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.

2004

It's the last day of 2004. I didn't do any work that I brought from school. School will resume in three days. I'm totally screwed.

And the only definite plan is that I'm partying tonight.

Loss

"We Might As Well Be Strangers"

I don't know your thoughts these days
We're strangers in an empty space
I don't understand your heart
It's easier to be apart

We might as well be strangers in another town
We might as well be living in another town

We might as well...
We might as well be strangers

--Keane

Holidays

The only thing I like about the holidays is that it's a vacation away from work, even though I brought work home with me. It's just the fact that I'm not at the school which makes it very relaxing.

Other than that, I really don't like the holidays.

Forms of Compliments

I got some strange compliments this week. And to feed my narcissism, I want to share.

#1: A history teacher caught up with me in the hall and told me that he's been hearing great things about me. "From whom?" I asked. He replied: "Well, my students have been complaining that this [his history class] is their hardest class. I told them, 'Aww, come on. This can't be your hardest class'. As they thought about it, they changed their answer from his class to my English class. 'Yeah,' they agreed, "her class is the hardest!' So, you're doing a good job."

#2: I wore one outfit that most of the English teachers said was, like, the "official" English teacher look. What was I wearing? A gray knee length skirt, a black turtleneck, and long boots. I call it my S&M-sexy librarian look. But the other teachers thought I looked like a very sophisticated English teacher.

#3: My students from my sixth period showed me some love today. Since I trust them, I left my classroom for just a wee-bit (technically, students are not allowed to be left in the classroom without adult supervision--even for a minute). When I returned, they were still doing their work. After school, one of the students told me what really happened. "StudentA went to your computer wanting to see his grade and thought he could change it. But StudentB said, 'No... Come on... It's Ms. G.' StudentB says, 'Yeah... okay,' and returns to his seat." How is that a compliment? They're just good like that. And of course, some good discipline on my part. I must be doing something right.

It was a good week. Next week will be even better.

Sub Day

I took a "day off." Actually, I attended a conference at CSU San Bernardino about the ACT test. Because it was a work day, I had to call for a substitute. My evil twin, who was already stressed out and did not think he could make it till Christmas break, decided to call in sick.

Leaving kids with a sub is not always the greatest thing for some teachers. I felt like a parent leaving their toddler with a babysitter for the first time. I laid out explicit instructions for the day's lesson plan, I even thought about leaving my cell phone number just in case of emergency. I told my kids to be good and all that jazz. My goodness... I am a parent.

After that conference, I called up the twin and asked him if he wanted to go to UC Riverside and hang out at the library and grade work. I noticed something different about him that I'm sure his kids will point out tomorrow:

"You shouldn't have gotten a haircut," I said.

"Why not? I needed it, and today was the perfect day to get my errands done."

"I mean, you went out and got a haircut. You must have been really sick today."

Realization hit. "Damn it! I didn't even think of that! Argh!"

New teachers. So much to learn...

Update

I'm still here. I'm just extremely busy. Teachers have no social lives between September to June. I'm so ready for the holiday break.

So far, my only accomplishment--besides surviving these past four months-- is that I've finally converted my fellow colleague and geek compadre into further geekdom; I got him to watch the first DVD of Escaflowne and he actually likes it. We just hadn't had time to watch the rest of the DVDs... all those classes and those kids are in the way.

Comments I Wish I Could Put On a Report Card

1. Your child is a waste of my time.
2. Your child is such a f**king loser.
3. Your child doesn't care about his/her grade, so why should I?
4. Corporal punishment needed.
5. Your child need not bother come to school. No one wants him/her here.
6. Home schooling is highly encouraged.
7. Alternative/Continuation school recommended.
8. Birth control is highly recommended for your idiot kid to prevent procreation.
9. May I whoop your child upside the head?
10. School/Classroom environment would be better improved without the presence of your moronic spawn of a child.

Bad American

Some of you are going to be mad.

I didn't vote. I wanted to, but I couldn't leave school early enough to make it to my polling place (damn kids...).

My students were actually curious about who I was going to vote for. It's funny how they think that voting is as simple as counting ballots. They imagine that the card I punch holes on will actually have the question, "Who do you want for President: Bush or Kerry?" and that I simply check my choice. That's all they were asking me. What about the propositions? I don't know why those interested me this year.

I try not to talk about religion and politics in the classroom; those are ugly cans of worms. If I get too involved in the debate, I supposedly "taint" students by influencing or impressing my own beliefs to them, for which I can get into trouble with administrators.

FYI, I was for Bush. I have Republican tendencies, contrary to many of the Democratic-ilk of my kind, and much to the hate of my students who are young radicalist Democrats in the making.

Interesting...

"Do the chicken dance!"

I Used To Have a Crush On Him In the 80's

I don't know why James Spader has always been typecast to play smarmy perverted characters, but he does it so well in Boston Legal.

Feeling Guilty

If a student fails, it's because they are not doing their part. That's what I keep telling myself. Every single day, I give it my all. I'm trying to teach, I'm trying to be creative, I'm trying to teach discipline, I'm trying to help, I'm trying to call parents, I'm trying every thing I could think of, and the kid just sits there and still doesn't do anything. I can't force a kid to do his homework. I can't make him take notes. And then when I express a little bit of anger at them, I felt that I failed everything because yelling doesn't accomplish anything either.

It hurts teachers more whenever we give out an F. Students think we give them F's because we hate them.

The Next 24 Hour Meal

Pizza.

I've been craving it a lot lately. I don't know if it's wishful thinking, but I think pizza is the perfect 24-hour meal. You can eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I wouldn't really do that though because it's not really healthy. But I do crave it as an afternoon snack, like right around 3:30 when school is out. I have yearnings for pizza or anything with pizza flavoring-- whether it's that cheap taquito at 7-11's, or pizza flavored potato chips, or an actual slice of pizza. What is it about that pizza flavor that makes me yearn nearly every day?

Christopher Reeve, 1952-2004

He will always be Superman in my eyes.

Anagram

Teacher
Cheater

I'm shocked that the most hated word in a teacher's vocabulary can be created by the very same letters.

(And this came upon me as I was driving home.)

The Side Effects of Teaching

I lost my voice. I should be resting it and not talk for a while, but that will be hard given that my job requires me to talk.

How did I lose my voice, you ask? The class from hell.

Immaturity

One of my classes is beginning to frustrate me. I call them my "class from hell" even though half of the class is not as hellish as I make them out to be; after all, the other half of the class are quiet behaved girls. I'm not saying that girls are better than boys, but the breed of boys in this particular class just make me want to smack them upside the head. I begin to wish that corporal punishment was reinstated in California.

English. It's not the most interesting thing in a high school kid's life. It's the most hated subject in schools because it is the most mentally demanding as far as analytical thinking is concerned. And let's face it: kids these days have no endurance for difficult tasks. They give up as soon as they think it's hopeless. This, indeed, is a society of laziness, of baby-boomer spawns who genuinely think they are entitled to anything and everything just because their parents got everything and anything.

Most of all, I hate the stupid responses that kids give me that I can't seem to argue around or against. For example, some kid said to me, "I didn't do my homework... it's because I'm black."
What do you say to that?

The thing that bothers me most is when students complain that English is boring. I don't take it as a personal insult that my subject is boring or that I teach in boring ways, but what bothers me is their apathy. They'll sit there in their seat and just not do the work. It's like banging your head on a wall to get them to do anything. If they're going to sit in my class and refuse to do the work and not care, why can't I just give them an F for the year and not care, too?

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink. On that note, why does California require minors to be in school? If high schoolers don't want to come to school, they shouldn't be there. If these kids are so eager to start working to earn their own money, let them. Let them see how hard it is to make ends meet on a minimum wage with limited work hours because they're still under sixteen and can barely drive. They'll all come crawling back anyway...

Sophomore

In Greek sophomore means "wise moron" or "wise idiot." Really, it does.

sophos, wise, and moros, stupid.

That's what I teach--fifteen year old teenagers who think they're on the brink of wisdom, but in reality, are just a bunch of dumb-asses.

Not all of them, but about 80% of them actually fit that description.

Terrorists Are Just Plain STUPID

Iraq is war-torn and deprived of resources. American people, as well as people from other countries, are trying to help Iraq by delivering goods, feeding people, and rebuilding destroyed facilities from power plants to restoring water supplies.

And stupid militant Islamist terrorists are beheading people who are trying to help Iraq. That's like biting the hand that feeds you, like refusing money that will help you buy food.

Terrorists=stupid people.

Trying to Make a Statement

On Friday, as I walked through the staff parking lot to get into the school building, a student holds a stuff cow with a sign stuck on it that said, "Meat is Murder." The student, along with two friends, shyly approaches me and said, "Meat is murder. Save the cow."

First of all, young animal-rights activist, if you're going to even become an activist, you better start learning how to use a proper aggressive voice because your meek tones didn't grab my attention. Second, if you believe in a cause, better research it. As the teacher behind me pointed out, "Right... save the cow. She was wearing leather shoes."

The strange things kids do these days to grab attention...

Laziness As An Occupation

There's laziness because one doesn't really want to do the work, and then there's laziness that one believes is the way of life. The latter is the mentality of most of my students. It's a different kind of laziness that is different from the former. The first can be easily remedied by calling parents or offering rewards. The second cannot be remedied at all because the student has been spoiled to the point that they believe life should be handed to them on a plate.

One of my students wore a shirt that said, "Perseverence: If it's too hard, then don't do it," and it had a picture of Homer Simpson. For some students, that is a way of life.

The kids up here are a different breed. They are extremely spoiled.

Anime Was Going to Be My Strange Hook

I thought these creatures were obscure enough not to attract attention, but it seems that too many people, especially teachers, know what they are. How disappointing.

Geek Talk

A fellow teacher asked to borrow some CDs from me. The CDs are soundtracks to one of my favorite anime of all time, but he's never seen it; he just likes the music. I plan to convert him before the school year is over. I will make him watch the series with me, but I can't explain it to him; it's too complicated. Imagine our first conversation about anime:

ME: It's this awesome story about a girl who gets transported to another world and her psychic ability is revered by the king of a fallen country. The king owns this super-cool mecha that turns into a dragon--

HIM: Mecha? What's that?

ME: Um... it's like a... machine, robotic-like... It's like a Transformer, but not as boxy or square-looking, but more... aerodynamically streamlined for...transformation and dogfights in the air...

HIM: @_@

If I completely turned fangirl before him before he's ready, I could lose him. But luckily, he likes comics and we were talking about Neil Gaiman, X-Men, Superman, Spiderman, JLA, and Star Trek and Star Wars and X-Files, and other random things that geeks talk about--conventions, book collecting, classical music, CDs, etc. I just have to introduce him to the world of anime, then our nerdy wavelengths will be in-synchronization.

First Full Week

This week will by my first full week of teaching. The first couple of days were just adjustment and introduction. This will will include instruction and real discipline for both students and myself.

Already, I'm dreading it. It's tiring teaching five classes a day. I kind of miss it when I used to teach three classes a day. Two hour blocks are not as exhausting as 55-minute classes.

First Day

Exciting, happy, funny, weird...

The day was totally great.

Now I'm just totally exhausted.

Make or Break

Today I spent five eight hours (five hours after work ended) setting up my classroom. School starts tomorrow. My room still seems bare, even after I hung several posters. I'm not going to sweat too much about tomorrow only because classes are about an hour long.

I'm so ready. But we'll see how tomorrow goes. We'll see if it's a repeat of my first day at that other school.

Back to School

This week has been full of orientation meetings and seminars. I have been overwhelmed with information, and words cannot describe how excited I am to be starting school. Today's orientation included a campus tour and meetings with the principal. Already, I think I am falling in love with the principal. And when I mean "in love," I mean that I love her philosophy when it comes to learning. This whole day, I was awestruck at her ideas and beliefs. She truly emanates a "tough love" aura-- a woman who totally believes in the heart of things, but also realistic when it comes to education and students, not just test scores.

And this school has a school-wide writing program. Talk about love! This is like finding love and finding out that the person of your dreams is also rich. I swear, if I am still at this school for the next ten years, I (me, august23) will implement a school-wide reading program and start a specialized writing class.

The more I learn about the school and its mission, part of me truly believes that this school is where I belong. It's like that feeling when you know that special someone is the one for the rest of your life. That's how I feel about this school.

If Only...

There has to be a DVD set of "The Young Riders." There's just gotta be!

The New Place

I'm up at my new place, away from irksome family, but sweltering in the devil's armpit. It's so damn hot up here. My apartment is right next to the pool, but I have no bathing suit, nor do I want to get any darker than I already am. My room is half organized, and if only school would start sooner, I could pack up my books and start taking them away to my new classroom.

That's right, I got a classroom. The teachers plan to change my schedule, so I can have my own classroom. I'll be teaching freshmen and juniors. Originally, I was supposed to teach sophomores and seniors. Can you believe that? They got me--a new teacher-- to start teaching juniors and seniors. Never would that happen in San Diego.

Hyped!

I got the itinerary for the new school year. I'm so stoked. I'm teaching the grades I want and I get first period prep--which means I get to sleep in if I wanted. The only crappy thing: I don't have my own classroom, so I'm traveling to four different rooms. Sucks to be the new teacher!

Lana Is a Tease

After watching numerous episodes of Smallville, I'm slowly becoming irked by the character of Lana Lang. I have nothing against Kristin Kruek. Kristin is okay, but the writers have completely created a tease.

From my understanding of the Superman comics, Lana was the girl that Clark desired from afar. She was unattainable. In the series, seeing Clark and Lana become good friends, date, break up, and still be friends seems plausible. But we all know that Clark will never get Lana, and even though he may still have deep feelings for her, he keeps his distance. Lana, on the other hand, seems to be the one who can't get over Clark. Lana was Miss Popular in high school--a cheerleader dating the star quarterback and hanging with the popular crowd. She can have any guy she wants--as proven by episodes where several guys have asked her out. So why does she suddenly want Clark, a guy she barely noticed in high school--a guy, according to the comics, hardly cared about.

She, too, has a fixation on Clark. Always, she's prodding him about wanting to know the truth; always whenever she's in trouble, she looks to Clark; always when he rescues her, she prods in some indirect manner about why they are not together. Always she has to ask "do you love me?" As if his numerous rescues didn't answer her question already! She tortures Clark. She offers herself to him when he's trying to keep his distance and move on. She pleads with him with her eyes when he rejects her. This is not the unattainable distant Lana from afar of the original comics anymore, but a new "you're-in-my-face-Lana."

In other melodramas, when a couple breaks up even though they still love each other, they still go their separate ways. They get together eventually, but only after some dire and drastic episode which leads them to admit their love and finally be happy. How many dire and drastic episodes do Clark and Lana need? I know that the creators of Smallville are only posing these storylines as a hypothetical and substory to the original comics, but I don't find a continuum anymore. When Clark grows up to become a journalist, he can't mope around longing for Lana as if he never had her, as if she were the girl he could have had. He had more than several chances to be with her. And he can't argue that he couldn't be with her because he could never tell her the truth about himself--that has become his own issue. He has no one to blame but himself if he loses her. As a character, Lana has proven that she is reliable and maybe even keep a weighty secret, such as Clark's true identity. She's been in several situations where she had chances to witness Clark's powers that any person with a brain can put two and two together. If it were Chloe, she would have figured it out by now.

Thank God, Lois is coming in next season.

So Much Junk!

I didn't stay in my new apartment after I moved my stuff up there. I decided to come back home to clean out my old room. I even rearranged the desk. As I reshelve the books, sort the files and papers I've collected, I realized how much junk I've collected over the years. And I don't mean those tiny sentimental souvenirs, but other things. Being a teacher, I never noticed I amassed a large collection of blank notebooks and slips of paper with notes on them.

I went through the desk drawers and I started sifting through the trash and whatnot that's been sitting inside there. I donated one whole box of books and half a box of clothes and purses, and I'm still moving other things up to my new place. The only thing holding me back now is the desk junk on my floor.

But once everything is clean, I'm going to feel a big weight lift off my shoulders. I won't collect shit like that again and let it accumlate in my new apartment. I've learned an important lesson since my return from Japan: less is good.

Inland Empire or Bust!

Moving is a bitch... even with a U-Haul.

Men and Sports

As I watch the scoreboards for the BF's favorite football and baseball teams, sometimes I think this might give people the impression that I like those teams, too, because those are the only teams that I pay attention to. The more I look at the numbers that distinguish the winners from the losers, the more I wish I had some sort of ammo to email the BF and tell him that his teams are losing against my teams. The thing this: I don't have any favorite teams. My emails would be that much more fiery and interesting if I could just add a bit of "neener neener neener."

I admit that I had fun watching Super Bowl 2003. And it is kind of fun to watch his teams lose only to see him get moody.

Pictures, Anyone?

Just testing

Reasons Why I'm Happy To Be Moving Out Soon

• I can't stand it when my sister is downloading 25-minute anime episodes on a dial-up network.
• My sister is a drama queen when she's home, and I can't stand her loud "pay-attention-to-me" drama voice... especially when she's watching a DVD and she makes running comments to the air. She demands attention even when no one is there.
• My mother is too emotional to the point where I can't argue reasonably without her resorting to, "You hurt my feelings" as a way for her to tell me to just shut up and let her have the last point.
• I can't stand it when my parents are up past midnight watching TV while I'm reading quietly in my room, and then they come in to tell me why I'm not asleep yet. Why aren't they?
• My mom can't do anything by herself and she needs one of us to accompany her at all times, especially when doing errands.
• My mother keeps telling me to clean up my room. What's the point of cleaning it when I'm trying to move out?
• I admit I'm a completely selfish bitch, but I don't demand much except that I be left alone... which in this house, you're made to feel guilty about.
• My father's growing interest in new age music is starting to grate.
• That damn Filipino channel is beyond over-the-line fucking annoying.
• Being holed up with my family is like being forced to endure a painful family vacation.
• I have no privacy whatsoever.

Don't get me wrong: I like my family, but even my tolerance and patience have their limits. I thought that having one last month would be enough of a vacation, but if I had known staying at home for the last month would be this irritable, I would have made an effort to move out at the beginning of the month. Then I'd be at my new place by the end of the first week of August and would have had three weeks of absolute silence--my idea of a true vacation. Instead, I'm moving out this Friday and will only have about a week and a half of a true vacation before my new job begins.

Regrets are annoying.

Strange Link

I like Benno Fuhrman, and as I was doing a Google search on him, I came upon the Bob the Angry Flower website. My jaw almost dropped, for I had bought two comics and a poster from the creator of Bob the Angry Flower, Stephen Notley himself (and he autographed it!), at the San Diego Comic Convention last month. He did a review of "The Order," which I had recently seen on DVD two weeks ago. I still have mixed feelings about that movie, to which Stephen Notley, pretty much summed up my own feelings.

The only thing that puzzled me about "The Order" was the title. I felt it was misleading because it didn't fit the movie.

But Benno was still cute.

Quite Intellectual

I started playing poker. I never knew how much it's similar to chess-- in a thinking way, from betting, bluffing, planning, and coming up with strategies. A friend of mine actually plays pool, and when I watch her play, I'm doing the thinking thing again.

I should get into more thinking games... pool, poker, golf...

And I won five bucks tonight. Small dough, but I daresay that's pretty good for my first time.

Superstition

There's a Filipino superstition that if you dream of your teeth falling out, then someone is going to die.

I had a nap this afternoon, in which I dreamt of all my teeth in the back of my mouth, just started falling out as I sat in a meeting on the first day of school at my new job. I went to the bathroom as my teeth fell out one by one into the sink. They jingled like brittle porcelain with their sharp roots still intact.

I wonder if each tooth that fell out of my mouth signifies one person's death, of if the number of teeth is insignificant to the number of people who might die. Morbid thoughts indeed.

Too Cheesy For Me

Last night I watched Dario Argento's "The Phantom of the Opera." I was kind of disappointed; the phantom wasn't even disfigured. Julian Sands is too handsome to be the Phantom, and he shouldn't have sported long hair. For some reason, long hair really displayed his extremely pointy nose.

Pain

"A Knight's Tale" is the most painful movie ever to watch.

Those Kids...

In class today, the students and I were discussing one of Shakespeare's sonnets, "Sonnet 144," about a love triangle. The couplet at the end of this sonnet is as follows:

Yet this shall I ne'er know, but live in doubt,
Till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Vacation is Nigh!

I'm so ready for summer school to be over.

It's depressing being an English teacher sometimes. English teachers--the core of any school-- get blamed if a student can't read, if a student can't speak English properly, if a student can't understand, if a student can't properly analyze, if a student can't write, if a student can't spell... All these little things are the heart of literacy, of functioning independently, of problem-solving, of thinking. If a student can't do these things, he or she ends up failing in all the other subjects.

It hurts to teach English. It depresses me when I listen to a student read aloud and he can't even pronounce he word "tonight" correctly. It frustrates me that students think that answers are explicitly written and given, and they want me to tell them the answers if they can't find them in the book. It almost angers me when students just sit in class and say, "I don't understand" or "I don't know," but in reality, they are not even trying, nor do they want to because they are too lazy to do difficult tasks that require extra effort. They don't realize that they're in a never-ending cycle: they hate reading, so their reading skills will never improve. They can't spell, they use all kinds of words incorrectly, like using nouns and adjectives as verbs; they don't care about the comments I leave on their work because I'll always find the same errors on the rest of their schoolwork... all these problems can be fixed if they just expose themselves to reading more often.

Trying to teach the youth of today is like trying to drive a nail through steel. It all seems futile, and I'm getting frustrated.

Finally!

I kicked out Hormonal Loser from class today. He just wasn't doing anything and hanging around for the last week is not going to do any good for him. After I kicked him out, he comes back--nearly two hours later-- to try and beg to get into class again. He caught me just as I was leaving and we discussed his behavior in front of the principal and the secretary--who both already know about his stunning record. They agreed with me: Hormonal Loser is out.

My last week of summer school should be heaven now.

A Reason to Live

As a friend aptly described his four-day vacation just to attend the San Diego Comic Convention as his Ramadan, I must agree with him that a geek fest of gargantuan proportions is a well-worthy reason to endure  a typical San Diego heatwave.  Crowds get bigger and bigger every year. Geekiness is a popular trend now. I remember a time when all the stuff I used to like was obscure, and it made me (and the rare people who also knew) feel that we were some part of elite club with secret eyes that knew what to look out for. Nowadays, everything is trendy, everything is popular, everything is accessible to the point where hardcore fans, like myself, are just disappointed by the quality of mass merchandising.

I've been attending the Comic-Con for ten years now. Sometimes I still can't believe that I faithfully attend this event every year. I thought I would have outgrown it by now. I'm not into anime as much as I used to be, I'm not reading several comics at one time like I used to, and I'm not an avid collector of junk.  Why do I still go? Why do I endure the B.O. of fanboys who neglect their hygiene? Why do I torture my eyes by looking upon scantily-clad fat girls who think they have a size-three-action-figure body? Why are there so many people dressed as Klingons and Storm Troopers? Why are there so many boys with a samurai fantasy? And why do some girls think that being a fag-hag is cool?

Imagination has no limits, but for some, there is that sad state of not knowing where the boundaries of reality are. Every time I go to the Con, I have to prepare myself for the sheer horror of being around people who embrace the freakdom they feel is their "true identity."  They're fuckin' funny to watch.

Pet Peeves

1. Life as a teacher would be so easy if I could just fail all the students who don't do shit in my class.
2. I hate kids who think they're gangsters and try to be "black." What a bunch of wannabes.
3. Sometimes I don't like the kids who think that just because I'm a teacher, they think I'm supposed to be smart and infallible.
4. I hate the kids who think I'm their friend and that I'll give them hook-ups or special attention.
5. I hate lazy kids. My job is to teach. Their job is to learn. I'm not supposed to do every damn little thing for them.
6. Smart-alecky kids need to learn restraint and respect.
7. Hip-huggers need to get out of style soon.

Working Seven Days A Week

I wish I was at that point in my career where I don't have to spend my weekends doing lesson plans. The only thing I want to do on a weekend is enter grades, which should only take an hour of my time.
 
Thinking too much can be physically draining.

Right after typing my previous entry, I read this: Medicare Scraps Old Policy on Obesity.
 

Medicare is discarding its policy that obesity is not a disease, potentially throwing open the door for millions of overweight Americans to make medical claims for treatments such as stomach surgery and diet programs.

 
Our taxes paying for fat people's poor decisions. Lay off the food so Americans won't have to spend millions of dollars on liposuction surgeries. Damn you...
 

I'm a Bitchin' Teacher

What is it with people today who think that kids, especially teens, need to be sheltered from the real world? There are times when I think I can lose my job because I’m blunt with the truth and cold-hearted and uncompromising when it comes to education.
 
I had a conference with three students today. I know I sounded like a bitch. Conferencing with students or even parents is still a tricky thing with me. Part of me sounds like a complaining nag, and the other part me of is a concerned teacher at her wits’ end trying to get through to a student’s head about the poor decisions he/she is making.
 
I have two problem-students in my class this second term of summer school. The first student was in my class for the first term and he failed it because he wasn’t doing the homework and he was doing poorly on all the tests and quizzes. I call him Hormonal Loser. All he cares about is sex, girls, his car, and money (not that he’s rich). His vocabulary is limited to the two main cuss words (fuck and shit) and their variations. He never disrespects me, and so I give him credit for that. He uses the swear words as the universal words to everything he says in a sentence. Example: That was fuckin’ cool. He’s shittin’ me. Hell no, mothafuckah.
 
After hearing his expansive vocabulary for the past four weeks, his shit got old real quick.
 
My second problem-student, I call him Fuckin’ Leech of Society. He was in my class the first term, but he gave up and dropped. He did absolutely nothing then, and he’s doing absolutely nothing now. He has a poor attitude in class, he’s lazy, completely self-involved, and not one iota in his brain about accountability or responsibility.
 
Of these two problem students, I hate the Leech the most. He still hasn’t gotten any of the required books for the class and it’s been four days already with homework assignments—none of which he turned in because he doesn’t have his books. It’s a catch-22. Today, he starts complaining to me:
 
“I don’t have any of my books,” he says. 
“Then go get them,” I reply. 
“But the librarian won’t check them out to me because I have to pay a fine.” 
“Then pay the fine.” 
“I don’t wanna pay—“ 
“Then find your books, so you don’t have to pay.” 
“I lost my books.”
“That was your responsibility.” 
“She’s not going to check them out because I lost them.” 
“That was your responsibility.” 
“I don’t wanna pay.” 
“That is your responsibility. Why are you even complaining to me? I can’t help you. Those books were your responsibility—not mine. Fix your own problem.”
 
What part of the equation does he not understand?
 
Sometimes I blame the parents. I hate the parents who think that I should shelter their child by not telling them the truth about the real world and their child’s responsibilities as a growing adult. I hate the parents who shirked off their own responsibilities and thought that the schools would teach their child everything from morals, values, and manners, and maturity. I hate the parent advocates of education who think that a teacher’s responsibility, first and foremost, is to be nice to their child. I hate those parents who educate their kids and misinform them about their rights, telling them that teachers shouldn’t be demeaning.
 
My realism and cynicism can be misconstrued as demeaning to some students because they don’t get it. Thank goodness there are a lot more students who do get it. They smile and snicker when I tell the truth, especially to Loser and Leech. Those other students see that I don’t “baby” or shelter anyone in the class. I don’t give out A’s; they better work for it. I don’t give out answers; they better find it themselves. I don’t tell them how to think; they should think for themselves. I’m a teacher—not a surrogate  mother or a maid. I’m not going to hold anyone’s hand and lie that everything will be okay because it’s not. If they don’t do their homework, it’s a zero—simple as that; none of that “It’s-okay-by-me.-I-still-care-about-you” nonsense.
 
Hormonal Loser, some time during class, asked me, ”Why you bein’ so mean?”
 
“I’m not being mean. I’m being realistic.”
 
Welcome to the world I live in, losers.

I Want to Give Up Already

First semester is now over, and the second semester will start tomorrow. I get a whole new bunch of kids, too. Right now, I'm sick and I'm trying to lesson plan. Having to think and teach while I'm sick is the pits. I predict tomorrow will be a lousy day.

Lifeforce

What is it about working with kids that they just drain the energy out of me? Why am I so tired by midday?

Thank goodness we have the final tomorrow. No more major lesson plans. And after this, I get a new class as other students come and go.

Three more weeks... three more weeks. Another bout with Knowles, Shakespeare, and Sophocles, and lazy kids. I am so tired of thinking.

Screwed

I made a couple of parent phone calls today to inform them of their child's progress in my class. Usually when I make calls like these, it's because the kids aren't doing good and they are on the way to failure--again!

ME: "Please make sure that he/she is doing the homework every night."

PARENT: (pause...) "Homework? He/She says they never have homework..."

ME: (twitch) "Would you like me to email you the assignment calendar?"

PARENT: "That would be great."

ME: "Glad to help."

Little snot kids...

Let There Be Light

I turned on bunch of light bulbs today.

I love my job.

"I Have the Power!"

Today was the first day of summer school. I was expecting at least thirty kids, but about seven were absent. That's good. It means less students to deal with.

The first day was outstanding compared to my first day of teaching ever. I had plenty of stuff to do, the kids (knowing that summer school is their last chance to pass the course) were well-behaved. I heard no moans when they saw the course syllabus, nor any complaints about the many quizzes and assignments due on the first week. No one grumbled about bringing their book everyday, a heavy ten-pound behemoth of a text. Not only that, not all my students are staying for the entire six weeks, which means I could see some go and get new students maybe after the first three weeks are over.

It felt good... all that power and not one student brave enough to try and challenge me-- not when they know they can get possibly kicked out for little things. Summer school is strict that way. I'm feeling so confident because I already have old lesson plans and old things that I can use... and kids who have to be good and learn this stuff once and for all.

Power. Confidence. Happiness. Life can't get any better than this.

Shit. I shouldn't have said that; I might get into another car accident.

My Mind Is At Ease

I sat to thinking of my new teaching job for the 2004-2005 school year. I realized something about the whole hiring experience: they didn't hire me because I was Asian.

That put my mind at ease. I recalled my first time in the competitive battlefield of job-hunting. One district hired me because they were desperate. In retrospect, I'm okay with that now. But what I remember most was an interview with another district that automatically labeled me as "affirmative action candidate," which infuriated me because I don't believe in that policy.

As I think about the new school year that will approach in September, I smile to myself that the district that hired me this time saw me for my qualifications and credentials. The representative at the job fair saw my resumé and saw my "English teacher" title. They needed English teachers--plain and simple. When the principal interviewed me, he was impressed by my portfolio and teaching experience in Japan. I knew I nailed that interview. The funny thing is: I never filled out an application, so they were never aware of my racial status until they laid eyes on me. Well... maybe my strange name might have alerted them of my "foreignness," but that didn't really make them all the wiser.

During the entire process of applying, interviewing, signing contracts, and orientations, there was nothing about affirmative action candidacy. Nothing of the sort was ever brought up. No issues about minorities and my "obligation" to them. I was glad for that because I want to be seen as an individual, not part of the minority group. I'm an English teacher, not an Asian person for the quota.

Alchee (alkee)

I don't usually drink alcohol. I'm a lightweight and a sleepy drunk, too.

Yesterday, I attended the wedding of an old friend. One of the guests, another old friend who I hadn't seen in a long time, insisted that I should drink a little. He bought me a drink, and then another. After the reception, I went to the after-party.

Total drinks for the night:
1 small glass of champagne
2 glasses of mai tais
1 bottle of Smirnoff Ice

I felt a couple buzzes, but never outright drunk. Maybe I'm not a lightweight as I thought. Damn, I never drank so much at one event.

It was good.

An Eye For an Eye

First Nick Berg, now Paul Johnson.

Two things go through my mind:

1) If I were ever taken hostage, knowing that the United States does not negotiate with terrorists, would I be prepared to die for my country? Sometimes, I think yes, I would be, but that's easier said than done.

2) The other thing on my mind: anger and total frustration. What kind of country keeps taking hostages, and no matter how many times the world has said "NO, we will not negotiate," they still don't get the fucking message? I liken them to a spoiled child: they will never be satisfied no matter what is given them. Spoiled children need to be spanked. In this case, why can't we just bomb them already? I know that's harsh, but I'm saddened every time America's own servicemen are killed--endlessly it seems; I'm more frustrated when civilians are taken as hostages to be slaughtered, and I begin to HATE when I see or read of rotting corpses in the streets. Militant Islamists are beyond indecent and inhumane.

They didn't think 9/11 was enough that they had to keep piling on the woes for the American people. I'm wondering when (of if) America will ever seek vengeance. Those jihadists are all eager to go and see Allah; we should help them along. Kill them all in one go, and what's more--we shouldn't feel guilty because they all wanted to die anyway. And no one will miss them because they were a pain in the world's ass.

I'm so angry and frustrated right now.

Grammar Atrophy

I've studied grammar just to know how to write correctly and proficiently, but sometimes my mind gets boggled that I can't even think about grammar anymore. I was reading through a grammar book, and I can't answer one of the questions. So I pose it to you:

What is the past tense for can? (Not the can made of metal, but the can of "I can do this!")

The Start of the Teaching Blog

Summer session will start on Monday. Tomorrow is a prep day, so teachers can start doing lesson plans. I feel a little more prepared this time around unlike before, so I feel I'm a lot more ready than ever to get back into the classroom.

I am so excited about teaching again. I've already started my syllabus for the summer session (and for the 2004-2005 school year) and I'm working on lesson plans. My dad and I pulled out my old computer that had my grading programs, and I think I will install the testmaker in there as well. I'm so fired up with ideas, lesson plans, curriculum ammo, and books.

I like school. I can't wait till the real school year starts!

*smiles like a proud nerd*

And of course, I'll share my lovely stories of the [stupid] things kids say and do. You gotta love those.

Vultures

From Yahoo! News: After Julie McMurry's husband died last summer, Verizon Wireless told the Enumclaw, Wash. woman that she would have to pay an early termination fee on his cell phone contract. "I said, 'This isn't an arbitrary thing, I'd be glad to fax you a copy of the death certificate. The man's dead.'"

The Verizon rep said McMurry could either pay the fee or give the phone to another family member.

Ms. McMurry complained and so she didn't have to pay, but still... I can't believe a company would try to profit of a customer's death. What if a customer who had no family suddenly died, and Verizon tried to collect some early cancellation fee? Who'd get charge with the bill? Other Verizon customers, of course.

Parents, Do You Know Where Your Chidren Are?

Last night I joined my friends to catch the midnight showing of the new Harry Potter movie. There are several things about a midnight showing that my friends and I find more advantageous than a regular viewing: 1) no little children; 2) mostly adults; and 3) beating that weekend rush. When we arrived at the theater-- three hours prior to midnight (we ate at a restaurant nearby)-- we couldn't believe that a line had already started. So rather than hang out at the giant bookstore, we decided to go in line and wait with the other fanatics.

Fanatics-- not that my friends and I are fanatics-- but we do like the books. But the midnight viewing brings out the strangest crowds-- true fanatics, fanatics that were willing to watch the midnight viewing and dress up in costume--no matter how poorly made. And what was up with that Spiderman costume? Hello, wrong movie! He and his little wizard sidekick made absolute fools of themselves as they chased each other down the corrider. The gnome-sized magician waved his plastic wand around, "freezing" Spiderman. Spiderman would stay close to the pillars in a stupid "I'm stuck to the wall" pose. And no, these weren't six-year olds; they looked like high school students.

That's right, high school students. Last time I checked, I was pretty sure that San Diego had a curfew law for minors. What the hell were high school students doing at a midnight viewing, which would last until 2:30AM? High school students, who would have school the next day. High school students, who have to wake up at 5-6AM to start school by 7:30AM?

And their behaviors! So appalling! When the lines got crowded and cluttered in the corridor, they opened up the theater so we could sit inside for the remaining hour before the viewing. I saw high school students running everywhere like it was a playground-- even after they chose their seats. They kept getting up and running down the aisles. There was one young man who irked me so much that I wish I had a wet wad of tissue to throw at him. He kept running across the aisle and shouting stupid phrases and throwing stupid handsigns. I think someone shouted for him to calm down or something, and his fucking-ass rude response: "THE MOVIE'S NOT STARTING YET!!!" and throws up more ridiculous handsigns. What is it with teenagers and wild behavior? Just because parents weren't around, they think they can let loose and be rude without consequences? They only end up looking idiotic and immature. And then they wonder why adults never trust them?

And the girls. Why don't parents monitor what their daughters wear? Hip-huggers or low-rise jeans never used to irk me so much until last night. The wrong kinds of girls always seem to be the ones wearing them. What's the wrong kind? The fat ones. Those jeans were so tight around their hips, pushing up their fat only to make it pour out on top of their pants. They all looked pregnant with their pudgy bellies flowing forward like muffins crowning the edge of the cupcake holder. Or there's the overly skinny girl wearing hip-huggers only to reveal protruding bones. Yeah, like that's sexy!

The movie was done by 2:30AM. As we shuffled out of the theater, we saw more high school students from another theater waiting outside for other friends. Too many people were still lingering about outside the movie house. Why weren't the cops there? Why weren't the parents there? And no, eighteen- or nineteen-year olds don't count as real responsible adults when a minor is under their care. Think about it: a nineteen-year old will take full responsibility to save the ass of a misbehaving seventeen-year old? Yeah, right-- not unless they're related. It's every teenager for himself.

And parents are partially to blame. Why would they let their teenager out past the curfew law on a school night? A cell phone call away doesn't necessarily mean that their child is safer just because they can contact them whenever they worry-- if they ever worry at all.

You For a Day

I had this stupid idea when I got extremely bored one day. Since I had nothing to do, I thought about a "business" where a busy working individuals (i.e. you) can hire someone (i.e. a bored person like me) to do your errands for you. Hire these people for one day to do the little things that you don't have time to do, such as picking up your dry cleaning, picking up your lunch, picking up your kids, dropping off your mail, taking your car for routine maintenance jobs. You know, those little things that must be done between 9-5 before other offices close. We'll do everything you can't do because you are stuck in an office-- except housework and cooking because you can do that yourself once you get home from work.

It was just an idea, so don't call me.

Perspective

I found some old stories that I had written years ago, and I am thinking of rewriting and editing some of them, just for the sake of feeling that I completed them. The thing is I'm having a hard time writing again. I'm stuck with a very simple dilemma: should I write in first person, third person, or third person omniscient?

Until I solve this, I'm reading, rewriting, and recycling very sucky prose.

A Purpose To This Meaningless Ennui

I got a call today from one of the assistant principals from the former high school where I taught. He offered me a teaching position for summer school, teaching tenth grade English. Right on, Ms. Secretary who hooked me up! No interview necessary. Finally, I can get up in the morning without feeling like a lazy bum by the end of the day.