Today seems to be a day of arguments. It started at 6:00 in the morning, when two homeless men got in a loud argument about how neither one of them could keep a job which inexplicably turned into an argument about who masturbated the most. (I wouldn't even think of printing the sentence they kept screaming back and forth as I was finally boarding the train, but lets just say I was afraid they would both drop trou and begin to demonstrate...)
Then during first period, I made the dreadful mistake of taking a student aside and asking, "Is everything okay?" Let's just say the student wasn't interested in sharing.
Then two women on my soccer team, which usually gets along better than the members of the Partridge Family, were arguing throughout practice (imagine repeated conversation like "No, 4-3-3 starts in the back, you mean 3-3-4." "I know what I mean. I mean 4-3-3." "No, 3-3-4.")
And now, outside my window, a man is arguing with his girlfriend on his cell phone (which is better than their typical weekly argument with both of them right outside my window.) Every time he says something, he finishes it with, "What am I supposed to say?" I don't know what he's supposed to say, but I'm about to scream "Shut up, already!"
Fortunately, there's one small fragment of my brain that continues reminding me I'm just really really tired. So it's Friday night, not even 10:00, and I'm going to sleep while the rest of the world works this all out.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Catching On
I just finished my first day of the new school year, both as a teacher and a student. Though I am not as thrilled with returning to grad school as I am to be teaching again, it was awesome to be surrounded by many of the teachers that started at the same time I did. The best part was that for the first time, everyone was talking about how great their first days were. Everyone was exhausted, but also fairly calm and happy. It seems that we may have relaxed into our identities as teachers, as if Year One is pretending to be a teacher, Year Two is getting by as a teacher, and Year Three is being a teacher. I can't figure out a better way to put it, but I feel as if I've finally caught on to something, and I love that feeling.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Here We Go Again
It's been about 36 hours since I woke up from a nightmare about the first day of school in which I got into a huge argument with another teacher in front of my students AND lost my hyper-organized First Day Folder. I'm only just recovering from the nightmare and the real first day of school is mere hours away. My bag is packed, (with my First Day Folder double-checked in its appropriate place,) and my back to school outfit is laid out. Lesson plans are made, rules are in place, bulletin boards are decorated, and I'm more concerned by how little I have left to do than anything else. It's not possible I'm this prepared. Surely I've missed something. I check once more that my First Day Folder is exactly where it's supposed to be. It is. Will I always have this anxiety the night before the first day back?
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Fear Factor NYC Style
A dear friend of mine just called me in a state of panic that I have never heard in her. She recently moved into a one-bedroom apartment "with character," meaning it's old and beautiful but needs some work. However, when she called me she was not in the apartment. She made me promise not to make fun of her before admitting that she was pacing on the street in front of her building, freaking out over a roach-sighting in her bathroom.
"I just grabbed my wallet and my phone and ran out the door. I don't even think I have my keys. Tell me what to do. Tell me what I can do RIGHT NOW!!"
I'm cracking up while also sympathizing, since it was around this time last year that I had my own roach problems. After a little coaxing, she went across the street to a store to buy Raid. After a lot more coaxing she made her way back into the house, demanding that I not get off the phone with her until she was ready. I never imagined this friend to be one who screamed, squealed, and repeated "omigosh" over and over in a high-pitched whisper. In fact, as she entered her apartment, she whispered quite a bit. I asked, "Are you trying to be quiet so you won't scare the roach away?", but she didn't even hear it over her fear.
She reminded me so much of those contestants on Fear Factor, nearly hyperventilating and trying to calm herself down with rational phrases that worked for all of three seconds before deteriorating into madness once more. When she went back into her bathroom, the roach was gone. She told me every step she was taking looking for it. "I'm moving my couch, I'm looking at the crack by the radiator, I'm looking by my books," then at the sound of my laughter, "Shut up, just shut the fuck up!"
Alas, the roach was never to be found. I laughed myself to tears in my safe apartment in Queens, while several miles away in Brooklyn my friend tried to get up the courage to take a shower. My friend, who has travelled all over the world, gone on lengthy backpacking trips, slept outside for days on end, and done many more things that most will never have the courage to do, has just been terrified by a roach with "the longest whiskers you've ever seen."
I will never let her live this down...
"I just grabbed my wallet and my phone and ran out the door. I don't even think I have my keys. Tell me what to do. Tell me what I can do RIGHT NOW!!"
I'm cracking up while also sympathizing, since it was around this time last year that I had my own roach problems. After a little coaxing, she went across the street to a store to buy Raid. After a lot more coaxing she made her way back into the house, demanding that I not get off the phone with her until she was ready. I never imagined this friend to be one who screamed, squealed, and repeated "omigosh" over and over in a high-pitched whisper. In fact, as she entered her apartment, she whispered quite a bit. I asked, "Are you trying to be quiet so you won't scare the roach away?", but she didn't even hear it over her fear.
She reminded me so much of those contestants on Fear Factor, nearly hyperventilating and trying to calm herself down with rational phrases that worked for all of three seconds before deteriorating into madness once more. When she went back into her bathroom, the roach was gone. She told me every step she was taking looking for it. "I'm moving my couch, I'm looking at the crack by the radiator, I'm looking by my books," then at the sound of my laughter, "Shut up, just shut the fuck up!"
Alas, the roach was never to be found. I laughed myself to tears in my safe apartment in Queens, while several miles away in Brooklyn my friend tried to get up the courage to take a shower. My friend, who has travelled all over the world, gone on lengthy backpacking trips, slept outside for days on end, and done many more things that most will never have the courage to do, has just been terrified by a roach with "the longest whiskers you've ever seen."
I will never let her live this down...
Monday, August 28, 2006
Bouqets of Sharpened Pencils
Today I went to the "New Teacher Institute" at my new school. Any of you who have kept track of this blog will be somewhat familiar with the ridiculous nature of events and situations at my prior school. After just one day, I can see why my new school is so successful with it's students.
My old school was all absurd, thoughtless reaction on the part of teachers and administrators. Sometimes I got roped into the confusion, but mostly I hid in my classroom and tried to create a safe little world within my four walls.
My new school is thoughtful, detailed proaction. There is a procedure for everything, and it is spelled out for you in efficiently run meetings, then followed up with real action. Whenever I speak with a teacher, they say, "This school is so great because of the administration." Whenever I speak with an administrator, they say, "This school is so great because of the teachers." I feel as if I have entered an education fantasy land of mutual respect, genuine concern for student goals that leads to amazing student production, and general happiness with the school environment.
When I spend even on moment trying to imagine myself preparing now for a third year in my old school, a feeling of dread invariably comes over me. I feel very fortunate to be in a situation in which I am excited about teaching. It's still public school, it's still special education for students with emotional disorders, it's still poor neighborhoods in New York City; yet this school is thriving.
After leaving the building today, I called my mom to tell her about my day, the programs available to the students, and the outstanding statistics for student achievement. She said, "Those students are so lucky." My response was to ask why all our students can't be this lucky.
My old school was all absurd, thoughtless reaction on the part of teachers and administrators. Sometimes I got roped into the confusion, but mostly I hid in my classroom and tried to create a safe little world within my four walls.
My new school is thoughtful, detailed proaction. There is a procedure for everything, and it is spelled out for you in efficiently run meetings, then followed up with real action. Whenever I speak with a teacher, they say, "This school is so great because of the administration." Whenever I speak with an administrator, they say, "This school is so great because of the teachers." I feel as if I have entered an education fantasy land of mutual respect, genuine concern for student goals that leads to amazing student production, and general happiness with the school environment.
When I spend even on moment trying to imagine myself preparing now for a third year in my old school, a feeling of dread invariably comes over me. I feel very fortunate to be in a situation in which I am excited about teaching. It's still public school, it's still special education for students with emotional disorders, it's still poor neighborhoods in New York City; yet this school is thriving.
After leaving the building today, I called my mom to tell her about my day, the programs available to the students, and the outstanding statistics for student achievement. She said, "Those students are so lucky." My response was to ask why all our students can't be this lucky.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Learning New Things
It was a little over a year ago that I began my first blog with the following sentences:
My roommate has inspired me to recycle regularly, eat whole wheat english muffins instead of bagels for breakfast each morning, and now to start a blog. What do I have to say that is blogworthy? I'm not too sure, but here's what's on my mind today.
Who's to say if anything I've posted here is truly "blogworthy," but I definitely have had no shortage of things to say. And while I missed the official one year anniversary here on aisle life, I do feel like commemerating it in some way. I think the best way to do that would be to write about a huge improvement in my daily living that was also inspired by my roommate: reading on the toilet.
I'm sure that many of you are old hands at this, but it never crossed my mind to take a book or magazine into the bathroom. The first time I did this, I announced it to my roommate, who only smiled the proud smile of any teacher, then hunkered down to await further progress. It did not take long before I became an avid toilet reader.
Now we keep magazines on a shelf in the bathroom at all times, and I never hesitate to bring in a book. And after reading the essay "Chamber Plots" (which I actually read while sitting on the couch,) I also began thinking about our bathroom library. Did we have a good selection? I think I can say yes, though beyond our stacks of National Geographic, Dwell, Vogue, Elle, Lucky, and New York, there are only four little books, including Gutsy Women: Travel Tips and Wisdom for the Road. Really, what more could you want on a little trip to the bathroom?
Among the life lessons learned this year, many of which I have written about right here, the toilet reading might be one of the most important in that it's a little reminder to get over myself and just enjoy the moment.
My roommate has inspired me to recycle regularly, eat whole wheat english muffins instead of bagels for breakfast each morning, and now to start a blog. What do I have to say that is blogworthy? I'm not too sure, but here's what's on my mind today.
Who's to say if anything I've posted here is truly "blogworthy," but I definitely have had no shortage of things to say. And while I missed the official one year anniversary here on aisle life, I do feel like commemerating it in some way. I think the best way to do that would be to write about a huge improvement in my daily living that was also inspired by my roommate: reading on the toilet.
I'm sure that many of you are old hands at this, but it never crossed my mind to take a book or magazine into the bathroom. The first time I did this, I announced it to my roommate, who only smiled the proud smile of any teacher, then hunkered down to await further progress. It did not take long before I became an avid toilet reader.
Now we keep magazines on a shelf in the bathroom at all times, and I never hesitate to bring in a book. And after reading the essay "Chamber Plots" (which I actually read while sitting on the couch,) I also began thinking about our bathroom library. Did we have a good selection? I think I can say yes, though beyond our stacks of National Geographic, Dwell, Vogue, Elle, Lucky, and New York, there are only four little books, including Gutsy Women: Travel Tips and Wisdom for the Road. Really, what more could you want on a little trip to the bathroom?
Among the life lessons learned this year, many of which I have written about right here, the toilet reading might be one of the most important in that it's a little reminder to get over myself and just enjoy the moment.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Nothing Done and New York Love
I had three things on my to-do list today: file for direct deposit at the Department of Education, replace my lost social security card, and buy a wedding shower gift for a friend.
As I came out of the subway in downtown Brooklyn, I noticed a chalk outline of a body on the sidewalk with some red blood-like liquid squirted over what would be the heart. I was disgusted and confused as I stepped over the "blood" and headed across the street and into the DOE building. I was directed by a very nice man to the correct office, and felt well on my way to completing my short to-do list. A few minutes later, an equally nice woman was kindly telling me that I am not able to apply for direct deposit until September.
I went back out, still in a good mood despite the fruitless one-hour journey. In the ten minutes that I had been inside, many more chalklines had been drawn. The fake blood was everywhere, along with small red placards that had statistics about deaths caused by tobacco-use. As I walked down the stairs to the subway, there was a camera team filming my feet...maybe you'll see my signature silver sandals immortalized on the upcoming tv commercial. (This was a stranger NY moment than the time my roommate and I walked down a block one night where a movie was being filmed, and a truck was filling the pavement with water so it would look like it had just rained.)
After escaping a tobacco-related death, I headed back into Queens to the Social Security office. Somewhere underground in Manhattan, a group of three older men were singing on the R train. They sang the best rendition of Stand by Me that I have ever heard. They incorporated greetings and thank-yous and little compliments into the background notes of the song, and got the attention of everyone on the train in a way that I have never seen a subway musician do. It was one of those city-moments in which you feel connected to all the people in your current contained space, i.e. the subway car. You think, "We just shared that. And we didn't even know it was coming."
Upon arriving at the social security office, I waited a suprisingly short period of time before being told that I could no longer replace my card at that office location. The man went to find me a flyer with directions to the office where I could replace my social security card. He came back with a huge stack of flyers, designed to look like oversized social security cards with directions and office hours printed on them...except not in English.
"Let's see here...Can you read Chinese?" He seemed to only be half-kidding. "No? Okay, how about Spanish. No? I have one in Italian. Oh, wait, wait, here we go. Last one that I have in English. It's your lucky day!!" The man was so funny, and I was still happy from my subway mini-concert that I didn't even feel bummed out as I left the office after yet another empty attempt to complete a task.
Suddenly it occurred to me that I forgot to stop in Manhattan to get the gift for the wedding shower. Slightly dejected, I decided to make the long walk home in the beautiful weather, eat a little bit, then head back into the city. On my way, I passed an electronics store. I have been searching for a cord to fix my DVD player, and knew that this was my moment to create some productivity for the day. I walked in and spotted the necessary cord immediately. I pulled out my debit card with probably too much gusto for such a small victory, only to be promptly told by the store owner that his machine wasn't working.
He must have seen the immediate disappointment as I was foiled once again. He offered to let me take it and pay him the next time I came in the store, something that is surprisingly common in New York. I thanked him, but declined, and went back outside for my walk. It was time to call it a day.
As I came out of the subway in downtown Brooklyn, I noticed a chalk outline of a body on the sidewalk with some red blood-like liquid squirted over what would be the heart. I was disgusted and confused as I stepped over the "blood" and headed across the street and into the DOE building. I was directed by a very nice man to the correct office, and felt well on my way to completing my short to-do list. A few minutes later, an equally nice woman was kindly telling me that I am not able to apply for direct deposit until September.
I went back out, still in a good mood despite the fruitless one-hour journey. In the ten minutes that I had been inside, many more chalklines had been drawn. The fake blood was everywhere, along with small red placards that had statistics about deaths caused by tobacco-use. As I walked down the stairs to the subway, there was a camera team filming my feet...maybe you'll see my signature silver sandals immortalized on the upcoming tv commercial. (This was a stranger NY moment than the time my roommate and I walked down a block one night where a movie was being filmed, and a truck was filling the pavement with water so it would look like it had just rained.)
After escaping a tobacco-related death, I headed back into Queens to the Social Security office. Somewhere underground in Manhattan, a group of three older men were singing on the R train. They sang the best rendition of Stand by Me that I have ever heard. They incorporated greetings and thank-yous and little compliments into the background notes of the song, and got the attention of everyone on the train in a way that I have never seen a subway musician do. It was one of those city-moments in which you feel connected to all the people in your current contained space, i.e. the subway car. You think, "We just shared that. And we didn't even know it was coming."
Upon arriving at the social security office, I waited a suprisingly short period of time before being told that I could no longer replace my card at that office location. The man went to find me a flyer with directions to the office where I could replace my social security card. He came back with a huge stack of flyers, designed to look like oversized social security cards with directions and office hours printed on them...except not in English.
"Let's see here...Can you read Chinese?" He seemed to only be half-kidding. "No? Okay, how about Spanish. No? I have one in Italian. Oh, wait, wait, here we go. Last one that I have in English. It's your lucky day!!" The man was so funny, and I was still happy from my subway mini-concert that I didn't even feel bummed out as I left the office after yet another empty attempt to complete a task.
Suddenly it occurred to me that I forgot to stop in Manhattan to get the gift for the wedding shower. Slightly dejected, I decided to make the long walk home in the beautiful weather, eat a little bit, then head back into the city. On my way, I passed an electronics store. I have been searching for a cord to fix my DVD player, and knew that this was my moment to create some productivity for the day. I walked in and spotted the necessary cord immediately. I pulled out my debit card with probably too much gusto for such a small victory, only to be promptly told by the store owner that his machine wasn't working.
He must have seen the immediate disappointment as I was foiled once again. He offered to let me take it and pay him the next time I came in the store, something that is surprisingly common in New York. I thanked him, but declined, and went back outside for my walk. It was time to call it a day.
Friday, August 18, 2006
All Grown Up
Over the past couple of weeks I have been trying to put together the curriculum for a Graphic Design class I will be teaching to 6th graders this year. I have spent an inordinate amount of time combing magazines for good advertisements, which I then arranged into packets for the eight "companies" that will soon be formed by my students.
Doing this took me right back to high school, where graphic design (then called electronic imaging) was one of my favorite classes, and I had some of my favorite ads plastered to my wall amidst dozens of pictures of my friends and me. One of my friends, Betsy, had every milk-mustache ad on the back of her bedroom door. We talked about ads, laughed at them, scoffed at them...all the while completely unaware that they were directed right at us.
I have tried to recapture this teenage mindset as I have chosen ads for my students. What ad would be cool or funny to a sixth grader? The more I look, the further removed I feel from that time. I realize I can't even remember when I stopped tearing out the ads I thought were good. And somewhere along the way, I even stopped looking at them.
So now that I'm looking over every one I come across, I've found that I'm in a whole new target audience. I make a phone call.
"Mom, do you realize how many magazines have coupons for free things?"
"Well, I'm sure you have to buy something first," she says.
"You don't! I am going to get a free fruit smoothie from Dunkin Donuts today, and later on I'm going to call for my free pair of lycra underwear...no purchase necessary!"
Years ago, my question to myself would have been Where is the best place to hang this on my wall? Now my question is How many free things have I missed in magazines that have already been put on the curb for recycling?
Doing this took me right back to high school, where graphic design (then called electronic imaging) was one of my favorite classes, and I had some of my favorite ads plastered to my wall amidst dozens of pictures of my friends and me. One of my friends, Betsy, had every milk-mustache ad on the back of her bedroom door. We talked about ads, laughed at them, scoffed at them...all the while completely unaware that they were directed right at us.
I have tried to recapture this teenage mindset as I have chosen ads for my students. What ad would be cool or funny to a sixth grader? The more I look, the further removed I feel from that time. I realize I can't even remember when I stopped tearing out the ads I thought were good. And somewhere along the way, I even stopped looking at them.
So now that I'm looking over every one I come across, I've found that I'm in a whole new target audience. I make a phone call.
"Mom, do you realize how many magazines have coupons for free things?"
"Well, I'm sure you have to buy something first," she says.
"You don't! I am going to get a free fruit smoothie from Dunkin Donuts today, and later on I'm going to call for my free pair of lycra underwear...no purchase necessary!"
Years ago, my question to myself would have been Where is the best place to hang this on my wall? Now my question is How many free things have I missed in magazines that have already been put on the curb for recycling?
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Anger Management
Recently New York Magazine had an issue devoted to urban etiquette. For the most part I found that I fall in the polite category, though I am prone to being one of those annoying people talking on the cell phone while checking out at the CVS.
While it doesn't fall in the realm of etiquette, I get very angry at the super-trendy girls who insist on wearing cowboy boots in worst heat of the summer, though not as angry as I become when I see the egomaniacal idiot riding his motorcycle up and down Ditmars Boulevard with a stupid grin plastered to his face that I can easily see because his helmet is resting on top of his head.
Being annoyed by these things is completely logical and acceptable. But my supreme annoyance at some cell phone users is at the very minimum hypocritical. I consider my time spent using public transportation to be ideal for reading, which means that I want the equivalent of a library-environment whenever I am on the bus or train. However, this rarely happens. And from time to time, depending on my mood, I might just glare at the offending passenger who by merely speaking loudly has caused me to reread the same sentence three or more times.
Today, I learned my lesson. I was sitting on the bus, completely caught up in Paulo Coelho's new book The Devil and Miss Prym. Suddenly, a cell phone belonging to the man sitting beside me started ringing so loudly that I jumped at least eight inches. Once I landed back in the my seat, I gave him a glare I usually reserve for students who have just said something nasty. Couldn't he see that I was trying to read!!
Apparently not, because he had more important things on his mind. The one side of the conversation I heard:
"Yeah, I'm a little stressed out right now."
"I'm on my way to the court house. I avoided them for years, but now they figured out where I live."
"I know, I've been lucky. So I'm going to try to take care of it, see what happens. I hope you won't be visiting me in jail."
By this time I was, of course, pretending to be fully enthralled in the world of Paulo Coelho once more. In reality, I was sneaking glances at street signs, counting down to my destination.
I hope that the man saw my glare and was appalled by how rude I was to assume that it was my bus and should remain completely silent so I could read no matter what was going on in the lives of those around me. Then, to teach me a lesson, he took the phone call as an opportunity to poke a little fun at me and teach me to lighten up. If so, he did a great job.
If, however, he really was on his way to the courthouse and didn't mind advertising it to the many bus patrons this morning, I hope I don't spot him on the bus again...it shouldn't be too hard to avoid him, from now on I really am keeping my eyes on my book.
While it doesn't fall in the realm of etiquette, I get very angry at the super-trendy girls who insist on wearing cowboy boots in worst heat of the summer, though not as angry as I become when I see the egomaniacal idiot riding his motorcycle up and down Ditmars Boulevard with a stupid grin plastered to his face that I can easily see because his helmet is resting on top of his head.
Being annoyed by these things is completely logical and acceptable. But my supreme annoyance at some cell phone users is at the very minimum hypocritical. I consider my time spent using public transportation to be ideal for reading, which means that I want the equivalent of a library-environment whenever I am on the bus or train. However, this rarely happens. And from time to time, depending on my mood, I might just glare at the offending passenger who by merely speaking loudly has caused me to reread the same sentence three or more times.
Today, I learned my lesson. I was sitting on the bus, completely caught up in Paulo Coelho's new book The Devil and Miss Prym. Suddenly, a cell phone belonging to the man sitting beside me started ringing so loudly that I jumped at least eight inches. Once I landed back in the my seat, I gave him a glare I usually reserve for students who have just said something nasty. Couldn't he see that I was trying to read!!
Apparently not, because he had more important things on his mind. The one side of the conversation I heard:
"Yeah, I'm a little stressed out right now."
"I'm on my way to the court house. I avoided them for years, but now they figured out where I live."
"I know, I've been lucky. So I'm going to try to take care of it, see what happens. I hope you won't be visiting me in jail."
By this time I was, of course, pretending to be fully enthralled in the world of Paulo Coelho once more. In reality, I was sneaking glances at street signs, counting down to my destination.
I hope that the man saw my glare and was appalled by how rude I was to assume that it was my bus and should remain completely silent so I could read no matter what was going on in the lives of those around me. Then, to teach me a lesson, he took the phone call as an opportunity to poke a little fun at me and teach me to lighten up. If so, he did a great job.
If, however, he really was on his way to the courthouse and didn't mind advertising it to the many bus patrons this morning, I hope I don't spot him on the bus again...it shouldn't be too hard to avoid him, from now on I really am keeping my eyes on my book.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Alas, sleep!
I have frequent periods in which I am unable to sleep. The past few days I've been lucky to get three hours, which makes me slightly crabby (to put it nicely,) prone to eye-rolling at strangers doing absurdly rude things, and uninterested in making conversation with others.
Which did not make yesterday the perfect day for me to volunteer to watch my friend's six month old for several hours after the regular babysitter had to back out at the last minute. Not only is he teething and running a fever, but I am not a baby person. He is really one of about three babies I have ever liked. In the middle of one small crisis, I called my grandmother for some quick advice. Her response was, "Who would let you watch their baby?" I thanked her for the vote of confidence and opted not to tell her that before calling her I had actually tried every tip she provided.
It was possibly the only time I have ever felt like Samantha from Sex and the City, as in the episode when she takes care of Miranda's baby. However, unlike Samantha I was not dressed nicely, my hair was not fixed, and by the time I returned the baby to my friend, I was a sweaty mess.
As I reread this, I'm realizing I sound more whiny than I actually feel. What I am really feeling is a sense of awe. I find it amazing that the human race procreates at all! I am impressed with my friend who is balancing single motherhood with working full time as a teacher and completing her Masters. As for me, I learned that not only are there no babies in my near future, but I am no longer above volunteering to babysit in order to cure any little bout with insomnia.
Which did not make yesterday the perfect day for me to volunteer to watch my friend's six month old for several hours after the regular babysitter had to back out at the last minute. Not only is he teething and running a fever, but I am not a baby person. He is really one of about three babies I have ever liked. In the middle of one small crisis, I called my grandmother for some quick advice. Her response was, "Who would let you watch their baby?" I thanked her for the vote of confidence and opted not to tell her that before calling her I had actually tried every tip she provided.
It was possibly the only time I have ever felt like Samantha from Sex and the City, as in the episode when she takes care of Miranda's baby. However, unlike Samantha I was not dressed nicely, my hair was not fixed, and by the time I returned the baby to my friend, I was a sweaty mess.
As I reread this, I'm realizing I sound more whiny than I actually feel. What I am really feeling is a sense of awe. I find it amazing that the human race procreates at all! I am impressed with my friend who is balancing single motherhood with working full time as a teacher and completing her Masters. As for me, I learned that not only are there no babies in my near future, but I am no longer above volunteering to babysit in order to cure any little bout with insomnia.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
No Dada, No MoMA
I woke up early this morning, went for a swim, then cleaned up around the house anxiously awaiting the time I had set to leave the house and head to the Museum of Modern Art. I haven't been in well over a year, and with their huge advertising campaign about their new Dada exhibit, I was excited to visit again.
It wasn't until I arrived that I remembered that the MoMA is one of the few New York museums that is open on Monday, instead it closes on TUESDAYs! Remembered isn't really the right word. I was told while standing in front of the museum, my pass to see the exhibit placed in a special pocket of my purse for easy reach. So I lazed around Central Park, window shopped on 5th Avenue, and then headed back home.
I was a bit dejected, but things have started to look up a bit. First, I had a strange celebrity siting. I didn't recognize him until he talked, but then I knew instantly it was Gordon Clune from PBS's reality show Frontier House. I called my roommate, the only one would truly appreciate the siting and left her voicemail, then sent her a text message telling her to check her voicemail because she never does and I knew my excitement over spotting Gordon Clune would be shortlived. I wanted her to hear it in it's original form. Then, craving a bit of chocolate, I stopped into CVS to find that Kit Kat's were on sale, buy one get one for one cent. And I'm about to make the walk back home, which I also love.
If only the MoMA knew how easy I am to please, maybe they would've opened the doors for me on a Tuesday...or I'll just have to try again tomorrow.
It wasn't until I arrived that I remembered that the MoMA is one of the few New York museums that is open on Monday, instead it closes on TUESDAYs! Remembered isn't really the right word. I was told while standing in front of the museum, my pass to see the exhibit placed in a special pocket of my purse for easy reach. So I lazed around Central Park, window shopped on 5th Avenue, and then headed back home.
I was a bit dejected, but things have started to look up a bit. First, I had a strange celebrity siting. I didn't recognize him until he talked, but then I knew instantly it was Gordon Clune from PBS's reality show Frontier House. I called my roommate, the only one would truly appreciate the siting and left her voicemail, then sent her a text message telling her to check her voicemail because she never does and I knew my excitement over spotting Gordon Clune would be shortlived. I wanted her to hear it in it's original form. Then, craving a bit of chocolate, I stopped into CVS to find that Kit Kat's were on sale, buy one get one for one cent. And I'm about to make the walk back home, which I also love.
If only the MoMA knew how easy I am to please, maybe they would've opened the doors for me on a Tuesday...or I'll just have to try again tomorrow.
Monday, August 07, 2006
A New Malady?
As I have mentioned, I have undertaken War and Peace this summer. I do not usually refer to reading books as an undertaking, but in this case there is no other word that is more appropriate.
Recently I was overcome by sadness at the thought of all those other books I want to read stacking up endlessly as I try to finish War and Peace. So I made a deal with myself. For every 200 pages I read, I will set down War and Peace (which I am enjoying slightly less right now because it's all wars and no parties,) and read one of those other books.
So Friday I read Ladies Poker Night by Jill A. Davis. The entire thing. It's a great read, very funny, and true to New York City life. But I spent a lot of time on the train that day, and read it cover to cover. I just wasn't ready to return to the world of Tolstoy.
Then I picked up The Mole People by Jennifer Toth, a shocking book about the homeless who lived underground in New York City. And then, at the library, I found The Keep by Jennifer Egan, which I read about recently and have been wanting to read. So I started reading it, too. And I've been reading chapters from Good Catholic Girls: How Women Are Leading the Fight to Change the Church by Angela Bonavoglia, an amazing book that has made me look at nuns in a whole new light. Add to that the fact that the new Vanity Fair, National Geographic, and more will all be coming within the next week.
I was reading the Sunday paper this morning (because I didn't get to it yesterday)and read an article called "Why I Can't Stop Starting Books" by Joe Queenan. I am noticing Queenan's behaviors in myself. And I know my mom has a similar habit of starting books. When I am in a bookstore, I pick up every book I possibly can. I like to feel books. I like to touch the pages. On occasion, I have been known to sniff a book.
I have gotten better about sticking to one book, but this summer is bringing out the old habits in force. Did I mention I am typing this from the library?
Recently I was overcome by sadness at the thought of all those other books I want to read stacking up endlessly as I try to finish War and Peace. So I made a deal with myself. For every 200 pages I read, I will set down War and Peace (which I am enjoying slightly less right now because it's all wars and no parties,) and read one of those other books.
So Friday I read Ladies Poker Night by Jill A. Davis. The entire thing. It's a great read, very funny, and true to New York City life. But I spent a lot of time on the train that day, and read it cover to cover. I just wasn't ready to return to the world of Tolstoy.
Then I picked up The Mole People by Jennifer Toth, a shocking book about the homeless who lived underground in New York City. And then, at the library, I found The Keep by Jennifer Egan, which I read about recently and have been wanting to read. So I started reading it, too. And I've been reading chapters from Good Catholic Girls: How Women Are Leading the Fight to Change the Church by Angela Bonavoglia, an amazing book that has made me look at nuns in a whole new light. Add to that the fact that the new Vanity Fair, National Geographic, and more will all be coming within the next week.
I was reading the Sunday paper this morning (because I didn't get to it yesterday)and read an article called "Why I Can't Stop Starting Books" by Joe Queenan. I am noticing Queenan's behaviors in myself. And I know my mom has a similar habit of starting books. When I am in a bookstore, I pick up every book I possibly can. I like to feel books. I like to touch the pages. On occasion, I have been known to sniff a book.
I have gotten better about sticking to one book, but this summer is bringing out the old habits in force. Did I mention I am typing this from the library?
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Just a Few of My Favorite Things
No, not kisses on kittens, or whatever the song says...I'm working very hard at the moment not to get it stuck in my head for the rest of the afternoon.
Last week I told a good friend that one of my favorite things to do was go for a walk with a friend while eating an ice cream cone. Really, what could be better than exercise and friendly conversation combined with a bit of chocolate? Though reading in my pajamas on a rainy Sunday is a close second. Playing soccer is up there, along with unexpected fits of laughter, mentally replaying a great first date on the train ride home, hearing an old favorite on the radio and singing along loudly, and even returning to your blog after a three week hiatus.
Why have I been thinking about my favorites? It could have something to do with the fact that my dear roommate is back in the States after a month long trip. Or maybe it's because today is the last day on the 10-day forecast with a temperature in the 90s. Or maybe it's because I find that I am really enjoying War and Peace, my summer reading goal. (Though I am concerned that I might be developing that rare condition War-and-Peace-Wrist from holding up the book so much.) Mostly, though, I think it's because for the first time I am really enjoying the number one benefit of being a teacher: a long summer vacation in which to spend doing all my favorite things.
Last week I told a good friend that one of my favorite things to do was go for a walk with a friend while eating an ice cream cone. Really, what could be better than exercise and friendly conversation combined with a bit of chocolate? Though reading in my pajamas on a rainy Sunday is a close second. Playing soccer is up there, along with unexpected fits of laughter, mentally replaying a great first date on the train ride home, hearing an old favorite on the radio and singing along loudly, and even returning to your blog after a three week hiatus.
Why have I been thinking about my favorites? It could have something to do with the fact that my dear roommate is back in the States after a month long trip. Or maybe it's because today is the last day on the 10-day forecast with a temperature in the 90s. Or maybe it's because I find that I am really enjoying War and Peace, my summer reading goal. (Though I am concerned that I might be developing that rare condition War-and-Peace-Wrist from holding up the book so much.) Mostly, though, I think it's because for the first time I am really enjoying the number one benefit of being a teacher: a long summer vacation in which to spend doing all my favorite things.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
New Use for the Balcony
Last night my cousin and I were watching still more Gilmore Girls. (This is what happens when you don't have cable; you watch an entire season of one show on DVD.) It was so hot inside of my apartment that we decided to move outside.
I joked that we should move the TV outside, but that idea was quickly vetoed. So, we transferred the DVD to my laptop, set the laptop on the table outside, brought out snacks, and turned on the show.
My computer does not play loudly enough to be heard over the din of passing trucks, busses, and airplanes, so my cousin brought out her earbuds from her ipod. She put one in her left ear, I put one in my right ear, and for the rest of the night we moved in sync if we wanted to avoid any gaps in the show (except for those two times that she moved forward quickly, ripping the earbud out of my ear.)
It was so nice to be in the cool, late-night breeze, laughing at two hilarious episodes, and eating ritz crackers with cheese that it took some time for my cousin and I to realize that there were several tiny white bugs on the wall and the edge of the table. And her leg.
I don't think either one of us has ever moved so fast. For the rest of the night, we both kept thinking there were bugs on us and would jump at the slightest brush of hair across our cheek or the other's arm on our arm. This morning we laughed about it, but I'm pretty sure there won't be any outdoor showing of Gilmore Girls tonight.
I joked that we should move the TV outside, but that idea was quickly vetoed. So, we transferred the DVD to my laptop, set the laptop on the table outside, brought out snacks, and turned on the show.
My computer does not play loudly enough to be heard over the din of passing trucks, busses, and airplanes, so my cousin brought out her earbuds from her ipod. She put one in her left ear, I put one in my right ear, and for the rest of the night we moved in sync if we wanted to avoid any gaps in the show (except for those two times that she moved forward quickly, ripping the earbud out of my ear.)
It was so nice to be in the cool, late-night breeze, laughing at two hilarious episodes, and eating ritz crackers with cheese that it took some time for my cousin and I to realize that there were several tiny white bugs on the wall and the edge of the table. And her leg.
I don't think either one of us has ever moved so fast. For the rest of the night, we both kept thinking there were bugs on us and would jump at the slightest brush of hair across our cheek or the other's arm on our arm. This morning we laughed about it, but I'm pretty sure there won't be any outdoor showing of Gilmore Girls tonight.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
A Teenager, Tourism, and Age Confusion
My 13-year-old cousin is visiting me for two weeks. I've been looking forward to spending time with her and to playing tourist here in our great city. It's day 4 now, and I've definitely had a lot of fun and learned a few interesting things along the way.
We have taken a NYC Sightseeing bus all over the city, visited the top of the Empire State Building, visited the Dakota and walked a bit through Central Park, shopped for scrapbook supplies, tried on clothes at about fourteen different stores, taken in the lights at Times Square at night, and spent some time in Little Italy. Yesterday we walked about 8 miles. We declared today a sleep-in day (since we've gotten up so early the past three days considering it's supposed to be a vacation,) stayed up till 1:00 in the morning watching Gilmore Girls, then got up around 9:00 to prepare for our beach day.
I rarely spend time with children outside of the classroom. One thing I've learned is that children treat their teachers very differently than they do their older cousin. My favorite moment was, while shopping, my cousin had passed me, and even with her back to me knew I was a picking up a dress she didn't like and said, "Don't even think about it." I still crack up every time I think about it. If only my friends were this honest!!
I've also loved talking about the ever-so-popular subject among teenage girls: boys. Yesterday, on the 20-block walk to the subway, I got the lowdown on the boys she likes and the ones who like her, how they met, when they talk, and exactly what it means "to go with someone" since she's not allowed to date until she's 16. She told me (with an air of exasperation mixed with pride)that when she does date someone, the boy will have to go to dinner with her, her sister, her parents, and her grandparents. Then she continued on in the typical non-stop teenager fashion (which even now I can be prone to at times) and I just smiled all the way to the train. Who knew teenagers could provide so much entertainment!
It's funny, because I don't consider myself to be in between ages right now, like the twelve year old who is still a kid but almost a teenager. My cousin and her sister, however, do. At a family get together last week, they each asked me at least three times why I kept talking to the adults. Yet, just the day before, they were goodnaturedly making fun of me for being old.
Now, spending 24/7 with a 13-year-old, I find myself giggling over boys, talking about how cute the shirt with the little stars is, and watching Gilmore Girls until 1:00 in the morning. At the same time, I'm reminding her to put hydrocortisone on the enormous bug bite on her hand, making quesadillas for us while she reads a book, and complaining that she takes two hours to get ready to leave the house. To make matters even more confusing, yesterday afternoon she went through the books I brought home from my classroom and read several children's stories to me, while I laid back and laughed like a little kid or ooohed and aahed over the pictures in Red Leaf Yellow Leaf. Even I don't know if I'm old or young or just a twenty-something anymore.
We have taken a NYC Sightseeing bus all over the city, visited the top of the Empire State Building, visited the Dakota and walked a bit through Central Park, shopped for scrapbook supplies, tried on clothes at about fourteen different stores, taken in the lights at Times Square at night, and spent some time in Little Italy. Yesterday we walked about 8 miles. We declared today a sleep-in day (since we've gotten up so early the past three days considering it's supposed to be a vacation,) stayed up till 1:00 in the morning watching Gilmore Girls, then got up around 9:00 to prepare for our beach day.
I rarely spend time with children outside of the classroom. One thing I've learned is that children treat their teachers very differently than they do their older cousin. My favorite moment was, while shopping, my cousin had passed me, and even with her back to me knew I was a picking up a dress she didn't like and said, "Don't even think about it." I still crack up every time I think about it. If only my friends were this honest!!
I've also loved talking about the ever-so-popular subject among teenage girls: boys. Yesterday, on the 20-block walk to the subway, I got the lowdown on the boys she likes and the ones who like her, how they met, when they talk, and exactly what it means "to go with someone" since she's not allowed to date until she's 16. She told me (with an air of exasperation mixed with pride)that when she does date someone, the boy will have to go to dinner with her, her sister, her parents, and her grandparents. Then she continued on in the typical non-stop teenager fashion (which even now I can be prone to at times) and I just smiled all the way to the train. Who knew teenagers could provide so much entertainment!
It's funny, because I don't consider myself to be in between ages right now, like the twelve year old who is still a kid but almost a teenager. My cousin and her sister, however, do. At a family get together last week, they each asked me at least three times why I kept talking to the adults. Yet, just the day before, they were goodnaturedly making fun of me for being old.
Now, spending 24/7 with a 13-year-old, I find myself giggling over boys, talking about how cute the shirt with the little stars is, and watching Gilmore Girls until 1:00 in the morning. At the same time, I'm reminding her to put hydrocortisone on the enormous bug bite on her hand, making quesadillas for us while she reads a book, and complaining that she takes two hours to get ready to leave the house. To make matters even more confusing, yesterday afternoon she went through the books I brought home from my classroom and read several children's stories to me, while I laid back and laughed like a little kid or ooohed and aahed over the pictures in Red Leaf Yellow Leaf. Even I don't know if I'm old or young or just a twenty-something anymore.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
All Good Things Must Come To An End?
After a week of hanging out with my aunt, uncle, and cousins in California, I am all packed up and ready to head back home to New York City. My 13-year-old cousin will be joining me, which gives me the perfect excuse to play tourist for the two week duration of her visit. Yes, you might see me on one of those red double decker buses hitting all the sights of the city in one day. And yes, that will be my cousin and I in those foam Statue of Liberty hats. Of course, we will be asking you to take a picture of us.
Before all that begins though, I got to do something I've been looking forward to all week. My uncle took me for a spin in his 1957 Ford T-bird. As we walked out the door, my aunt asked casually, "Are you taking her by the A&W?" My uncle said yes, but I thought he just planned on getting me more food after a week of seeing how happy being fed makes me. Little did I know what was in store.
Driving in a convertible on a nice California night was a treat in and of itself, (though I will own up to the fact that I couldn't figure out how to use the seatbelt without a demonstration.) After about ten minutes, we drove by the A&W. The parking lot was full, so we drove around and parked on the street. Getting out of the T-bird and walking into the parking lot was like walking into 1957.
There was music from the 50s with a young, poodle skirt-clad girl dancing. All the chidren were playing limbo or dancing, while their parents and grandparents sat in lawn chairs next to their classic cars. The parking lot was packed with all sorts of cars that I can't name, but can appreciate.
My uncle met a couple who also owned a T-bird and began talking with them. The man was named Smitty, which on any other night I would consider to be the best thing that happened. But not tonight. Because tonight, this little parking lot party was hosted by not one, not two, but THREE Elvises. My uncle refused to take a picture with me and one of the Elvises (Elvi?) which might have been the only slightly disappointing thing of the evening. Other than that, I highly recommend that if you're in Modesto on a Friday night, you get yourself to the A&W.
Before all that begins though, I got to do something I've been looking forward to all week. My uncle took me for a spin in his 1957 Ford T-bird. As we walked out the door, my aunt asked casually, "Are you taking her by the A&W?" My uncle said yes, but I thought he just planned on getting me more food after a week of seeing how happy being fed makes me. Little did I know what was in store.
Driving in a convertible on a nice California night was a treat in and of itself, (though I will own up to the fact that I couldn't figure out how to use the seatbelt without a demonstration.) After about ten minutes, we drove by the A&W. The parking lot was full, so we drove around and parked on the street. Getting out of the T-bird and walking into the parking lot was like walking into 1957.
There was music from the 50s with a young, poodle skirt-clad girl dancing. All the chidren were playing limbo or dancing, while their parents and grandparents sat in lawn chairs next to their classic cars. The parking lot was packed with all sorts of cars that I can't name, but can appreciate.
My uncle met a couple who also owned a T-bird and began talking with them. The man was named Smitty, which on any other night I would consider to be the best thing that happened. But not tonight. Because tonight, this little parking lot party was hosted by not one, not two, but THREE Elvises. My uncle refused to take a picture with me and one of the Elvises (Elvi?) which might have been the only slightly disappointing thing of the evening. Other than that, I highly recommend that if you're in Modesto on a Friday night, you get yourself to the A&W.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
The Countdown Ends
Today is the last day of school, and the last day I will ever walk into the building I've been working in for the past two years. It's strange to think that I will probably join all the other New Yorkers in never stepping foot in my school's neighborhood again.
I am surprised by how not sad I am. I will miss my students and coworkers, but overall I feel relieved to be leaving. I'll still be in the NYC school district, and I know that I'll have new trials (and some of the old trials) at my new school, but faced with two months of free time and the potential of a new environment, I can only smile.
I am surprised by how not sad I am. I will miss my students and coworkers, but overall I feel relieved to be leaving. I'll still be in the NYC school district, and I know that I'll have new trials (and some of the old trials) at my new school, but faced with two months of free time and the potential of a new environment, I can only smile.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Passing On
Harriet, the 176 year old tortoise, died in Australia last night. I actually gasped when I read it in the paper. Just last month, I read about her in National Geographic. I shared everything I learned with my students: the fact that she was the oldest known living creature on the planet, her journey from the Galapagos to Australia, and that she may have been studied by Charles Darwin. My students passed her picture around the classroom twice and asked more than their typical 20 questions.
In there among all the bad news reported daily by the New York Times, I am saddest about the heart attack of an ill, ancient tortoise. I realize this is more than a little ridiculous, and possibly a result of too many Disney movies and an excessive love of animals in general.
There is something amazing about that life, though, no matter if you're saying to yourself now, "What the hell, it's just a tortoise." One hundred and seventy six years. And could never speak a word to tell us about it...
In there among all the bad news reported daily by the New York Times, I am saddest about the heart attack of an ill, ancient tortoise. I realize this is more than a little ridiculous, and possibly a result of too many Disney movies and an excessive love of animals in general.
There is something amazing about that life, though, no matter if you're saying to yourself now, "What the hell, it's just a tortoise." One hundred and seventy six years. And could never speak a word to tell us about it...
Friday, June 23, 2006
A Daunting Task
I am not the kind of teacher who has a neat desk. The papers pile up, I just throw things there, and spend much of every Friday afternoon organizing it and promising myself I'll do better next week.
But even through the mess, I know exactly where everything is. Oh, the schedule for Field Day? It's in the third pile against the wall underneath the homework from Tuesday. This week's Time For Kids? In the bin on the right behind the National Geographic. A pencil? I think I just saw one tucked against the wall behind all those test prep materials.
Until yesterday. During 8th period, another teacher covered my class while I conducted an IEP meeting. When I returned, one of my students excitedly greeted me at the door.
"Ms. Armstrong! Ms. Armstrong! I did something special for you. Look!" He pointed to my desk as he said this.
When I turned, I saw two neat stacks of papers and an empty expanse of wood that I barely recognized as the top of my desk. I tried to smile through my panic. "Thank you," I forced out and hugged him before sending him back to his seat.
So this morning I will begin the process of finding the things in the messy stack I usually keep on the front left corner of my desk, the things I need every Friday morning. If there weren't only three more days left of school, I might even make a sign "Thank you for leaving my mess. It's the nicest thing you've done all day."
But even through the mess, I know exactly where everything is. Oh, the schedule for Field Day? It's in the third pile against the wall underneath the homework from Tuesday. This week's Time For Kids? In the bin on the right behind the National Geographic. A pencil? I think I just saw one tucked against the wall behind all those test prep materials.
Until yesterday. During 8th period, another teacher covered my class while I conducted an IEP meeting. When I returned, one of my students excitedly greeted me at the door.
"Ms. Armstrong! Ms. Armstrong! I did something special for you. Look!" He pointed to my desk as he said this.
When I turned, I saw two neat stacks of papers and an empty expanse of wood that I barely recognized as the top of my desk. I tried to smile through my panic. "Thank you," I forced out and hugged him before sending him back to his seat.
So this morning I will begin the process of finding the things in the messy stack I usually keep on the front left corner of my desk, the things I need every Friday morning. If there weren't only three more days left of school, I might even make a sign "Thank you for leaving my mess. It's the nicest thing you've done all day."
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Stepping Up to the Plate
Today I took my second trip to Shea Stadium to watch the Mets beat the Reds 9-2. Some friends happened to have an extra ticket, so I joined them for cheering, hot dogs, and several rounds of The Wave.
It appears to have become common practice at stadiums everywhere for each player to choose a song to be blasted as they step up to the plate. I think this may be a tougher decision than choosing a college, breaking up with a significant other, or selecting investments. You have to choose the perfect crowd-pleasing song to inspire confidence, intimidate the other team, and give a little hint about your personality all in a ten second clip.
Which got my friends and I to thinking, what song would we choose? My friend the music teacher thought up several good ones, but I am still at a loss. This kind of decision would take me weeks. Another friend suggested that we choose songs for our entrance into the classroom. I wonder what my kids would do if "Stayin' Alive" or "Who Let the Dogs Out" started playing right before I entered the room. If you have any suggestions, please let me know...
Oh, and if there were any concerns, my newfound fandom has grown even more due to tonight's win, my friends' seemingly endless knowledge of the Mets, and the comradery created by being crammed on the 7 train with all my fellow Mets fans decked out in orange and blue.
It appears to have become common practice at stadiums everywhere for each player to choose a song to be blasted as they step up to the plate. I think this may be a tougher decision than choosing a college, breaking up with a significant other, or selecting investments. You have to choose the perfect crowd-pleasing song to inspire confidence, intimidate the other team, and give a little hint about your personality all in a ten second clip.
Which got my friends and I to thinking, what song would we choose? My friend the music teacher thought up several good ones, but I am still at a loss. This kind of decision would take me weeks. Another friend suggested that we choose songs for our entrance into the classroom. I wonder what my kids would do if "Stayin' Alive" or "Who Let the Dogs Out" started playing right before I entered the room. If you have any suggestions, please let me know...
Oh, and if there were any concerns, my newfound fandom has grown even more due to tonight's win, my friends' seemingly endless knowledge of the Mets, and the comradery created by being crammed on the 7 train with all my fellow Mets fans decked out in orange and blue.
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