One Week Down, Fifteen to Go

Ha ha ha. Actually my first week back at school wasn't that bad. Still...here's the good news: I really like/love my social studies class, although the prof is a hardass, and it's almost impossible to get an A in her class. I don't even understand that kind of mentality, having taught college students myself...but whatever. I love social studies. LOVE IT. In fact, I think I'm going to get a secondary credential in it. Wait! Don't freak - apparently getting a secondary credential doesn't involve much after this. I just need one more class and I do have to pass the single subject CSET. But studying for history and other social sciences is actually fun for me. Most people in the class hate social studies. Too bad for them!

The science class is a breeze and fun - I had the same teacher last semester for math and he's great. And I spoke too soon - I actually like the Equity and Diversity Class although all our readings DO point out how I, the quintessential WASP, am responsible for the oppression of every other race in this country. The only 'oppressed' status I have is as a female. Otherwise I am your typical Western-European mutt, white anglo-saxon Protestant oppressor. Even though my relatives were poor as dirt, and my ancestors didn't have anything, even education, I have White Privilege. Actually, don't think I don't know I've had it easier because I've been white, and I've had some money. I do know it. But I do get tired of being blamed for slavery and immigration woes. Anyway, my professor, who speaks in a whisper, is actually a pretty nice, really intelligent Latino who doesn't seem too much of a crazy activist type. I talk a LOT in that class. In fact I talk a lot in all the classes. Sometimes I don't recognize myself - I used to be so shy. I'm like a whole other person. What happened? Sometimes we try so hard to change something about ourselves and we can't do it and then other times we simply change and don't know exactly when or how or why it happened.

Health class is ok and will be a breeze. We learned about 12 year olds giving blow jobs last week. Wow. This generation freaks me the hell out. The worst class is PE which brings back memories of all the horrible PE classes I ever had. I'm sorry. I hate PE. I know kids are obese today. I know activity is important. But just getting in the gym made me feel like I was gonna break out in a sweat - and not from activity. No one is yelling at me now, I'm not gonna be the last person picked for a team - but holy crap I hate institutionalized activity. Let the kids run around for an hour like wild howler monkeys for all I care.

My biggest concern now is this RICA reading exam I have next Saturday. It is a bitch and just one more hoop to jump through. What's amazing is I'd say 90% of the teachers in our schools today were never required to take ANY of these tests. So we still have a shitload of less than highly qualified teachers in the classrooms. They don't have to study like we have. They don't have to prove their knowledge like we do. I'm not saying we'll all be great teachers because we've had to do these things - but the fact that shitty teachers can't be fired is a crime.

I feel like I'm missing a class. Oh, technology. That should be interesting. We're learning Power Point. I've actually NEVER done anything with Power Point. The fact that I even know how to work this blog is a technological miracle. I am so bad with the computer and I do feel I need this course.

Hopefully Monday we find out what school we'll be teaching at, and what grade. I am still freaked out about that. I can't take charge of 20 7 or 8 year olds! Good God, what have I gotten myself into?

Tomorrow is Stupid Bowl Sunday. Have I mentioned I DESPISE football and all the idiotic madness that goes along with this day? What the hell? This country is nuts. I know, I remember the madness around soccer (real futbol!) and the World Cup blah blah - sports people are NOT my cup o' tea. I am going to the L.A. Zoo for a Black History month festival for my social studies class. I have to go; I admit it, I don't want to go. But maybe I'll become enlightened and I can find someone there to apologize to for being white. Haha. I am hoping it will be lightly attended because of Super Bowl, but I doubt it.

And finally, it's hot here again. @&^%*%&#($(#!!!! weather. I mean 80+ degrees. Just when I was enjoying the cold. L.A. sucks.

The Program , Part II

As much as I've wished this vacation to be over the last couple of weeks, here it is, one day left, and I'm a little shocked. Six weeks gone - poof! And what did I do? Slept a lot. Read a lot. Whatever I did or didn't do, it's over, tomorrow is my last 'free' day really, until it's ALL OVER. Primarily because we are being assigned, I assume, to a year-round school (don't even get me started on those and how much I hate them) and they do not have spring breaks. So no spring break. Also, my university managed to put President's Day at the end of December for some reason. So I really cannot think of one real holiday we'll be getting. And I'm certain the Powers That Be will allow us again, ONE missed day of full student teaching in 9 weeks - which is insane. One day in over two months? People get sick, shit happens, but they harp on that constantly.

So here I am...am I ready to go back? Not really. Not in the sense of someone who's just been through three and half months of one of the worst experiences of his/her life and you say "Well, would you like some more?" I'm sure my readers think, well she's GOT to be exaggerating, how BAD could it be? Believe me, I've been through some shitty things in my life and y'all know it. The horrible shock of the death of my dad and the way I found him, my own struggles with ongoing health issues...I've been held at gunpoint, narrowly escaped a raging fire, almost drowned in the Pacific ocean in Hawai'i and rode out the Northridge earthquake. I've had shitty jobs, bosses from hell and all the other intolerable situations we all have. Seriously, after my health, and my dad, this Program is the worst experience of my life. I didn't believe such ineptness existed in the world. I never dreamt you could be pushing 40 and be treated like a mentally defective child by people who by all rights and means should hold no job period. Forget the gangs, the illegals, the kids who don't speak English. That's tough, but I can live with that now. It's knowing we have to go back to these same morons for 4 months that sucks and blows at the same time, to quote Bart Simpson.

But alas, I have to return. As I've mentioned, this semester, we'll be taking 6 classes in 6 weeks. Health, kinesiology, social studies/arts (yay), technology in the classroom, science and my most dreaded class, equity and diversity. What a joke that's gonna be. Especially since it's being taught by a Latino professor who wrote our textbook and I sincerely doubt all races are going to get a fair shake. But I shouldn't judge him on his race, because I'm being racist. Wow. Show me one person in L.A. who isn't in some small way racist and I'll show you a liar.

Then, if the idiot teachers do NOT strike, we'll be starting our full-day student teaching on March 12th. At this point I have NO idea where I'm teaching and no idea what grade. I asked for 1st or 2nd grade - preferably 2nd. I'm sure we'll be teaching at another school in the valley - I'm just hoping it won't be as gang and violence ridden as the last school. I hope to find out Monday if they've figured out where they're putting us.

I am trying to go into the second semester with a somewhat different attitude - one of detachment - as much as I can. Because there is almost nothing I can control except of course, my attitude. I can't control the idiots, I can't control their idiotic behavior, I can't control the professors, or where I get placed or what school I'm placed at, or what mentor teacher I get. I can't control the strike or the schedule. I'm hoping I can control my mouth, because several times last semester I really thought I was going to get kicked out of the program for voicing my not-so-happy opinions. The 'kids' as I call them now - the 22 -25 year old girls, all looked at me like I was insane. Some of them are fresh out of college though. They've never even had another - no, any job! Naive isn't the word for it. Life has been fairly kind to them thus far. I feel sorry for them in a way. I can't imagine being 22 and going to be a teacher and doing nothing else - having no perspective on life other than being in the classroom. As much as I disliked some of my other jobs, I like the fact I had them, that I was exposed to business, and different types of people, different ways of doing something. Well, they don't care. They formed their own little clique right off the bat and I'm too old to matter to them.

So yeah, here's hoping and praying I can put my meditation practice to work, and keep my blood pressure down. I really don't know if I'll be busier with this schedule - although honestly, I cannot imagine that. I cannot imagine ever being busier than I was last semester. So I don't know how often I'll be writing on here. I'm hoping to at least write some happier updates...if it kills me. ; )

The 25

Oh heck, everyone's doing it - why not jump on the bandwagon...although suddenly I fear I don't even have 25 very interesting things to say about my life that people don't already know about because of this blog or my big mouth!

25. When I was at a preschool, around age 3, some nasty bitch locked me in a utility closet all day because I was crying for my mom. Yes I remember it - I have a fantastic and scary memory. Despite this event, I'm not really claustrophobic.

24. I have an irrational fear of pool drains. Don't ask why - I've never had an accident with one, knock wood. Honestly, I get nervous when swimming in the deep end of a pool and I know I'm over the drain. It freaks me out just to look down at it. I don't fear any other kind of drain. Weird, huh?

23. I have traveled to every state in the union except Florida. I've been to Alaska and Hawai'i' - Hawai'i three times. I really have no desire to go to Florida.

22. I would venture to say I've seen, encountered, etc. more famous people, movies stars, celebrities, musicians than anyone I know. I've never approached one or spoken to any one of them (we don't count The Church people!) - except when I sold them books at a bookstore. This is both a law of natives of L.A. - we don't feed the celebrities, and also my own personal belief in not bugging famous people on their off time.

21. When I was 24 years old, I worked for The Walt Disney Company. Many days I ate lunch on the set of Mary Poppins. Yes, they still had part of the set up!

20. When I was 8 years old, taking a piano lesson in a wealthy section of a suburb of L.A., my 85 year old piano teacher and I were held up at gunpoint. My piano teacher had balls the size of grapefruits - she slammed the door in the gunman's face.

19. I can trace my ancestry back to the following countries: Germany, Ireland, Wales, England, Canada.

18.One of the most erotic places I feel a guy can kiss me is the inside of my hand. Don't ask. I had a boyfriend who did this once and wow!

17. I have been friends with my best friend for 33 years. When we first met, we hated each other on sight, with a passion and neither of us can remember why.

16. Among my other neuroses is my intense need to sit by the window in an airplane. Honestly, for some reason, it calms me down to be able to see the ground at all times. If I have to sit away from the window, I get really nervous. No, I don't think I'm keeping the plane up by looking at the ground. ;)

15. My great-grandfather was born in Madeburg, Germany and was a well known firgure throughout Europe. At 20 he was commissioned by King Leopold of Belgium to explore the unknown African Congo. He was also an artist and sculptor, and painted portraits of Eleanor Roosevelt and Charles Lindbergh. He had an exhibition of his most famous works at the San Diego Museum of Art. His wife, Aimee Souvee, was French Canadian. I don't know exactly when they emigrated to the U.S.

14. My favorite poet is T.S. Eliot, my favourite poem is "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, my favourite movie is Blade Runner, my favourite band is The Church, my favourite singers are Steve Kilbey and Frank Sinatra, my favourite artist is Caravaggio, my favourite Classical music piece is Beethoven's 9th Symphony/Schiller's Ode to Joy, my favourite movie director is Martin Scorsese, my favourite swear word is 'fuck', my favourite pastime is reading, my favourite animal is the cat (surprise), my favourite book is impossible to choose but it would be a toss up between The Great Gatsby, The Catcher in the Rye and The Heart of Darkness.

13. Aside from being an art history teacher, I wanted to be two things in life: an actor and a detective. I could never make it through the police academy to become a detective, but this explains my obsession with true crime, forensics and other assorted morbid interests most people find repulsive. I like looking at crime scenes - they're just mysteries to be solved.

12. I have the thickest hair of anyone on the planet. Honestly, if I had a dollar for every stylist who told me I had thick hair, I'd be a rich, rich lady.

11. My favourite city in the world so far is still New York, with London coming in a close second.

10. I have never had a 'white' Christmas. I really want to experience snow at Christmas for once in my life.

9. I have visited two celebrity graves in my life: Elvis's grave at Graceland when I was 12, and Frank Sinatra's grave in Palm Desert about 4 years ago. I so regret I never got to see Sinatra in concert.

8. The most important things I've done with my life to this date are: teaching my students, both college and elementary school, and working with survivors of suicide.

7. Of all the friends I've lost or left over the years, the one I think about the most is Heather.

6. I cry more easily than anyone I know and probably cry at least once a week. Since I started this f-ing Program, I cry a LOT now. ;)

5. I am obsessed with bedding. Seriously. I have a sad fixation on high-thread count sheets. I bought 1000 thread count sheets and now everything else feels like sandpaper! I have about 8 pillows, a down comforter, a quilt, about 10 sheet sets, and various blankets. I have an expensive pillow-top mattress and I'm always looking to make my bed more comfortable. It's kind of sick.

4. I love hotels. Really, really, really nice hotels. I've been fortunate enough to stay in several 5 star hotels in my life. Once I sent my laundry out in a hotel in Vancouver, and my t-shirts came back wrapped in tissue paper and gold ribbon in white boxes. I just stood there and said "Oh my god, this is how rich people live." Extremely nice hotels are a weakness for me.

3. I've had plastic surgery, I've been in therapy, I lived in Malibu, worked in the entertainment industry. On the surface, this doesn't really look good.

2. My most romantic fantasty is to go to the Maldives, or Fiji, and be able to stay in one of those obscenely expensive villas where you have your own private pool right by the ocean, and you can swim in the warm waters under a full moon and stars, at night, stark naked. The rest of this fantasy is private, but suffice to say, Daniel Craig is somewhat involved.

1. I hate sushi and I won't apologise for it! You raw fish eating people are all freaks!



Photo: #2 on my list - the Maldives. Ahhhhh....maybe someday.

Strike This Motherfuckers

Well pardon my French, especially as a teacher. But I keep hearing more and more about a strike - a strike that teachers will vote on next month, a strike where they will walk out the very month we are supposed to start student teaching. How massively this will affect us, our schedules, our potential to get jobs, interviews...knows no bounds.

But beyond my own selfish reasons for not wanting the strike, I am so sick of this useless union. I pretty much ranted about it in another blog so I won't repeat myself. I've been talked to a couple of my friends in the cohort and I am utterly stunned...stunned at how naive I can still be. That I thought somehow, someway this semester would be easier than last semester...hahahaa!

The district has offered a 3% pay raise, retroactive to last July, full health benefits and smaller class sizes. Sounds pretty decent. But no. The teachers want a 9% pay raise and they're going to walk out on the kids, on us, on everyone for it. And they'll walk back in with maybe 5 or 6% if they're lucky and they will have fucked everyone over for it and the union reps will get richer and the teachers still won't be able to buy a house here and the kids' grades will be screwed up and I really, really, really am thinking about shoving this credential in a box in June and going to work in administration, just selling the hell out for the money.

Disappearing

Yes, that's me I'm talking about - I'm slowly disappearing and praise GOD it is GREAT! Yesterday I went to the mall (ugh) and I stopped in at J. Jill. I haven't bought anything from J. Jill in eons. But I think I've probably lost somewhere in the range of 10-15 pounds and oh my GOD I actually fit into a MEDIUM sized blouse! The angels were singing and I didn't want to weep so badly whilst looking at my body in the dressing room. Why? Because I could see my old body coming back....very slowly, ok I'm not too toned, but I can see it in there! I'm so proud of myself. I always lose weight pretty fast when I want to - I'll hit a plateau at some point but I felt like Scarlett O' Hara yesterday as I walked out of the store with my new purchases and I wanted to yell "AS GOD IS MY WITNESS I WILL NEVER BE FAT AGAIN!" Really. I mean, I know it's not cool and all to rail against fat, but on my body, personally, I hate hate hate hate hate it and find it disgusting. My biggest hope? That my boobs shrink back down to their lovely 36C size. Praying to the Boob God, haha. I still have a LONG way to go...but just seeing a hint of what I used to be is enough to keep me from binging on anything. Truly, I feel lighter already and it's amazing.

I also managed somehow, with the help of my friend Peri, to start studying for the RICA test I have on February 10th. It's my LAST standardized test for the Program and it tests us on our ability to competently teach children to read. I am such a huge literacy advocate that studying for this isn't too painful. It's not calculus.

It rained today. I'm sure it'll still be freezing cold here tonight. California has lost a ton of money with the citrus industry. My mom's flowers died and her grass was covered in ice. I do not remember a time when it was so cold here. Personally, I like it. It's like an actual SEASON for once. Even though I generally find January and February desperately depressing, at least I know it's winter.

The bad news: I watched American Idol for the first time last night. Oh my god, it's like a train wreck you cannot stop watching. These tryouts are so embarrassing. I cringe and yet cannot turn the channel. I have hit a new TV low. Why doesn't Paula Abdul just come clean and tell people what she's on? Because clearly the woman is either on medication, taking street drugs or drinking. She is whacked out.

I am toying with the idea of going to London and the English countryside in late June. Or sometime after the Program ends. Who knows though. The strike could send us all into an entirely different schedule and then I will have to resort to serious violence. Ok, I'm kidding about that last part, but really.

I attended my first Buddhist meditation class Monday night. I really liked it. The whole point of me doing this is so I won't feel the need to commit acts of violence against the Idiots I am forced to work under and with. LOL! Ahhh, radical acceptance....letting go....

I have to go exercise and study. This is an entirely different post from my last one and don't ask me how I got motivated to do something -anything - because I really don't know. It could all end tomorrow and I could be back on the couch slipping into indifference. You never know.

Losing the Will....


...to live. Yes, I actually think I've had too much vacation now. I know, I know, when I was in The Program (I almost wrote Pogrom - wow) - I could.not.wait. to get on holiday as those across the pond and Down Under say. December 22, 2006 was my first official day of freedom. Holiday and family madness sucked up at least a week and a half of that. Then I did spend days, blessed days, catching up on sleep, reading, reading, reading. Reading everything - filling my head with more useless information but god I crave it for some crazy reason. Reading blogs I had to abandon because of so much homework; reading websites, news, hard news, soft news, entertainment news (Britney loses her panties and I lose my lunch), Saddam dies, the world shrugs, I read and read, old magazines, Time, Newsweek, events long since passed, old news, new news, Vanity Fair - oh it's like a book to get through that mag, The New Yorker, Psychology Today, stray magazines I bought in the heat of the "I've got to read this!" moment that have been slowing growing sleepy, quiet and tired under my table. I hardly knew they were there. I have books galore all over the apartment; I must be reading at least 4 books at the same time and actually, I will finish one of them. I really will. Right now my brain hurts and I don't want to look at words. Amazing.

But god I have gotten so lazy it's scaring me. I can't seem to write back emails I owe to people, even writing this blog is taking some kind of psychic energy out of me I don't feel I have. I wanted to write a whole different blog about memory - which hopefully I will - sooner, rather than later. Catz's blog today made me start thinking long and hard about my memory, what I fixate on in the past, and the beauty and curse of having a spectacularly visual and good memory (yeah, I'm talking about myself).

I have gotten my lazy ass up and done a few things. Went to the dentist to have the tiny chip in my tooth fixed and came out with almost new-looking front teeth - for a price. Ha. I decided to do the big 'winter cleaning and organising' fest. Gave bags of clothes to the Goodwill; I tossed so much crap I didn't even know I had, organised the rest into neat little piles of: will use soon, need now, may use in the future, and the biggest pile of all: still psychologically cannot let go of some crap. That's a big pile. It's all of it isn't it, really? I saw Suzanne Somers (sp?) on the television after her house burned down in Malibu. Say what you will about celebrities - but that was her house, and all her worldly posessions were in it...and she looked so stunned, so shocked and my heart went out to her. How and why do we get so attached to mere things... I don't know...it's like building a little safety nest I suppose. And yet some people have no things they care about. Naturally I would grab my cats and myself first in an emergency but I do think of all the pictures I have that would be lost - pictures of my dad, now almost 11 years gone, pictures that can't be replaced. GOD I have got to make the copies and put the originals somewhere safe. Why do I put off doing things like this? So my things I would not want to lose...my books, and pictures and journals and little things people have given me. Sentiment is at the root of it all I'm sure. If I just didn't give a shit...

Then I decided in addition to losing the crap I needed to lose major weight; I cleaned out all the cupboards - have started over from scratch which I've actually never really done, despite saying I'm starting over. Sure, I've tried to diet and diets fail. This is just slowly changing my eating habits. And my eating habits had begun to appall even me and I've never been the queen of healthy eating. Pushing 40 might do that to you - time to shape up or ship out. Outta time baby. 30 was a warning bell - you ignored it and now the Moment has come. You ain't gettin' out of this one alive. Oh shit, you're right! Goddamn, I'm not. I'm really fucking not. I'm not gonna be young forever. I'm not going to be the 25 year old I am in my head. Little strange things are happening to my body. I'm really gonna die someday? But does anyone really comprehend THAT one? So I always had a fairly thin, nice figure - not model thing - I have boobs and look like a woman, not a 12 year old boy - but man I rocked it once in my early 20's with my body for a while. Those were good times. I had youth and a great metabolism and health on my side. Now...of course the fucking ominpresent fatigue and pain of fms, the gift that just keeps on giving, doesn't help. In fact it keeps me constantly screwed up but I just have to live with it. It ain't going away. I don't know that the Beast and I have made any peace at all on a daily basis - well, maybe some...but over the long haul, the last 13 years, I've acquiesced, kicking and screaming the entire way. But even I know I can't really win this one. I decided I didn't have to let it take over my entire being however and turn me into the Pillsbury Dough Boy's friggin' wife. I really went to hell in a handbasket last semester eating everything in sight. I can only blame the medication for starting my weight gain 2 1/2 years ago. I've kept it going. Me and Oprah. We've got food issues, haha. Yep, I think it's safe to say I'm never gonna do hard drugs and Grey Goose just isn't as comforting as an entire bag of chips. What can I say? I guess it took a looming big birthday to shake me to my to my senses and make me realise if I eat for every screwed up emotion I can't or don't want to deal with I'm gonna have to rent another apartment for myself. Oh and don't think my ego hasn't been blown to hell. *I* remember the girl with the rockin' bod, the long legs, the size 6 mini-skirts. Well, reality says I'll never be a size 6 again but really, I can still get back to a pretty decent body -and more importantly, a healthy body.

Anyway, so from December 28 to this moment I've eaten healthier than I ever have in my life! yay! I've had veggies with practically every dinner! I've had fruit, whole grains, lean chicken and fish! Do I feel renewed with loads of energy! No. Sorry. In fact I've had a shit few days here with The Beast - sometimes I think it's easier to deal with the pain when I'm in class. I can't focus on it so much. I'm sure the good eating will help in time. At least it helps my overall healthy, if not my chronic pain directly.

Which brings me back to....I'm doing so little on this extended vacation that I swear I'm just going to disappear into the couch one day. Maybe they're be a little puddle of me left somewhere. I'm still reading, but less. I'm watching old movies late, late at night. Jesus, I didn't go to sleep until 5am this morning. My sleeping is officially fucked up. I've been sucked into the morass of cable TV showing my past at 2:30am and like some junkie, I can't turn it off. I just sit and stare and suck it all in.

I need to go back to school. As much as it pains me to say it, and I am not looking forward to the idiocy of the morons running the Program, I need to get back on a schedule. I get off of my routine for too long, the Beast takes over, the Melancholy finds me, and it's woe-is-me for days on end. I start to not even get dressed some days. I wander the apartment in depressed haze. I uguess I really pissed off my *friends* when I was busy trying to get my credential last semester because they don't seem interested in seeing me now or doing anything. Fuck 'em. I've kind of had it with people. I'm on a real anti-people mood now. A 'my friends can suck it' kind of mood. LOL! How to win friends and influence people. Well, we all know I've never exactly been queen of the ball, or belle of the ball or however the hell you say it. Miss Congeniality. Not.

This semester we have 6 weeks of classes and then we're supposed to do 9 weeks of full-day teaching; it's our classroom student teaching.

Oh but I forgot to mention the monkey wrench - because there's always one in there somewhere. The teachers are about to strike. In March. Exactly at the same time we're supposed to student teach. Can you believe this timing? I've got no respect for the union - pussies and fat cats. Teachers have had a union for HOW LONG????? And they fucking fight for crumbs. Teachers still make shit salaries but union reps and school board members and superintendents are paid quite well - shit, our new superintendent is getting $300,000 a year, a a car, a house, benefits - and what's he gonna do for LAUSD? What the hell good is the union doing?? Why haven't they gotten teachers the money they deserve? I have no sympathy for them. Fuck the union - they've failed in my eyes. I was forced to join the union when I taught college - and I mean forced. I HAD to pay union dues - it wasn't a choice. Why do teachers need a union anyway? Why can't we be considered white collar professionals like doctors or lawyers? Why the victim mentality? Oh poor us, poor teachers. I'm so sick of it.

So go strike for your 5 % raise or your extra $50 for faculty meanings but it's all meaningless to me. I know what I'm walking into. Just pull your shit together by March so I can teach and do what I love to do. And because as great as vacations are, I don't need another 5 weeks off.

Photo: Eric Bana - for no reason other than he's hot as hell. This photo is from the upcoming film "Lucky You" - I saw a trailer for this last Friday and holy shit, is this guy smoking or what? Man, I missed it entirely in "Munich." Surprised by lust; it's always fun.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

This is the Way the World Ends

...Not with a bang, but a whimper.
Not with a shot but a hanging at dawn
in a land so filled with death hardly anyone notices
the monster is gone.

Not with a tear but a funeral in state
and they will say he was good man, a righteous man
he forgave and he pardoned and changed another's Fate.

I am reading everything I can now...from magazines dating back to spring of this year to T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets, The Wasteland...Eliot says life is long but oh these days are so short...especially when I sleep until noon and spend the rest of the day trying to stave off funereal thoughts of nihilistic doom. I know you well, I say to these thoughts, hovering on the rough edges of my mind...I've seen you before, every year at this time. They laugh, the hollow laugh of those who know they've already won the game. I am reading books and newspapers and the backs of cereal boxes...my mind again seeking, seeking, seeking constant information, constant stimulation while I dream of a drug that would shut the whole bloody mess off for just a few precious hours.

Don't mind me, I'm in my glory - I've looked forward to this break for four months...but vacations are always double-edged swords for melancholy freaks like me. Got to be vigilant - especially this time of year, the most depressing time I think...not the end really, and not the beginning, not the middle, not the high, not the low, the long, slow descent into January. Hallmark is doing its goddamned best to rid of us of the gun metal grey meaninglessness of January...today beneath the bright glare of the fluorescent lights I walked down the card aisle and while the banners said "Christmas Cards" the cards were all Valentine's Day cards. Jesus H! That has got to be a fucking new record. December 29th - hell they could've been up the morning of the 26th for all I know. We'll just move from one consumer-driven holiday to the next, nevermind our lives.

So yes I hate January, no hate is not the right word. Despise? January brings the black dog to me, and even time off to relax is spent in a constant battle not to give in to the idea that all is futility, all is futility. Two precious kitten balls are sound asleep on the bed behind me, safe in the size of their tiny brains. Today while walking back home after picking up my mail I saw the most beautiful long-haired cat rolling around on the landing of some steps. It is cafe au lait in colour, and oh it wanted my attention so badly. It meowed and batted its big, pale blue eyes at me, and rolled on its back and practically begged me for....for...for what? I'm not sure. I don't know if someone owns it. There were a couple of empty apartments around the area. The cat wore no tag. What broke me was the feel of the skeleton beneath the cat's fur. It is so thin. It cried and followed me as I finally started to walk away...but it stopped at a certain point and would not move anymore. Nevertheless I came home and opened a big can of cat food, mixed in some dry and took it back to my new friend. He/She was sitting on the stair landing again and desperately hungry by the way the food was gobbled down. Now even my well-fed, fat little cats often act like they haven't been fed in ages so I know cats can put on a good show...but this little kitty's bones weren't lying. If someone does own it, I feel like putting a sign around the cat's neck saying "Feed your fucking animal." I don't think it'll follow me home, which is good because I can't take on another cat. People already give me grief for the two I have.

Oh! God! She's single! And almost 40! And she has two cats! Fucking crazy she is! Spinster! Old maid! Loony. She's one broomstick away from being that crazy lady down the street. Last year on December 30 I got a call from the vet telling me Zoe's tumour was not cancerous. Those are the best calls of your life, huh? Oh to hell with anyone who doesn't love animals or at least try and understand those who do. I don't even want to be around people who don't love animals. Yet I am. It's annoying.

So I'm going through these magazines backwards for some reason. I'm starting at the end and moving forward. Strange huh? Well sometimes if I see something I want to read I have to start at the beginning. But I felt like starting from the end.

I have cleaned this place for days now. I gave two giant bags of old clothes to the Good Will. I am having the hardest time giving things away....throwing things away. I am somewhat of a pack rat - a sentimentalist fool...and all it's gotten me is an apartment exploding with things. What to keep, what to let go of? Why do I feel the need to hold on to so much? I can let go of people in a day and yet spend hours agonizing over a pair of pants, or a favourite book. I bought three giant plastic bins from the hardware store to store stuff in. Stuff. My life is just surrounded with stuff. Granted, much of it is school and/or work related...so I need it and can't toss it. I need a bigger place, that's obvious. Not gonna happen in L.A.

I really should've titled this blog "This Blog is a Rambling Mess" as I go off in all different directions. Alas, my mum is coming over tomorrow afternoon and as Catzy wrote in her blog, mums are able to see a speck of dust a thousand miles away. My mother won't give me that look, she'll just say something subtle, like,
"This place is a sty! How can you live like this?" So that's one of the main reasons I've been up close and personal with the Windex bottle for a couple of days. And damn if this place wasn't hellishly dirty. That's what ignoring cleaning for weeks at a time will get me.

I cannot believe how much shit I've thrown away. I've tossed a ton of video tapes - I don't even know what's on them anymore. I just can't stand the sight of them cluttering up the place. Bag after bag after bag of...what? The detritus of my amazingly meaningless life?

So they hanged Saddam Hussein, three years after they found him in a spider hole. And yet the war criminals live on. Who killed more Iraqis....Saddam or the United States of America? Oh don't worry, I'm no apologist for maniacal, murderous dictators. I'm not shedding any tears for the passing of that monster. It is hard to imagine going into 2007 knowing what insanity began in 2003.
My mind continues to reel. The laundry must be changed out. I wish I could drink. The killers killed a killer.

"And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And I pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss..."

- from "Preludes" by T.S. Eliot

Photo: My voice before I came to be...Thomas Stearns Eliot.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

And At the End You Will Begin Again

When I was 25 years old - oh god how long ago that seems now, so many, many lifetimes ago - I read a book called The Three Pound Universe. I still have it - although I think it was originally my brother's book. Had to be - it's a fascinating albeit reductionistic, mechanistic tome on the nature of the brain and human consciousness. Yeah, there I was getting my M.A. in art history, waitressing for a living and reading about things like split brain research at night. This book frightened me like nothing ever had. I remember it so vividly, though I feel no fear now. I suppose at 25 I still had so many luxuries - my father was still alive, my grandmother was alive and I hadn't become ill yet. So I had time and time and nothing but time to spend my days studying Neoclassical painters, serving cheeseburgers to grumpy customers and trying to pin down the very nature of human existence and consciousness. Fourteen years later I look back on this person and laugh, wearily, knowingly. Oh you had it all, I think. You young, naive fool. But how was I to know? We are all only responsible for our present; we cannot know what is to come, what will forever alter every fiber and cell and neuron of our beings.

So I read this book, which scared the holy hell out of me because it was written by scientists who essentially believe there is not only no God, but no soul. It's a little difficult to explain. Suffice it to say, I remember vividly the night I was in bed reading this, and seeking the answers to the Great Questions, I had turned to science, as religion had failed me too many times. Suddenly these scientists were my Gods. And they were prophets and seers and sages and they fascinated me with their data and experiments and tales from the laboratory and I read of deja vu's occurring in the temporal lobe in the brain and Roger Sperry splitting brains in half and men who no longer had short term memories and lived in Twilight Zone-like perpetual hells. And somehow, someway, these men and women, with their research and smoke and mirrors and test tubes, convinced me that there was indeed no me. That there was no soul, no permanent consciousness to be found anywhere within my being. And I sat there and thought, I am one severe head injury away from not being me. I mean come on, think about it. Where do people with Alzheimer's go? Are the brain and the mind the same thing? Is there not only no life after death, but no real life in our minds? Would I disappear if hit in the head hard enough? Where are people in comas? Vegetative states? Are they in a nether-world, waiting to return? Or have they left even themselves, not even knowing they were once people, and are now simply shells???

I don't know the answers today to any of these questions, just like I didn't know the answers almost 15 years ago. I suppose the major difference today is that I don't seem to care much anymore. I find this ironic - I was the 5 year old child whose first question to my mother was "Am I going to die?" - I was the child who was obsessed with death and the afterlife. I was always trying to find some kind of answer, some peace. Oddly, by not caring about the questions anymore, perhaps I have found it.

Nevertheless, I was utterly devastated. Why I chose to put all my faith, pun intended, in these scientists and their theories - for that's all they are really - just theories - and call them reality is beyond me. I walked around in a daze. I remember taking people's orders at the restaurant and wanting to say "Do you realize there is no you?" Luckily I refrained and didn't end up in a rubber room. So I really bought into this whole idea of there being no soul, no me. I was constantly changing. There was nothing permanent about me. Oh I can see that now, physically. I can finally start to see the signs of aging, on the tops of my hands, around my eyes...it's happening. I'm succumbing to what I never really believed would happen because when you are young and healthy and everything is basically OK in your world you are never going to get old. That only happens to other people. Aging and growing older - it's happening. My body has taken a beating by the fibro the last 13 years. I learned a lot of lessons a lot sooner than my friends and peers. Such is life.

So what got me thinking about all this now...all these years later. I'm no longer obsessed with the idea of there being no real me. Lately I've been far, far too busy to even have the luxury of having a philosophical thought. But I started thinking about 2006 as my first semester finally, finally winds down. I thought about who I was and where I was at the beginning of the year, and who I am and where I am at the end of the year. And two more different people you'd be hard pressed to find.

I don't know where I'm going with this because frankly my brain has pretty much turned to mush and I've beaten this poor tired body down into a heap of pain. I've spent the entire year working towards this credential program and the last three months in the program and all I can say is I never, never, never, never want to be that busy again in my life. Slowly but surely I lost all contact with everyone and everything. I guess student teaching and taking 6 graduate classes will do that to you. Plus my health took a dive - like I thought it would. I keep telling myself it'll be worth it in June. Right? Right?

So last January I began this insane race. I spent six months studing for three CSET exams and being a T.A. for a kindergarten class in one of the wealthiest areas of Southern California. I spent time with kids so young they had no idea how rich they were. Too young to act like spoiled brats, but I suppose it will come in time. In between days I did strange things...I met my journalistic hero, Anderson Cooper in June...that experience feels like it happened about 10,000 years ago. I saw a play with Al Pacino in May, and spent a wildly surrealistic time with the Church in June and August. Did that really happen? Perhaps that's what I mean about there being no real me anymore. Who was the girl running around selling Church merch? Santa Barbara? Steve's paintings? Who was I? Why does it all seem like a dream now? Who was that girl? Was she the same girl painting the feet of 5 year olds in January? The same girl taking the State-mandated tests in March and July? The same girl who spent three and half months in a nightmare LAUSD elementary school on lockdown half the time trying to avoid gang bangers on the way to her car every day? I feel like I've been a thousand different people this year.

Certainly I am not the same person I was when I started this program. You cannot go into the crime-ridden, poverty striken area I did and come out unscathed. If you do, then I feel sorry for you. And yet I did get to come out of there. What of my beautiful kids who don't get to leave? What will become of them? How I grew to love these children. My crazy, unruly, wild, loving fifth graders. So smart, so troubled, so sad, so funny. So many tragic stories I couldn't list them here. Student teaching ended December 8th, the day I took my mom to the hospital for a small outpatient surgery. I came back to the class on the 13th to give the kids their Christmas cards and stickers and candy and unless you've experienced it you have no idea what it feels like to walk into a room and have 28 kids scream your name, run at you like banshees, hug you for dear life and clap like you've just performed a great concerto! Gosh I felt like a rock star! Yep, we bonded. I didn't get to teach the whole class as much as I'd liked, but I worked very hard with them, in small groups and one on one, which might've worked out better in the end because they so desperately need the attention and the caring and I got the wonderful chance to get to know them as individuals and people.

When I came to see them on the last day before Christmas break, they were writing essays for a contest sponsored by the Screen Actors Guild. The essay topic is "What Love Means to Me" and I was in tears as they read me their essays. These kids may not know perfect English (but their English is still better than my Spanish!) but there hearts are still so amazingly pure and grateful despite their living conditions. They are so, so grateful...so amazingly grateful for any little thing you give them. A bag of candy? It might as well be a bag of diamonds. A card with a note in it? I saw a boy staring at it like he'd found the Rosetta Stone.

And what they gave me...can never be measured in gifts...although they did give me some wonderful gifts. The best gifts were their plain, pencil-written notes written on plain college-ruled paper in wonderful albeit broken English - notes I will keep and treasure for the rest of my life. Yessenia gave me a snow angel and Ariana gave me a beautiful little teapot and for a moment I feared they were giving me things from their own homes. That is how poor they are. I promised them 2 things: I would come back in January to spend a day with them and I would come to their graduation in June. And come hell or high water I will be there for them. People come in and out of their lives; they have no consistency and I do not want to let them down.

So who am I now? After the lockdowns and shootings and months spent with the children of illegal immigrants? Where do I stand now on all these issues? I started the year with children who have every material thing in the world and ended the year with children who are lucky to eat and wear decent clothes. And yet what grateful, happy hearts they have so much of the time. I didn't think my place could ever be in an urban school; now I see that that is where you truly make the biggest difference.

I feel like I am wholly changed; like every cell within me died and has been replaced. I feel like my soul is different and my views I held in August are different than the ones I hold now. Perhaps those scientists were right. Perhaps there is no permanent me.

I am still so sorry that aside from the kids the program was such a miserable experience. At the end of January we will be taking all our classes and not teaching; just 6 weeks of intense classes and then 9 weeks of full-day student teaching. I think I will be teaching second grade - probably at a different school - but that's another story. Let's just say I had a meeting with the program director and I wasn't the only one unhappy with my situation there. The kids were great - the school and its staff sucked. Articulate, I know.

I lost total and complete touch with the outside world and although I have one final on Thursday I feel like I am re-entering the world again. I don't suppose anyone could or would believe how busy I have been. Hell, even I wouldn't have believed it. How busy can you be? I'd think. Well, sadly, between my fibro, getting about 4-5 hours of sleep a night, getting up at 5am, teaching til noon, classes til 4pm, homework, errrands and pain...I lost the world and everyone in it. I never, ever ever want to be that busy again and pray that next semester is a little better. I knew I'd be busy but that was insane. It was worse than my M.A. program.

But now, I am a new person again....a person who just wants to take this stupid final, get it over with and relax for 6 weeks. I must have 70 magazines piled up around here, unread. I gave up on watching TV a long, long time ago. I think I saw three movies over the last 3 months and I haven't rented one video. For me, the movie queen, that's crazy! I have a lot to catch up on.

So as the year comes to a close, I wonder. Who will I be next year? Who will I be in the program? I will be turning 40 in April; it's a big one no matter how I play it. Because in my mind, in so many ways, I am still that 25 year old girl, stuck forever reading The Three Pound Universe, walkind around and wondering if there is really a me inside of me.

Photo: Five of my kids, at the annual Halloween parade.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

31 Days to Freedom

I'm stunned I haven't written anything since October 29th. Then again, I'm not. I have been so busy mere words cannot describe it. I am leaving for Atlanta Tuesday morning to visit my brother and his wife for Thanksgiving. The program has turned into a nightmare of a different kind. Forget the gangs, the lockdowns, the shootings. That's all just become commonplace. No big deal.

I'm too tired to go into it all now. Suffice it to say I haven't been very happy at all and neither have my 16 fellow cohort members. I've done a lot of things in life in the corporate and academic world and nothing - NOTHING - comes close to the idiocy of this program. I regretfully must say the women running this thing are morons. Complete and utter stupidity reigns. I am not alone in this assessment. We are all suffering because of their inability to do their jobs correctly. I am disillusioned beyond all belief that these women were once teachers. They are all retired, collecting a pension from LAUSD and a paycheck for being our site supervisors as well. They evaluate our student teaching. These are women in their 60' s and 70's who haven't been in the classroom in over 20 years. They are disorganized. They are disrespectful. We are tired of being treated like we are five years old. I have a fucking Master's degree and taught college and yet I am treated as if I am in first grade. My ego has struggled mightily in this program. You cannot please these women. They contradict themselves at every turn. I really can't explain how awful this program is. I am beyond disappointed.

The kids are great. And yet I hardly ever get to teach them. My mentor teacher is a nice person but for whatever reason won't let me teach. I've tried to talk to everyone about it. No one cares. They are putting more idiots into the classroom. This is why there are so many bad teachers out there. I'm spending my student teaching experience sitting in the corner like some fucking T.A. No matter who we talk to, nothing ever changes.

The classes and work is killing me. I'm taking a ton of work with me to Atlanta to do on the plane and in the hotel. I get no vacation until December 21st. I feel no pride in getting a credential through this program; it's obvious they took anyone and everyone. There are some people in the cohort so stupid I can't believe they can dress themselves in the morning. God I know I sound arrogant and harsh. I feel like I'm in the Twilight Zone. I don't sleep much anymore and I'm in a great deal of pain because of it. But I can't tell anyone about my condition. I don't trust anyone. I'm so far in now I won't quit. I'll jump through their stupid, meaningless hoops and kiss their idiotic asses until I get the credential. Really, it's hard for me to believe these women have jobs. They are inconsistant, they don't communicate with each other or with us, they don't show up for our evaluations. I am bored with the program. It is not intellectually stimulating for me in any way.

I have come to love my kids even though I don't teach much. I have gotten to know them and we have a great time. I do teach them in small groups. I am, not surprisingly, learning a great deal of Spanish. Tomorrow I have to teach an English Language Development lesson. I'm being evaluated for the 4th time. No matter what I do in the lesson, it's never good enough for the nutjob I have as a supervisor. I don't respect these people at all. It's hard to take this seriously when I think they're buffoons.

We had a drive-by shooting last week - three guys shot for tagging. No one died. Lockdowns are now commonplace. The gangs no longer freak me out. Nothing frightens me more that stupidity. The gangs have nothing on the women who hold my credential in their hands. I am almost ashamed to be in a program with such sad, pathetic mentors. They are not mentors. They are examples of what happens in a bureaucratic system. They should be fired and replaced with younger, capable, smart educators. I don't know what other credential programs are like. Remember, I am in a Carnegie-funded special program. The Carnegie foundation has NO IDEA how wasted their money is. People from the foundation are supposed to come talk with us. I would tell them honestly that this is one of the worst experiences of my life. I am only here to get the credential. Otherwise, it's meaningless. How my life has changed in three months. How very, very sad.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

No Life

Ok ok I know I signed on for this 'fast track' credential program. I KNOW THIS. But I'm starting to really resent having NO LIFE. I'm cranky and depressed and angry and I keep telling myself it'll all be worth it in June. Right.

I realised one problem with this program today. It's going so fast I'm having trouble processing all the information we're supposed to learn and know to become great teachers. The problem is, the time has gotten condensed, but the amount of material/lessons/classes is the same. So it's going so fast I barely have time to digest it. I suppose I'll get better as a teacher on the job, haha.

I did see a movie last night, Prestige. It was good, but as the semester has progressed and we're getting more and more work I noticed my attention span is all over the place. I had a hard time NOT thinking about school work during the movie. It was VERY annoying. I just wanted two freakin' hours of escape. Next time I'm trying vodka.

It's only going to get worse in the next month. I keep telling myself...on December 13th I'm free for 5 weeks. Free. Free. Free. To sleep as much as I want to and need to. To read - for pleasure. To watch as much TV as I want and as many movies as I want. To actually see friends, talk to friends and email friends.

I'm pretty happy even with the fibro I've been keeping up with my cohort, even the healthy 25 year olds. This weekend was hard though; I slept a lot. I seem to make up a lot of sleep on the weekends as I don't get much during the week. I've had a lot of pain too. Par for the course, right?

Nothing new or exciting in this blog, just me bitching about missing my freedom. Once I have the credential I'll always have it - if I keep it current, right? Right. It'll be worth it in June. I just keep telling myself that. Somebody pass the Kool-Aid.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Serenity Now!

For those of you who were/are big Seinfeld fans, you'll know what the title of this blog refers to. I'm actually MUCH more serene than I was one week ago. I read my own blog and realised how out of control my emotions were. It scared me.

I've started the teaching part of student teaching. I really do have a good class and a great mentor teacher. She's a hard-core Irish Catholic chick from New York and she doesn't take shit from these kids. She has two M.A.'s (one in Education and one in Math) and taught high school math for 16 years. She's from Rockaway, Queens and I really love her. My lesson went on and on today because I wasn't sure what the kids were understanding since their English is so so so so limited. I also sat in with a psychologist and one of the female students because well, let me just say this girl is a problem. I can easily see her getting into a gang. She's already lied and said the teacher hit her when the teacher never hit her. These are damaged kids.

Yesterday was R's 12th birthday. She is a plump, quiet, sweet girl. I brought her a card and a butterfly bookmark. I knew the class was having cupcakes for her later in the day (I have to leave at 11:30am to go to my own classes). Today I asked her if she had a good birthday. She looked at the ground and mumbled "Noooo...." I said, "Why not?" She said, "Because my mom didn't say anything or do anything." You hear about this and it's sad. You hear it come from a kid's mouth and your heart breaks into a million pieces. You want to buy them all the gifts in the world, say all the right things, but you know nothing you can do will ever replace the love they're NOT getting from their parents. I don't understand it. My mentor teacher told me this same thing happened to another student in the class - a very smart but beaten down boy. J is very obese. No one, NO ONE recognised his birthday either except Ms. M, who brought a gift for him and cupcakes. The teachers really are the only people who care about these kids sometimes. WTF? Why do they have these kids if they can't even SAY happy birthday to them? Is the lousy fucking Church that powerful? I want the cycle to stop but there's only one way and that's NO MORE KIDS. Sad, but true.

So far this week, no lockdowns. Yay. But Ms. M did tell me another really famous gang works the neighborhood. This gang is notorious for being the absolute most feared and worst gang - not in L.A. - but in the entire nation. They're international in the scope of their terror. I won't give any of these scumbags any mention here. However, this gang makes the others look like choir boys. You never jump out - the only way out is a body bag. I just hope and pray the shitheads are asleep when I walk to the school. I say that half-kiddingly. I joked in class today at the end of every week without a lockdown we should have a party or something. I'm only student teaching here. I'm not working here; I don't know whether to admire the teachers there or think they're crazy. It's a different feeling every day.

I have a midterm tomorrow in Special Ed. My tire blew out on the way to school this morning. My cat Fletcher has a bad case of - get this - kitty acne! It's on her chin. It's SOOOOOOOOOOOOO gross. She's on her second round of antibiotics. My house is a mess. I haven't emailed anyone back in weeks. I'm more swamped than ever with work. I'm over half-way through with this semester. I'm going to Palm Springs next weekend for - hold onto your hats - a math conference. Yes, ME who hates math. My friend Penny and I are going and getting student teaching credit for it. I'm sure a few martinis will figure into the equation at night.

I need to go study more Sped as we call it. I never get enough sleep. I drink coffee regularly now. I bought a coffeemaker so when I get up it's already made. Never thought I'd be a coffee drinker. Never say never my mom keeps saying. She's right. My life is so completely different than it was a mere two and a half months ago. My perceptions of life, of poverty, of my own city, of immigrants, children, education - everything has been turned upside down. Whatever innocence and naivete I had left seems to have disappeared. I struggle daily with feelings of fear, frustration, hope, sadness, joy, anger. Complete turmoil.

I'm reading a lot about Buddhism. Years ago in my 20's I dabbled in reading about it. Now I feel more serious about it. I've never been able to find any religion or philosophy I could ever live with. I'm always searching. I'm Christian by birth but don't believe the only way to God is through Christ. I'm sure to many people that means I'll burn in Hell or be rejected by God for all eternity. That's Ok. I'm not even sure what eternity is or if I believe in Hell. Then again...

Maybe this is Hell.
There's a kid in my class, a good-looking boy named R. His mother is really sick with something - very drawn, thin, haggard. For whatever reasons, she won't accept any of the social services offered to her - and believe me, we offer everything. She's what the teachers have referred to as a 'dumpster diver.' She picks out trash I guess - recycles cans, etc. R must live in the neighborhood as so many kids do. When the other kids see his mother, they said "Hey R, isn't that your mom?" And he says "No" because he's so embarrassed and ashamed of her. Today another boy told the class how his mom works two jobs and is only home between 2am and 5am. That's it. For sleep, for everything.

This week we've been working on "Why I Will Stay Drug Free" essays. The fear is horrendous, knowing how close these kids are to drugs. Their lives are already intertwined with drugs, alcohol, violence. They share stories of arrests, beatings, etc. in class freely. One kid, D, seemed oddly obsessed with meth labs. Crystal meth this, crystal meth that. When he started to tell me how they make it with the battery acid, I shut up him. "Meth is so bad we don't ever ever ever talk about that" I said. What good does it do? Another kid asked "What's AIDS?" They should know by now; we talk about I.V. drug use. I did a little dance around that one; he didn't need all the details. Yesterday I got a great story from a boy whose mom apparently was growing a marijuana plant. He seemed so earnest when he said "They're really hard to grow! My mom rolls her own!" Oh my god, I was trying really hard NOT to laugh. I just looked at him and said "Oh. That's illegal you know." LOL! What the hell! Who cares, right? Even *I* don't give a shit about marijuana.

The big story today was someone passed a note. A gossipy note. Ms. M freaked. I mean she tore into the guilty parties like nobody's business. She's so fierce I felt scared and I didn't even do anything. They keep telling us sarcasm has no place in the classroom. I disagree. I think a well-placed sarcastic remark is quite refreshing. So everyone who admitted to passing the note lost their recess. No one would admit to writing the note. As I left for recess they all sat there dejected and complaining. Ms. M was outside talking to someone. I said (in my best sarcastic voice) "You know, you could get out of this very easily. "
How how, Ms. D? "Try telling the truth for once." Well, that didn't go over well because you see, NO ONE was guilty! The note wrote itself! Everybody in prison is innocent! They immediately started chattering about their innocence. I kept walking.

TV Alert! I am so pissed. Last night I forgot to tape Nip/Tuck and tonight I forgot to tape Jericho and last Sat. I forgot to watch Kidnapped! My TV watching is going down the tubes! No pun intended. Luckily NBC ran the full Kidnapped episode online. And pathetically, I watched it ONLINE. Because I LOVE that show and the fact that they cancelled it still frosts me to no end. I still have about two Nip/Tucks on tape I need to watch. Something tells me I'll be catching up on DVD again.

Well, that's it from the down and dirty barrio of my life kids. Acne Cat is sitting on the bed sleeping. Tomorrow I have to take my midterm after teaching, then come back and buy new tires. Joy. Just what I wanted to spend my money on. Tires. I hear they're all the rage now. Halloween is coming up and I have nothing exciting planned. It'll be mayhem at school. I can smell a lockdown coming....

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

God Is a Bullet

I really, really wish I had something else to write about other than the surreal nightmare my life has become since entering this teaching credential program. But I don't. I am at my wit's end today. Or as I said in my Reading class today after my group presentation, I am at the end of my proverbial rope.

Where do I begin? With the dead body on the church steps on the corner yesterday as I sat at the light waiting to turn left onto the street my school is on? A homeless person died. There was a shopping cart next to the body. A cop car pulled away. The ambulance sat silent. No one was with this person. I just stared and felt nothing. Kids walked by, on their way to school.

Or should I talk about how over the weekend some fuckheads broke into the school, completely trashed several first grade classrooms, and tagged all the beautiful murals painted on the exterior walls of the building? What kind of good feeling does a person get in trashing a FIRST GRADE CLASSROOM? I'd like to find the motherfuckers that did it and cut their hands off.

Then again, maybe I should talk about the gang banger murder that went down early this morning across the street from the school. Driving down the street I saw six cop cars and an entire building roped off with crime scene tape. Retaliation shooting I heard.

There's a 42 year old woman in my cohort who is on my last fucking nerve. She's one of those "I grew up on a tiny island off the coast of Vancouver but I know what it's like to be in the Mexican barrio and I'm smarter than everyone, I'm going to show everyone up, and my shit doesn't stink." Granola eating liberal fucking ignorant bitch. When I said I was feeling culture shock at being at this school she says smugly, "Oh I'm not." Oh right! I forgot - you grew up where? On a tiny island with all white Canadians! I grew up in L.A. and I ADMIT I find this shocking. But I defer to YOU, gang expert. She tells us there's an ordinance in place against the gang that runs the street my school is on. Well, my dear, tell that to the gang bangers who were standing on the street today practically pulling their dicks out and pissing on the sidewalk to mark their territory. She told us they moved to Palmdale. Yeah? Tell that to the stiff the coroner took out of the apartment building this morning. Tell that to US, the student teachers who RAN to our students today, because we heard GUNFIRE and we had ANOTHER lockdown where the teacher started screaming "Shut and lock the doors and windows!"

Maybe her liberal ass can just 'reason' with these poor, misunderstood guys. Oh no! I forgot. They're in Palmdale now! I must've had a hallucination when I saw them on the street today.

I swear, I was NOT going to talk shit about my cohorts or let anyone get to me, but I have HAD IT WITH HER. I just had to do this huge presentation with her and another girl. She is beyond an overachiever. I thought *I* was an overachiever. She just kept adding more and more shit for us to do - even ordering me via email last night to get our materials on transparencies this morning. Between the hail of bullets, I'll see what I can do. She BITCHES non-stop about America. Now normally I am the first person to bitch about this government and America. But I have HAD IT with her fucking supercilious, arrogant attitude. If you hate it here so fucking much and we are all so terrible, GO BACK TO CANADA! What the fuck has Canada ever done for the world anyway? I am typing this so fast I am completely out of control. I am totally irrational. But if I hear ONE MORE WORD ABOUT HOW HORRIBLE AMERICA IS I'M GOING TO SHOVE MY FIST IN HER FUCKING SMUG FACE! She rides the bus and has done nothing but harp on us because we don't. Bitch, shut it. It's L.A. We have cars. We're using them. If you had one, you'd use it to. Your husband has the car, that's why you're taking the bus. You're not saving the fucking free world from greenhouse gases. I noticed when a few of us offered to give her a ride home, she didn't decline the rides.

She's 42 years old and you'd think with all this overachieving, she'd have accomplished more in her life. She just finished her B.S. this year. In P.E. But she won't teach P.E. because according to her, no one is teaching P.E. correctly. NO ONE can do ANYTHING as good as she can. I don't say "Well I got my Master's degree at 29 and taught at two colleges for 7 years. What the hell have YOU done?" She's MARRIED you know, and ALL BUT TOLD ME I'll never get married at my age. So I guess I haven't accomplished anything because I'm not married.

This bitch is making me far more upset than any shooting. And yet I have been in tears for the last several days. What the hell am I doing? How did I get here? I hate it all! When they said urban school in the valley, I thought OK. I didn't know they'd literally be shooting at each other and the school would be in the fucking MIDDLE of it all. There's a part of me that wants to quit. And another part that says no, I'm not a quitter. I don't quit things.

The program is a disaster. I hope the foundations that funded it know their money is being wasted. Even my reading professor today said they should shut down the elementary school and let the State take it over, although I don't know that the State could do any better.

All I can say is Antonio Villaragosa, our mayor, can take his kids out of private school right now, and kiss my lily white ass. He wants to control LAUSD? Let him start with this school. Go ahead Antonio, fix it. You and the new Superintendent Brewer. Fix it all. Tell me what you're going to do to make this shit better. Because I wouldn't even know where to begin.

I told you. Don't admire me. Because I may not even be in this program in a month. Or a week.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

There Are No Angels Here

Today, Friday October 13th, capped off an excruciatingly hard and emotional week. All week we've been at the elementary school where I'm starting student teaching on Monday, meeting with various staff and specialists. I've talked about the school before, but I don't think there are really any words to describe how horrific this school and its surrounding neighborhood is. The irony is that it's a Title I school - meaning the Federal Government has thrown millions of dollars at this school for every conceivable type of help and program you can think of. You name it, the school has it. They have 1200 students (100%) on free breakfast and lunch. The school qualifies for everything. They have a full time psychologist AND a full-time psychiatric social worker. That should give you some idea of the problems these kids and their families have. They have Special Ed teachers, aides, Resource Teachers, Reading Specialists, two full-time literacy coaches, a math coach, a beautiful library stocked with brand-new books. They have a nurse who acts like a small medical clinic. The kids get free glasses, immunizations, medical care, hearing aids, speech therapy, deaf and hard of hearing therapy, hearing tests, vision tests. The nurse does a lice head check every Friday in different classrooms.

I am so afraid of getting lice - there are no words.

The day we met with the mental health experts I thought I was going to run out of the auditorium screaming. The school sits in the center of one of the worst neighborhoods in L.A. County. There is a prominent gang who works the area, although an injunction was put on the gang 7 years ago...but nevertheless this gang runs the biggest crack cocaine business in the entire area. They have ties to the Mexican Mafia. When walking to and from my car, I keep my head down, I don't make eye contact with anyone and I pray no one drives down the street. I've been in Mexico over the Arizona border. I'm now in Mexico again. Out of 1200 students, there are only 100 who are classified as EO - English only - meaning English is their primary, native language. There is one Russian student at the school, one Armenian, two Vietnamese and the rest of are Hispanic descent. I truly feel like I've stepped into the ghetto of Mexico.

The stories the psychologist and psychiatric social worker told us are searing in their brutality. There recently was an 11 year old girl who was raped by her step-father. Incest is very common, as many families live in very small quarters together. Sexual molestation, domestic violence, alcoholism, drug abuse, child abuse, truancy and abject poverty are all the norm for these kids. Single mothers have 4 and 5 kids. I blame the culture AND the Catholic Church for that. The Catholic Church can rot in Hell for telling these people "no birth control." I have no words to express my burning hatred for the Church. Every time the Church says "no birth control" they condemn these kids to horrific lives. Kids are literally starving - they have no food at home. One kid said he didn't do his homework because he literally didn't have a space to do it in. There are two, three families living in a SINGLE - imagine it. Young girls beginning puberty have no privacy. They wear heavy coats in June because they're tired of all the male eyes staring at them.

Believe it or not, there are still truancy officers. They're just called Pupil Services Personnel now. We met the woman whose job it is to make home visits and track down the reasons why kids aren't coming to school. Yes, the schools get money for every child that attends each day, but it's also the law and the D.A. doesn't fuck around on this issue. The families don't answer their door; they're afraid. They're illegal. They're in debt. They're in a shitty neighborhood. One woman told the PPS lady the reason she couldn't bring her daughter to school was that her 18 year old daughter has cancer and is in the hospital and she also has two other kids, one who is an infant. The PPS woman said the infant was FILTHY. She had to teach the woman basic hygeine. A lot of the kids can't or don't know how to clean themselves.

The school is literally the best, safest place these kids can be at all day. Their clothes are filthy; the nurse said some of the kids accidentally wet their pants and when she asks them to put their wet underwear in a bag, the underwear is often too small, and so full of holes it's barely hanging together. There are many charities around the area that bring in clothes for these people. Even the parents aren't immune to the problems; one parent become so suicidal the psychologist put them on a 72 hour hold in the hospital. The kids are angry and threaten violence; one little boy took an ax to his stepfather and the stepfather beat him senseless. Many of the children say things like "I don't want to live" and have suicidal ideation.

The school, acccording to the standards set forth by No Child Left Behind, is failing. It's a PI 3 school - meaning it's a Program Improvement 3 school. It has only two more years to get its API scores up before the State comes in and takes over. They start cleaning house by getting rid of the Principal and the administration first. What really frosts me is that they'll get rid of teachers too - and so many are so bad they need to be FIRED. But you can't be fired because the fucking union is so strong. So like the pedophile priests were shuffled around form church to church to just molest more students, the bad teachers are moved around from school to school to inflict their shitty teaching on more students.

What is the problem here? We decided it isn't money. The government has thrown millions of dollars at the school and the kids are still failing academically. My friend P doesn't think it's the parents or the language problem. I disagree. I do think it's the culture - the family, lack of values, lack of education, the poverty, and coming into a new country and trying to learn a new language via a horrible, horrible, highly scripted reading program the district has implemented called Open Court. It teaches kids pure phonics - without teaching them any meaning or comprehension. So the kids learn English - they just have no idea what they're reading. They sit for hours on end making phonemic sounds. My whole cohort hates Open Court so much and yet for our student teaching we HAVE to do it. On Tuesday the literacy coaches were teaching it to us and I kept asking over and over "Yes, but when does COMPREHENSION come into play? And they just kept saying, "Oh no, it doesn't." Like it's not important at ALL to understand what the fuck you're saying and reading! I can sound out gobbledeygook words all day, but that doesn't mean I can fucking understand it! Who ARE the morons who decided THIS would be good for students?

A friend of my cousin's, who's been teaching high school English at a MUCH nicer school in a much nicer area, tested positive for being exposed to TB. So now she's on all these heavy drugs to make sure she doesn't get it. Fuck the lice - THAT scares the shit out of me.

And today...today was the cherry on top of the urban school sundae. We were sitting in one of the meeting rooms, when a woman came over the PA system and announced the entire school was in 'lockdown.' NO ONE was supposed to leave the room they were in; all teachers had to keep their students inside and keep the doors locked. Our seminar teacher idiotically opened the door and saw two policeman outside. We could hear the helicopters above. I was a little nervous.

Later, I found out there'd been a shooting in the neighborhood. I'm going to go to the police website and see if I can find out anymore information. Oddly enough, I'm not really scared of being shot. I am freaked about being exposed to some airborne illness.

I met my 'master teacher' today. She is really sweet. She seems to be around my age, not married, very nice, caucasian, also an EO (we're all labeled now with these lovely acronyms). Her 5th grade students all said hello to me and said my name perfectly. They seem sweet.

Earlier this week, we sat in the library while the ELD (English Language Development) director talked to us about the different struggles these kids have not knowing English. A class of students came into the library. I was so depressed that morning. I heard the kids laughing. Our site director, whom I refer to as a Stepford wife, went over and told them to stop laughing. It was all I could do not to stand up and yell "LADY! Let these kids laugh. These kids are the only thing that's keeping me from running out to my car, getting in it, driving away and never looking back."

My friend Gena said "I admire you. I couldn't do this." Don't admire me. I don't know if I can do it. I'm scared. I'm mostly scared I won't be a good teacher. I'm scared there's no way to make a difference there. I feel like all they're doing is rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. I am much more jaded and cynical than the 22 -25 year old girls in our program. But I've got over 15 years of life experience on them. I don't think my life story is going to be "Stand and Deliver." Maybe I am too pessimistic. Only time will tell.

Photo: Cartoon mocking the highly scripted and idiotic reading programs used in many schools today.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Middle School P.E. Class: Fitness for a Fat Generation or Institutionalized, State-Sanctioned Torture?

I'm gonna go for the second choice, because my GOD how I despised P.E. way back in the day. Oy! I had Mr. Oliver one year and I swear he was straight outta the Marines or something. I still fear him. Let's face it, I stunk at sports and pretty much anything athletic. And P.E.? My God, except for maybe 6th, there was no good period to have it. You'd get all sweaty and gross and if you didn't want to shower in front of anyone (and gee, at 13, or 14, who does?) you'd have to just get back in your clothes at the end of it and move on to the next period.

I was taken back to my early '80's nightmares today as we were told to go down to the field and observe a P.E. class at the middle school I'm working/studying at. We had uniforms we had to buy, with our names stitched on them in - get this - cursive. White tops and blue shorts for the girls. The boys had reversible gold/blue T-shirts - the colours of our school. Every Monday we had to roll 'em out for Mr. Oliver and show him that they were clean. God that man could yell. I stood there today and Mr. Chapman didn't have to yell because he had a whistle and better yet, a bullhorn. Man, I want a bullhorn. He needed one too. The kids are, yes, sadly apathetic and totally refuse to or are unable to follow directions. They couldn't do a three minute run correctly so he made them run over and over and over until he was satisfied. Then they did push-ups, sit-ups and stretches. Well, half-assed versions of them. I was flashing back like I was on ACID! Then they got to play hockey. On the asphalt. For about three minutes. Because Mr. Chapman spent all his time disclipining the students, they got no real time for P.E. Now we never got to play hockey. I had to play volleyball and softball and I tried to hide from every ball I could. Sometimes we stayed in the gym and did the balance beam and climbed the rope. I sucked at that too. Mr. Oliver loved to make us run around the entire school. I remember saying "If we fall down off school property because he made us run I'm suing!" God, 14 and already thinking about my first lawsuit.

Honestly, it's really sad. The kind of P.E. they do with kids is bullshit. My friend Peri got a degree in kinesiology or whatever they call it but she won't teach P.E. because she agrees it's bullshit. I'm telling you. Fuck Gitmo; get those high-priority terrorists out on the hot asphalt, get a middle school P.E. teacher on their ass and we'd have Osama in no time flat. I felt badly for the kids, even though they were misbehaving. I related to their torture in a decidedly personal manner.

Mr. Oliver eventually married another P.E. teacher at our school, Miss Jensen. What's really sad is that one of their children, a son, died a few years ago in an accident. I was so sad for them...and I'd finally grown up enough to realize Mr. Oliver wasn't a monster...just a teacher and a human being. I still think of him a lot. I could be wrong, but he might still be at my middle school.

I still hate P.E. and really am trying my best to block out the haunting memories.

On a happier note, I did my presentation of children's literature today in my Reading/Writing class. I presented my great Halloween book, called The Twisted Sistahs which is about the very first Halloween started by these three witch sisters who are looking for men and throw a big party for their suitors on October 31st, but then decide the men are so idiotic they just decide to keep throwing a massive party every October 31st. The entire story is kind of long, and rhymes and it's a riot, and so are the pictures. At the end, my professor was laughing and said, "D, all you were missing was the costume!" I admitted that yes, I'd wanted to be an actor when I was younger. So that was my highly dramatic reading of the day.

Speaking of acting, one of my new favourite shows is on tonight...the one with Mr. Tim Hutton, "Kidnapped." Yay. Something to look forward to that doesn't involve a damned book. What's scary is I realized the kidnap retrieval specialist the Cain family hired to get back their son is the actor Jeremy Sisto, who I first saw many years ago when I was in my early 20's and he was in his late teens in the movie Grand Canyon. I distinctly remember seeing that with my friend Jill, and how she remarked how cute he was. Fifteen years later, I agree! I'm like, shit, what happened to that kid? When did he become a man? A smokin' hot man? Although I will say his face looks really big. I mean, huge. Like his head is bigger than normal. He's the only man I've ever seen that I think looks better with facial hair. I'm sure if I saw him in person the first thing I'd say is, "Oh he's so small." That happens with almost every famous person I see. TV and film magically makes people huge. Although I really do think Jeremy might have a significantly bigger face than most of us. I like this show, so naturally, I'm waiting for it to be cancelled. I'm a cynic, I know. A cynic who likes to read children's fairytales about Halloween, and who hates P.E. Go figure.

Photo: Jeremy Sisto in "Kidnapped."

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Discombobulated and Melancholy

Those two words pretty much sum up my feelings right now. For some reason this weekend I've been very disoriented and feeling down with no real reason for feeling down in sight. Ambiguous melancholy. I hate it. I don't know why I get it. It's not depression per se, but a lonely kind of sadness, a feeling of total disconnectedness from the entire world. I know some of it has to do with this insane program I've started. OK, I knew it would be intense, but I don't think I knew just how intense. I wake up at the crack of dawn, I get home and am too tired to do anything. I've spent the last four weeks in this whole new world; I feel like I've been dropped in the middle of the ocean even though I'm working with 16 other people - my 'cohorts.' Most of them seem to be as overwhelmed and confused as I am so at least I'm not alone in those feelings. Yet the feelings of isolation and discombobulation persist. I was tired before all the time and now I am tired in a different way. I have homework and projects constantly in my mind. Both daily work and some huge projects looming over me. I've actually been doing pretty well health-wise, considering the fibro. I started a different med which has helped a lot; I'm not getting my hopes up long term however. I've been on a few meds that have helped me a lot in the beginning but in the end their side effects were too horrible or they just stopped working. With less pain however came a little more energy, although I noticed as I started getting more homework in this first month, I also got less sleep.

Two days last week I walked into the teachers' lounge at the middle school and drank a cup of coffee. Now that might not seem like such a big deal but I've never had a full cup of coffee in my entire life and I'm almost 40! I just don't drink coffee. I prefer tea. Obviously you can see I'm a little tired in the morning. Three people in our program are really sick too. I start week 5 tomorrow. I'm actually surprised I've made it this far, haha. I'm happy I'm doing this - although I have a lot of self-doubt and my cohorts and I are less than pleased with the way this program is being run. In fact, we're so confused and feeling quite angry that we've called a meeting with the professor who's running the program; we are supposed to meet with her this week. Oh I can't wait for that. These women (and they're all women) are like Stepford wives. I think they're all on a Valium drip or something; they seem totally out of touch with reality. All of the teachers are "wonderful" and I swear they're like robots. The only other school in CA to have this program is Stanford University; so we're in good company. However I really wonder how Stanford's TNE cohorts are doing. I can't imagine anyone more dingy than these ladies. Hate to say it, but it's true.

I miss everyone - S, Holly, Sandy, Veleska, my friends here. I have no time to write letters anymore, no time to even update my own blog. I'm making a concerted effort right now to get something new down on my blog because I'm sick of that stupid quiz being there. I got home Friday night and tried to catch up on my taped TV programs. I was actually happy House was going on hiatus because of the world series because it'll be one less show to tape. And watch. LOL! This is supposed to be enjoyable - watching my shows. I really love the show Kidnapped with Tim Hutton, Dana Delaney and Jeremy Sisto.

Oh god, Tim Hutton. Now there's a story. He was my first actor/celebrity crush. I was around 13 I think. My friend Jill and I went to see the movie Taps. I can remember it so vividly, 26 years later! I remember the exact theatre we went to, the exact place we sat and how fucking hard we cried at the end of that movie. I mean honestly, you would've thought someone had really died in our lives. I laugh so hard about it now. What were we, insane? Taps was full of today's big movie stars. Tom Cruise, Sean Penn. But I fell for Tim and his boyish good looks. I fell hard. I read that Tim frequented a restaurant in Beverly Hills called The Gingerbread Man (it's no longer there). I tore out articles on him. He was hot stuff after his stunning performance as the suicidal son in Ordinary People; he was 19 years old and received an Oscar for that performance. It didn't help that at 14 I was really, really into my drama class and wanted to be an actor desperately. I still think that's the one thing I would be if I could be anything at all in the world. Funny, I don't even know if I can act really. Thirteen years of living with fibro tells me I can, haha.

Anyway, I badgered my mom into taking Jill and me to Beverly Hills. If I couldn't see or meet Tim, at least I could go there. I was fascinated by it - and I was a native of L.A.!!! She took us to Neiman Marcus for lunch. We were about 14 at this time. I remember that was the very first time I ever had bernaise sauce. To this day, I will do anything, anything at all for a great bernaise sauce. I mean, I seriously love that sauce. My mom was so cool; she hung back and let us go into Tiffany's!!! I'd already been to the Tiffany's in New York City (which has several floors and is a must-see for any girl and fan of Breakfast at Tiffany's!!!). I remember we went to New York when I was 12 and my dad was buying my mom some jewelry there. For some reason though, I just had to go into the Tiffany's in Beverly Hills. I look back now and wonder, what were those sales people thinking when they saw two gawky girls in their early teens walk into the store? Well, we must've behaved because I don't recall being kicked out, haha.

It's interesting; living in Malibu and Brentwood and spending so much time in Santa Monica, West L.A. and the Valley I have seen so many celebrities I cannot count them anymore. Also, while working in the entertainment business for several years I ran into more than my fair share. But I never have seen Tim Hutton. I don't know much about him anymore. I know he was married to Debra Winger, which I found odd, and has a son named Noah. I think he might have another child, I don't know. There are probably a million things I don't want to know about Tim.

So I'm watching him on this new show and I see the grey hair at his temples. I think to myself, "Oh Tim, it's been so long hasn't it?" I hate to say this, but I was always surprised Tim didn't become a 'bigger' movie star. He's a terrific actor. What happened? Bad choices? Timing? Luck? When I was in love with him at 13, he was a MAN of 19!!!!! LOL! He was SO MUCH OLDER! Now, I've caught up to him. We're all getting older. A lot older. Why is it so easy to see yourself age on other people's faces?

A couple of years ago when I was in New York city I went to a restaurant Tim co-owns called P.J. Clark's. It's fantastic. It's in a really, really old building and serves awesome burgers. I wish I was in New York now. Anywhere but here.

So I've spent the majority of this weekend either doing homework or catching up on a) sleep and b)tv shows. I took my friend Gena out for her 43rd b-day last night. Somehow I managed to get us lost in L.A. - my own damned city. That's how screwed up my head is. I'm preoccupied all the time now with homework and this program. There is no life outside the program. I have drunk from the well of the Kool-Aid people. I am lost now; abandon all hope, all ye who enter here. I swear they should've put that on the program forms we got on the first day.

Tomorrow we don't have to go to the middle school because of Yom Kippur. But I do have my Ed Psych class. I start my student teaching on October 23rd with a 5th grade class. I am seriously scared - yes, of a class of 5th graders!! I never in a million years could've imagined the amount of information we're supposed to learn and know and apply as teachers in such a short time. This makes getting my M.A. look like a walk in the park.

In other exciting news, it was overcast here all day and even rained a tiny bit. This is very exciting in a city where it can be hotter than hell all through October. I am so bloody sick of this infernal heat I could scream. The pumpkin patches are out in full force - yay! I still need to get my own Halloween decorations out. It's all I can do not to buy Halloween candy now and eat it. Those damned Reese's pumpkins should be illegal they're so addictive.

I have a quiz in ESL on Tuesday. Did I mention my teacher is this Hispanic Communist? Ok, I don't know about that, but she rambles on incessantly about her own political beliefs and basically spent a lot of class time talking about how us white folk just don't understand race relations. Um, bitch, I've lived in the biggest multicultural city in the U.S. my whole life. I was here for the 1992 riots. Two of my best friends are Hispanic. The city I grew up in is a hotbed of racial unrest. I'm not the dumb ass cracker you think I am. Seriously. There were people in the class who were shocked to find out that Mexico treats the Central Americans about as well as we treat the Mexicans here. No shit senora! And my friend P was stunned to find out that even within races, there's a hierarchy based on the colour of your skin. The lighter your skin, the better you are perceived and the better chance you have in life. I'm not making this shit up. It sucks but it's true. I am so sick of this Latina and her reverse racism though I'm gonna flip out one of these days. We have her class on Halloween this year. Maybe I should start cutting up my white sheet now. And I ain't talking about coming as no ghost either. Apparently me and my peeps are responsible for keeping the other races down. Look, I'm no dummy. I know being born white, although it was totally out of my control, has afforded me great opportunities. But I didn't have any more control over that than others have being born black, Hispanic or Asian. I don't look at these kids and think "I'm not teaching these inferior beings" - Jesus! I look at these kids and think "They deserve only the best from me." She can kiss my lily-white ass. Professors who use class time for their own personal agendas make me sick. I made sure I never got political in my classes. It'd also be nice if she actually did her job and took the time to teach me how to teach content material to English Language Learners, as the students are now called. Somehow though, I have a feeling she's gonna go on and on about that border wall bill that passed recently. I can't believe this is the best person the university has for this job. Here's a comment she'd appreciate: it was probably affirmative action. So chew on that, and viva la raza!

Photo: The lovely Timothy Hutton, 26 years after I first fell in love with him.