twofaced

I was reminded again what a odd world we live online.

Be careful what you put in cyberspace seems to a common reminder. I have come across this little bit of advice more since beginning my teacher education program. Just recently, an assignment for pre-service teachers to explore adolescent online neighborhoods sparked debate within my cohort.
"What happens when my boss sees that I went to a teen girl website?"
Well, since your education is currently separate from your work place, nothing, since you shouldn't be doing it on work time.
"So I'm supposed to go into some chat room and start talking to kids, but tell them I'm a teacher? That just sounds stupid."
Yes, be upfront about who you are and what you're doing in such an online environment. This is really only a problem if you intend to solicit something inappropriate, sell something illegal, or otherwise hit on one of the kids you talk to. Are you, pre-service teacher, planning on doing any of these things in the course of completing the assignment? Hopefully not. Probably not.

I was struck with how often this concern came up: that being "seen" online would be worse than being seen in person. If you were having a similar conversation with students in the classroom, at a youth gathering, or for the mall in that matter, the concern wouldn't be the same.

I think more important is the idea that you are somehow different online than you are in "real life." Although I keep this blog semi-anonymous (I do hand out the address to friends, coworkers and others that show interest, and they therefore can connect my identity to the things I catalog here) I am no different. I am emotional, sarcastic, direct, blunt, humorous, scathing at times, and I am just the same in person. I have no problem defending the musing and rambling that takes place here if it were to ever be regarded as in appropriate, whether personally or professionally.

dis CONNECTED

All of this technology is great. So great, that I have no need for people in my life anymore. Apparently.

This isn't a pro/con list (although you know how I love lists!) of how technology affects our lives. There are plenty of those out there, and enough super-smart bloggers with more time and putting in more effort than I to do that here. Instead, A rant.

I've found over the last few months that it bothers me more and more when people tell me they read my blog. Not that I don't want them to, because in fact I have invited several people to read it, given them the address and so on. But the part about it that bothers me is the appearance of intimacy by simply READING about me. Few have offered to go out to coffee, have dinner, a ball game. And the ones that do, I anxiously await comments from, because I know that the conversation will be continued in person. This is another issue: commenting on a blog, or anywhere else on the internet, is not a valid form of friendship. Just as texting is not a conversation, a comment is usually finite. A conversation is fluid, and gives way to more than just words, but to meaning.

I'm struggling with this issue right now in particular because it seems that some of those who I thought were closest to me, have settled into a comfortable and convenient routine. Rather than spend time with me (regularly scheduled, weekly time that has been in place far longer than either of us) they think a text saying something entirely superficial will suffice. As if there is a communication quota, and the more innane words sent via cellular waves, the closer they are to meeting the quota.

I will not settle for meaninglessness. And if that is what my relationships have turned into, whether because of technology or by way of technology, something has to change. I don't know if that's leaving the technology behind, which at this point in our society would be pretty radical. Disconnecting entirely could have the opposite effect I'm longing for, and leave me even more disconnected than I am now. However, a weekly text of comment left on my blog will not suffice.

All of this to say that I want genuine connection. No cheap, digital, replacement.

Why, yes...

I'm thinking of doing something more official. More regular, if you like. Adding a little fiber to the blog here.

I know I've wavered on whether or not to start a professional blog or not as I'm starting my student teaching in the next few weeks here (is summer's end really that close?) so in the mean time, I've come up with an idea. Posts on Thursdays will be classroom, education and learning related, whether in response to another post, and article or video I come across, or just musings on observations I make on my way to teacherdom. I'm hoping that these will be well thought out, well written, and insightful (BOY, is that a lot to ask for!) posts that I spend some time on. I'm working on one now, or I should say, I'm thinking on one now, and will post it Thursday. Sometime. No deadline. Maybe early Friday. I take late papers.

Along with other things:

I have lots of ideas. Some good, some requiring a lot of follow-through which I never foresee, and some just plain ugly. One of my most recent ideas was to ship in some butterflies, bought off the internet of course, and watch the caterpillars turn into chrysalises, and then finally butterflies. This sounded awesome! Oh the kids would love it! It fits so nicely with our theme! Cheap entertainment! And then...how exactly to you hatch butterflies? Well, by putting them into a million individual cups of course. And then, safety-pinning them *rather the lids they form the chrysalis on) to a Pavillion (read: synthetic net to keep them from flying.) And then, when they do finally start emerging, you must feed them...

This is where the following conversation takes place:

Apparently able-minded Adult: "Oh wow, are those real?"
Me: (No I made them with little motors so they would fly like that, just so you could ask me such a stupid question) "yep!"
Apparently able-minded Adult: "Their so cool! Do you see Johnny!?"
Me: (continue to carefully open the butterfly pavillion so as not to disturb the unhatched critters, and place flower blossoms and small amounts of sugar water in the bottom)
Apparently able-minded Adult: "Do you have books on the Fourth of July? Where would those be?"
Me: (Well, I would love to put the lives of these lovely creatures at risk simply to answer your self-serving, simple minded question, when look! there IS a catalog over there!) "Yes, in the holiday section. I can help you in a minute."

Sometimes I want to say those things out loud. Is that wrong?

Probation over!

I finished my first semester as a grad student! And, as far as I can tell, it was a complete and utter success!

I began the year on academic probation, since I didn't have the requisite GPA to actually be admitted to the program. Right now, I have a 4.0 and am sitting pretty! I think this could be the first 4.0 I've ever had in my life. I guess it proves the theory that if a student is interested in the topic, they will learn it.

I have no delusions that the program will get harder. A LOT harder, if the unsmiling faces of the cohort that is about to graduate tells me anything. But I will stay positive and blame that on the lack of sleep rather than anything more sinister.

I am however, a little frustrated at a grade I received last night. I wrote a paper ( the one I said I would post when I finished it, and never did) and the grade seemed more subjective than anything. We weren't given a rubric, much less a clear assignment, to write from, so the points lost were for, ok get this, voice. Mechanics are arguable, as I'm coming from a strong MLA background and having to write APA. Not a whole lot different, but I'm also not going to argue with my teachers PHD. Yet. However, in an academic synthesis paper, one where I would assume voice would be unappreciated unless previously notified (hence the reason for giving your students clear instructions, and a rubric ahead of time) losing points on a paper for it is ludicrous. Not only that, but every paper I've ever written has the same voice, a very professional overtone, seeking to establish authority, rather than find a peer. I might have to say something. I will say something. That just pisses me off.

PS. I will post the paper soon.

baaaah

This is really weird. I'm watching this lady, as she asks questions about a particular service, nodding her head, registering for an account, furrowing her brow as if all of this information being spewed toward her is new. And the strange part about it, is I know it's not. About a month ago, I clearly remember her coming in and asking questions, nodding her head, registering the same account for the same service, prior to leaving on a family vacation.

Perhaps she had trouble using it? Then why not just come in and explain that she was stupid and ask for help? Perhaps she forgot? Then why, earlier this week, did she refer to our conversation previously when I was helping her another day?

I present to you the mom. The woman who has so little adult interaction she will fake interest in something she has heard, sometimes greater than, a million times simply to hold a conversation that is not interrupted by boogers or poop or otherwise child things.

I know I have raved about my own desires to be a mother one day. But not this kind, the other kind. The kind that can take their kids to a coffeeshop because I know they will be so well-behaved that it won't be a public affairs issue. Or the kind that has lived life to the extent that a child is an addition, a plus, rather than a distraction and problem I must deal with.

BTW: I don't think I've told you yet. I'm going to be an aunt! I'm so excited. Those are the best kind of kids--the ones that come to visit for a week in the summer and then leave but call to say they miss you the rest of the year.

Oh, and I know there has been little substance and more whining and moaning lately to this blog. Love me anyway and I promise it will get better.

Feelings

I'm feeling so unmotivated today. I'm tired, overwhelmed, and sitting at a desk I particularly am growing less fond of. I don't know why, and I think it has to do mostly with those pesky feelings I was talking about earlier. People that I work with keep asking me if I'm stressed out. And I am. But it has less to do with work and more to do with everything else going on right now.

I hate that question: are you ok? I hate the looks of concern and pity. You have no idea what it's like to be inside my head and heart. So let me do what I do, and I will stabilize, normalize, find balance in life again.

Ugh.

And another note...

He hasn't called yet. Or emailed. Not that I'm waiting. I distract myself quite easily. I think that I'm more interested than I initially thought. Why/how do I get myself into these things!?!

I just want to say...

I HATE YOU! People with small children, who haven't yet realized that your life has changed by the shear fact of giving life to another being, and remain so ostentatiously selfish, including your child and the public at-large in your charade of parenting. Here are a few examples I have witnessed only recently:

A completely disengaged couple, with three small children, in a coffee shop at an hour when most children their ages should be or are sleeping, but because their parents here insist on forgetting their implicit parental pledge, they live on adult time, rather than that thing...um...what was...CIRCADIAN RHYTHM.

Another married couple, who have this child with them I assume only as a way to validate the marriage that is in and of itself false because they are both obviously gay, again, at a coffee shop.

Why, Why, WHY!!!! must you people expose these innocents to not only unhealthy adult behavior, addictions to caffeine and such, but ignore them while doing so?

I hope you all die alone, abandoned by the children you have thus far NOT raised, in penance for your ignorance.

Happy Valentine's Day -a preview

I'm not going to convince you to love me. I'm not going to work any harder than you. I'm not going to not love any less than you love me.

Love letters from the end.

The week ahead, in review.

So I'm closing the experiment, AKA the eHarmony account. Unless this beautiful black man named James writes me back before Feb. !st with some amazing sweep me off my feet answers and a spontaneous marriage proposal. Then I might extend it. But other than that, it's been fun, but I'm over being needy and searching for the approval of others on the internet via psuedoscientific matching.

On another note, I'm so confused, and conflustered with my new, beautiful computer. One day it works, the next it doesn't. I have spent a total of nearly two and half hours talking to tech support this week, getting two different answers from two differetn people about why my stupid computer won't connect to the internet. And now I'm awaiting a full-system-restore disk that will hopefully solve some kind of undetectable software error. This could be all human error, I realize, and no one is able to detect that because I'm just this side of smart enough that it often enough sounds like I know what I'm doing.

Ah. well. We'll see.

Sheep

I had my first day of class last night. And I can't say how much I was underwhelmed.

Aside from feeling unprepared, I already feel like arguing with the author of the text, belittling her for the shortsightedness in the decision to use the art of Norman Rockwell to depict modern and historical theories, practices and caricatures of teaching. I seem to be the only one with this thought however. We went over graphic organizers...flow charts, thought maps, etc. Some had already prepared one before class outlining their thoughts on chapter one, our previously assigned reading. I must have missed that part while I focused on the giant neon flashing "This is racist, bigoted propaganda you're reading here " sign in the text...I hope this doesn't affect my learning.

The class, which I have been assured by the previous cohort that came in to placate ahem, assure us that will become our family before the end of the program, is a mixed bag of crazies. So your standard faculty of teachers. A few are already certified teachers, already practicing in the classroom for various amounts of time. Some have worked in classrooms as aides, special education assistants and otherwise. And the rest are social workers, salesmen, admission advisors, and mormons. Just kidding. Not really.

On the one hand, I am still excited about this class. I didn't have all of my paperwork signed before class last night, so in addition to not enjoying the discussion, I am a week behind, and failed to make an "I'm so excited I just about peed my pants" impression on the instructor.

If I sound bitter, cynical, it's probably because I am. I'm not sure anymore if I'm ready for this. I'm not sure anymore if I should be doing this. And I'm not sure anymore if this is all a good thing, or if the world will be ending too soon for any of my hemming and hawing to matter.

If the world doesn't end, I know I will die. I'm kind of on a fatalist kick. I feel like I should do some research and study before I start seriously labeling myself like that. There was however, an interesting experience I had yesterday that made me wonder if all of this trying is even worth it.

I regularly read several blogs. One of the new one's that I have subscribed to is written by a teacher somewhere in the midwest who is obviously more, or at least as much as, cynical as I. She recently wrote about a former student who was still in school, several years after having taught him. When would he age out of the system? Why was he still allowed in the school system at his age (20)? I felt offended that this educator could see only to the end of her own prejudices, and not as far as her job description. Most states require that public(free) education be provided and available to students up to the age as stated by the age set forth by law. Each states age maximum is different. One: that she didn't know the law she is held to as an educator is shameful. Two: that she would feel it an offense of her propriety to complete her contracted (perhaps tenured) duties.

So...I am struck but not sunk. I'm hoping some good debate will sufficiently knock the optimism and hope out of me so that I can complete my human-to-sheep-transformation as soon as possible, as painlessly as possible.

Not (drinking) Enough

The capitals in that are on purpose.

How do you tell someone, exactly what you mean, without seeming like you mean it? Because you know that as soon as those words leave your lips, they will forever be indelibly etched into their heart if not their brain and there they will stay, unerasable.

Maybe you say it like the little kid in my preschool class: just flat out--" you don't color as good as me. your picture is ugly." Your not a good friend. If I wanted a counselor I would pay for it. I have insurance.

Maybe with more finesse. But that never seems to work for me.

Yesterday I was told that I am ungrateful. Am I ungrateful? Or do I know what I expect, and give to meet those expectations, give grace when they are not met or returned, and then finally after months or years of waiting, give up and let go. Not loudly like a bursting tire or falling brick like some people. But slowly, and calmly. Like I knew I would. Eventually.

And no. I'm not drinking. Not enough anyway. Because I am still holding myseld to my own expectations. And I would not allow you to drink, so why would allow myself? I am stronger than anyone would think. And they seem never to choose to investigate that, but rather to see my strength as weakness.

I have never understood that.

I don't want pity. I'm too good for that.
I don't want advice. I'm too smart for that.
What I do want, what I do need, is a good friend. Who won't accuse me of suffering but walk in it. How dare you accuse me. And not do anything about it. Not today. But yesterday and the day before and all the days before in the last two months.
Were we friends then?

Experiential

So as promised a while back...I am updating the single-ness spot on here.

I was speaking with a coworker the other day, and it seemed to me that I have no had no social life to speak of. For quite some time. And while some of that is me pulling away from certain people, making time for others, and simply trying to figure out what it is that I want, I don't think that I should have NO social life simply because I am confused. Confused about commitments, friendships, choices. How am I going to make new any of those if I don't put myself out there a little. Take some risk. And find out what the results would be.

So that being said, I have a confession.

I signed up for eharmony.

I know I know. Let me explain. One of the relationships that I am so confused about currently, suggested to me somewhere around a year ago that the personality profile they offer would give one good insight into your own heart and mind. Even if you don't use it for the purposes of securing a date. I pondered over this for a few days, and then began to investigate. I signed up for my account, filled out the profile (as best I could, it's pretty grueling!) and giddily anticipated what this magic page of web could reveal to myself about myself.
And it was fairly accurate. It was more accurate on some counts than I would have liked it to have been. But it was still good to see: some confirmation that I can have good relationships, and the same modicum of confirmation that I generally don't for fear, ambition or some other characteristic of mine get in the way.

So...fast forward a year to yesterday, and I wandered my way back to my good ol' promisesunfulfilled, and turned my match settings to ON. I am now able to see people that are most "compatible" with me. And vice versa.

We'll see where it goes. I think if anything, I'll hopefully get a date out of it, some good food and feedback about myself, and can chalk it all up to experience. I'm always down for new experiences.

I guess it also beats the attempts of my dad's cronie-coworkers trying to vie for my attention. No I WILL NOT MAKE OUT WITH YOU! You, may I remind you, are engaged.
More on that topic later.

Christmas time is gone again

SO Christmas is over. And I feel cheap and dirty. Not to mention totally panic stricken. All causes aside, I think I am taaking a break from Christmas. Next year, I don't want to exchange gifts, but rather give them if I feel so moved, and receive them if someone is floating that river with me.

For many reasons, but perhaps this one being the most influential: My family is quite large, and really only growing as people mature and marry and add to our family tree. So We draw one name, for which we buy a one gift for that so named person, and then kids and our immediate family if we desire. The person I drew, my uncle, is not necessarily hard to buy for. A real guys-guy into hunting and fishing and animal-killing of all kinds, appreciate anything remotely related to that. I however, am on my way to hardcare veganism (*Note that I am still a carnivore, though) and really have a hard time just giving into that. Now...these are the things I ask myself: Would he like it? yes. Does he need it? No. If I don't buy it for him, would he go buy it for himself (and does he ablely have the means to do so)? yes. So why would I want to buy something like that? Isn't the point of gift giving, not to give into the every wish and whim of someone, but to surprise and delight them with something they thought they never needed or wanted? Maybe that is not your idea of christmas shopping, but I know that I hate receiving purly practical gifts, nearly as much as I hate receiving gifts I could have bought for myself. They are not much of a gift, if they fall into either category, in my mind.

I had an idea to make a donation in his name, something in line with my undle's beliefs and something I know he would appreciate though probably not to himself, and give him a gift representative of that donation for his own use. When I presented this idea to my parents for their input, I was whole-heartedly denied. "That's not really thinking of him." said one. "Would you want someone to do that for your christmas gift?" said the other. YES! A resounding yes! So with this in the back of my mind, I went about thinking of what I could get/give my uncle. I was quite shocked that before I could even get something for him, my parents bought him something, stuck my name on it and mailed it to him for me. YEAH!

Fast forward a few weeks...and my mom opens a small box with a plastic cow and goat inside. My dad reads the card that says they have contributed to a family gift, giving a family in Africa a cow, goat, some sheep, geese, ducks, seeds, school supplies and bibles. They loved it. They fawned over it. They said "What a great idea!" Literally. Those words came out of my fathers mouth. I say this not to make them look bad, I wouldn't want that necessarily. But to bring light to the fact that we all are incrediblly hypocritical. So much so that if it's come from one person it's a horrible idea, and if the same idea comes from someone else, it's a great one. Maybe it's in the presentation. Maybe it's in the givers intention. Maybe they actually hated it still, and are only appearing hypocritical to save face to the family that they love, and only I know the truth.

I do know, that I should have given like I wanted to. I should stop asking for permission. And start asking for forgiveness. They say it's always easier that way. But Forgiveness is so much harder to ask for. Permission is harder to get.

goody-ness

I am so excited. I have my books. I'm trying to find all those forms that I should have filled out and turned in months ago. And reaquainting myself with the idea that I will be a student again. I am the youngest (it appears) person in my cohort. And Now that that cat's out of the bag, I kind of wish it wasn't. I don't think for a second they won't hold it against me, even if they don't mean to. Some young punk too honest in her inquiry, and brash and brazen all over coming in and taking over their non-trad program? Yeah...that's what I do. I'll take that A now.

wednesday

Simply because I have made a conscious decision not to take a large portion of social reactions into account, does not mean that I don't notice them. A compilation below:

Pink hair gets a lot of attention in Boise. Women raise their eybrows and look down, though not before looking twice. And men look. At the hair. Children don't seem to notice. I attribute this to the fact that either they don't notice or care, or that most of their cartoon character heroes have brightly colored hair and it is within the realm of normal.

People complain often about the state of something, and do little about it. Point-traffic vs. alternative transportation. Why was there not an uproar over a cyclist being killed a short time ago? Because if you care, it means that you should take action, and who would change the way they live if it makes life slightly less comfortable?

Men who wear left hand rings may or may not be married--if they are, it seems as though the book in their hand suddenly must be carried with the left hand, the hair smoothed ring-side up, or gestures made more profuse while speaking. If they are not married, the hand usually goes in the pocket, in the underside of a book or carried item or is of no consequence in their gestures.

Music is soul medicine. I often forget this, but am reminded when I hear truly good music. Sometimes even just music that imitates good music. I will have alist of songs you should hear if you haven't already shortly, as I am continuing to compile it.

Today is not a day for productivity.

Are you single?

I just found myself googl-ing, not oogling mind you, self-help books on dating. Not necessarily a bad thing. But it suddenly struck me as something that one would do if A) I was forty, divorced and looking for a way back INTO the dating game, or B) I had so little social skills that I needed to read a book entitled "Cheap psychological tricks for lovers : 55 savvy strategies for the romantically challenged ."
Now, not to say that a book on dating would be helpful, amusing even, but to think that I have sunk to some new low, one that unfortunately is not unfamiliar and is more common than I would think if I make assumptions based on the number of titles on love and romance and dating my local library carries. But I have fallen into a rut. And I don't know how to meet people, regardless of what sex they are. I work nearly full-time, will be beginning a Masters program in a few short months, and have a lot going for me, or so I would think. So what's the problem?
In the next few weeks, I hope to chronicle my dating escapades, if you could call them that. Who I meet, how I meet them, what happens thereafter, in hopes of finding some pattern that may be interfering with my ability to enter into and maintain a successful relationship.
So for today, unless you count the dad with the baby on his shoulders, or the testoserone infused teenagers that I have thus far met, 1 down...a lifetime left to go.

Comments appreciated.

the demon

This thing we call blog, this conglomeration of thought and emotion and hypertext, is now another way to make money. I recently read an article in a local newspaper about how bloggers were being snatched up by corporate dollarmongers in order to further their advertising campaigns in yet another media. In another article, bloggers were paid as freelance media reps to blog the ideals, and mission of one or more companies for a fee.

The American dream has just reached a new level of low. Writing was always a way of expression, exploration, and admiration for the places and ideas that made the world what it is. A safe haven where modern day writers can find community and solace from the media which has overtaken their craft and tortured it into something unrecognizable, has now been reclaimed by that very same demon: money.

While I myself, must admit that to enter into a career where I can combine both my love and my talents seems advisable and charming, I wish not to fall prey to the demons which have trapt many in the nightmare of America's dream. There are other, perhaps more conventional, ways of earning your keep, while remaining mainstream and current with a small amount of creativity. In this one thing, I do not want to share. Words can mean many things. But we cannot know this if they are prepackaged and sold to the lowest bidder under a brand and a patent.

Gross

My roommate refuses to take out the garbage. She also has refused (for the last nine months) to buy toilet paper. Or clean anything communal.

I came home after class, work then YL today to see that because the garbage hasn't been taken out yet, and I had set an empty oatmeal box to the side, the plastic garbage can had disappeared, and instead of taking the bag of trash out, it was sitting in the same place tied in a knot waiting, I can only assume, for me to take it out. I must assume this, because since she took the CAN, and not the GARBAGE away, that this is in someway a form of lashing out at me for putting the oatmeal box on the floor...? However, she has countless times let her trash pile around the can and I never complained; just waited until it got taken out. Am I the only one who thinks this behavior is absurd? I will however, take the garbage out. And I will do it now.

I am glad I will not be living with her again after our lease is up in July. She doesn't let it show, but she's ugly on the inside.

Chyeah!

I feel like the mundane is so insanely...just not mundane. Why does it fascinate me so? How come I feel like every detail has to capture my attention like diamonds in the sky? It's not important, it probably doesn't matter. But I want to know. I need to know. I'm a space case.

My mouth. It gets me in trouble every time. Why doesn't anyone tell me to shut up? Haven't I had this conversation before? I feel like I'm talking to myself. Why doesn't anyone just tell me to shut it and keep it shut. I would say a lot less stupid things. Dang.