Stunted growth

Tonight Joe and I went to MoMA to see what was pitched as a must-see arty film. Usually we love Free Fridays because we get to view interesting movies and hear about the work from the filmmakers. Instead, we were tormented with an hour and forty minutes of time-suck. Many people felt okay about walking out even though the filmmaker and one of the actresses were at the screening.

My favorite moment occurred during the best part of any cultural event in New York: the beloved Q&A. This is when magic happens; humanity reveals her beautifully grotesque face.

A woman raised her hand to make a comment. "I came to this film because I'm incredibly interested in adolescent sexuality; I'm a teacher."

Joe and I started laughing uncontrollably. I'd like to say that her comment made the whole night worth it, but that would be hyperbole.

By hook or by book

Last year, one of my (favorite) students asked me if I relied on my peripheral vision to read while I walk, something I do daily. Most of the time, I end up walking into strangers or scaffolding, or tripping over cracks in the sidewalk. Rarely do I remember to use my peripheral vision.

(My Bubbie always says that creative people are clumsy because they don't have time to worry about boring things like walking; they're too busy being creative. I like this explanation.)

Ever since I've known Joe, he's been my guide, leading me through the streets while I'm absorbed in a book. I never trip when my arm is hooked through his. Tonight, we stopped by The Strand before going to see the play, A Bright New Boise, which was quite good. While browsing for books, I found a copy of one of my favorites, Will Grayson, Will Grayson, which I decided I need to have because Joe and I keep buying it for other people and not for ourselves. I also bought Vanessa Davis' new book, Make Me A Woman, even though the copy I ordered from Amazon should arrive any day now; I just couldn't wait. This means I'll have an extra copy to give to someone I love.

Loyalty

One of my favorite students wrote me. This is a little bit of his email message, which goes to show that I was lousy at teaching grammar:

P.s.s I miss you too, the new english teacher has blond hair, can you believe this? Also, the creative writing teacher is a dude with a beard. Some crazy stuff. I'm not taking creative writing this year though...

A happy foot

My last blog entry was super bleak. Give me this opportunity to start the summer on, dare I say, a happy foot. School is out, though I am obligated to come to school each day of this week to help clean up and restore order.

Joseph and I are developing Project Anti-Anxiety Summer 2010. Those of you who know me at all will understand what an undertaking this could prove to be. With determination and the stubbornness of a forest fire, I will prove you wrong. I expect a t-shirt or a medal if I pull this off.

Friday is my last day upstate for a while (forever?). This coming weekend marks my Brooklyn homecoming. It will be sad to leave the country life, particularly for Nukah, who is currently living in doggy heaven. On the other hand, Joseph and I will be in the same place. We are making our way, demanding the right to be together, insisting upon an “us”.

This year, I continued to learn:

It’s okay to let other people hold me up, hold my hand, share my life.

It’s okay to need people and to let people need me.

It’s okay to be good at some things and not as good at others.

I can see things all the way through.

I am not a failure at life.

I am not a team player.

Seriousness must be balanced with silliness.

I don’t need the seasons; in fact, I’d prefer fewer seasonal type things like, let's say, winter.

Life is less lonely when you share it with people with the same sense of humor.

(This is what I meant in an earlier blog post when I said I would thank my family and friends later. Thank you, family and friends.)

Vermont is not for me.

Every ounce of energy has been sucked out of me over this school year. As a parting gift, I was forced to go on an end-of-the-year school trip to Vermont with nineteen bratty teenagers.


These are students who don't deal well with lack of structure, so we decided it would be wise to spend four days trying to micromanage their behavior out in public.


The worst part of this is that Vermont doesn't seem to believe in the importance of coffee.


Yesterday I dragged myself from activity to activity, never caffeinated, while I was under orders to pretend to care about the fate of the students.


I have about sixty report cards to write by Monday morning; I don't see how that's going to happen.


As usual, the teachers' needs are undermined by the whims of the administration. Wouldn't it be fun to make the teachers suffer on their final days? I want to be voted off the island.


We ran into this little kid, hiking in dog pajamas- definitely a highlight.


Today is our final day before the long trip back tomorrow morning. At least this evening I get to hang out with my old friend, Abbey in Burlington.

Approaching the finish line

The end of the school year is approaching and I’m beginning to exhale. The students are in a summery mood, and are being especially nice because it’s report card-writing time. I don’t have enough distance to know if the students have learned or what they are taking away this year. I know that I’m leaving with a lot of new information. The next couple months will be a time for me to sort it out and try to make some sense of this experience.

I have so much gratitude for my family and friends who made this year possible. I will write more about my appreciation in a future post.

I want to go home, but I'm not sure where that is. Sometimes home is driving with Nukah by my side, windows down, sun shining, music playing, and a cup of coffee in the holder.

To answer my mom's question: no, most of the students did not like the ambrosia salad. It's a lonely world, working with teenagers.

full (marshmallow and whipped topping) circle

It's the end of the year and my classes are wrapping up. We're watching Edward Scissorhands in Mythology, Meaning, and Metaphor and my students squealed with disgust and confusion when Edward is fed ambrosia salad. Of course I protested and insisted that ambrosia salad is a supreme cuisine. Some of them have never tried it before. Tonight, I made some for our final class tomorrow. They'll see the light:


Ambrosia salad really brings the school year full circle. I made ambrosia salad all by myself for the first time for the faculty bar-b-que right before the students returned to school in September.

"Ambrosia" literally means the food or drink of the Greek gods, so it makes sense to sample this delicacy in my mythology class.

Additionally, I forgot to add this classic picture of Halligan and Nukah:

Taking our pool cue

It's been a good weekend. This morning, Joe and I spent about forty dollars at the public library's book fair. Then we drove over to school to sit in the sun and swim in the pool.


We played lifeguard.


Joseph took the plunge.


There's less than a moment before the hot air and the freezing water collide.


On Monday, it snowed. By Saturday, we were swimming.

My muscled protector

The weirdest child at school is in the second grade. She frightens me, but I'm drawn to her because in a way, she seems to behave without the confines of societal pressure. Today she threw this action figure at me and told me that he's my boyfriend. I've been carrying him around as a quick fix for my loneliness. It's nice to have a protective muscle man by my side when Joe and Nukah are unavailable.

Teaching is a performance. A few of my students were talking about my personality and agreed that I seem like a happy (though not a simple) person. Perceptions can be so isolating (or do I mean alienating?), but it would be unhelpful for my students to know what I'm feeling most of the time. I'd like to be backstage for a while, hiding in the folds of the red velvet curtain.

I can't wait until Friday when Joseph and I run away to Montreal to visit Jen.

Ode to Joy

Even though I write on my blog a lot less frequently lately, I have no intention of closing shop. Yesterday afternoon, my blog was not available online and I felt what it would be like to lose my little corner of the world. I went through some steps on the blogger website and miraculously, my blog reappeared. I want this online space; I've grown accustomed to checking in, even if I'm only writing highly censored and carefully worded updates.

Last night, Joe and I attended a youth production of Henry V because some of my students were in it. The play was excruciatingly acted and as I sat there cringing, once again I began to think about how out of context I feel in this small, retirement community, where hippies come to burn out, die, and pretend to not live in suburbia. There isn't a happy ending to this anecdote.

Today was a little better. Joseph, Nukah, and I ended up taking a very long walk on a nature trail. We didn't think the trail would be long or lead us anywhere, but we estimated that we went about three miles. Joe and I weren't certain if the trail would be a circle and while neither of us are skilled navigators, somehow we ended up finding our way back to our car.

After our big hike, we went out for BBQ, which has put Joseph in the bathroom with a possible case of food poisoning.

Fifty-seven days left in the school year, including weekends and vacation days.

hodgepodge

I'm mourning the end of my glorious break, filled with big city adventures, familiar faces, art museums, cinema saturation, and puppy excursions. Summer, hurry up!

I promised Riva that I wouldn't dress Nukah in ridiculous outfits. Joe and I decided that this sweater, which was on sale at a dog store in the city, did not count as "ridiculous." Maybe Riva disagrees? This evening I put Nukah in the sweater for a fashion shoot and he peed all over my bed while he was wearing it. I guess he thinks it's ridiculous, too.

At times, Joseph can be a bit forgetful. For once, this is working in my favor because he left his wallet upstate this morning and traveled back to the city without it. This means I get to see him again tonight.

While visiting the Biennial at Whitney, I developed a new career idea. I'd like to write curriculum for an independent study project for high school seniors, an alternative to attending school. This would be a program specific to New York, where students met with a leader/mentor/teacher each day at museums, galleries, art studios, and visited with artists, curators, and museum educators. The students would learn math, science, and English through an artistic lens and the academics would be specific to which exhibitions and artists were available. Each parent and student would receive a big binder of lesson plans and homework assignments, so that they could follow along at home. I envision that this program would be like a magnet school, where students apply and based on their ability to be self-motivated, driven by learning, and passionate about the arts, they would be accepted. This project would take an enormous amount of financial backing and time to launch, but I imagine that I could really be invested in working on this.

Eyes on the Prize

Nukah and I skipped town today for some desperately needed hookie playing. We went for a long hike in the warm, early day sun.

Yesterday I suffered through my second set of Parent-Teacher Conferences. This day surpassed the first round in the category of horrible family encounters. Actually, there was only one horrible family encounter, but it was enough to make me cry uncontrollably when I finally arrived home in the evening. I've put up with a lot of abuse at school and this week was no exception.

The past is behind me and I'm thankful for that.

I've been thinking a lot about a quote from a great article in the New York Times Book Review, which states, "Anything processed by memory is fiction." A mother who came to see me yesterday (one of the ones who is not horrible, but is a mess), was talking about her daughter, who is in 7th grade. This little girl has been through a great deal of difficult circumstances including losing her father and watching her mother suffer and eventually recover from drug/alcohol abuse. Anyway, her mother told me that her daughter has a lot of "anger issues". According to her mom, the problem is the way her daughter perceives things. She mentioned several times that her daughter's perceptions are wrong. She tries to tell her daughter this, which only angers the little girl more. I mentioned that we all see and experience reality in our own way.

I was thinking about how disempowering it is to take away this little girl's memories and thoughts, or at least to discount them. These ideas are real for her. We all tell stories and create fictions in order to process and understand deeper truths. Fiction is not untrue. Underneath the surface story, when fiction is "honest," it is absolutely truth. If anything, this encounter with the mother made me realize how crucial it is for me to validate her daughter's experience of the world.

Next week, we spend the school days leading community service trips. In two weeks, I'm on Spring Break.

Prison break

Good news:
The snow seems to be gone for good.

Bad news:
No more snow days.

This week I've been daunted and stalked by the task of writing 43 report cards, which are due on Thursday morning; torture is inescapable. I'm on trimester and semester schedules, which means I have to write fifteen sets of report cards this year. The operative word is "endless".

Now that it's spring, all sorts of animals are coming out of the woodwork including the town weirdos. I'm keeping a close watch on Nukah; I don't want him to fall under the wrong influence.

Every morning, I wake up listening to the theme song from Northern Exposure, thanks to Joe's genius present. And every day I am more and more convinced that I'm living in Cicely, Alaska.

Ninety-six more days until school is out, but who's counting?

Sea Grub; Sea Sickness

Once again, we were closed for a snow day.


If we have school tomorrow, one of my classes is going to celebrate the completion of Moby-Dick with fish-themed treats. I'm especially excited to witness some of my students' reactions to gefilte fish.

As the shanty goes:

Over the sea let's go, men!
We're shovin' right off,
We're shovin' right off again;
Nobody knows where or when,
We're shovin' right off,
We're shovin' right off again.
It may be Shanghai,
Farewell and goodbye;
Sally and Sue, don't be blue;
We'll just be gone for years and years and then,
We're shovin' right off for home again!

As Tom Waits croons:

And the fog's liftin'
And the sand's shiftin'
I'm driftin' on out
Ol' Captain Ahab
He ain't got nothin' on me, now.
So swallow me, don't follow me
I'm trav'lin' alone
Blue water's my daughter
'n I'm gonna skip like a stone

So please call my missus
Gotta tell her not to cry
'Cause my goodbye is written
By the moon in the sky
Hey and nobody knows me
I can't fathom my stayin'
Shiver me timbers
'Cause I'm a-sailin' away

Conquered whale alert!

Tonight I finished Moby-Dick! If I've gained anything from my current teaching position, it's the will to accomplish this great feat. Along the way, I found a new book to add to my absolute favorites.

Moby-Dick taught me that anything can be a reference and everything is interconnected. One of Nukah's teeth fell out; somehow, this object will serve as a symbol for finishing a great literary classic.

Pam, if you're reading this, I want nothing more than to read all of the wonderful books that you gave me for Hanukah, but they will have to wait until the school year is finished. For now, they are stacked on my shelf, taunting me with their potential to take me away.

Up now:
A third reading of Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man
A second reading of Aldous Huxley's Brave New World
A first reading of Life of Pi

Another shameless puppy post

Joseph and I both had a snow day today. He traveled upstate last night to spend some mid-week quality time with Nukah and me.

Elation!

A little snow goes a long way! School closed for an early dismissal due to a little snow shower we had this morning.

Good news like this makes me feel like my complaints pale in significance. I like being proven wrong.

If I don't find time for intellectual stimulation today, it's my own fault.

Time to snuggle up with Nukah, a mug of hot cocoa, Arthur Russell's Love is Overtaking Me, and my favorite whale of a tale, Moby-Dick.

(Rest in peace, Howard Zinn.)

Another note in the (shallow?) complaint box

I miss the city.

My days are filled, attempting to intellectually stimulate high school students and by the time I leave work, I don't want to think for myself.

I'm in desperate need of company, people with similar senses of humor, good taste in literature, and an ability to memorize important works of art like The Big Lebowski.

I miss Joseph.

I hate the recession and I want to go home.

Obama, please say the right thing. Don't mess this up. Give the people some hope. Tell me it's going to get better soon. Tell me I can go home again.

Ennui

This week began with a downpour, which created flooding and led to mud.

Everywhere I go, obvious statements abound: "It's raining," and "It's cold outside," and "The sidewalks are slippery."

We've run out of things to say. I've retreated into silence and the supine position.

Wake me up when it's spring.

Educational cinema for this week's classes:
The Big Lebowski
Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell
THX 1138

Gili Frankenstein and her little monsters

I took the day off to restore my health. While at home, I wrote course descriptions for next year. I'm adding a cultural literacy class to my schedule. Here's an excerpt of a note to my father, justifying my reasoning for teaching this class:

This class developed because I'm teaching the seniors about emerging arts and I realized how sad it is that they don't know much about very, very recent history. None of them had heard of ACT-UP, the Guerrilla Girls, the Riot Grrrl Movement, etc. What I realized is that as a teenager, I was voracious about learning about urban culture and found ways to educate myself. Many of my students want to become artists, but have very little connection to other artists who came RIGHT before them. I know that it's not unusual for students to be out of touch with political issues and movements. I was alarmed by the lack of knowledge possessed by my students who often pretend to be city-savvy. I have a student who is extremely well-read and smart, but he'd never heard of Alfred Hitchcock. They have virtually no exposure to non-mainstream movies. I never felt outdated or old until I realized that these students are often living as though they are inventing the wheel. While the students are online day in and out, I asked two of them to facilitate an introduction to Frankenstein and they came back, saying that there just wasn't that much information about it online. HELLO! ALARMED OVER HERE! They need queer theory, they need film criticism, they need inter-textual studies. The class could also be called, "Gili's Concern for the Ignorant Youth She Teaches." Basically, I'm going to make them all into little Gili-clones. It's time to shake things up.

That's Ms. Frankenstein to you!