MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

The Ruins of September

What great ruins now sleep eternally
on the broken ground of this grey city
Like souls prostrate in mighty grief
In all the world, black disbelief

Human eyes will never again see
the views to Heaven once conceived
in man's own mind
a three pound universe
the same which brought these giants down
tis now the view of Hell unbound

Who were the men, the hands indeed
that set in stone
the hopes, the dreams
birthed by Rome in concrete, stone

Of greatness built to Gods and men
and leveled in seconds by Hell's condemned
A city keens for fallen friends
Yet bent not broken in the final end.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

Toto, We're Not In Suburbia Anymore

This is gonna be a short blog because it's only the second day of my full-time student teaching/school program and I'm wiped, physically and emotionally. I'm thinking this does not bode well for the future. We're at a middle school this week in the urban valley. It's got to be close to 99% Hispanic. I'm ashamed to admit this; I feel like a stranger there. Everyone is speaking Spanish. This is the new America. This school isn't nearly as bad as some inner city schools. Uniforms are required - you can't wear any colors or markings that might get you in trouble with a gang. There's a policemen and security guard on campus. EVERYTHING is locked down ALL the time. Let me put it this way...if one teacher loses one key, the ENTIRE school has to be re-keyed. I am not making this up. The teacher bathrooms are locked all the time and we don't have keys. I just realized I forgot to sign out for the second day in a row. I'm probably going to get shit for that. We have to sign in and out every day. We have to wear badges with our pictures on them. These kids are about 12 going on 35. 6th, 7th and 8th grade. Tiny kids, making out. Swearing. Could probably teach me a thing or two about sex, drugs and rock and roll. And this isn't even high school!

I had my first class today. Teaching reading. This should be one of my favourite classes but according to all former students, this professor is a nightmare. And our class is located on the middle school campus in 100 + degree heat with NO AIR CONDITIONING. I was so hot in class I started to feel sick. At 'nutrion' break' and lunch I feel like I'm going to get run over by 2,000 running, screaming kids. Middle school is definitely NOT for me. I feel sorry when I see kids eating alone. That just kills me for some reason. Maybe they're happy. But it bothers me.

We're observing different classes, different teachers. Some are great. Some you just automatically know shouldn't be in the classroom. Many of the students in the ESL class not only don't speak much English, it's pretty obvious they and perhaps their parents haven't been in the country long, and I doubt they're here legally. Is it racist for me to think that people should enter countries legally? My heart breaks for what's happening to people in Mexico, and all the other countries where corruption and fraud are so bad, and there are simply the rich, and the poor. And yet I sat there, and felt like a stranger in my own city. I know everyone wants and deserves a better life - but at what cost?

Next week we move to an elementary school. I look forward to that because I want to teach much younger kids. I had a panic attack earlier though. It's going to be a terrific grind. I'm scared. I think, what have I done? I feel like a complete failure at everything I've ever done and I don't want to fail at this.

Something so simple seems so difficult. Oh! And you should see the schedule at this school. When I was in junior high (before they called it middle school) we had one homeroom, first thing in the morning. Every damn day is different for these kids. Our entire program (all 10 of us are in this program together) is constantly confused. On regular days they have homeroom after 2nd period. On special days they have homeroom before 1st period and after 6th period. On other days there's just one homeroom before 1st period. Today we were supposed to meet our professor at 1pm. Then they changed it to 12:30. Then we realized we had no time for lunch. So we sat there in a baking hot classroom, for a half an hour. The prof showed up at 1pm.

I know I'm complaining a lot right now. I just have to vent my frustrations. I'm sure it'll all settle down in a few weeks. What appalled me was not so much the behaviour of the students as the teaching styles of some of the teachers. Some I would fire immediately. But they're in it for life with the union. I hate the union. Why can't teachers just have jobs like everyone else? Why are they exploited? Why do they need a damned union? Everything with the union is a fight. I was FORCED to be in the union when I taught college. I had to pay my union dues. Unions do nothing but make union heads rich. I can almost see how perhaps some jobs might need a union. But here we have highly educated, WHITE COLLAR professionals with degrees and education and they can't pull it together without a goddamned fucking union?

Do I sound like I'm cut out for this? Probably not today. I'm trying to accept I'm going to have bad days and good days and that the first few weeks are going to be hard. Bear with me folks. And pray for me, if you're the prayin' kind. Oh and here's a real shocker. Every morning, everyone stands up and says the pledge of allegience. They even say the 'under God' part. I'm stunned.

Photo: Back to school. Somehow I think it's going to be harder for me, than for my students.

MadameBastet-Firing-Neurons

The Good Do Die Young

Even if they're doing what they love, which is apparently what Steve Irwin, aka The Crocodile Hunter was doing when he was freakishly stung by a barb from a stingray in the chest somewhere in or near the Great Barrier Reef, I believe. My mom called me last night and told me. She's really taking it hard. It's odd, my mom always seems to be the one to call and tell me bad news. She told me to turn on the TV for 9/11, she called and told me Princess Diana died, she woke me up and told me JFK Jr.'s plane was missing...geez, talk about being the bearer of bad news!! Well, don't shoot the messenger as they say...

Yes, at least we can perhaps comfort ourselves with the fact that Steve went out doing what he loved. I wonder if he even knew what hit him. Hopefully not. His poor family and friends, and especially his dear, sweet children. Certainly he was in a profession with perhaps a lot more inherent dangers that some other professions...but still, it's a bitch of a loss. My mum got into him years ago. She was fascinated with him and by default, since I was back living with her, I started watching him. I couldn't believe anyone could be that enthusiastic about some of those slimy creatures he dealt with...but God love him, he was. His passion and energy were a sight to behold and his love for animals endeared him to me greatly. I'm too tired to go into any great philosophical debate in my mind, but still, the thought does always pass me by, even if I just wave at it as it goes along its merry way along my neurons and dendrites....terrorists, child molesters, rapists, murderers all live on...and Steve Irwin dies in what really was most likely a freakish accident. Apparently stingray barbs don't kill that many people. I'm 39 years old. I've been struggling with the concept of a benevolent God and the idea of fair for years. I always think I've finally grown enough to let go of it. As my dear dad would say, fair? A fair is a place with pigs and cows and cotton candy...there is no fair here. Why do I seek it then? Innate or learned thinking patterns? I don't know and I know I never will. Children will lie in St. Jude's and the bad guys will go on and on. Intellectually it's easy enough to grasp. Still, it sucks and it's not fair that someone so cool, so full of love and life, like Steve Irwin, was taken far too soon. He did a lot of good in this world, and God bless him for it. It ain't fair, it just is. Maybe that's growth.

In other less tragic news, I talked with one of my favourite people in the entire world yesterday, Mr. Thomas Irvin. It was long overdue and he was his usual charming, funny self. He's back at law school, finishing up his last year. My body and mind willing, perhaps we'll both be 'graduating' at the same time next year; Thomas with his law degree and me with my teaching credential.

Speaking of which...tomorrow's D-day. I'm excited but nervous. And I'm surprised at how nervous I am. This is the real deal. This isn't field experience. This is my program. And these are middle school students...I'm used to dealing with the wee ones, not the pre-teen set. What do they call them these days? Tweens? I hate all this bizarre new language. We'll be observing elementary school kids at some point; I think I'll feel better there. Like a school kid myself, I'm thinking, what should I wear? Do I have all my school supplies? Do I know where to go? I have instructions...but still...now I worry about more 'adult' things. Is the car gonna start? Will I park in the right place? God, some things never change. In a way, we stay children forever. Will I make friends with my cohorts? Are they all going to be 20 years old? I need to keep reminding myself that even if I am older than most of them, that's not a bad thing. It just is. And I may be older, but there ARE advantages to this. Many of these (mostly) young girls have never had the amazing experiences I've had in business or teaching college! For them, they're going straight from school into teaching, which will be their first job. I need to remember the good times I had as a music publicist - planning an entire show at the Greek theatre! Watching bands and getting paid to do it! I need to remember the good times I had working for the rat, aka The Walt Disney Company. Actually working for Disney was the catalyst that ended up getting me my M.A. and into teaching in the first place. I saw my boss, the V.P. of marketing for Buena Vista Home Video, and she had no life. She had a huge corner office, which she was rarely in, because she was always at meetings. Or having an affair with another well-known name in the industry - this guy's name pops up too often on the big screen these days so I'm not gonna name names, but her husband would call and it was so hard for me to have to talk to him, knowing what she was up to. Once, she left on a business trip, and as I sat at my desk, sighing with relief that she was in the air, flying, and couldn't get me, she called me from the plane!!! This was about 1991 and that actually wasn't that common then. Her whole life was about this job, her status, and making money for one of the cheapest, tightest companies I've ever worked for. Now the corporate track is fine if that's what you want to do. I just knew right and then and there I didnt. I wanted a little passion in my work if I was going to have to spend the rest of my life working. So - I must remind myself that I may not be 20, but I spent 6 years teaching kids that age and did a really damn good job of it, at least according to my student evaluations, my faculty evaluations and the amount of letters I got from my students. I have things to be proud of already. But still...the physical worries are the worst. Can I keep up? Is my body going to be in agony every day? How tired will I be? And then...will I be a good teacher? College and kindergarten were two ends of the spectrum; it's the middle area that's scaring me. How many of these kids don't speak English? How many come from highly dysfunctional homes? Really, really poor homes? It's an urban school, so statistically those odds are high that they will come from broken, poorer homes. Will I relate to them? Will they like me? Hate me? Will they resent me? I admit it, and it's hard to admit, if they're mostly non-white, I thought, will they like me even though I'm white? (Do you people notice I worry a lot? The best I can say for myself is I've learned to just let the worry happen, and then let it go...instead of rewinding the tape and playing it over and over.) Anyway...I feel horrible actually worrying that race will play into this at all. I hate race sometimes. Yesterday G and I were in the car, and I noticed the car in front of me had a sticker on the back window that said "Brown Power." Now you must know G is my best friend. She's from Yuma, AZ a town that's hugely Hispanic. She is Hispanic. She said she noticed the sticker too and was embarrassed. I didn't think she had anything to be embarrassed about; it wasn't her car. But it infuriated me. If I put a sticker on my car that said "White Power" I'd be (probably rightfully so) called out as a racist and some kind of pyscho white supremacist. I've never seen a sticker that said "Brown Power" before and living in L.A. you'd think I would've by now. WTF? That kind of shit just separates us. I often fear that no matter what we try to do with our higher minds, our lizard brains will win out in the end. Race. Sadly that's what L.A. is all about, a la that anvil of a movie called Crash. Don't let anyone fool you. I know I've talked about this before. L.A. is a multicultural disaster and I fear that the rest of the country is headed in the same, sad direction. Funny, Thomas and I were talking about the city I grew up in. Glendale. Which seems to be known now for one thing only: the fact that it is almost entirely Armenian. Anywhere I go, I mention Glendale and that's the first thing people associate it with. And let me tell you, the Armenians are despised by every other race in Glendale. A black man got up and yelled at the city council that he couldn't understand anyone in the city because they all speak Armenian. It's basically true. The Mexican and Armenian gangs fight like the Crips and Bloods. The Armenians I feel, have been the true test of my ability to not become racist. This is really hard for me to admit. Many times I've made comments that are quite negative about them. They grow up in a culture so different from ours. It's highly aggressive, highly opinionated; not wrong I guess, just different. They are fast, loud, pushy and from a Western European standpoint, often considered rude. They came to Glendale, but like so many other races, didn't really integrate into the city. Instead they built their own schools, their own churches, their own stores, bakeries, markets, shops. I have know some wonderfully kind, nice, lovely Armenians. So I refuse to slag an entire culture - but it's hard for me to embrace a people who stare me down like I'm a piece of garbage in my own city. Why? I've never said or done a mean thing to these people but still, I feel like a stranger in my own home town most of the time. They insulate themselves. To marry a non-Armenian is akin to marrying a piece of trash. Is this not racism? I know this exists within many races - even within Caucasian families. I just don't get it. My brother's best friend married an Armenian woman from Russia. She is raising her two year old daughter in Glendale. The child only speaks Armenian. This woman came to my brother's wedding and complained she couldn't eat the food. The food was as American as you could get. But she doesn't eat American food. She only eats Armenian food. She's nice, but sometimes I wonder why she's here. Sadly I think I know.

This is the melting pot. No one is melting. Well, at least not the Armenians. A shame. They have great food. I didn't grow up on it, but I was willing to try it and I love it. I live on Mexican food - both the Americanized version and any real Mexican food I eat at Gena's, or the great stuff her mom makes. I feel sorry for the 'illegals' but yet I see what it's done and what it's doing to the fabric of a city that is collapsing under the weight of too many people who are either being exploited or aren't pulling their weight. I don't know how I got off on this delicate topic. I am not perfect. I've had racist thoughts. I'll admit it. But I try and remind myself not to be that way; to live with hate is not to live at all. That is not what we were put here for; to spend all of our time in hatred of others with different-coloured skin and languages and food. Half the time I feel ashamed because I am white; like I bear the burden of all the horrible things all the white Europeans did to people of other races, colours, countries. As if I alone am responsible for slavery, and colonialism. I'm not. I could not help being born white anymore than anyone else can help being born black or Asian or Hispanic. It's one thing to have pride in your background; I wouldn't deny that to anyone. But here I am, worried that I will be seen as the Evil White Oppressor to a bunch of kids when I have done nothing. I never conquered another country; I never created a colonial outpost. I never ordered the Indians to march west, I never put a "White Power" sticker on my car.

The very fact I'm worrying about this is probably stupid and sad. And so I won't worry anymore. We'll see how it plays out. And I'll be sure to let you know.

Fletcher Update: Fletcher had her fentanyl pain patch cut off her leg today - man was that thing really stuck to her fur. Poor thing was in pain, but I tried to get it off as gently as I could. She had her brekky (as those Aussies say) and had her Amoxicillin dose. She's still in the head cone, although it's breaking my heart to have to keep her in it. I want to give those stitches a few more days - and I won't be here during the day anymore. The cats are probably going to freak out about that. They're very sensitive to any kind of change. Fletchy is sleeping on her pillow now, cute as a button. Zoe is still being a territorial diva bitch cat, hissing and growling and she won't even come into the bedroom. That's fine. I'm gonna let it all just ride. Her hissing is getting old though, and everytime she does it I laugh at her. That just makes her worse.

Last but not least, new TV this week! I'll be taping most of my favourite shows....but I can't wait. New House, new Nip/Tuck...although I have to wait on that. I have three discs from the last season to get through and I refuse to watch the new season until I know everything that happens in season 3, especially who the Carver is. DO NOT TELL ME IF YOU KNOW. I will hunt you down if you do! Luckily I don't watch that many new TV shows, but there's always something fun about the start of the new season (the new fall season I should say as TV shows now have seasons throughout the summer too). Even as a child, fall was my favourite time. I loved going and buying new school clothes, fresh new school supplies...the days got shorter and cooler (yeah, before global warming made us feel like we live in a toaster oven), and the new fall TV season would start. As I've mentioned before, summer and I won't be parting ways with any tears. It can't leave soon enough for me. I still love autumn. And oddly enough, here I am again, starting school...besides, the best movies come out during fall, my favourite holiday is Halloween, and believe it or not, we actually have trees out here whose leaves change into the most spectacular colours - just like the trees in New England. Don't believe me? Well, the leaves are still green, but when they change, I'll post a piccie for ya. That's about the extent of the seasonal change. Our nights will get cooler, stores will be full of holiday stuff you don't need but want, and once again ladies and gents, all this, because of the Coriolis effect; the fact that this crazy spinning ball we're all on is tilted on its axis 23 degrees. That's just so weird to me. We get these amazing seasons because our planet is tilted. Was that an accident? Did the big bang make it happen? Intelligent design? Oh man, that's a whole other blog, for another day.



Photo Credit: CNN - Steve Irwin, RIP. You brought joy to many - the animals were better off because of you, and so were we.