I Didn't Know Mel Gibson was an Architect
1 Comments Published by Michael on Thursday, September 27, 2007 at 11:32 AM.
Apparently the U.S. government hates Jews, not just Iraqi's.
Do you think someone is losing their job over this?
Making a Difference One Mind at a Time
0 Comments Published by Michael on Thursday, September 20, 2007 at 1:49 PM.
Just when you are feeling very high-minded, sure that the brilliance you are spouting about the intricacies of the political/moral struggles that underly Lord of the Flies, sure that at any moment the their heads will explode from the knowledge overload, that they might fall on the floor convulsing in fits of hysteria over the depth of understanding that has been awakened in them.....you find out that, rather than listening to a damn word you said, they were pretending to pay attention to you in order to sketch you.
I'd be mad, but I think she did a fair job.
"The only problem with it, Mr. Stone," observed one of he classmates, "is we've never seen you smile."
Both of them deserve A's!
Simply put, I'm impressed!
Catharsis or Self-Indulgence
0 Comments Published by Michael on Wednesday, September 12, 2007 at 6:51 AM.
Working in a high school is filled with a variety or untold strangenesses (like that word?.....I'm an English teacher and can't manage to use the language with any expertise this morning)....very vague statement, I know....I'm lazy - perhaps the most disturbing of daily mind-events/journeys is the stroll, no, make that: violent dragging, through the muck of one's own adolescence. For one who could not wait until high school ended, longing basically everyday to stop what I realized even then was some sort of strange petri-dish-filled-with-combustibles social-experiment that, although all must endure it, and there should be some sort of unification in shared experience, turns out to be shared isolation on an island surrounded by a the sea of hormones and budding, awkward adulthood, the idea of spending everyday back in high school is tantamount to God kicking-back in his golden easy-chair and enjoying the show in the same manner one cracks open a beer and watches the train-wreck that is the delusional teens being skewered on American Idol. - it must be fun.
Reflecting on my unique position of going back to high school as an adult, I reflected last night on what, other than a widening age-gap, truly separates me from the previous me that was indeed no different than these youths that I am currently instructing. In most ways, the jump from childhood to authority-figure, it makes me chuckle to even say such a thing to categorize myself, has been seamless - I do not feel terribly different, but I pinpointed something particular to my adult experience that is a drastic departure from the angst-ridden-pseudo-rebel I played on the television drama of my teens: numbness.
I am not sure if it is the chemical makeup of a maturing body/mind that accounts for it, or the lack of responsibility (I used to hate when adults told me, "You think you have stuff to worry about now, but just wait....") that does not bog the teen mind down with the mundane peculiarities of human existence, but there was decidedly more passion ten-years ago than there is today. Every idea was going to change the world, love was urgent, feelings/emotions were paramount - now their just tiring. It is rational, reasonable to take into account consequences in your actions, that things maybe can wait until tomorrow, that an argument with your love interest does not begin or end the world, and that, no, you are not the most important entity in the universe, but the young mind is oblivious to such things. It is the cosmic joke to end all jokes that when you are most motivated and easily captured by an idea, you are in the least likeliest position to achieve objectives of your entire life, and by the time freedom and independence find you, you will become another stagnant member of the machine that is adulthood and no longer feel compelled to do those things for which you might have held so much passion for previously.
These kids are like caged animals at the zoo; they know not that they are being observed, nor do they care if they are cognizant of being on display for we onlookers; their oblivion and overall feeling of self-importance makes them the perfect specimens for glimpsing our previous selves. Like a movie screen, where actors do not take the audience into account, choosing rather to play parts knowing all the while that they will be viewed eventually, one is allowed to lose oneself in the unfolding lives of those one has no more connection with than any other stranger, but somehow you cannot help seeing something, feeling something long forgotten. Too much time in this vortex of past emotion is probably damaging to one's mental health, leading perhaps to insanity or, worse yet, novel-writing, but for momentary glimpses it is an experience worth your thought-life.
Reflecting on my unique position of going back to high school as an adult, I reflected last night on what, other than a widening age-gap, truly separates me from the previous me that was indeed no different than these youths that I am currently instructing. In most ways, the jump from childhood to authority-figure, it makes me chuckle to even say such a thing to categorize myself, has been seamless - I do not feel terribly different, but I pinpointed something particular to my adult experience that is a drastic departure from the angst-ridden-pseudo-rebel I played on the television drama of my teens: numbness.
I am not sure if it is the chemical makeup of a maturing body/mind that accounts for it, or the lack of responsibility (I used to hate when adults told me, "You think you have stuff to worry about now, but just wait....") that does not bog the teen mind down with the mundane peculiarities of human existence, but there was decidedly more passion ten-years ago than there is today. Every idea was going to change the world, love was urgent, feelings/emotions were paramount - now their just tiring. It is rational, reasonable to take into account consequences in your actions, that things maybe can wait until tomorrow, that an argument with your love interest does not begin or end the world, and that, no, you are not the most important entity in the universe, but the young mind is oblivious to such things. It is the cosmic joke to end all jokes that when you are most motivated and easily captured by an idea, you are in the least likeliest position to achieve objectives of your entire life, and by the time freedom and independence find you, you will become another stagnant member of the machine that is adulthood and no longer feel compelled to do those things for which you might have held so much passion for previously.
These kids are like caged animals at the zoo; they know not that they are being observed, nor do they care if they are cognizant of being on display for we onlookers; their oblivion and overall feeling of self-importance makes them the perfect specimens for glimpsing our previous selves. Like a movie screen, where actors do not take the audience into account, choosing rather to play parts knowing all the while that they will be viewed eventually, one is allowed to lose oneself in the unfolding lives of those one has no more connection with than any other stranger, but somehow you cannot help seeing something, feeling something long forgotten. Too much time in this vortex of past emotion is probably damaging to one's mental health, leading perhaps to insanity or, worse yet, novel-writing, but for momentary glimpses it is an experience worth your thought-life.
The past several years have been a repetition of the same movie script over and over again.
(bearded stranger walks in silently, taking a seat at the crowded table)
Random Teacher 1: "Hi, my name is ________ (usually Linda, sometimes Nancy, always a woman, always far too excited for an 8:00 am orientation)! It is so nice to meet you! I teach 3rd grade....
(bearded stranger stops listening)
Random Teacher 2: (interrupting RT 1) So, where did you come from?
(mindless conversation about previous teaching experience and education ensues)
After several conversations that go no further than this, invariably the discussion turns to family. I talk a bit about my wife, regurgitating the same spiel that was told at the last orientation, and the same one that will be told countless times more in the coming weeks...."accountant"...."Arlington"....."3 years"......"met in Denton".....etc. In short, wife, mother, father, sister, brother, et al, are placed in their proper categories by which the small solar system in which I orbit will know of their existence. (fast forward six months: "Oh, your sister....the baker, right?) It is the way the universe is structured, I did not construct it, but I have nonetheless embraced it wholeheartedly and abide by the rules of depersonalizingly classifying those closest to those I feign closeness with in order to further feign knowledge of those I indeed have never and will never meet or be close to.
I take special pleasure in the categorization of my brother. It is both simple and privately entertaining.
RT 4000: "Tell me about your brother."
Bearded: (smiling, very satisfied with his impending cleverness) "Oh, Jim? He's Jack Kerouac."
Indeed, my brother is straight out of On the Road (though he refuses to read it). It has been a few years since I read about the cross-country odyssey that sparked and encapsulated a whole generation of beats' and spawned countless generations of pseudo-'nicks walking aimlessly hoping for direction, catharsis or purpose. The beauty of Road, though, as best this weak memory can recall, is that Jack was not on some hippie-esque crusade of self discovery, looking for some sort of higher purpose in his wanderings. No, he just went. The story of Road is indeed filled with moments of self-awareness and generations since have not wrongly found deeper meaning in the journey, but, like all valuable lessons, these grew organically out of experience not focused on finding "experiences"
Jim, as far as I am aware, has no great aim in his years of trekking from here to there. He is not setting records, not peddling a message, he just wanders. Hedonistic? - maybe. Selfish? - could be. Waste? - not for a second. Jim/Jack are the segment of the population that cannot be more than a minor minority, because were they the majority the world might cease functioning, but they are an important minority. Important? - their importance in deviating from the norm both gives the rest of us dreams of escape, and supplies us with tales unknown to us (something like Odysseus' Cyclops' island), but might even inspire us in ways that the book written by a stock broker about a vacation to Maui could not.
So, on your birthday, Jim. Cheers!
(bearded stranger walks in silently, taking a seat at the crowded table)
Random Teacher 1: "Hi, my name is ________ (usually Linda, sometimes Nancy, always a woman, always far too excited for an 8:00 am orientation)! It is so nice to meet you! I teach 3rd grade....
(bearded stranger stops listening)
Random Teacher 2: (interrupting RT 1) So, where did you come from?
(mindless conversation about previous teaching experience and education ensues)
After several conversations that go no further than this, invariably the discussion turns to family. I talk a bit about my wife, regurgitating the same spiel that was told at the last orientation, and the same one that will be told countless times more in the coming weeks...."accountant"...."Arlington"....."3 years"......"met in Denton".....etc. In short, wife, mother, father, sister, brother, et al, are placed in their proper categories by which the small solar system in which I orbit will know of their existence. (fast forward six months: "Oh, your sister....the baker, right?) It is the way the universe is structured, I did not construct it, but I have nonetheless embraced it wholeheartedly and abide by the rules of depersonalizingly classifying those closest to those I feign closeness with in order to further feign knowledge of those I indeed have never and will never meet or be close to.
I take special pleasure in the categorization of my brother. It is both simple and privately entertaining.
RT 4000: "Tell me about your brother."
Bearded: (smiling, very satisfied with his impending cleverness) "Oh, Jim? He's Jack Kerouac."
Indeed, my brother is straight out of On the Road (though he refuses to read it). It has been a few years since I read about the cross-country odyssey that sparked and encapsulated a whole generation of beats' and spawned countless generations of pseudo-'nicks walking aimlessly hoping for direction, catharsis or purpose. The beauty of Road, though, as best this weak memory can recall, is that Jack was not on some hippie-esque crusade of self discovery, looking for some sort of higher purpose in his wanderings. No, he just went. The story of Road is indeed filled with moments of self-awareness and generations since have not wrongly found deeper meaning in the journey, but, like all valuable lessons, these grew organically out of experience not focused on finding "experiences"
Jim, as far as I am aware, has no great aim in his years of trekking from here to there. He is not setting records, not peddling a message, he just wanders. Hedonistic? - maybe. Selfish? - could be. Waste? - not for a second. Jim/Jack are the segment of the population that cannot be more than a minor minority, because were they the majority the world might cease functioning, but they are an important minority. Important? - their importance in deviating from the norm both gives the rest of us dreams of escape, and supplies us with tales unknown to us (something like Odysseus' Cyclops' island), but might even inspire us in ways that the book written by a stock broker about a vacation to Maui could not.
So, on your birthday, Jim. Cheers!
Break out the champagne, light up the cigars (or smoking substance of your choice...as long as it's under 4 oz...new TX law...look it up), we've nearly made it through a second consecutive week of real work. I realize it's only Thursday, and I grant you that we had Monday off, but I will take my small victories as they come to me. I have some time at my desk before Parent-Nite gets up and rolling, and so I thought I would attempt to lay aside the cynicism (at least as much as possible) and give an update on life at POPCS (long acronym, right?)
Ties - I was disturbed the day before school started when I was informed for the first time that ties were mandatory every school day, save a few special days here and there. I have never worked anywhere that had a dress code that strict, and the rebellious-teen that I was began to rise from the dead: "You can't make me do that, man (why does my angst-filled-teen voice sound stoned in my mind?)", but two weeks in.......nooooooot soooo baaaad. I can handle it. There's actually something official-feeling about the whole thing.
Where Have All the Bastards Gone - I almost hate the jump the gun on this one....really, I am becoming nervous even as I type, but the kids here are....dare I say it....decent humans. There are a handful of squirrelly kids, but that's just it, they are kids. I expect a modicum of deviance and rebellion, I have never asked for anything approaching perfection, but these kids only serve to illustrate that I might not have been crazy about hating so many of those Alban-kids. Compared with last year, these kids are angels....it's like night and day. I have many, many more students this year, and I don't know even 1/8 of their names (I know how to point and say, "You", though), but already I like them, and they seem to have at least respect for me. This is subject to change, and I won't be held to this stance, but for now they give me hope of lasting in this profession for more than a year or two.
Fitness - Generally I have observed at most schools, offices...etc that they are filled with flabby people making it some sort of obesity-loves-company mission to convert everyone else to their club by deriding any attempts at healthy eating or exercise, claiming such things as unnatural or the practices of fanatics. Such is not the case at POP. Much to my pleasant surprise, there is a group of men that play basketball three mornings a week, competitive basketball at that, and the basketball coach does an open gym on Saturday mornings a few times a month. Aside from that, there is a general attitude/expectation that people work out or watch what they eat; it is far from fanatical, and we still go grab burgers or mexican food, but there something different that I cannot quite pinpoint.
Controlled Autonomy - To put it bluntly, St. Alban's was a free-for-all. I loved my principal, and she was nothing if not supportive and hardworking, but I have already had more input and questions concerning the details of my curriculum (they still let me write my own) than I probably did all of last year. I had no problem with the way I was allowed to wind-up and go last year, but it is comforting that there are hand-brakes built into the POP system to keep me from getting too far off track.
All in all, it seems like I am working at more of a 'school' than I ever have. If I have to work, and I guess I do, this is not such a bad place.
Ties - I was disturbed the day before school started when I was informed for the first time that ties were mandatory every school day, save a few special days here and there. I have never worked anywhere that had a dress code that strict, and the rebellious-teen that I was began to rise from the dead: "You can't make me do that, man (why does my angst-filled-teen voice sound stoned in my mind?)", but two weeks in.......nooooooot soooo baaaad. I can handle it. There's actually something official-feeling about the whole thing.
Where Have All the Bastards Gone - I almost hate the jump the gun on this one....really, I am becoming nervous even as I type, but the kids here are....dare I say it....decent humans. There are a handful of squirrelly kids, but that's just it, they are kids. I expect a modicum of deviance and rebellion, I have never asked for anything approaching perfection, but these kids only serve to illustrate that I might not have been crazy about hating so many of those Alban-kids. Compared with last year, these kids are angels....it's like night and day. I have many, many more students this year, and I don't know even 1/8 of their names (I know how to point and say, "You", though), but already I like them, and they seem to have at least respect for me. This is subject to change, and I won't be held to this stance, but for now they give me hope of lasting in this profession for more than a year or two.
Fitness - Generally I have observed at most schools, offices...etc that they are filled with flabby people making it some sort of obesity-loves-company mission to convert everyone else to their club by deriding any attempts at healthy eating or exercise, claiming such things as unnatural or the practices of fanatics. Such is not the case at POP. Much to my pleasant surprise, there is a group of men that play basketball three mornings a week, competitive basketball at that, and the basketball coach does an open gym on Saturday mornings a few times a month. Aside from that, there is a general attitude/expectation that people work out or watch what they eat; it is far from fanatical, and we still go grab burgers or mexican food, but there something different that I cannot quite pinpoint.
Controlled Autonomy - To put it bluntly, St. Alban's was a free-for-all. I loved my principal, and she was nothing if not supportive and hardworking, but I have already had more input and questions concerning the details of my curriculum (they still let me write my own) than I probably did all of last year. I had no problem with the way I was allowed to wind-up and go last year, but it is comforting that there are hand-brakes built into the POP system to keep me from getting too far off track.
All in all, it seems like I am working at more of a 'school' than I ever have. If I have to work, and I guess I do, this is not such a bad place.
