. I could get into another car accident.

Positive thought: three more weeks till the end of the semester (but only two weeks of actual instruction, and one week of partying).

Gaikoku-jin desu (I Am A Foreigner)

Yesterday, I went up to Los Angeles with my sister (with nostalgic thoughts of my previous LA accident) to drop my other sister off at her university. The three of us made a stop at Little Tokyo to do some Japanese shopping. I haven’t bought Japanese music in a while, so my biggest splurge of the day were two Japanese rock CD’s and a DVD, which can only played in Region 2 (for you knowledgeable DVD buffs). Don’t ask me why I bought the latter. I was planning to send a DVD player with region 2 encoding back home to my parents when I go to Japan. 

As I sat down to open the DVD case and look at the DVD, it suddenly dawned on me that I would be in Japan approximately two and a half months from now. I closed the case and looked around me—there was a cute Japanese discount store in front of me with all the knickknacks in the world you can find to make your living more functional; behind me to my left was a Japanese gift shop with traditional Asian-fancy house ware and plants; to my direct left was a Japanese grocery store which sold Japanese and English products; to my right, a Japanese bakery flanked a tiny Japanese ice cream shop, which stood next to an Italian boutique (Japanese like Western culture, I guess), and directly behind me was the Japanese bookstore with a little music section in its corner. 

All this was in the middle of downtown LA, where there was still the comfort of finding every Japanese sign with English translations under them. The people who strolled by were mostly Japanese. A small few were of Caucasian or of non-Japanese-yet-still-Asian backgrounds. The clerks of most shops spoke in Japanese to their customers. Although they could easily switch to English when I approached them, their ease from their first language to another in a shopping center where their primary language is dominant made me feel quite the tourist and a bit of place. I sat on bench looking at these things around me, while listening to Japanese whispers and conversations that lingered in the background: “… sou desu ka… hontou ni desu ka…Sore wa …Megumi-san wa ikkei desu…” etc. I tried to imagine all this without the comfort of falling back on my first language, which was good ol’ English, and I realized that I need to start practicing my Japanese again because Nihon-go wo sukoshi wakarimasu. Nihon-jin wa Eigo wo wakarimasen. (Translation: I understand little Japanese. Japanese people don’t understand English.) I need to brush up on the kanji, too. New Year’s Resolution #3: learn enough Japanese to get by in a market place.

Resolutions

I’ve recently taken up mountain biking with my sister’s boyfriend. He’s been doing it for about four months, and I’ve been dying to try it out since 1997. My first couple of rides have been seemingly torturous only because I’m out of shape. Biking is similar to running because my legs are always moving, but surprisingly, my thighs don’t feel achy, cramped, or tightened. My legs have always been strong; I just need more workout on the cardiovascular thing.

Now, that I’ve taken up mountain biking, I feel that it should be part of my resolution. I need to start getting healthy—I mean, I already am, but my regimen can always be improved. So, exercise is now part of my routine. Like the organized person that I am, I feel that I should divide my resolutions into categories: teaching, personal life, financial, creativity/self-improvement, etc., but then you would all think that I’m just a freak. Anyway, I can only think of two resolutions right now…

1. Write one story for the year—be it a short story, a novel, several short stories, or even crappy poems.
2. Mountain bike every weekend. (Since my sister’s boyfriend is into this activity, this will be easy to keep.)


More to come as I think of them.

I don't want to go back to work. This vacation is too good to give up. Boo...hoo...

Copycat
august23’s girl-rant

I went shopping with my sister today, and it’s so disappointing to find some of the women’s fashions of the times are mere imitations of the 1980s—diagonal hemlines, off-the-shoulder blouses, pastel colors, orange and baby blue are back, and thick-heeled Mary Janes.

I have to say that from the 1990s to the present time, fashion is just not original anymore. When I was in sixth grade, my teacher jokingly predicted that bell-bottoms would come back in style. Two years later, as I entered junior high, bell-bottoms did make a comeback, and they’ve evolved into something called flares. I’ve managed to stay away from it for the past ten years, but it makes buying slacks or pants that much more difficult.

Recently, I tried to buy a dress for my former roommate’s company party. What did I find but a bunch of glitter dresses with diagonal hemlines with off-the-shoulder tops, or the notorious one-strap dress. They are so… trendy-nasty! As much as I like the 1980s, the fashion was just indescribable. Who wants to live through that again?

I'm wondering what the Bush Administration is actually getting from revising sex information? Are these brainwashing political ideologies at work?

Word of the Day

fantod (FAN-tod) noun

1. A state of nervous anxiety, irritability, the willies, the fidgets.

2. A fit or emotional outburst.


Hey, that’s me every Sunday before Monday classes! “I am in a state of fantod every Sunday.”

Merry Christmas
From the Future Grinch

I dislike the holidays. I only like the Christmas break that I get from the school. It’s not that I’m not religious (kind of), but the holidays are a reason for the family to get together when I don’t feel like getting together. All my sisters come home from wherever they are from, the house is crowded with people, the endless parties with relatives that I see all the time—actually it’s the same party, just moved around to a different house from Christmas Eve, to Christmas day, to New Year’s Day. The radio blares Christmas songs that I’m already sick of. Everyone has messages of goodwill and peace, and I just don’t feel like sharing the goodwill wealth. I just want to stay home and sleep the holidays away, like a bear hibernating through the winter. I want my space, and the holidays are just too crowded for my taste.

I like the winter, but I just don’t like the holidays. I’d rather stay at home. That’s the hermit slowly maturing inside of me.

I found out why my kids think I'm a Raiders fan. Just because black and gray dominates the color of my wardrobe does not mean I'm a Raiders fan, but they insist I'm a closet fan.

I dislike football.

"Buck it, up."

That's what the assistant vice principal's secretary said to me when I found out my slut student was denied transfer to the continuation-alternative school. I was so happy when she said she wouldn't be returning after the Christmas break, but it looks like I'll be putting up with her for another three weeks. UGH!!!!

Then there's my MIA student who's been ditching class for about 50% of the semester. She has 16 reported truancies, 4 reported tardies, a police contract and a court contract to stay in school during school hours, and there are three weeks left in the semester. She will not pass my class. She already knows this, so she's going to sit in my class and do absolutely nothing. According to the VP, she uses also crack and is possibly pregnant with child by her eighteen-year-old-high-school-dropout-boyfriend of two months. In teenage years, two months is deep intense love.

I hate the false ideas I have to give to a particular student who is in special education. She has expressed intent in trying to get her grade up in order to be mainstreamed into regular classes next year (without the special education label). She has to pass my class to prove that she no longer needs special educational services. Currently, she is in special education, so I have to follow her IEP and modify her work and grade her differently. I find this to be a problem because it's a vicious catch-22. According to this plan, I have to change homework assignments so she is not overloaded with work, and I have to grade her on a different scale with different standards. I have to do all this in order to fit her special needs so that she can pass this course. This is a huge flaw because she'll pass my class with the false idea that she can do regular work, which she is not capable of doing. Then the special education program will think she is no longer "special ed" and take her off their resource list. Next year, she'll go onto regular eleventh grade English without an IEP, so her assignments will not be modified. Can you guess what will happen? She will drown in the work and she will fail miserably.

I'm an advocate for "let them make the choices." If a bad grade or stupid choices affects these kids lives in the future, I'm all for it. It's a hard lesson to learn when they realize that the they can't change their past mistakes.

Less Evil Me

As much as my kids say they like me, I don’t think they really do. I’m just the lesser of two evils. I teach five classes now. Two of them are being switched to another English teacher who is already on campus. These two classes—and I’m not exaggerating—literally yelled and screamed. Then they shouted their opinions about the teacher. For the other three classes, the school is possibly hiring a new teacher for them. These three classes heard from the other two classes about their new teacher, and everyone is panicking about what teacher they will be getting. They’ve heard rumors about other teachers and how difficult or how archaic they are, and compared to them, they like me because I’m young. Basically, I’m the lesser of two evils.

Kids don’t like change very much.

Symbol of Perfection

I got my car back from the collision center last week. I’m paranoid of driving it. My life is “perfect” again: semester is almost finished, teaching is finally getting easy, seeing someone nice [blush], and I got that job in Japan. Can life get any better than this? I think not… and I’ll probably get into another accident.

Or, like I mentioned before, maybe those accidents are culminating to another greater accident that will be more ruinous? When the Christmas break is over, technically I’ve got three more weeks of teaching. I can get into another accident from now until then (after all, my commute is forty minutes every day). Or… maybe the accident will be one in the sky… as I’m flying to Japan….

I Have Stamina and Creativity

According to the Hello Kitty Psychological Test, I have stamina and creativity when it comes to relationships. I can endure any hardship, and relationships have a tendency to last forever--IF I am not the perfectionist I strive to be and actually ask for help when I need it.

I wasn’t going to take psychological advice from an animated cat, but this analysis is too close to my own personality.

Moving onwards: I’ve been thinking of signing up for a free website again. Maintaining a homepage is time-consuming, but since I would be talking about myself, it’s not like I have to think hard with that one. Besides, I want to post pictures, especially if I go to Japan. I mean, an online journal without visuals during the most exciting time of my life makes a pretty boring blog. I find my blog boring at times because there are no pictures.

Incentive for the week: Christmas Break from school and holiday festivities with old college friends

Countdown to Christmas break: five days!!! Woohoo!!

Can I Leave All This Behind?

As I walked around campus on Friday, just doing regular errands here and there during my prep period, and going to-and-fro from the office and my class, and even after school as I greeted other teachers and did more errands, I have never heard so many, “Hi, Ms. G” in my entire day from students. I think it’s because I told my classes that I will be going to Japan in the next semester. One of my students declared her deep appreciation by proclaiming, "I love you," when I walked into her history class.

Maybe not all my students appreciate me as much as that student who declared her love, but I have never felt this much appreciation either—and so openly. I’m taken aback to see how much I’ve affected these students. My greatest fear is that I'm always wondering if I’m doing a good job teaching them, when all that matters to them is, “She’s a cool teacher who listens.”

I’m almost sad to leave. I don’t know if I want this semester to go any faster.

Oh… her….

Remember that slut-in-the-making who likes to make out in public? I discovered today that she’ll be leaving my class, and will not be returning when the Christmas break is over. It was revealed that she was a good candidate for the alternative/continuation high school due to her 0.68 GPA. Yeah, you read that right… point 68. How can someone get a 0.68 GPA? And I almost took it personal that she didn’t like my class…

What I’m really worried about is that her object of affection has expressed interest in going to the same alternative school. At first I supported his decision... until I learned about her transfer. He is a good kid. Although he has anger management issues, I have never seen him act out, especially not with me. I think he’s more open with me than with any of his other teachers. If he wasn't so depressed, I see so much potential in him. He can be anything. When he voiced his interest about going to the alternative school, I thought it was a good decision, and he even seemed a bit motivated. I still support his decision, but now that I learned that she’s going, too, I don't see any good coming out of it--for either of them.

Damn her.

Um... Hmmm....

I just got an email from the recruiter from Westgate Corporation. I read the email about three times because I didn't want to think that I may have misinterpreted it due to some culture misunderstanding. I thought it ambiguous at first, but how can the words, "We would like to offer you the position which the contract period is April 1-July 23, 2003. The handbook and the contract will be sent to you..." be misunderstood? That seems direct.

*august23 sits a while and lets it sink in*

Holy shit! I got the job!

Random Thoughts on a Sunday
So I Won’t Think… At All

On teaching
· I hate Mondays
· I’m doing a shitty job with my ninth graders
· What am I going to do when I stop teaching?
· I’m not worried about the teaching job in Japan
· I got ¾ of the things done on my “things to do” list today, so I feel I did accomplish something
· I still feel guilty because I’m typing up my blog when I could be doing some work (but that’s the story of my life)

On sports
· Football fanaticism is a dangerous hobby
· I never used to pay attention to sports until I started seeing someone who’s a sports fanatic
· I miss a certain someone right now, but he’s probably in jail if he was in that scuffle at the stadium (Chargers vs. Raiders)
· I don’t care who won or lost that game, yet for some odd reason, my students think I’m a Raiders fan
· ATTENTION: I’m not a Raiders fan. I’m not a Chargers fan. I’m not a football fan. I just like to look at scores.
· Baseball is the only sport that even comes close to grabbing my attention

Sunday/Monday songs…
· “Sunday Morning” by No Doubt
· “Everyday is Like Sunday” by Morrissey
· “Blue Monday” by New Order

Random stuff
· Hallmark commercials are too long and cheesy
· Nothing feels like the holidays yet
· Tchaikovsky’s “The Nutcracker Suite” is the perennial Christmas carol
· Cheerios sounds good right about now
· I’m planning to visit my sister in Massachusetts if I don’t teach next semester
· It’s 11pm, and I could be enjoying sleep, but my mind is not relaxed, ergo, I am typing my blog and feeling guilty about not doing actual work (but that’s a vicious cycle)
· I could turn these random thoughts in to poetry if I really put my mind to it
· My poetry sucks
· Good night

Sundays and Mondays

These are the worst days in a teacher’s week. I don’t like Sundays because I’m anxious and constantly thinking about Mondays. Every single day is a performance, and I’m nervous right before I teach. Sundays are the worst because I’m thinking of the entire week before anything has even really happened. I don’t like Mondays because it’s the first day of the week. It feels like I’m being forcefully dragged out of my weekend to endure another 12-hour workday. Then there are long lines at the copy machines and department meetings at lunch, where I can’t even eat lunch properly...

Countdown to the Christmas break: 10 more days. FEBRUARY—COME ALREADY!!!!

Incentives for the week:
a) ex-roommate’s company Christmas party (it’s just a friend-date)
b) doctor’s appointment (I’m so desperate to leave campus that I’ll use any excuse)
c) Toad the Wet Sprocket concert! (Friday can’t get any better than this)
d) a friend’s housewarming/holiday party (holiday festivities at last!)

One of Those Girls

One of my sophomore girls had an inappropriate outfit today: tight low rise jeans, black V-neck sleeveless shirt that, of course, shows her mid-riff, and wooden clog sandals with two-inch heels. I didn’t say anything. Like I said, experience is a greater teacher. She came back to my class after school, and she stumbled and nearly fell on her face as she walked through the door. She smiled with embarrassment and said, “That’s the second time today. But, oh my gosh, I fell down the stairs at lunch. I totally fell on my face, and it’s because of these shoes.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be wearing those shoes,” I said. “They’re not functional.”

“But, Ms. G., these shoes look cute with this outfit. I tried my sneakers first, but it didn’t look right.”

“Black boots would look fine, too—and you wouldn't risk your face.”

"Ms. G...." she smiled.

In one ear, out the other. Will she wear that outfit again? I am sure she will.


And another sophomore girl, right after class, approaches her object of affection (she’s so obvious), and totally makes out in front of everyone as they walk out of the room. Unfortunately, I was talking to another student when I glanced upon the couple. Is she a slut in the making? I am sure she is.

Catering

After school today, another teacher called me up to discuss the academic progress of a certain student who is in the special education program. After that conversation, I found a notice in my mailbox regarding another student, who is also in the special education program. I have to haul my ass to campus at 6:45am to discuss the individualized educational plan (IEP) of one student. From there, I went back to my classroom and hesitated to even check my email, where I know one of the assistant aides regularly sends me monitoring sheets for two other students who have “special needs.” Also, in my second block class, one of my special education students was absent today, so I have to email the special education teacher to find out if her absence was valid. And the other day, I had a student write about suicide.

I have the most sophomores in this high school. In total, I have 127 social fifteen year olds with identity crises—that’s four classes, approximately 32 students in each class. Some of the teachers have sympathized with me for several reasons: a) I have the highest probability of having students in the special education program; b) when essays come, I have 127 papers to grade. I’m only glad that I’m not teaching the research paper next semester.

In the legal sense, I am a teacher who is bound by law to give equal access to core curriculum to language learners and to students who are in the special education program. I have 127 sophomores with crappy little attitudes, one lesson plan, one version of tests and worksheets. And the special education department expects me to take care of their students with INDIVIDUAL special needs. I worked in the special education department four years ago at another school, and it is difficult to create individualized worksheets and lesson plans that cater to six students’ individual needs.

Is my plate a little full? I think so! No wonder my freshman class (20 other outgoing students) gets the shaft. I don't think I'll ever master the "flexibility" and infinite number of multi-tasks that this job requires.

Only Five Weeks

When I made that assignment calendar for my students, I didn’t realize how much time I have left with them. February will not come fast enough for me. Either this will go really fast, or it will go extremely slow. Right now, I’m already counting down to the Christmas break—twelve more days!!

*august23 groans, but does her little happy dance*

Incentive for the week: coffee with a friend in order to get my book Instruments of Torture back from her.

Stupid Environmentalist Beliefs
Please, Not While I'm Eating

Everyone seems to suddenly want to spread the good joy and spout their beliefs during this time of Christianity—even if it’s not in the holiday spirit. For instance, my sister, her boyfriend, and I went to a new sushi restaurant that we wanted to try out. When we sat down, a nice waitress of about nineteen years approached us and asked us what we wanted to drink. My sister and I ordered water while her boyfriend ordered a Coke. The drinks arrived a couple minutes later, and out of habit, my sister asked for straws for all of us.

“I don’t believe in giving out straws because they’re bad for the environment, but I’ll get you one if you really want one,” was the reply from the nice waitress of about nineteen years.

My sister, her boyfriend, and I were taken aback, and we looked at each other with dumbfounded expressions. “Huh?” Our gazes slowly returned to the waitress. Did we hear her right?

My sister tries again, once more with a tinge of polite submissiveness, true to her Asian upbringing: “Can we have straws…?”

“They’re bad for the environment, but I’ll get you one,” the young waitress replied with cheerleader perkiness, and waited for my sister’s answer.

“No… that’s okay.” My sister knitted her brows and shamefully picked up the menu.

The waitress walked away with a smile on her face as though she had done some good deed for the day: convincing someone not to use a straw. She has just saved the world from an unfriendly drinking mechanism.

My sister’s boyfriend glanced at us and said, “That was a turn off.”

“Yeah,” I grunted. “You go to a restaurant to enjoy a meal and then you get someone’s pushy belief about the environment for asking for a straw. What the hell…? Some people can’t keep their friggin’ ideas to themselves.”

Total damage at the restaurant: $49.00. Tip should have been approximately $6.00. We got stingy and left only $4.00.

Creative Brain:
Ode to the Winter Season

Winter Season is
gray clouds and sprinkly rain
tinkling on the rooftops.
Like a snowglobe with everlasting snow,
Winter Season is permanent all through the night.
Central heating hums in the dark hall
to leave you with cozy feelings
Of solitude, where
Sweet hot chocolate and comatose
Dreams are kisses of distant memories,
While thick comforters snuggle warm
against you like loving arms.

In Limbo

A representative from Westgate called me on 11/27/02 to interview me. She was very soft spoken, polite, and informative. The interview lasted about thirty minutes. Although I expected this phone call for a week, I don’t think I was mentally prepared for it. In contrast to her light voice and very polite demeanor, I sounded like an aggressive go-getter (I was trying to motivate myself). It just made me realize how different our cultures are. I wondered if I was expected to be the… [gulp] submissive Asian if I were to arrive in Japan. Anyway, in light of the phone interview, she opened another position to me—Assistant Language Teacher. I originally opted for the university position, where I would be teaching English conversation at the university level. If I were to continue with that option, my term would be three months, and I would be responsible for 95% of the lesson plans and student evaluations. In other words: I am the teacher. I opted for this position because they didn’t advertise the high school position. When I was interviewed, the representative opened the high school position to me, and so I changed my options. The conditions would be a contract of four months, I work in a high school campus, no actual lesson planning on my part; my only responsibility is the conversational component of the lesson—English enunciations, group talks, speaking skills, assisting with grammar, etc. Since I work in the high school environment, I thought this would be much more beneficial for me in the long run. Anyway, I still have to submit some more paperwork to them, then wait for their next email or phone call to inform me whether I got the job or not. I’m not “OHMYGOD” excited, but I’m not “awwshit” anxious either. Que será, será.

On another note, I just finished my unit plan for the sophomores. I even made a calendar for the little ungrateful snots who are visual learners. Not counting the two weeks of Christmas break, I have five weeks left with these kids. Then my contract expires and I go on my merry way. If I get the job in Japan, then I have something to look forward to: another job and the experience of traveling in another country. If I don’t get the job, then I’ll look for another [non-teaching] job and give myself a little break from all the stress. I offered my help to the other first year teachers by being their background assistant (i.e., correcting paperwork, creating worksheets, making copies, assisting with lesson plans, entering grades, etc). Of course, I’d be volunteering my time, but at least I’ll stay in touch with the educational community and be “in-the-know” about the English curriculum.

When February comes, maybe I should try to regain the ten pounds I lost because of the unhealthy amount of stress and an unnatural diet that I lived through from September to November.

Yeah right! Gain the weight back! HA!