we had a lockdown yesterday, not because of violence on the perimeter of the school, but because of student revolt on campus. that's right. we had a lockdown to protect us from the students.
apparently, a group of students started a riot during lunch and the security and administrative staff had to do everything short of hosing them down to keep them from climbing the fences.
later, during class change, approximately 100 students organized a "runout" / managed to escape school en masse. the teachers were then quickly ordered to go on lockdown mode, to keep the students in their classes.
it happened again today. the lock-in, that is. rumors of a second escape attempt were spreading thru the student body, and the administration pre-empted it by cancelling 6th period, trapping all students (and teachers) in their 5th periods. no one was allowed in the hallways until the end of the school day, at which point everyone was forced out. after school programs were cancelled, students were ordered to leave campus by 3:15.
teachers talked after school about being attacked: the stampede of students that knocked over one teacher, while students attacked another teacher with paper airplanes. one woman showed me her neck, pierced by a paper arrow, swollen and bleeding. the administration expressed concern for trampling, justifying the use of mace on a crowd of middle schoolers.
when the staff pass each other in the parking lot, we try to understand the students' actions. some wondered if they were trying to protest something, maybe the teacher layoffs, a modern middle school version of a walkout. some found the new food policy a more convincing motive ("you can give them a dress code or lengthen their school day, but don't take away their food! that makes them angry!")
the week's events have sent the school into chaos. no one understands the actions or the motives. they are erratic, unpredictable, and because they seem to have no direction or purpose, the school is at a loss as to how to stop or prevent them, other than physical force or coercion, bribery.
at an assembly, administrators threaten arrests and fines, more mace, expulsion. they use dramatic phrases, "we will find you," "we will keep you safe at all costs," "if you want something changed, write a letter to President Obama." they try to explain how things are gonna go, "you are the students. we are in control," while the auditorium buzzes with energy and rebellion, and the occasional "f*** you!" the students are experimenting with their newfound power, unpredictability and sheer numbers, and in the hallway 5 administrators from the district, with badges hanging around their necks, stand with their hands behind their backs, ready to body slam any children who try to get past them to the exits.
while the comparison has always been obvious, this week's events have stretched experience past mere analogy. the school is a zoo, class changes a running of the bulls, the school is a prison, and the inmates are running the asylum.
all this makes me wonder if there are little terror cells of students plotting their next actions. i wonder if there is a Gitmo equivalent hidden somewhere on this campus. perhaps the elementary school we annexed? i wonder if there will be Patriot Acts and wire-tapping. already i see the parallels: backpack searches in the mornings before entering school, randomly pulling students from classes for questioning. today we were on "High Alert." is that the orange or red threat level?
welcome to the monkey house,
stephan!e
Friday, March 27, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
proposition: blogging as life preserver
i've had a lot of conversations lately in which my motives for blogging were called into question. and though i find it hard, usually, to think so metacognitively about the reasons for my writing, i realized today that it's a tree in the forest kinda thing.
if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, did it make a sound?
i remembered this post i wrote in the beginning of my foray into blogging, and how i was thinking about death and the ability of the internet to preserve experience and writing.
this digital age is a mausoleum, which is a word i love, because it sounds like what it means: "death museum." we produce so many artifacts of our lives, but at the same time these artifacts exist mostly in the ether. we write emails, dozens a day, these all go into mailboxes, each of us with mailboxes thousands of emails full. there's a permanence but also an invisibility to this kind of production. while it exists and accumulates, it so easily disappears. someone dies, their email address and inbox goes with them. all those MB's of virtual space and productivity and creation lost, irrecoverable. and here, i hesitate again, because this virtual medium has the capacity to recover and revive, just as easily as it can be erased.
i want to remember things clearly, i don't want things to fade!
the wonderful thing about this is that digital technologies are allowing us to preserve little mummies of ourselves all over the interwebs (which sounds kind of gross, but admit it, you're fascinated!) snapshots of life and moments. and the complexities and details of our lives will read, in retrospect, so much clearer than any other materials of the past or present. just as the clarity with which we see things has improved with the emergence of digital imaging and hi-res photography, our understanding of the past will be significantly clearer because of the details we are writing now. we are constantly writing and re-writing our own autobiographies, from the moment we self-publish.
and isn't that such a beautiful thing?
-stephan!e
(written sunday, 3.22.09, 9pm PST)
if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears it, did it make a sound?i remembered this post i wrote in the beginning of my foray into blogging, and how i was thinking about death and the ability of the internet to preserve experience and writing.
this digital age is a mausoleum, which is a word i love, because it sounds like what it means: "death museum." we produce so many artifacts of our lives, but at the same time these artifacts exist mostly in the ether. we write emails, dozens a day, these all go into mailboxes, each of us with mailboxes thousands of emails full. there's a permanence but also an invisibility to this kind of production. while it exists and accumulates, it so easily disappears. someone dies, their email address and inbox goes with them. all those MB's of virtual space and productivity and creation lost, irrecoverable. and here, i hesitate again, because this virtual medium has the capacity to recover and revive, just as easily as it can be erased.
i want to remember things clearly, i don't want things to fade!the wonderful thing about this is that digital technologies are allowing us to preserve little mummies of ourselves all over the interwebs (which sounds kind of gross, but admit it, you're fascinated!) snapshots of life and moments. and the complexities and details of our lives will read, in retrospect, so much clearer than any other materials of the past or present. just as the clarity with which we see things has improved with the emergence of digital imaging and hi-res photography, our understanding of the past will be significantly clearer because of the details we are writing now. we are constantly writing and re-writing our own autobiographies, from the moment we self-publish.
and isn't that such a beautiful thing?
-stephan!e
(written sunday, 3.22.09, 9pm PST)
Sunday, March 22, 2009
first signs of spring
portents of spring:
-tulip blooms
-shorter hemlines
-longer days
-insane animals
-the re-appearance of matzos on the grocery store shelves!
the latter is the one i am currently most excited about, as matzos is the true harbinger of better times!
for with matzos comes gefilte fish, served with bitter herbs and horse radish, and that always makes me thirsty for sweet sweet kosher wine.
before long, i am flat on my back, drunk and remembering kosher dinners at my friends Will and Laura's house, weeping with nostalgia and homesickness between bouts of food coma.
i should perhaps feel guilty that i'm taking all the joys of jewish cuisine, without any of the religious experience, but i have to say from past experience that the food itself is a religious experience, so...
huzzah!
-stephan!e
-tulip blooms
-shorter hemlines
-longer days
-insane animals
-the re-appearance of matzos on the grocery store shelves!
the latter is the one i am currently most excited about, as matzos is the true harbinger of better times!
for with matzos comes gefilte fish, served with bitter herbs and horse radish, and that always makes me thirsty for sweet sweet kosher wine.
before long, i am flat on my back, drunk and remembering kosher dinners at my friends Will and Laura's house, weeping with nostalgia and homesickness between bouts of food coma.
i should perhaps feel guilty that i'm taking all the joys of jewish cuisine, without any of the religious experience, but i have to say from past experience that the food itself is a religious experience, so...
huzzah!
-stephan!e
Saturday, March 21, 2009
dancing in the dark
i've said it before, and i'll continue to say it again: i love The Boss.
nothing encapsulates the complexity of being born in america in the 1980s like Springsteen and synthesizer, and i mean this in earnest. while the musical and cultural products of the '80s as a whole would seem to have tainted history's perception of the decade, what with the proliferation of horrible one-hit wonders and abusive overuse of the moog, The Boss remains the 80s' single greatest gift to American music. and what's more, he's the gift that keeps on giving (thank you!)
that's because there is a permanence to Springsteen's music that defied the limits of 1980s materialism and spectacle (the same values American Psycho critiques in this scene). while '80s hair bands and rock groups found short-lived success by cannibalizing tried and true guitar riffs and appealing to a brief moment's gaudy aesthetics and conventions, Springsteen wrote epic stories about human suffering and loneliness, about working night shifts in steel factories, driving thru abandoned city streets, love, desperation, the hunger and hope for a better life. in short, the american dream and the american way of life.
and though Springsteen's staunchly american aesthetic can be a deterrent to some (my boyfriend once described it as "jingoistic"), it is precisely the way in which he represents America that i find seductive. he sings of heroes doomed to Sysiphean fates, working low wage jobs and searching for escape. unlike the ass-kicking beer-swigging mythos of modern country music, Springsteen's music is complex, genuine, underscored with hardship and persistence. while the former are simulacra, Springsteen's America possesses a history of emotion and suffering. yet, there is a gloomy/gritty hopefulness – despite feeling so defeated, there remains release and splendor, in a midnight drive, in a passionate embrace, in that guitar, in that harmonica, in a dance in the dark.
this is an America i can identify with and feel proud of, one that struggles to overcome disillusionment, but struggles unflichingly.
to put it in other terms: i rediscovered the album Born in the USA this weekend, 2+ decades after its initial release. i was reluctant to listen to it, not knowing if the music would translate well over the expanse of time. i worried that the synthesizers would make me cringe. but this is perhaps a fitting example of the complexity i'm talking about, that the same music revisited not only revealed layers, but became more beautiful because of its history coupled with my experience. the synthesizers not only go unnoticed, but sound like organs. they're an artifact of the zeitgeist of the 80s, but not a distractor from the permanence of the music.
i used to listen to Bruce Springsteen in the car with my mom on the weekends. his music would come on the radio and i would sing along to words whose sentiments i didn't fully understand. back then, i only understood them as a widely experienced "happy" feeling, the same excitement as a surprise trip to get ice cream, or a snow day.
as a young girl growing up, watching the "Dancing in the Dark" video would make me so terribly happy that the only logical impulse was to dance uncontrollably in the living room of our suburban house, flailing arms and kicking my legs, pretending to snap, shaking my hair. to be honest, i still do that. Courteney Cox was a real-life hero as far as i was concerned, b/c she had the balls to get up on stage and dance with The Boss. i wanted to be her. i mean, who didn't?
but i feel even more elated watching this video today, myself now a grown woman, as i listen to the lyrics, which speak to me in ways i couldn't have understood them before:
and this is why i love Bruce Springsteen. there is endurance in his music that never fails to make me happy. i listen to his music now and understand, completely, why every man, woman and child growing up in america for the last few decades has been absolutely seduced by his dream of america.
-stephan!e
to help make my case:
"I'm On Fire" [mp3]
"Thunder Road" [mp3 - how can you not fall in love with that harmonica solo?]
"Thunder Road (Live in 1999)" [mp3]
+ a fellow blogger's analysis of Springsteen's music and a comparison to the Stones.
+ Bruce Springsteen's website, with lyrics and audio clips.
nothing encapsulates the complexity of being born in america in the 1980s like Springsteen and synthesizer, and i mean this in earnest. while the musical and cultural products of the '80s as a whole would seem to have tainted history's perception of the decade, what with the proliferation of horrible one-hit wonders and abusive overuse of the moog, The Boss remains the 80s' single greatest gift to American music. and what's more, he's the gift that keeps on giving (thank you!)
that's because there is a permanence to Springsteen's music that defied the limits of 1980s materialism and spectacle (the same values American Psycho critiques in this scene). while '80s hair bands and rock groups found short-lived success by cannibalizing tried and true guitar riffs and appealing to a brief moment's gaudy aesthetics and conventions, Springsteen wrote epic stories about human suffering and loneliness, about working night shifts in steel factories, driving thru abandoned city streets, love, desperation, the hunger and hope for a better life. in short, the american dream and the american way of life.
and though Springsteen's staunchly american aesthetic can be a deterrent to some (my boyfriend once described it as "jingoistic"), it is precisely the way in which he represents America that i find seductive. he sings of heroes doomed to Sysiphean fates, working low wage jobs and searching for escape. unlike the ass-kicking beer-swigging mythos of modern country music, Springsteen's music is complex, genuine, underscored with hardship and persistence. while the former are simulacra, Springsteen's America possesses a history of emotion and suffering. yet, there is a gloomy/gritty hopefulness – despite feeling so defeated, there remains release and splendor, in a midnight drive, in a passionate embrace, in that guitar, in that harmonica, in a dance in the dark.
this is an America i can identify with and feel proud of, one that struggles to overcome disillusionment, but struggles unflichingly.
---
to put it in other terms: i rediscovered the album Born in the USA this weekend, 2+ decades after its initial release. i was reluctant to listen to it, not knowing if the music would translate well over the expanse of time. i worried that the synthesizers would make me cringe. but this is perhaps a fitting example of the complexity i'm talking about, that the same music revisited not only revealed layers, but became more beautiful because of its history coupled with my experience. the synthesizers not only go unnoticed, but sound like organs. they're an artifact of the zeitgeist of the 80s, but not a distractor from the permanence of the music.
i used to listen to Bruce Springsteen in the car with my mom on the weekends. his music would come on the radio and i would sing along to words whose sentiments i didn't fully understand. back then, i only understood them as a widely experienced "happy" feeling, the same excitement as a surprise trip to get ice cream, or a snow day.
as a young girl growing up, watching the "Dancing in the Dark" video would make me so terribly happy that the only logical impulse was to dance uncontrollably in the living room of our suburban house, flailing arms and kicking my legs, pretending to snap, shaking my hair. to be honest, i still do that. Courteney Cox was a real-life hero as far as i was concerned, b/c she had the balls to get up on stage and dance with The Boss. i wanted to be her. i mean, who didn't?
but i feel even more elated watching this video today, myself now a grown woman, as i listen to the lyrics, which speak to me in ways i couldn't have understood them before:
I get up in the evening
and I ain't got nothing to say
I come home in the morning
I go to bed feeling the same way
I ain't nothing but tired
Man I'm just tired and bored with myself
Hey there baby, I could use just a little help
[...]
Message keeps getting clearer
radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place
I check my look in the mirror
I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face
Man I ain't getting nowhere
I'm just living in a dump like this
There's something happening somewhere
baby I just know that there is
[...]
You sit around getting older
there's a joke here somewhere and it's on me
I'll shake this world off my shoulders
come on baby this laugh's on me
Stay on the streets of this town
and they'll be carving you up alright
They say you gotta stay hungry
hey baby I'm just about starving tonight
I'm dying for some action
I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book
I need a love reaction
come on now baby gimme just one look
You can't start a fire sitting 'round crying over a broken heart
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
You can't start a fire worrying about your little world falling apart
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
there's a restlessness i can identify with here, as i sit in my apartment in LA, wondering how i got so caught up with my job, feeling old, wondering where the excitement went in my life. i'm tired of sitting around getting older, trying to write this book, i'm tired of having nothing to say, and worrying about my little world falling apart. i ain't nothing but tired, i'm just tired and bored with myself. i'm dying for some action, i want to dance, i want a little spark.and I ain't got nothing to say
I come home in the morning
I go to bed feeling the same way
I ain't nothing but tired
Man I'm just tired and bored with myself
Hey there baby, I could use just a little help
[...]
Message keeps getting clearer
radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place
I check my look in the mirror
I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face
Man I ain't getting nowhere
I'm just living in a dump like this
There's something happening somewhere
baby I just know that there is
[...]
You sit around getting older
there's a joke here somewhere and it's on me
I'll shake this world off my shoulders
come on baby this laugh's on me
Stay on the streets of this town
and they'll be carving you up alright
They say you gotta stay hungry
hey baby I'm just about starving tonight
I'm dying for some action
I'm sick of sitting 'round here trying to write this book
I need a love reaction
come on now baby gimme just one look
You can't start a fire sitting 'round crying over a broken heart
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
You can't start a fire worrying about your little world falling apart
This gun's for hire
Even if we're just dancing in the dark
and this is why i love Bruce Springsteen. there is endurance in his music that never fails to make me happy. i listen to his music now and understand, completely, why every man, woman and child growing up in america for the last few decades has been absolutely seduced by his dream of america.
-stephan!e
to help make my case:
"I'm On Fire" [mp3]
"Thunder Road" [mp3 - how can you not fall in love with that harmonica solo?]
"Thunder Road (Live in 1999)" [mp3]
+ a fellow blogger's analysis of Springsteen's music and a comparison to the Stones.
+ Bruce Springsteen's website, with lyrics and audio clips.
Friday, March 20, 2009
spirit animals
i dreamt last night that my boyfriend came home from Turkey to live with me in New York City (i think Brooklyn, but i really can't be sure) but had a terrible accident or illness and died, and the rest of the dream i was searching for ways to bring him back to life, while working a street-side fruit stand outside a bakery. one day i observed a wild ferret caught outside the bakery and a wise, dreadlocked and snaggle-toothed homeless man with burnt rust skin philosophized that animals, unlike humans, know when death is imminent, and surrender to fate without much thought for other alternatives. they do not worry about the outcomes of their souls because they know they will return again.i think the ferret was my boyfriend. i like to think we could return from the dead, reincarnated as our spirit animals.
---
the funny thing is that growing up, my mom continually refused to allow me a pet. she claimed to be afraid of dogs and allergic to cats, and anything much smaller didn't interest me. the only animal she ever considered adopting was a ferret. i have memories of going to the pet store every weekend and picking out hypothetical ferrets to take home: "this one's feisty... this one's sleepy... this one stinks..."
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
confession
i really really really like reading blogs written by ppl i know. far more than i like reading the news, or comics, novels (b/c i don't have time for that any more), or watching tv (unless it's the Daily Show, b/c everyone knows Jon Stewart is my elvis), and yes, sometimes, even more than i like keeping up with email.
i like being reminded what amazing, adventurous, creative, and brilliant friends i have. and i like reading beautiful and honest words. something about the openness and self-reflection necessary to keeping a blog, as opposed to the informality and privacy of email, makes it seem more beautiful and honest.
email can become mundane b/c of its regularity, its connection to work, and careless b/c of its ease of use. you can read, delete, move on, or even ignore, but there's a delicate vulnerable permanence to blogging that makes it seem more elevated, hyper-real, a more lustrous form of ordinary life.
i don't know if i'm exaggerating or making too much of a little thought. i just know that nothing makes me more excited than reading something written by a friend, even if it's not intended specifically for me. in fact, the anonymity of my readership makes the experience so much more fascinating! how could they know, in their general reflection, that they could appeal so specifically to a feeling i'm also experiencing! this seems the true test of our mutual humanity and understanding, if from miles and time zones away, you are still able to share experiences as if you'd never parted ways to begin with.
i guess i'm saying i would really love it if my friends wrote more, or if i had more friends' blogs to read, b/c i am just so hungry for that good stuff!
---
on another note, today was such a surprisingly unproductive day. i took a sick day b/c i just couldn't find the resolve to get thru traffic and schlep my way into work this morning, even though i woke up, brushed my teeth and everything. somehow the act of finding an outfit to wear was just too exhausting and i didn't get farther than putting a shirt on. eating a hearty breakfast, too, seemed like more effort than it was worth. i stayed in and tried to make headway on some grad school work, paperwork, and lesson plans, but i got tired out from thinking about the remaining weeks of school, that by the time it was 2 pm (6th period at school) i passed out in bed again, sleeping thru the afternoon and waking up disoriented, confused, and feeling like a bum.
my body and mind are so tired, i don't think i can make it another 2 weeks before spring break. i need this trip home so bad, i've never felt such hunger pangs for home in my entire life. i think it will take physical force on my parents' part to get me to come back to LA, there seems to be so little here to hold my attention.
i can't believe that a year ago, this time, i was in college, and having fun on weekends. i miss the communal life i had in college, and i think it's a shame you can't find communal living like that beyond the college experience. things like that should have continuity beyond 4 years of young adulthood.
---
i just listened to some of Dr. Dog's "We All Belong." something about that album reminds me of May 2008. i had images of sitting on the floor of my boyfriend's living room, sawing away at a book press in the late night, taking a break to drive to walmart to buy a wrench. the feeling of brief freedom and contentment, to have only one determination ("must finish binding this book") and be able to devote my time and energy to it completely, i miss that feeling.
-stephan!e
i like being reminded what amazing, adventurous, creative, and brilliant friends i have. and i like reading beautiful and honest words. something about the openness and self-reflection necessary to keeping a blog, as opposed to the informality and privacy of email, makes it seem more beautiful and honest.
email can become mundane b/c of its regularity, its connection to work, and careless b/c of its ease of use. you can read, delete, move on, or even ignore, but there's a delicate vulnerable permanence to blogging that makes it seem more elevated, hyper-real, a more lustrous form of ordinary life.
i don't know if i'm exaggerating or making too much of a little thought. i just know that nothing makes me more excited than reading something written by a friend, even if it's not intended specifically for me. in fact, the anonymity of my readership makes the experience so much more fascinating! how could they know, in their general reflection, that they could appeal so specifically to a feeling i'm also experiencing! this seems the true test of our mutual humanity and understanding, if from miles and time zones away, you are still able to share experiences as if you'd never parted ways to begin with.
i guess i'm saying i would really love it if my friends wrote more, or if i had more friends' blogs to read, b/c i am just so hungry for that good stuff!
---
on another note, today was such a surprisingly unproductive day. i took a sick day b/c i just couldn't find the resolve to get thru traffic and schlep my way into work this morning, even though i woke up, brushed my teeth and everything. somehow the act of finding an outfit to wear was just too exhausting and i didn't get farther than putting a shirt on. eating a hearty breakfast, too, seemed like more effort than it was worth. i stayed in and tried to make headway on some grad school work, paperwork, and lesson plans, but i got tired out from thinking about the remaining weeks of school, that by the time it was 2 pm (6th period at school) i passed out in bed again, sleeping thru the afternoon and waking up disoriented, confused, and feeling like a bum.
my body and mind are so tired, i don't think i can make it another 2 weeks before spring break. i need this trip home so bad, i've never felt such hunger pangs for home in my entire life. i think it will take physical force on my parents' part to get me to come back to LA, there seems to be so little here to hold my attention.
i can't believe that a year ago, this time, i was in college, and having fun on weekends. i miss the communal life i had in college, and i think it's a shame you can't find communal living like that beyond the college experience. things like that should have continuity beyond 4 years of young adulthood.
---
i just listened to some of Dr. Dog's "We All Belong." something about that album reminds me of May 2008. i had images of sitting on the floor of my boyfriend's living room, sawing away at a book press in the late night, taking a break to drive to walmart to buy a wrench. the feeling of brief freedom and contentment, to have only one determination ("must finish binding this book") and be able to devote my time and energy to it completely, i miss that feeling.
-stephan!e
Sunday, March 15, 2009
subtleties
in combination with observation, experience has led me to conclude the following about human adolescent semantics:
"cute" - used by boys to describe girls who are playful, funny, sporty, tomboyish. what a women's magazine would replace with the word "gamine."
"beautiful" - used by men to describe a woman whose beauty they admire, someone sophisticated and perfect, but in a sexless way. the perfection is more suited for looking than touching.
"sexy" - interestingly, the least descriptive of the three, a vague combination of beautiful and cute, but in a way that consumes the sexual imagination. usu. thrown out in the throes of passion, when mental capacity lacks imagination or energy for better suited descriptors ("captivating," "sultry," "muy caliente" etc.)
"gorgeous" - a word used almost solely by women, and reserved for describing architecture, landscapes, design details, or exotic birds.
hmm.
-stephan!e
"cute" - used by boys to describe girls who are playful, funny, sporty, tomboyish. what a women's magazine would replace with the word "gamine."
"beautiful" - used by men to describe a woman whose beauty they admire, someone sophisticated and perfect, but in a sexless way. the perfection is more suited for looking than touching.
"sexy" - interestingly, the least descriptive of the three, a vague combination of beautiful and cute, but in a way that consumes the sexual imagination. usu. thrown out in the throes of passion, when mental capacity lacks imagination or energy for better suited descriptors ("captivating," "sultry," "muy caliente" etc.)
"gorgeous" - a word used almost solely by women, and reserved for describing architecture, landscapes, design details, or exotic birds.
hmm.
-stephan!e
Saturday, March 14, 2009
cheer tactic
1. find comfort music/ nostalgia music/ Arcade Fire, Funeral music.
2. turn up bass, turn up volume.
3. brush hair into face.
4. hop in place to music until a smile overtakes yr face.
5. repeat as needed.
hip
hooray
2. turn up bass, turn up volume.
3. brush hair into face.
4. hop in place to music until a smile overtakes yr face.
5. repeat as needed.
hip
hop
hooray
Friday, March 13, 2009
silver lining
the one positive thing about being so extraordinarily far away from some ppl is that when i really really want to be alone, all i have to do is shut the door, and close the computer.
shutting out, shutting down, and disconnecting.
amazing how you thought you knew some ppl, and then they surprise you so completely, and think nothing of it.
i think i will, against my better efforts, always be a misanthrope by trade and hobby.
-stephan!e
shutting out, shutting down, and disconnecting.
amazing how you thought you knew some ppl, and then they surprise you so completely, and think nothing of it.
i think i will, against my better efforts, always be a misanthrope by trade and hobby.
-stephan!e
Thursday, March 12, 2009
tragedy
n. definition: having exciting things to talk about, or exciting activities or adventures in mind, having a good hair day, etc. but the only people around to appreciate it are obnoxious eleven and twelve year-olds.
example of use: my life as a 6th grade teacher has become increasingly tragic.
example of use: my life as a 6th grade teacher has become increasingly tragic.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
bag lunch
one aspect of my daily routine that i despise, and perhaps more than i really should, is packing my lunch.
i don't know how eating became such a taxing and boring task. make the sandwich. bag the carrots. wash the apple. pack a snack. pour water into thermos. repeat.
one thing i'm looking forward to about cohabitation with my love next year is the possibility and potential of breathing excitement into currently mundane tasks. lunchtime could be an activity, rather than a chore: making each other lunches, writing notes to slip in with the carrots, swapping apples for dragonfruit.
i imagine a dozen different domestic situations that i want to change next year and i am so, so ready.
i don't know how eating became such a taxing and boring task. make the sandwich. bag the carrots. wash the apple. pack a snack. pour water into thermos. repeat.
one thing i'm looking forward to about cohabitation with my love next year is the possibility and potential of breathing excitement into currently mundane tasks. lunchtime could be an activity, rather than a chore: making each other lunches, writing notes to slip in with the carrots, swapping apples for dragonfruit.
i imagine a dozen different domestic situations that i want to change next year and i am so, so ready.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 09, 2009
animal encounters
i don't know what it is about today, but i'm having all sorts of wild encounters with nature. maybe it's the change of time; humans and animals are crossing paths in ways we shouldn't b/c of mass confusion. too many creatures scurrying about their business on overlapped schedules...
as i was leaving the school parking lot, two large crows were hopping the fence around the cars, snapping at each other and using their beaks to pluck at a tangled yard of police tape.
at grad school, in a lecture hall after library hours, i encounter a cantankerous squirrel who apparently decided grading papers was a far less interesting use of time than running around between rows of seats and fending off rabies with a 5 foot metal pole. (video forthcoming...)
after returning home, finally, i am stalked to my apartment door by a large feral cat/ possum who shines her electric eyes at me before jumping off the banister. whoa!
and then there's the post-adolescent male humanoid, lumbering out from his cavernous dwelling to forage for food. he scratches himself, squinting in the kitchen light, and, lacking the necessary implements (pot and spoon), resorts to its typical diet: microwaveable hotdogs and white bread. food he can hold in his hands. behold, the urban male.
fascinating discoveries in this jungle!
-stephan!e
as i was leaving the school parking lot, two large crows were hopping the fence around the cars, snapping at each other and using their beaks to pluck at a tangled yard of police tape.
at grad school, in a lecture hall after library hours, i encounter a cantankerous squirrel who apparently decided grading papers was a far less interesting use of time than running around between rows of seats and fending off rabies with a 5 foot metal pole. (video forthcoming...)
after returning home, finally, i am stalked to my apartment door by a large feral cat/ possum who shines her electric eyes at me before jumping off the banister. whoa!
and then there's the post-adolescent male humanoid, lumbering out from his cavernous dwelling to forage for food. he scratches himself, squinting in the kitchen light, and, lacking the necessary implements (pot and spoon), resorts to its typical diet: microwaveable hotdogs and white bread. food he can hold in his hands. behold, the urban male.
fascinating discoveries in this jungle!
-stephan!e
Sunday, March 08, 2009
time lost
if nostalgia is the experience of concentrated regret for lost time, as i wrote previously, then cosmic irony is the experience of feeling sore from being victimized or mocked by the world and circumstances.
as i was up late musing about time, i failed to realize that today was the beginning of daylight savings time, which meant i lost an hour. what turned out to be an already late morning turned into an early afternoon. curses! just as the mornings were beginning to look so beautiful.
i am doomed to be perpetually maladjusted.
i'm listening to Band of Horses' first album on repeat. the songs always make me think of sophomore year in college, springtime, and my room in Peabody, lying on my back on a carpeted floor with friends, and late nights that turn to early mornings. Oxford is really bewitching in the early hours just before sunrise. i'd like to go back there, but being back physically wouldn't be enough. it'd have to be a metaphysical transportation. a time machine would have to be involved. oh well. for now, listening to Band of Horses is enough.
this album also makes me think of the summer i spent in chicago. i listened to the songs "St. Augustine" and "Monsters" every night before going to sleep. i still sometimes do. i listened to it then for the same reason i do now, to quiet homesickness and have something familiar.
certain albums have a way of shaping and preserving our experiences. i think this phenomenon is unique to our digital media generation; we have had the luxury of constant play, constant access, and ease of repeat. we are self-sufficient in building our own soundtracks.
i think an important skill to have as an adult is the ability to create yr own atmospheres. when we are children, our parents do this for us. they wrap us up in nurseries and warmth for our protection, but when we get older and see the world in all its unsafe honesty, we have to design these atmospheres ourselves. candles, pillows, bottled water, heavily laden bookshelves of poetry and fiction, these are some of the devices that come most readily to my mind.
and familiar, comforting music, of course.
-stephan!e
as i was up late musing about time, i failed to realize that today was the beginning of daylight savings time, which meant i lost an hour. what turned out to be an already late morning turned into an early afternoon. curses! just as the mornings were beginning to look so beautiful.
i am doomed to be perpetually maladjusted.
i'm listening to Band of Horses' first album on repeat. the songs always make me think of sophomore year in college, springtime, and my room in Peabody, lying on my back on a carpeted floor with friends, and late nights that turn to early mornings. Oxford is really bewitching in the early hours just before sunrise. i'd like to go back there, but being back physically wouldn't be enough. it'd have to be a metaphysical transportation. a time machine would have to be involved. oh well. for now, listening to Band of Horses is enough.
this album also makes me think of the summer i spent in chicago. i listened to the songs "St. Augustine" and "Monsters" every night before going to sleep. i still sometimes do. i listened to it then for the same reason i do now, to quiet homesickness and have something familiar.
certain albums have a way of shaping and preserving our experiences. i think this phenomenon is unique to our digital media generation; we have had the luxury of constant play, constant access, and ease of repeat. we are self-sufficient in building our own soundtracks.
i think an important skill to have as an adult is the ability to create yr own atmospheres. when we are children, our parents do this for us. they wrap us up in nurseries and warmth for our protection, but when we get older and see the world in all its unsafe honesty, we have to design these atmospheres ourselves. candles, pillows, bottled water, heavily laden bookshelves of poetry and fiction, these are some of the devices that come most readily to my mind.
and familiar, comforting music, of course.
-stephan!e
some musings on the passage of time
i realize that in some form or another, this blog has largely been devoted to chronicling the passage of time: noticing the changes demarcating the stages of life, nostalgia, the seasons, the future, the past, memories.
but, if this blog is supposed to be a reflection of my most persistent thoughts, then that seems about right.
Time is an interesting phenomenon to behold, and thus my fascination. such an intangible thing, a deception, but relentless. 15 minutes goes unnoticed, but what about 5 years?
i can lament the sweet brevity of childhood, but feel tormented in the endlessness of a single day at work, fail to understand how short the days are while at the same time, counting down the days until the summer or my next vacation.
does it seem accurate to say a year is 365 days? somehow a year seems so long, but when i think about the days that comprise a year, it seems so swift. and how quickly a month passes! it's already march...
and yet, june can't come quickly enough...
some things you take for granted until you stop to think about them, and that's the trouble with Time. perhaps this is why nostalgia is such a poignant emotion; it is a form of concentrated regret for lost time. it is regret for our readiness for the future, our persistence in pressing onward and forward, regret we feel when we reflect on how far we've come and see the distance and extent of our own removal.
usually, we don't remember Time until we see its signs in the accumulation of little changes: the appearance of first wrinkles (laugh lines around the eyes), childhood clothing no longer being appropriately whimsical for the workplace, high school references no longer being recent enough to be relevant, "child" actors now in their 30s or 40s (sometimes it takes seeing someone else's aging to understand your own).
but, if this blog is supposed to be a reflection of my most persistent thoughts, then that seems about right.
Time is an interesting phenomenon to behold, and thus my fascination. such an intangible thing, a deception, but relentless. 15 minutes goes unnoticed, but what about 5 years?
i can lament the sweet brevity of childhood, but feel tormented in the endlessness of a single day at work, fail to understand how short the days are while at the same time, counting down the days until the summer or my next vacation.
does it seem accurate to say a year is 365 days? somehow a year seems so long, but when i think about the days that comprise a year, it seems so swift. and how quickly a month passes! it's already march...
and yet, june can't come quickly enough...
some things you take for granted until you stop to think about them, and that's the trouble with Time. perhaps this is why nostalgia is such a poignant emotion; it is a form of concentrated regret for lost time. it is regret for our readiness for the future, our persistence in pressing onward and forward, regret we feel when we reflect on how far we've come and see the distance and extent of our own removal.
usually, we don't remember Time until we see its signs in the accumulation of little changes: the appearance of first wrinkles (laugh lines around the eyes), childhood clothing no longer being appropriately whimsical for the workplace, high school references no longer being recent enough to be relevant, "child" actors now in their 30s or 40s (sometimes it takes seeing someone else's aging to understand your own).
Saturday, March 07, 2009
sprinkle some salt on that
one lamentable thing about keeping a busy schedule is that when you finally find time for yourself, you don't know how to spend it. suddenly "taking care of yourself" seems like such a chore. i sit in bed trying to read, or in front of my computer, anxiously wondering if i'm "relaxing" enough to prepare for the week ahead. by the time i get the hang of it (relaxing, that is), it's sunday night and full speed ahead to the week again.
typical.
another deeply felt regret: the race to beat morning rush hour traffic often precludes dream journaling. which is a damned shame. so many vivid and bizarre subconscious juxtapositions. like this morning's dream: my boyfriend and i were trying to save German/Russian musical theatre by interrupting a board meeting at a post-modern art museum with a co-written performance piece (he was the German, i was the Russian, there were neon green costumes and feathers and gymnastics of an exotic variety. i was flexible and limber!)
later today: shopping for large electronics with company money, grading papers, finding easy foods to eat (apples, popsicles, carrot sticks, blocks of cheese...?), calisthenics in the great outdoors, musings on the passage of time.
-stephan!e
typical.
another deeply felt regret: the race to beat morning rush hour traffic often precludes dream journaling. which is a damned shame. so many vivid and bizarre subconscious juxtapositions. like this morning's dream: my boyfriend and i were trying to save German/Russian musical theatre by interrupting a board meeting at a post-modern art museum with a co-written performance piece (he was the German, i was the Russian, there were neon green costumes and feathers and gymnastics of an exotic variety. i was flexible and limber!)
later today: shopping for large electronics with company money, grading papers, finding easy foods to eat (apples, popsicles, carrot sticks, blocks of cheese...?), calisthenics in the great outdoors, musings on the passage of time.
-stephan!e
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
it is true what they say about karma
today, i took an almost devilish delight in saying "i told you so." and even though i felt slightly shamed at directing such malice towards a child, i have to say that the little effer had it coming.
my student Derek, after months and months of me haranguing him to "get off the banister!", "get in the classroom!", "sit down!" or "control yr anger!" finally got what was coming to him.
today, after trying to derail class for a whole 30 minutes, making rude racist comments and being explicitly rude when i was giving instruction, ran out during his detention and screamed "CHINESE HOOKER!!" while trying to steal my clipboard.
later, Derek comes to get my signature for a change of schedule (deliverance!), and again defied my directions to go directly to his next class, deciding to play in the hallway (on the banister, of course) and fight with another kid, TJ. when i went in the hall to break things up and bring TJ inside, Derek turned to run away, and fell down the stairs.
i can't say i lol'd, but i didn't feel sorry for him either. maybe now he'll learn to finally stay away from the fuckin stairs.
karma: it's a bitch.
my student Derek, after months and months of me haranguing him to "get off the banister!", "get in the classroom!", "sit down!" or "control yr anger!" finally got what was coming to him.
today, after trying to derail class for a whole 30 minutes, making rude racist comments and being explicitly rude when i was giving instruction, ran out during his detention and screamed "CHINESE HOOKER!!" while trying to steal my clipboard.
later, Derek comes to get my signature for a change of schedule (deliverance!), and again defied my directions to go directly to his next class, deciding to play in the hallway (on the banister, of course) and fight with another kid, TJ. when i went in the hall to break things up and bring TJ inside, Derek turned to run away, and fell down the stairs.
i can't say i lol'd, but i didn't feel sorry for him either. maybe now he'll learn to finally stay away from the fuckin stairs.
karma: it's a bitch.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
feel better
one of the amusing/ironic/vexing things about my current teaching situation is its tendency towards hyperbole. most ppl wouldn't believe my reality unless they stepped into my classroom and saw it. i wish i could say that the pictures i paint are caricatures, but you would be amazed, awed, to see my students. my university supervisor put it best, i think, when she said, at the end of a long day of observing my class, "the news should be here to film this! this is movie-stuff!"
so, it seems that while i am failing at my original purpose of making the world a better place through teaching, the process of teaching itself has become my way of helping ppl feel better about their own lives and jobs. are you feeling insecure about your job? having a bad day? doubting whether you chose the right line of work? depressed about the turn yr life is taking? having an existential crisis? no worries. talk to me for a few minutes about my job, and you are guaranteed to feel more adequate and happy! 9 out of 10 friends or family members left feeling more satisfied with themselves and more ready to take on the obstacles in their life after a 30 minute conversation with me.
the 10th person left feeling depressed and distraught, and soon after quit her day job. she was a 7th grade special ed teacher at my school. i can't take responsibility for her decision, but she ended up getting a job as a travel writer and is now, by my estimation, grossly happier.
happy ending,
stephan!e
Saturday, February 28, 2009
the future
in the future, we won't travel by plane, or automobile, or even hovercraft, as the movies might suggest.
no, the real way of the future will be thru miniaturization. we will make machines that can shrink us down, to pocket size, and we will mail ourselves in envelopes, padded with bubble wrap (for protection as well as pass-time – we will prepare ourselves with plastic cocktail sabers and pop bubble wrap in transit). this will be the only way to travel.
upon arrival, we will slice thru our deflated receptacles, emerging into the lap or onto the palm of friends/family. hello!
this will also be the way of sending greetings by post. no more tacky recordable cards, no awkward scrawled messages. our grateful recipients will be able to hear our sentiments from our mouths, and our hearts.
and to return us to our original state, our friends and family will merely have to place us in a tub of warm water, where we will gradually grow to full size overnight.
this will be the way of the future.
-stef
Thursday, February 26, 2009
observations, february ed.
time passes slowly when you're paying attention to it and "a watched pot never boils." why is that? why are the laws of physics and time bendable only when they result in our disappointment?
to illustrate my point, some facts: there are 16 weeks left of school and 5 weeks before spring break. it is only february 2009, the second semester has just begun, but my students are already growing out of their 6th grade innocence, starting fights, using obscene language, defying authority, referencing (and imitating) sexual acts, and acting like obnoxious, entitled teenagers. each day i gratefully mark off another day from my calendar but i know very well that 16 weeks like this will feel infinitely punishing.
another fact: no matter how much ppl say that keeping busy helps to pass the time, it simply isn't true. i work 8 hours a day and go to night school, i exercise vigorously for 2 hours every other day, i write when i can and cook, and sometimes i even read, i eat, i shower, i brush my teeth, i watch tv, i talk to friends and go for lonely walks, i get stuck in traffic, i occasionally go shopping, i watch movies, i chew my carrots slowly, i go to sleep, but the only time that passes quickly is on the weekends.
---
other sad truths: now that i'm deprived of pleasant companionship, i'm eating more. when my boyfriend was home, i lost 7 pounds b/c i was eating normal portions again. the love and companionship was filling, so i could eat less and still feel full. now that he's gone and i'm alone again, i'm eating more, eating constantly. food is a convenient companion: an apple in my backpack, a box of crackers in my lunchbox, granola bars in the car's passenger seat. perhaps i'm eating to fill some void. maybe i'm eating to grow a thick layer of fat between me and my surroundings. i convinced myself once i was bulking up in an effort to intimidate my students (still not there yet). eating is a pass-time i use to fill in gaps between activities or stressful tasks. it is a practice engaged to fill up time between now and the summer. i expect to gain lots of weight before then.
i'm glad that this is not a leap year. that is one less day i have to worry about being in the classroom. i'm thankful for the little things.
EDIT: i just got back from the gym. i've already gained 2 pounds in the week he's been gone. 16x2... that's more than a third of myself i'm gaining before this is over...
-stef
Sunday, February 22, 2009
new wisdom
i would like to append to my last post, as a new realization occurred to me, just now, as i was finishing my soup:
it takes a brave person to admit failure and inadequacy and step out of the way for progress to occur.
but, it takes an even braver person to admit failure, change, adjust, and reflect on her inadequacies and be the progress that needs to occur.
i just hope i can be the latter.
-stef
it takes a brave person to admit failure and inadequacy and step out of the way for progress to occur.
but, it takes an even braver person to admit failure, change, adjust, and reflect on her inadequacies and be the progress that needs to occur.
i just hope i can be the latter.
-stef
admitting failure
i came to a significant realization this morning:
it takes courage to admit you are not suited to help someone. because we all desire to be wanted and needed in some way, it takes love and courage to realize you are unfit and inadequate to be what someone else wants you to be, and walk away. to do this, one must deal with being accused of selfishness, immaturity, callousness, and self-importance. but i think the act of coming to understand you are not the person someone else needs is actually an act of considerable humility and self-knowing.
i think i've spent most of my life looking for ways to help ppl, or to change the world and make it a better place, without realizing that i had been selfish about it. i was thrill-seeking, but replace "thrill" with "good vibes." i was an endorphins fiend. i like feeling good about myself, and i like doing things that make me feel good. activism, i suppose, was my drug of choice.
another way to understand today's realization is the distinction between theory and practice. in theory, i believe every child is entitled to a quality education, but in practice, i am not the one best suited to provide that education. in theory, inner-city students with disabilities should be just as capable to meet educational standards as their peers in the suburbs. but in practice, they can only do so if they have a teacher committed to the tedious and wearing task of getting them there (and i don't have the patience or endurance to be that teacher they need). in theory, i am a capable and experimental teacher with ambitious ideas for transformative democratic education and student empowerment. in practice, i am a struggling, deeply unhappy special education teacher, disempowered and disillusioned because of my failure to effectively practice what i believe in theory, and my growing lack of passion for education.
i accept full responsibility for my own misery, knowing that if i had only known myself better and been more humble, i would not have taken on the task of teaching special ed in south central LA, thinking i could handle whatever challenges were thrown at me. some things are beyond yr range of ability. it's not even that i had delusions of grandeur, thinking i could change the whole system of education by teaching 60+ special ed students. i was just hoping to make a difference in the lives of a few. but now i am facing the reality that i might emerge from the experience 2 years later and regret the attempt at all, thinking both my students and i would have been better off if i'd never stepped foot into a special ed classroom. moreover, i feel i may be driven away from education forever. that makes me feel deeply sad and lost, since i thought teaching was the way i would make an impact on the world.
it occurs to me this morning that sometimes it is the more honest and necessary thing to step away from a situation, knowing you are beyond your means, that there is nothing for you to contribute. it is knowing that you want to be able to help others, but that you are not the one best able to do it, and stepping out of the way to let those who can do what you cannot.
it takes courage to admit you are not suited to help someone. because we all desire to be wanted and needed in some way, it takes love and courage to realize you are unfit and inadequate to be what someone else wants you to be, and walk away. to do this, one must deal with being accused of selfishness, immaturity, callousness, and self-importance. but i think the act of coming to understand you are not the person someone else needs is actually an act of considerable humility and self-knowing.
i think i've spent most of my life looking for ways to help ppl, or to change the world and make it a better place, without realizing that i had been selfish about it. i was thrill-seeking, but replace "thrill" with "good vibes." i was an endorphins fiend. i like feeling good about myself, and i like doing things that make me feel good. activism, i suppose, was my drug of choice.
another way to understand today's realization is the distinction between theory and practice. in theory, i believe every child is entitled to a quality education, but in practice, i am not the one best suited to provide that education. in theory, inner-city students with disabilities should be just as capable to meet educational standards as their peers in the suburbs. but in practice, they can only do so if they have a teacher committed to the tedious and wearing task of getting them there (and i don't have the patience or endurance to be that teacher they need). in theory, i am a capable and experimental teacher with ambitious ideas for transformative democratic education and student empowerment. in practice, i am a struggling, deeply unhappy special education teacher, disempowered and disillusioned because of my failure to effectively practice what i believe in theory, and my growing lack of passion for education.
i accept full responsibility for my own misery, knowing that if i had only known myself better and been more humble, i would not have taken on the task of teaching special ed in south central LA, thinking i could handle whatever challenges were thrown at me. some things are beyond yr range of ability. it's not even that i had delusions of grandeur, thinking i could change the whole system of education by teaching 60+ special ed students. i was just hoping to make a difference in the lives of a few. but now i am facing the reality that i might emerge from the experience 2 years later and regret the attempt at all, thinking both my students and i would have been better off if i'd never stepped foot into a special ed classroom. moreover, i feel i may be driven away from education forever. that makes me feel deeply sad and lost, since i thought teaching was the way i would make an impact on the world.
it occurs to me this morning that sometimes it is the more honest and necessary thing to step away from a situation, knowing you are beyond your means, that there is nothing for you to contribute. it is knowing that you want to be able to help others, but that you are not the one best able to do it, and stepping out of the way to let those who can do what you cannot.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
return to the single life
i miss this.if you read this regularly and wondered where i'd disappeared to in the last 2 weeks, yr answer is this: i've been here all along, but away from my computer! what do you think about that?!
the truth is that i spend far more time on the internet when i am alone. i used to worry i have become technology-dependent, but i realize now that it's just a proxy for communicating with ppl i can't live without. hm, well, that and a convenient distraction. but i could quit if i wanted to, and i did!
2 weeks was the exact amount of time my boyfriend was in LA. we were making up for lost time. 6 months is a long time not to see someone who makes you obliviously and ridiculously happy. but now he's gone again, still in transit on his return to that lucky country of Turkey. and now things are quiet and lonely. it's back to cooking dinners for two and only eating half, saving leftovers in tupperware containers, not drinking wine and lighting candles, brushing my teeth all by myself, taking a week to finish a carton of orange juice, taking a week and a half to finish a loaf of bread, waiting in line at the grocery store all by myself, sorting receipts and grading papers, working out obsessively and yes, blogging, twittering, tumblring, and checking email because now i have the time.
there are infinite daily events in modern life that have the potential to be either extremely gratifying or intensely miserable. these ritual behaviors can be vastly improved by pleasant companionship, eased by a reassuring hand or the proximity of a familiar human touch. unfortunately, these are frequently things we take for granted, and these events comprise the majority of every day. and as with so many things, we notice and lament the lack more than we appreciate the presence, sometimes. it is bad enough to feel so alone, but then something as small as getting into a car and looking over to the passenger seat and realizing there's no one there to talk to or hold yr hand thru rush hour traffic, or to notice all the leftover pasta in the pan after you're already full, those are things that make you heartsick.
coming back to my apartment last night after dropping Ben off at the airport encapsulated the feeling that lingers this evening as i write this, that will probably persist in all its manifest forms for the next 4 months until i see him again or have another visitor: an empty apartment, only my clothes in a messy heap on the chair, pillows stacked on one side of the bed, one set of towels, one toothbrush in a cup.
i once wrote that returning to an empty apartment after weeks of constant companionship is perhaps the most depressing experience imaginable. but i was wrong. what saddens me most is returning to the way life is, rather than the way it could be.
-stephan!e
Thursday, February 05, 2009
callousness
teaching special ed in south central LA is an extremely trying task. (as i type this, i'm thinking, 'that is the understatement of the century!' there are no words in the english language – any language – to describe the anguish and frustration that accompany my job. in fact, those emotions are perhaps better expressed and communicated by the animal kingdom, where the guttural and primitive sounds of pain and distress found in feral animals are more appropriate for my sense of life-threatening anxiety.)
anyway, the point is that my job is difficult. and as with most things potentially stressful or dangerous, one must find ways to adapt, methods and strategies by which to adjust to your surroundings. in the name of survival, you do what you can to change your surroundings, and when your surroundings don't change, you change yourself. adaptation. evolution. selection. you pick and choose what to process, what to act on, you filter your thoughts, you let some things roll off so you can keep rolling on.
my recent environment-induced adaptations have included: reclusiveness, watching TV, eating a lot of ice cream, superstitions, a nagging urge to start smoking, and increased emotional numbing.
the last is the most troubling b/c it is at once the most necessary and the most regrettable. i think that the trouble with the school environment is that it tends to bleach everyone of their humanity. in order to get thru my day, i have to be able to tune out the 1,000+ insults and slurs i hear my students tossing around. i tried at the beginning to reprimand and deliver a lecture for every "stupid" "retarded" "faggot" "homo" "nigger" etc. i heard, but that soon became a herculean task. it would hurt every time i heard such hateful words used, so i had to deaden my sensitivity to such things. if i stopped class every time i heard someone call me or another student a bitch, we would never get through all the standards we need to by May.
adaptation, selection, you pick and choose your battles because there's no time or energy for everything.
it feels strange, but not surprising, to open a science book and see that a student wrote "Fuck you Ms. Lee. You are a chinese bitch" on the plate tectonics vocabulary and not really care, shrug my shoulders, get a black marker pen and cross it out so that the next student doesn't get more excited by the graffiti than the part about the San Andreas fault. if i let it get to me, i wouldn't be ready for the next group of students coming in for their math lesson, and i have to be ready to teach them how to solve a one-step linear algebraic equation.
what bothers me most, however, is that this callousness, this thick skin i grow to get through my day, also prevents me from feeling the gratitude and relief i should feel when, while picking up trash left on the floor, i come across a desk with pencil markings on the tabletop. the graffiti reads, "Ms. Lee is a nice teacher. you should respect her." or the one on the other desk, which says, in big block letters with swirly lines around it, "Ms. Lee: good teacher 4 lyfe." these things should cause me to smile and feel lucky, but i shrug, move the desk back into its row, and wish my kids would stop marking up the furniture.
later, i think back on the day i had: a student accused me of racism, saying, "chinese ppl hate black ppl." another one climbed up on a table and tried to jump out an open window, all for a little attention and the laughs of his peers. 2 students were sent to the dean's office, and i caught another one for ditching class. it's February and i still can't get this class to sit still or be attentive long enough to teach them to multiply decimals and fractions.
if i hadn't grown these emotional callouses, i shudder to think about the emotions i'd be feeling right now.
instead, what i feel: relief that the day is done, and a slight smile in remembering that a certain someone is coming back to visit me today. i'm hoping that some time away will help me remember what it's like to laugh again, and be a kid myself. hopefully this recovers my humanity. hopefully i'm not completely dead yet.
hopefully there is still time to save this vestigial sense of feeling.
-stephan!e
Sunday, February 01, 2009
strange powers
i think my sense of smell is my super power. hyperosmia it's not, but i think it bears mentioning.
perhaps this explains my over-sentimentality, my strong nostalgia and sensitivity to the passage of time. smell is linked, neurologically, to memory. it is also, as far as i am aware, the only sense that doesn't dull with the passage of time. my eyes will eventually deteriorate until i'm blind, and i will deafen in my old age from listening to too much loud music, and even my sense of touch and taste will deaden. but smell, well, i hope smell lasts forever. even if i can't see, i could still find my way around a life full of memories, just by following my nose. existential whiskers, that's all i need.
perhaps this explains my over-sentimentality, my strong nostalgia and sensitivity to the passage of time. smell is linked, neurologically, to memory. it is also, as far as i am aware, the only sense that doesn't dull with the passage of time. my eyes will eventually deteriorate until i'm blind, and i will deafen in my old age from listening to too much loud music, and even my sense of touch and taste will deaden. but smell, well, i hope smell lasts forever. even if i can't see, i could still find my way around a life full of memories, just by following my nose. existential whiskers, that's all i need.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
make believe
love is real-life magic. it is made of the same dreams and imagination that animates and personifies fictional characters in stories, or stuffed animals you talk to when you're young. it is the ability to communicate invisibly and share secrets no one else understands. but sometimes it can take on the appearance of being very lonely.
two long-distance lovers communicating via satellite from opposite sides of the world look the same to an outside observer as a child playing with a toy: as i slump over my laptop camera talking to my boyfriend, my face inches away from the screen, i completely forget that we are not actually in the same room, that we are not actually inches away from one another's faces, that we are not actually holding each other but using our laptops as proxies. i can immerse myself in conversation for hours like this, emerging only later to resume life in all its ordinary ways.
i think love is one of those neotenous traits overlooked by the majority of the population because of its mythification in popular culture. that is, we fail to see how the make-believe of child's play can bear any resemblance to true love because we see one as childhood whimsy, while the other is considered one of those sacred "truths" holding society together. really, we must learn to accept that they are mirrors of the same belief, that something beautiful and magical can, must, exist beyond this ordinary surface.
two long-distance lovers communicating via satellite from opposite sides of the world look the same to an outside observer as a child playing with a toy: as i slump over my laptop camera talking to my boyfriend, my face inches away from the screen, i completely forget that we are not actually in the same room, that we are not actually inches away from one another's faces, that we are not actually holding each other but using our laptops as proxies. i can immerse myself in conversation for hours like this, emerging only later to resume life in all its ordinary ways.
i think love is one of those neotenous traits overlooked by the majority of the population because of its mythification in popular culture. that is, we fail to see how the make-believe of child's play can bear any resemblance to true love because we see one as childhood whimsy, while the other is considered one of those sacred "truths" holding society together. really, we must learn to accept that they are mirrors of the same belief, that something beautiful and magical can, must, exist beyond this ordinary surface.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
don't lose this again.
this song [mp3] disappeared from the airwaves after my harddrive crashed, but stayed in my memory.
and tonight it creeped back, demanding to be heard.
it's not the lyrics, but the phrase, "soon enough," that today, seems to be all i need, all i want to hear. enough to remind me that some things return, some things you retain, some things you never lose.
soon enough. soon enough. work. love. soon enough.
8 more days.
-stephan!e
and tonight it creeped back, demanding to be heard.
it's not the lyrics, but the phrase, "soon enough," that today, seems to be all i need, all i want to hear. enough to remind me that some things return, some things you retain, some things you never lose.
soon enough. soon enough. work. love. soon enough.
8 more days.
-stephan!e
Sunday, January 25, 2009
year of the ox
it is Chinese New Year. i spend it with my uncle's family and a group of his college friends, who work together at a construction equipment wholesale factory. the party takes place in the warehouse/office building of their company.
the space is confusing. i wander around trying to figure out what this place is. i observe: a pool table. a poker room/office. a dance hall/karaoke lounge/bar (where i currently write my notes). living quarters (i learn later that the workers stay here one night of the week). poker cards lie on a desk next to a stack of business cards, a pool table doubles as a desk. the building seems corporate, but screams "PARTY!!" and there are no definite lines between the two. i decide i like this approach to business, and stroll back towards the party.
as with any Chinese holiday, the food is central to the celebration, and each with its own symbolism. there are trays of glutinous rice balls, noodle dishes of various combinations (the long noodles signify long life), and every imaginable meat of the land and sea: chicken, pork, beef*, fish (for good luck in the next year), shrimp, squid and octopus. fruits a-plenty too: citrus of every imaginable size (clementines, mandarins, tangerines, navel oranges, kumquats), big shiny grapes, and pineapple (the mandarin word for pineapple – "fon li" – sounds like the word for "good fortune").
my aunt takes me around the room, introducing me to everyone as a teacher in the LA school district. one of the older ladies looks on me in disbelief, remarking that i look like a "xiao pengyu" (literally "little friend", meaning "a small child.") one of the older men she introduces me to knows my father. they are about the same age. when my aunt asks me if i think he looks "nyen chien" ("light in years", "young") i say yes, and he jokes that he has had many facelifts. he pulls his cheeks back with his palms, and grins. he then points to the belt holding up his pants, telling me, "this belt i'm wearing is made of all my old skin!" he guffaws and wanders off to eat something sweet.
i befriend the small old man sitting to my right. he is shrunken, but has a fine set of teeth, a strange combination. i get him hot water and soup and and offer him a mandarin, of which he only eats half (it is sour, he squeezes his face together in disapproval). i imagine the two of us make a funny pair, the oldest and youngest in the party, friends b/c no one can understand what we say and b/c we do not wish to talk, just sit, eat, and watch. i overhear my little friend talking later with a group of men about visiting Vegas and going to strip clubs. my companion is, apparently, familiar with the "classy" ones. he is a man of scrutinizing tastes in women and oranges.
i notice the old men across from me laughing, touching cups and enthusiastically finishing off their drinks. later i realize they have been hiding a jug of whiskey under the table, mixing it into their drinks. i've witnessed at least 4 rounds by this point.
the party eventually reaches a critical point – when just the right balance of food and alcohol has been consumed and the spontaneous karaoke begins. i sit in a leather couch in the back of the lounge/bar, remembering how earlier during dinner i heard one of the drunk men across the table declare that he was "ready to sing!" he tells everyone that his musical reprisals aid his digestion.
after observing many eager karaoke renditions of The Carpenters and Chinese oldies, it occurs to me that karaoke is never spontaneous, but always the sensible conclusion to a new year's party. the party-goers gradually take to the mic to sing their favorite songs. i watch 2 women begin to timidly dance, one leading the other around, alternating between tango and foxtrot.
i sit in the back, smiling, regretting those wasted years of Chinese school – never learning enough to be functionally literate to read the karaoke lyrics.
*edit: i realize now, that there was actually NO beef served yesterday. i wonder if that is b/c this is the year of the ox, and to eat beef would be negative symbolism and a bad start to the new year.
the space is confusing. i wander around trying to figure out what this place is. i observe: a pool table. a poker room/office. a dance hall/karaoke lounge/bar (where i currently write my notes). living quarters (i learn later that the workers stay here one night of the week). poker cards lie on a desk next to a stack of business cards, a pool table doubles as a desk. the building seems corporate, but screams "PARTY!!" and there are no definite lines between the two. i decide i like this approach to business, and stroll back towards the party.
as with any Chinese holiday, the food is central to the celebration, and each with its own symbolism. there are trays of glutinous rice balls, noodle dishes of various combinations (the long noodles signify long life), and every imaginable meat of the land and sea: chicken, pork, beef*, fish (for good luck in the next year), shrimp, squid and octopus. fruits a-plenty too: citrus of every imaginable size (clementines, mandarins, tangerines, navel oranges, kumquats), big shiny grapes, and pineapple (the mandarin word for pineapple – "fon li" – sounds like the word for "good fortune").
my aunt takes me around the room, introducing me to everyone as a teacher in the LA school district. one of the older ladies looks on me in disbelief, remarking that i look like a "xiao pengyu" (literally "little friend", meaning "a small child.") one of the older men she introduces me to knows my father. they are about the same age. when my aunt asks me if i think he looks "nyen chien" ("light in years", "young") i say yes, and he jokes that he has had many facelifts. he pulls his cheeks back with his palms, and grins. he then points to the belt holding up his pants, telling me, "this belt i'm wearing is made of all my old skin!" he guffaws and wanders off to eat something sweet.
i befriend the small old man sitting to my right. he is shrunken, but has a fine set of teeth, a strange combination. i get him hot water and soup and and offer him a mandarin, of which he only eats half (it is sour, he squeezes his face together in disapproval). i imagine the two of us make a funny pair, the oldest and youngest in the party, friends b/c no one can understand what we say and b/c we do not wish to talk, just sit, eat, and watch. i overhear my little friend talking later with a group of men about visiting Vegas and going to strip clubs. my companion is, apparently, familiar with the "classy" ones. he is a man of scrutinizing tastes in women and oranges.
i notice the old men across from me laughing, touching cups and enthusiastically finishing off their drinks. later i realize they have been hiding a jug of whiskey under the table, mixing it into their drinks. i've witnessed at least 4 rounds by this point.
the party eventually reaches a critical point – when just the right balance of food and alcohol has been consumed and the spontaneous karaoke begins. i sit in a leather couch in the back of the lounge/bar, remembering how earlier during dinner i heard one of the drunk men across the table declare that he was "ready to sing!" he tells everyone that his musical reprisals aid his digestion.
after observing many eager karaoke renditions of The Carpenters and Chinese oldies, it occurs to me that karaoke is never spontaneous, but always the sensible conclusion to a new year's party. the party-goers gradually take to the mic to sing their favorite songs. i watch 2 women begin to timidly dance, one leading the other around, alternating between tango and foxtrot.
i sit in the back, smiling, regretting those wasted years of Chinese school – never learning enough to be functionally literate to read the karaoke lyrics.
*edit: i realize now, that there was actually NO beef served yesterday. i wonder if that is b/c this is the year of the ox, and to eat beef would be negative symbolism and a bad start to the new year.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
post-Inauguration Day notes
post-Inauguration Day realizations:
-i remember being extremely turned off by the strong Christian fundamentalist undertones in the speeches and ceremony, and especially by this guy:
(edit: and how fitting. the video, like the man, just doesn't seem to want to shut the hell up. it starts without you wanting it to, one of my ultimate peeves when it comes to internet usability: the automatic video that creates loud obnoxious sound when you don't want it)
(edit 2: fixed! - 1/25)
Warren's invocation made me extremely uncomfortable, thinking how the separation of church and state is really just an empty promise. and the part about asking forgiveness from Almighty God when we disgrace our fellow human beings and the environment made me extremely upset and angry, as we are fully aware a war (a genocide) is raging in Gaza, and we are content to just "ask forgiveness," shrug off any awareness of reality, as if it was all in God's plan. that kind of rhetoric is dangerous and had me gritting my teeth the whole time.
-the hope/change sheen is wearing off pretty quickly, too. i've been a huge cynic/buzzkill since november anyway, but i can pretty safely say that i am ready for the novelty of the moment to wear off so America can quit fantasizing and day-dreaming and snap back to reality. things do not change overnight. i don't know why i'm not as excited as everyone else seems to be about the new administration, i guess b/c i don't see substantiating empirical proof for the improvement, and i honestly cannot grasp the significance of having the first Black President. i know, i know, it must be absurd/impossible for other ppl to understand, but i, personally, do not feel that sense of awe and wonderment that everyone else seems to have in seeing a Black man as President. it does not surprise me that Obama is President now, and it makes perfect sense, so i guess i just don't get what all the fuss and pageantry and adoration is about, b/c frankly it just makes sense. i dunno, call me racist if you want to, the funny thing is that i think i feel this way precisely b/c i don't see race as any factor in it.
-i remember being surprised by how charged and passionate my students were around Election Day. i noticed many of my students taking vehement opposition to one another's political views, showing off their limited knowledge of campaign slogans and parroting rhetoric in transparent efforts to back up their support of a candidate they'd chosen to represent a deeper-seated world view and political affiliation. i noticed all my Black kids were for Obama, wore shirts with his face emblazened on the chest, would yell his name as if it were a cheer, would cheer at the mention of his name. the interesting thing about this was that usually, my Hispanic kids would grow silent, look sullen and sink down in their seats, would tell me later when i could hear them whisper, "i wanted Hilary to win." the braver ones would pretend to joke in class, "McCain for President!" what i came to realize later was this stance was chosen not out of opposition, but as reaction. true, some of my Hispanic students' parents probably legitimately supported Hilary and her pro-Hispanic community campaign. but what it came down to, perhaps, was a sign of bitterness towards what had obviously become a race race. when the nomination and the election came to be framed as a race issue, it became less about issues, and more about identity and belonging. who was going to be recognized and included, and who was going to be left out? when it seemed like Obama would win by indisputable margins, the election discussion in my classes became about control, and controlling who gets to stand for one's identity: "if this Presidency is supposed to represent me and my country, i want someone i choose, not someone thrust upon me. i want someone who can understand being the outsider, i want someone who can understand being left out, i want someone who can understand being misunderstood, i want a woman, i want an underdog, i want a Republican..."
-i remember being extremely turned off by the strong Christian fundamentalist undertones in the speeches and ceremony, and especially by this guy:
(edit: and how fitting. the video, like the man, just doesn't seem to want to shut the hell up. it starts without you wanting it to, one of my ultimate peeves when it comes to internet usability: the automatic video that creates loud obnoxious sound when you don't want it)
(edit 2: fixed! - 1/25)
Warren's invocation made me extremely uncomfortable, thinking how the separation of church and state is really just an empty promise. and the part about asking forgiveness from Almighty God when we disgrace our fellow human beings and the environment made me extremely upset and angry, as we are fully aware a war (a genocide) is raging in Gaza, and we are content to just "ask forgiveness," shrug off any awareness of reality, as if it was all in God's plan. that kind of rhetoric is dangerous and had me gritting my teeth the whole time.
-the hope/change sheen is wearing off pretty quickly, too. i've been a huge cynic/buzzkill since november anyway, but i can pretty safely say that i am ready for the novelty of the moment to wear off so America can quit fantasizing and day-dreaming and snap back to reality. things do not change overnight. i don't know why i'm not as excited as everyone else seems to be about the new administration, i guess b/c i don't see substantiating empirical proof for the improvement, and i honestly cannot grasp the significance of having the first Black President. i know, i know, it must be absurd/impossible for other ppl to understand, but i, personally, do not feel that sense of awe and wonderment that everyone else seems to have in seeing a Black man as President. it does not surprise me that Obama is President now, and it makes perfect sense, so i guess i just don't get what all the fuss and pageantry and adoration is about, b/c frankly it just makes sense. i dunno, call me racist if you want to, the funny thing is that i think i feel this way precisely b/c i don't see race as any factor in it.
-i remember being surprised by how charged and passionate my students were around Election Day. i noticed many of my students taking vehement opposition to one another's political views, showing off their limited knowledge of campaign slogans and parroting rhetoric in transparent efforts to back up their support of a candidate they'd chosen to represent a deeper-seated world view and political affiliation. i noticed all my Black kids were for Obama, wore shirts with his face emblazened on the chest, would yell his name as if it were a cheer, would cheer at the mention of his name. the interesting thing about this was that usually, my Hispanic kids would grow silent, look sullen and sink down in their seats, would tell me later when i could hear them whisper, "i wanted Hilary to win." the braver ones would pretend to joke in class, "McCain for President!" what i came to realize later was this stance was chosen not out of opposition, but as reaction. true, some of my Hispanic students' parents probably legitimately supported Hilary and her pro-Hispanic community campaign. but what it came down to, perhaps, was a sign of bitterness towards what had obviously become a race race. when the nomination and the election came to be framed as a race issue, it became less about issues, and more about identity and belonging. who was going to be recognized and included, and who was going to be left out? when it seemed like Obama would win by indisputable margins, the election discussion in my classes became about control, and controlling who gets to stand for one's identity: "if this Presidency is supposed to represent me and my country, i want someone i choose, not someone thrust upon me. i want someone who can understand being the outsider, i want someone who can understand being left out, i want someone who can understand being misunderstood, i want a woman, i want an underdog, i want a Republican..."
cherry blossom
i emerged from the shower this evening, and opened up a bottle of lotion: "cherry blossom."
the name is misleading, it causes me to think more of fruit than flowers, so the smell seems surprisingly, almost overwhelmingly florid, rosy, clean. it is feminine, a womanly fragrance.
the smell reminds me of my mother, and watching her get ready for dinner parties when i was a little girl, standing in the bathroom of my parents' bedroom in her bra, her hair recently blowdried and swept to the sides of her face and ears. she has not yet put on her glasses, and i can see her face clearly, she never applies makeup. i watch as she gently pats lotion on her face, her cheeks rosy and flushed from the steam of the shower. the only beauty modification my mother ever used was perfume: she would dab it gingerly on her wrists, her neck, the crook of her arm. the scent would waft from the bathroom to the bedroom, and follow her wherever she'd go. after my parents left the house, the smell of my mother would always remain in the air, a trail of fragrance up and down the stairs, hanging in the air by the kitchen, lingering by the door where she stepped into her shoes.
since i was a little girl, my mom would always offer her perfume to me to try, to smell, to dab on my hands. she loved to buy me little packs of perfume, or obtain miniature bottles from the department store as trinkets, as if for fun. i always refused them. it wasn't necessarily the smell itself i adored. it was that image of my mom, standing in the bathroom, clean and void of any pretense in her appearance, my first idea of female beauty, and what i thought beauty (and my mother) smelled like.
so tonight, as i was applying dollops of this cherry blossom lotion to my skin, i was reminded of all these things and had to put the lotion away in a drawer, because the smell was just too close to that distant smell i remember, that it made me too sad to use it, and reluctant to grow into womanhood myself.
the name is misleading, it causes me to think more of fruit than flowers, so the smell seems surprisingly, almost overwhelmingly florid, rosy, clean. it is feminine, a womanly fragrance.
the smell reminds me of my mother, and watching her get ready for dinner parties when i was a little girl, standing in the bathroom of my parents' bedroom in her bra, her hair recently blowdried and swept to the sides of her face and ears. she has not yet put on her glasses, and i can see her face clearly, she never applies makeup. i watch as she gently pats lotion on her face, her cheeks rosy and flushed from the steam of the shower. the only beauty modification my mother ever used was perfume: she would dab it gingerly on her wrists, her neck, the crook of her arm. the scent would waft from the bathroom to the bedroom, and follow her wherever she'd go. after my parents left the house, the smell of my mother would always remain in the air, a trail of fragrance up and down the stairs, hanging in the air by the kitchen, lingering by the door where she stepped into her shoes.
since i was a little girl, my mom would always offer her perfume to me to try, to smell, to dab on my hands. she loved to buy me little packs of perfume, or obtain miniature bottles from the department store as trinkets, as if for fun. i always refused them. it wasn't necessarily the smell itself i adored. it was that image of my mom, standing in the bathroom, clean and void of any pretense in her appearance, my first idea of female beauty, and what i thought beauty (and my mother) smelled like.
so tonight, as i was applying dollops of this cherry blossom lotion to my skin, i was reminded of all these things and had to put the lotion away in a drawer, because the smell was just too close to that distant smell i remember, that it made me too sad to use it, and reluctant to grow into womanhood myself.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Inauguration Day notes
end of an era?i had the unique pleasure of experiencing Inauguration Day at school, with my 6th graders.
in retrospect, it was a better experience than if i had been alone in my apartment. something about the public school environment has a way of making tangible momentous occasions (9/11, Oklahoma City bombing, Columbine). maybe it is the atmospheric effect of all those pairs of eyes focusing on one thing at the same time. the sense of unity in experience among the disparate and disconnected.
a sample of my observations:
-homeroom, Brandon says, "i'm gonna be the first Latin-American President!" (aaww...)
-Orlando interjects, "i heard Obama's gonna turn the White House black!"
-while watching Inauguration in auditorium: quiet settles over the entire space (which NEVER happens!) then, at first sight of Obama, cheering swells over the students, i smile, chilled.
-moments later, the assistant principle blows 3 sharp blasts on her whistle, yells into the microphone to stop. too much of a good thing.
-was that stock footage of the Grand Canyon (during Aretha Franklin's song)? weird.
-tears welled up while contemplating this moment in history. soon ceased as i have to snap to, reprimanding a student for chewing gum and smacking a girl in the head.
Change may be coming to Washington, but things in School stay pretty much the same.
-stephan!e
Monday, January 19, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
future past
i had a dream that i was back on Miami's campus, and it was the future because everything was so old looking: the brick streets had cracks in them, little wiry grass blades growing up through the fissures. the bell towers looked dilapidated, rusted, verging on collapse. everything was gray and sepia-toned.
the other futuristic thing was that they had erected a huge saloon/ movie theatre on the edge of campus – a center for tawdry activities. men in britches and high hats, with unruly facial hair and mean swaggers. i was walking over treacherously uneven sidewalk to meet a friend at the theatre and buy a ticket for whatever was showing. and it occured to me how funny it was that no matter how "future"-like the future can be, there always remains some connection to the past, some nostalgia or fetishism. and it doesn't seem odd, these lingering glimpses of past, but right, so very right.
the other futuristic thing was that they had erected a huge saloon/ movie theatre on the edge of campus – a center for tawdry activities. men in britches and high hats, with unruly facial hair and mean swaggers. i was walking over treacherously uneven sidewalk to meet a friend at the theatre and buy a ticket for whatever was showing. and it occured to me how funny it was that no matter how "future"-like the future can be, there always remains some connection to the past, some nostalgia or fetishism. and it doesn't seem odd, these lingering glimpses of past, but right, so very right.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Thursday, January 15, 2009
layer cake
night-swimming has become the one indulgence i allow myself every week. and it’s a good choice: it’s exercise that’s good for my bad hip. i like to secretly race the older macho men in their speedos, observe the human body as it moves underwater (the water aerobics class in the shallow water brings to mind images of elephants swimming, clumsy limbs thrashing through water), everything illuminated and given a milky glow by the underwater lamps, like submarine headlights. and at the end of my laps, i like to float on my back, my ears submerged in water, imagining myself out at sea in endless darkness, navigating by the stars.
the delightful thing about swimming, and perhaps swimming in a pool in particular, is that it heightens your senses. you feel reconnected to yourself, notice the movement of your own body, feel your spine lengthening, listen to and feel your own breath. you feel graceful and amphibious. and the low resistance silence provides such a stimulating contrast to the other 95% of my waking day.
the most alluring and troubling heightened sense? smell. chlorinated pool water has the magic ability of collecting all the smells from the surrounding day, and stacking them on the water, like layer cake. as my face skims the surface of the water for a breath, i open my mouth and suck in the potent smells of the day: sunlight and sunscreen, burnt tire rubber from LA traffic, manure and mowed grass, the charcoal smokiness of the barbeque down the street, leaves and a smell i associate with crickets, sweat, skin, b.o.
sometimes the smells are so thick and rich, i crinkle my nose, sneeze underwater, or get teary-eyed, like i’ve just sliced into an onion. other times, they remind me of the way it feels when you’re at summer camp, heading back inside over tall grass after a day in the sun, the mixture of grass and dusk creating a haze, and you feel safe lingering in it.
the delightful thing about swimming, and perhaps swimming in a pool in particular, is that it heightens your senses. you feel reconnected to yourself, notice the movement of your own body, feel your spine lengthening, listen to and feel your own breath. you feel graceful and amphibious. and the low resistance silence provides such a stimulating contrast to the other 95% of my waking day.
the most alluring and troubling heightened sense? smell. chlorinated pool water has the magic ability of collecting all the smells from the surrounding day, and stacking them on the water, like layer cake. as my face skims the surface of the water for a breath, i open my mouth and suck in the potent smells of the day: sunlight and sunscreen, burnt tire rubber from LA traffic, manure and mowed grass, the charcoal smokiness of the barbeque down the street, leaves and a smell i associate with crickets, sweat, skin, b.o.
sometimes the smells are so thick and rich, i crinkle my nose, sneeze underwater, or get teary-eyed, like i’ve just sliced into an onion. other times, they remind me of the way it feels when you’re at summer camp, heading back inside over tall grass after a day in the sun, the mixture of grass and dusk creating a haze, and you feel safe lingering in it.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
super powers
i'm beginning to suspect my students have some sort of "despair radar" installed in their brains. just when my mind starts flirting with resignation, they show me they can be the perfect students i've always wanted and always hoped they'd be. they are attentive, excited about PEMDAS, begging for more homework, and surprise me by correctly answering a challenge problem on their own. they stay in their seats and take notes eagerly, looking up at me when finished with a task to let me know they are ready for more.
of course, the converse is always true, too. just as i started to have a wonderful day, just as my sense of possibility was on its way to being restored, the next batch rolls in, hollering, whacking furniture, shaking booties. after disrespecting me and their peers, i yell at 2 boys to "get out of my classroom!" thankfully, the bell rings. i lock the door behind them, i don't want to deal with another child until after i've had a lunch break and a walk-around.
somehow, things always end up coming back to equilibrium. i am no more grateful or anxious than i was this morning, or yesterday. so it goes, i guess. all things in their right place.
-stephan!e
of course, the converse is always true, too. just as i started to have a wonderful day, just as my sense of possibility was on its way to being restored, the next batch rolls in, hollering, whacking furniture, shaking booties. after disrespecting me and their peers, i yell at 2 boys to "get out of my classroom!" thankfully, the bell rings. i lock the door behind them, i don't want to deal with another child until after i've had a lunch break and a walk-around.
somehow, things always end up coming back to equilibrium. i am no more grateful or anxious than i was this morning, or yesterday. so it goes, i guess. all things in their right place.
-stephan!e
Sunday, January 11, 2009
moves
i reluctantly returned to LA last night. felt sick from high altitude, bad tomato juice, and separation anxiety. went to bed late, dizzy and alone, and woke up early, roused awake at 5 am by screaming from the apartment next door. still alone.
i uploaded photos and videos to remember the last 3 weeks i had, as a sort of cheering tactic. included: this video from my birthday. penguin-like moves. my brother yelling "save it for the club."
birthday dance from stephan!e lee on Vimeo.
hoping this semester goes quickly,
stephan!e
i uploaded photos and videos to remember the last 3 weeks i had, as a sort of cheering tactic. included: this video from my birthday. penguin-like moves. my brother yelling "save it for the club."
birthday dance from stephan!e lee on Vimeo.
hoping this semester goes quickly,
stephan!e
Thursday, January 08, 2009
this digital life can be tough to keep up with...
this break from school has been blissful. i've been staying up late eating and drinking with my parents, reading and writing creatively for the internet, looking at beautiful pictures and sharing music with my bro, watching strange movies my mother picks out just to share a warm space in the house with her, playing tennis with my dad. and i bought a swimming cap with a pirate skull on it, hilarious. i am dreading my return to LA, a lonely existence, meals by myself, traffic, tons of school and work. i'm going to miss laughing and smiling so much and being immediately happy when i wake up.
another day and i'll be gone. back to empty echoes in this large house.
i wish i had more time to write and think, read and write, read and think. i've been collecting as many thoughts and memories as i can, hoping to piece them together like a quilt of my life. i imagine collecting these stories in a small book i'll make over the summer, and shop-dropping them all over the country (and Europe!?) when i'm travelling with Ben before returning for year 2 of this ill-advised stint in teaching.
i'll begin posting some of these short, Brautigan-style stories here, very soon.
-stephan!e
UPDATE (1/14/09): i've decided to name the future book/zine "ey!Q" – a phrase with no particular meaning, but i like the combination of letters, aesthetically, and i like that it was a typo (intended to say "hey!"). you could read it "eek!", or "I. Q." as well. anyway, writing from ey!Q labeled with the tag "eyQ." check it.\
another day and i'll be gone. back to empty echoes in this large house.
i wish i had more time to write and think, read and write, read and think. i've been collecting as many thoughts and memories as i can, hoping to piece them together like a quilt of my life. i imagine collecting these stories in a small book i'll make over the summer, and shop-dropping them all over the country (and Europe!?) when i'm travelling with Ben before returning for year 2 of this ill-advised stint in teaching.
i'll begin posting some of these short, Brautigan-style stories here, very soon.
-stephan!e
UPDATE (1/14/09): i've decided to name the future book/zine "ey!Q" – a phrase with no particular meaning, but i like the combination of letters, aesthetically, and i like that it was a typo (intended to say "hey!"). you could read it "eek!", or "I. Q." as well. anyway, writing from ey!Q labeled with the tag "eyQ." check it.\
Sunday, January 04, 2009
i am in a battle with time.
notice i did not write "race." this is not a race against time. it is a battle.
since i have been home, i've been remarkably productive. reading a lot, writing a lot, drinking lots of tea. i can't recall being so happy doing so much in a long time. i'm sure there is something to say here about the nature of work and motivation, and i could reflect on this further, but why? let's move on. besides, Alfie Kohn has written a book about it already, and he's far more witty with such observations.
i'm happy at home because i do not need to worry about cooking constantly in order to eat, don't need to clean up after anyone other than myself, my room is overtaken by stacks of compelling fiction rather than stacks of student papers. movie ticket stubs litter my desk, rather than bills and gas receipts. in the absence of reminders of work, i am free to forget obligations and pretend i have the luxury of free-time and the privilege of hedonism. it's miraculous.
my mind un-cluttered of work, creative ideas gained space to grow. it was as if everything was suddenly a trigger for a short story or a memory. a common sight from my window, a sound in the distance, a combination of foods. everything seemed alive and vibrant!
i am trying to enjoy it, while using the time to churn out as much writing as possible, while i still have the energy and the passion for it. since i started, with the commencement of the new year, i have written 14 short pieces (found here). not too bad, and time still remains!
more soon,
stef
since i have been home, i've been remarkably productive. reading a lot, writing a lot, drinking lots of tea. i can't recall being so happy doing so much in a long time. i'm sure there is something to say here about the nature of work and motivation, and i could reflect on this further, but why? let's move on. besides, Alfie Kohn has written a book about it already, and he's far more witty with such observations.
i'm happy at home because i do not need to worry about cooking constantly in order to eat, don't need to clean up after anyone other than myself, my room is overtaken by stacks of compelling fiction rather than stacks of student papers. movie ticket stubs litter my desk, rather than bills and gas receipts. in the absence of reminders of work, i am free to forget obligations and pretend i have the luxury of free-time and the privilege of hedonism. it's miraculous.
my mind un-cluttered of work, creative ideas gained space to grow. it was as if everything was suddenly a trigger for a short story or a memory. a common sight from my window, a sound in the distance, a combination of foods. everything seemed alive and vibrant!
i am trying to enjoy it, while using the time to churn out as much writing as possible, while i still have the energy and the passion for it. since i started, with the commencement of the new year, i have written 14 short pieces (found here). not too bad, and time still remains!
more soon,
stef
English majors
i am beginning to wonder if my interest in significant others has found basis largely in the fact that, on some level, i know what i want and i know what i lack.
it's my way of interpreting the knight-in-shining-armour myth: i'm not looking for someone to rescue me, but to provide those things i'm missing in my life.
it occurred to me this evening, as i was reading a book review written by a fresh-out-of-college English major, a little older than myself. i found myself envying her, spending her working life reading books and writing snappy articles about them, this is the life i want. her writing seemed easy, relaxed, honest. i read my blog posts from the last three years and sense distress. my writing has taken on the clunkiness of function: burdened with academese and pent-up sentiments. never really beautiful. i wish i had the literary rhythms of someone who spends her days and nights reading and writing about literature and poetry. i spend (most) days and nights studying or teaching from textbooks, examining education law, feeling miserable.
then i found out this person whose article i was reading was recently "laid-off." and i recalled my mother's voice telling me when i was a teen: "you can't be an English major. you need a specialized skill no one else has. anyone can read and write." fast-forward: i find myself getting certified to teach special education. it's tedious, aggravating, soul-sucking work, but at least it is specialized.
when i think about all my relationships – only 3 so not enough to be conclusive, but enough to suggest a pattern – the allure, in all three cases, was that they were literary. the first boyfriend was a poet, the second a journalist and creative writer, my third and current boyfriend a rhetorician, creative writer, English teacher, aspiring journalist.
this somehow makes perfect sense. i always wanted to be a writer, my oldest and most consistent memories are of writing short stories, carrying hand-made books and pamphlets around in my pockets, trying to start novels. but now i will never be a writer, not in the literary sense, and so my fascination seems to have found other outlets. my early lust for literature, redirected.
i'm sure there's a Freudian interpretation for such a phenomenon, but i'll settle for Lacan instead, who used to say: That missing love—that lack—is a wound that drives you to fill its emptiness. None of this drive has anything to do with true love, except for the fact that, in all the arousal, true love is missing. (source)
Saturday, January 03, 2009
misery+
i just spent 30 minutes on the phone with my old piano teacher, miserably detailing every daily routine and responsibility i'll resume when i return to LA: "yep, i teach classes and then i go to grad school... no, i don't really eat dinner on those days... yea, i teach 70 kids... math and science... no, there's not a lot of support from the administration... oh, it's ok, i'm used to being alone now... yea, there's not much time for anything else..." making excuses so my life doesn't sound so sad, and then wondering how pathetic i must sound on the phone. i've never been good at hiding my tone.
i realized during these 30 minutes that i hate talking about my work, almost more than the work itself. i do not want to go back.
meanwhile, i am flipping thru a travel magazine, thinking about a summer in Turkey, clicking thru my tumblr blog and labeling my writing, thinking about a shop-drop project i want to begin working on, if only i didn't have this job to go back to...
(this blog has become such a drag, apologies. the other day i came close to starting over, again. it's been 3 long years, can you believe it? hard to change a tone, you know? i recommend my tumblr for quick pieces of writing that are candid and unfiltered, and some pretty great images, too.)
i realized during these 30 minutes that i hate talking about my work, almost more than the work itself. i do not want to go back.
meanwhile, i am flipping thru a travel magazine, thinking about a summer in Turkey, clicking thru my tumblr blog and labeling my writing, thinking about a shop-drop project i want to begin working on, if only i didn't have this job to go back to...
(this blog has become such a drag, apologies. the other day i came close to starting over, again. it's been 3 long years, can you believe it? hard to change a tone, you know? i recommend my tumblr for quick pieces of writing that are candid and unfiltered, and some pretty great images, too.)
Thursday, January 01, 2009
and my memory is so fucking unclear
this Unicorns video made me smile so much i almost squeezed some tears out. it made me think of my friends, and dancing in an apartment in the summer in the dark, and how much i wish we could go back a few months and relive certain moments.
some things should last forever.
who was i with? what time was it? where did you go?
love,
stef
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
the last of 2008
i woke up this morning and lay in bed thinking about 2008...
i taught my first class(es) in 2008. i wrote my first thesis in 2008. i moved away from home and into my first apartment in 2008. i started my first job in 2008.
i met Grizzly Bear in 2008.
i built a bookpress and hand-bound books in 2008. this blog reached 20,000 readers in 2008!
i've learned to appreciate home and my family in new ways, and i learned what it's like to fall completely in love with someone in 2008.
...and now, in the dark, on the floor of my parents' living room in the house of my childhood, next to a dying fire, with the miserable tv on in the background, i'm thinking about 2008 again. it really has been a great year.
and 2009 is going to be even better, i know it.
with love,
stephan!e
post-script: my half-hearted and last-minute attempts to live twitter new year's eve. could have been fun if longer-lasting. alas, noted for next year!
i taught my first class(es) in 2008. i wrote my first thesis in 2008. i moved away from home and into my first apartment in 2008. i started my first job in 2008.
i met Grizzly Bear in 2008.
i built a bookpress and hand-bound books in 2008. this blog reached 20,000 readers in 2008!i've learned to appreciate home and my family in new ways, and i learned what it's like to fall completely in love with someone in 2008.
...and now, in the dark, on the floor of my parents' living room in the house of my childhood, next to a dying fire, with the miserable tv on in the background, i'm thinking about 2008 again. it really has been a great year.
and 2009 is going to be even better, i know it.
with love,
stephan!e
post-script: my half-hearted and last-minute attempts to live twitter new year's eve. could have been fun if longer-lasting. alas, noted for next year!
Friday, December 26, 2008
23
i once had a friend ask me, "how does it feel to have yr birthday right after christmas? does it bother you that Jesus always takes the cake?"
my response?
"meh. i don't really like cake that much anyway."
but, it is nice to be reminded by those around you how much you mean to them. the trouble with having a birthday so close to Christmas is that any feeling of happiness or celebration gets sucked up and confounded by the residual effects and aftermath of christmas. instead of being happy with all the ppl i love, there's all this bitterness and tiredness from all the merry-making that precedes it.
like having eaten too much chocolate cake at once, so the next thing you want to reach for better be salty and something crunchy.
an aside: i am especially grateful to my best friends Chelsea and Ben this year. they've really been the best gifts of all and sometimes i hardly feel like i deserve them. i love you both, so much.
my response?
"meh. i don't really like cake that much anyway."
but, it is nice to be reminded by those around you how much you mean to them. the trouble with having a birthday so close to Christmas is that any feeling of happiness or celebration gets sucked up and confounded by the residual effects and aftermath of christmas. instead of being happy with all the ppl i love, there's all this bitterness and tiredness from all the merry-making that precedes it.
like having eaten too much chocolate cake at once, so the next thing you want to reach for better be salty and something crunchy.
an aside: i am especially grateful to my best friends Chelsea and Ben this year. they've really been the best gifts of all and sometimes i hardly feel like i deserve them. i love you both, so much.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
ephemera
i spent the day slowly wrapping gifts. my lethargic fingers were miserable negotiating pesky scissors and tape.
it doesn't feel like christmas this year, and i wonder if/fear that my increasing inability to experience holidays with the excitement and anticipation of the g/olden days means i am getting old/ losing my childhood ways.
but, i think it's because i'm more grateful to be home than any other year, and that makes these entire 3 weeks feel like a gift, rather than just the one day.
with love,
stef
it doesn't feel like christmas this year, and i wonder if/fear that my increasing inability to experience holidays with the excitement and anticipation of the g/olden days means i am getting old/ losing my childhood ways.
but, i think it's because i'm more grateful to be home than any other year, and that makes these entire 3 weeks feel like a gift, rather than just the one day.
with love,
stef
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
lonesome cowboy
On August 23, 1973, Jan Erik Olsson, on leave from prison, walked into Kreditbanken at Norrmalmstorg, central Stockholm and attempted to hold up the bank. Swedish police were called in immediately, two of them went inside, and Olsson opened fire, injuring one policeman.
The other was ordered to sit in a chair and "sing something."
He started singing "Lonesome Cowboy."
-----
Olofsson was a repeat offender who had committed several armed robberies and acts of violence, the first committed at the age of 16.
He walked around in the vault singing Roberta Flack's "Killing Me Softly".
(from the Wikipedia article about the Norrmalmstorg robbery, which originated the theory on Stockholm Syndrome)
The other was ordered to sit in a chair and "sing something."
He started singing "Lonesome Cowboy."
-----
Olofsson was a repeat offender who had committed several armed robberies and acts of violence, the first committed at the age of 16.
He walked around in the vault singing Roberta Flack's "Killing Me Softly".
(from the Wikipedia article about the Norrmalmstorg robbery, which originated the theory on Stockholm Syndrome)
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