oooh Hitch

"Now, she might say 'This is a really bad time for me,' or something like 'I just need some space,' or my personal favorite 'I'm really into my career right now.' You believe that? Neither does she. You know why? Cause she's lying to you, that's why. You understand me? Lying! It's not a bad time for her. She doesn't need any space. And she may be into her career, but what she's really saying is 'Uh, get away from me now,' or possibly 'Try harder, stupid,' but which one is it?"

confession and a rant?

Today in class we were talking about our duty as teachers to report any suspicions of child abuse we may have. We are held liable if we do not report any suspicion within 48 hours, which is good, because then you have to make sure you take action right away instead of deliberating forever over what the right thing to do is.

It reminds me of one really bad memory. Of everything I've ever done in life, this is one of my biggest regrets:
It was 4 years ago, when I was a junior in high school. I was an assistant leader of a group of first and second graders in Pioneer Girls, which is basically the church's version of Girl Scouts. There was one girl who had some developmental problems. She absolutely could not sit still or pay attention and would roll around the room touching things while we were supposed to be doing an activity while sitting in a circle. She had to have a parent come in with her. First, it was her dad. He was so good with her. He was calm and patient, and tried to explain things to her very simply. He kept trying to hold her attention and help her complete the activity with the rest of us. The next week, however, it was her mom. She was rude to her daughter, yelling at her and just telling her to "get over here!" She was very impatient and abrasive, and her daughter did not respond to her well at all. She just rolled around the room even more, so during the middle of a lesson, the mom grabbed her daughter by the hair and dragged her across the floor to sit next to her. I was absolutely horrified. I wanted to yell at her and push her away from the girl, but I couldn't say a thing. I didn't even know if I should. I looked around, but the teachers just kept talking. They hadn't seen a thing! The only people who saw were me and one of the other girls. She looked just as shocked as I did and just stared at them and at me. I can't believe I didn't say anything. Not only did I not do anything to protect the girl from abuse, but I sent the message to the other little girl that it apparently wasn't a big deal. No one would do anything to stop it. No one even seemed to care. I often forget this even happened until something like this brings the memory up. If I got any moment to do over in my life, this would probably be at the top of the list.

So as a teacher, I can see how this will be hard. But I am accountable to other people, and I'll have guidance counselors and principals and hopefully other people I can go to if I'm at all suspicious and need a second opinion.
However, there's another side to this. There are definitely cultural differences in standards of raising children, but the school system has more specific ideas of what families should look like. For instance, I have met some kids who live in the inner city of Baltimore who are often left home alone, even though they're too young. Their parents don't always know where they are. They don't all have very good hygiene. These are all things that could count as neglect cases. But let's say I end up teaching in an area like this. Do you really expect me to call Child Protective Services on all of these families? That would be more harmful to the kids, and the last thing I'm trying to do is break up families.
Man, teaching won't be easy. Unless I end up at some rich private school where the kids' parents have already taught them everything they'll ever need to know. But, I don't think that's exactly where I want to be...not that I see myself as some crusader for urban schools or anything. I'm not trying to act like I'll be some amazing reformer of a poor, failing classroom, and the children will fall in love with me and ace all their tests because I connect with them on some amazing level that only young, white, female teachers like Michelle Pfeiffer can do.
That's another thing that bothers me, while I'm on the subject. We talk about poverty all the time, and name all these terribly depressing statistics. It's not they're not true, and I think that we usually do it in an effort to understandhow hard it is for poor families. But it gets to a point where we're creating this tragedy that's not always there. We can't act like everyone with a low income is depressed and unhappy, and they need teachers to come give them this amazing education that will one day set them free. Of course we want to do everything we can to give kids opportunities to succeed in school as well as rich kids do, so that they don't have to live in poverty. But the inner city is not all bad, and not having a car is not a terrible thing. Having things and money is not all that great either. Give kids a little credit; they just might be enjoying life as it is. Yes, we should learn statistics so we can understand where people are coming from, and the problems they face, but we cannot look at our students as victims, or they will never learn anything.

Okay, I'm done.

colleeeeeege!

me: Aaah, I don't ever wanna leave this place!
Jason: Me neither. These are the best days of my life! I used to think high school was, but then I came to college. But who knows, maybe the real world will be even better.
me: Uh...I hear it's not.

Maybe I should get in on that 5 year plan. I'd be in good company.

FRNOTM

Well that was spectac.

highlights

1. whatever this was:
   
   
   That's the way they all became The Crazy House! The Craaaaazy House!
   
   
   
   
2. limboing with Joel and Kristal:
   
   
   
   
3. 2301 getting all hot and dressy:
   
   
   
   
4. making up several new dances:
   
   
   Farrell likes to shake her tail feather!
   
   
   
5. except I didn't invent The Peppermill; Sky Corrigan did:
   
   
   "You've got some nice moooves."
   
   
   
   
6. Jayms and Beck being amazing hostesses:
   
   
   
   
7. not pictured: singing as loud as I do in the car when I'm alone...how freeing!
8. not pictured (and probably for the best): some skinnydipping...no, not me
9. not pictured: lots of other people I love (sorry, this isn't a webshots, or else I'd put up every picture)
   

lowlights

1. Seeing pictures of myself lately makes me think I need to gain some weight.
2. When it comes to certain people, I just can't seem to say the right thing. I don't know why I'm so accidentally rude so often.

the man who tasted shapes

Most disorders or illnesses terrify me. It all started with a special on E. Coli I saw on 20/20 back in 1994 or so. Ever since then I get freaked out and assume I have whatever illness I hear of. Some call me a hypochondriac, but I think I'm just overly observant or something, so that symptoms I have make me wonder if there's a bigger problem.

There is one disorder, however, that does not scare me in the least. In fact, it makes me a little jealous. I wish I had synaesthesia.

0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Does that look right to you? This is (roughly) what the numbers look like to me. 4 is always light blue, 2 is always red, and one is always white, but I think it also has a black outline. 8 and 9 are a little sketchier in my head.

Maybe you don't know what the crap I'm talking about, or maybe you're thinking that the number 4 is definitely supposed to be some other color. If the latter is true, you have synaesthetic tendencies, like me. Some call that cognitive synaesthesia.

Someone who actually has synaesthesia might physically see color when s/he looks at a number, instead of just knowing what color a number is.

I don't think they know quite what causes it, but it manifests itself as one type of sensory input actually being experienced as another....ie, when you hear a bell, you see some sort of orange circle in your field of vision, or when you eat chicken, you feel a prickling sensation on your hand. The type where you see a number or letter, and experience it as a color is the most common.

I think this will be the subject of my documentary.

I was reminded lately of just how much I love Percy Bysshe Shelley

Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,
Like wither'd leaves, to quicken a new birth;
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

FGZ

Since Farrell posted about me, I'ma return the favor. I'm even willing to overlook the fact that she posted a picture of me with an obvious zit on the face...

Farrell is a cool cat. If she were elected president, her first official act would be to mandate that "everyone attend at least one social function a month." Don't ask me; she said it herself.

Her hobbies include raising her beloved Wally to be a fun-loving pup, unintentionally murdering plants, procrastinating making art for our family room, and whispering inappropriate things in my ear at random times. Like myself, she's a lover of Europe, although she visited a lot more places than I did. Her favorite musical groups for sing-alongs include Gavin DeGraw, Queen, Bon Jovi, and the Spice Girls. She's an avid Quest lover, and totally devoted to quality.

But seriously, Farrell is always good for advice and listening, and she takes people seriously. She appreciates the little things in life, which makes life a lot more fun.

so versatile right now....

And to top it all off, she and Julie kept trying to help me think of topics for a big project tonight, even though I kept vetoeing them.
"How about-"
"Um, no."
What good friends.

this part is good, and that's well understood, so you should laugh if you know what I mean

Going out to dinner last night, Brita was listening to In Between Dreams when Better Together came on. Bleh, not my favorite.
"Uuuugh, can you skip this one? This is the one everyone always quotes in their profiles."
"No Anna, stop being anti-stuff."

It's not a bad song. It's just not the best, and yet it's the one everyone happens to suddenly love.

I'm not trying to complain. I got to see Jack Johnson again. I got to sing and dance ridiculously along to most of my favorite songs, except Cocoon, which would've been nice. I got to spend the evening with Jaymeliss and Beck the Birthday Girl, who likes to 'move like a jellyfish, rhythm don't mean nothing, you go with the flow, you don't stop' with me.

But...
His new fans are terrible. Ever since his latest sugary-sweet-pop album, Jack has a new following. A following of 15 year old girls. Looking around the pit in Merriweather as they all pressed unnecessarily against me, screaming like they were about to see Justin Timberlake and holding their moms' digital cameras on top of my head, I just kept thinking, Uugh, I wish this was a school night. Then half of these people wouldn't be here. It's bad enough to be that obnoxious. It's bad enough to get all your friends' moms to chaperone you and butt in front of everyone in line. It's bad enough to sing all the words to Banana Pancakes but not know any of the words to Fall Line. But when you wear a homemade shirt that says "I [heart] Jack's Johnson," you have crossed the line. Get out of my sight.

I'm not trying to whine, really; anything wrong with that concert, Jack made it all better. I love the piano on his new album, and he really puts on a good show. His voice is incredible, and even if his style has changed a little, he's still just so mellow and really talented. The encore of about 5 songs on acoustic guitar was just beautiful. A little Sublime, a little The News, a little No Other Way.

Maybe I've just been spoiled since seeing him with Ben Harper at Bull Run Park. I'd take that marijuana-filled field of chill people enjoying some incredible music to a bunch of teeny-bopping disco queens screaming and making me feel physically violated anyday.

I really did enjoy this concert, and yet, I'm torn... this was probably the best day of my life. Sometimes I just can't help fantasizing about that concert.

Red Terp 4 Life!

SUBLIMINAL MESSAGED!!!

Not subliminal? You're right. It's a shameless plug.

Tomorrow is that exciting day that comes every 56 days or so...Blood Day!
I love Blood Day. There's something addictive about getting a pint of blood siphoned out of your vein while you sit in a reclined chair and squeeze a little rubber handle.
And there's always that nervousness I get at first, when they do the iron test...will I get rejected? 50% of the time I do, but that can't stop me from going. I hold my breath as the drop of blood from my finger floats at the top of the little test tube, knowing that they'll have to do the second hematocrit level test with the centrifuge, praying that my vitamins are working, and trying to send my body iron-rich vibes.
And then there's the triumph that comes if I find out that my blood decided to be cooperative, and I am eligible to give blood!!!
Next, I get to feel all tough when I can spout out that pint in under 6 minutes without getting dizzy. No, I don't need a can of Sprite yet. I'm cool.
Dizzy or not, everyone gets snacks at the end. Mmm, Famous Amos cookies.
On top of that, I get the brightly colored badge of honor, a stretchy bandage that lets everyone know, Today was Blood Day! And often, I get a sticker too.
56 days later, repeat.

So maybe you don't find it as exhilirating as I do to get a needle stuck in your arm after waiting like a million hours and answering a bunch of health questions (hint: the answer is usually "no"). Maybe you're not even a fan of needles at all. But here's the thing...this is something you can give absolutely for FREE. Maybe you don't have much money, but I am willing to bet you have some blood. And blood is pretty important to someone who is missing some. You are actually guaranteed to be helping save someone's life. Your blood will be flowing through someone else's body, maybe nearby, and they will be alive because of you. It's not that hard.

About 60% of Americans are eligible to give blood, but only about 5% do.

If you've been in some other country for some significant amount of time during the past year or have been recently stuck with unsafe needles or have come in close contact with someone who has West Nile Virus, then you are off the hook.

Otherwise, I will see you in the PG Room between 1 and 7 today.

these are my confessions

If I'm gonna tell it, then I gotta tell it all...

confession: I mooch pictures off of other people's websites because I have not yet entered the digital age.


confession: I have those pants in black.


confession: I will never make it in a profession that requires swordfighting skills.


confession: Litter really does bug me.

confession: I always think girls are just being dumb and not careful when I can see their underwear, but as hard as I try to be careful when I'm wearing a skirt, I guess sometimes it doesn't work. I made Elizabeth remove this picture from her website. Please TELL ME these things!


confession: I don't really care that much that we lost. This is what football games are all about to me.


(Brita's gonna give me hell for that last one...I'm sorry, football just doesn't do to me what basketball does.)
Glad I got that off my chest!

typical

We were all supposed to be doing work late at night, so naturally we spent half an hour on an impromptu photo shoot of the turtle.* (felt like Cumb 2 again)

my beautiful baby boy...or girl...I honestly don't know how to tell, but I think it has something to do with the shape of their backs...but then again, I don't know what species the kid is either...so all you herpetologists out there, let me know what's up

Farrell: Oh yeeeaah. Work it, work it. Yeah!

Tell me that flash did not blind Mr. Poopers! What, was there a spaceship in the room? Do you have any idea what wattage like that can do to a turtle retina??

Look at me. I am so happy in my natural habitat. These reflective walls are just how I remember them back at the pond. And the faux plant - what a fabulous touch!

Dear Dana,
Your turtle is loved.
Sincerely,
Commons 2301

*this story is also detailed in Elizabeth's blog

don't you shiveeeeerrrrrr

It's one thing when it happened in high school where everyone knew me. It's one thing when it happens at staff meetings and my boss announces to everyone what's going on. It's one thing when it happens at IV and people laugh at me.

It's a completely different thing when I shiver in class where no one really knows me, my arms fly up, and the professor asks if I have a question.
"No, sometimes I just shiver, and it's very dramatic...and uncontrollable."
I could almost hear everyone thinking it: What a freak.
That is just plain embarrassing.

For those of you who don't know: I have some kind of problem. And you can think that I'm doing it on purpose for attention or whatever if you really want, but it is completely involuntary.

I get these spastic shivers. Or violent chills. Twitch, tic, spasm...I don't really know what to call it. It's a chill I guess, cause I think my skin sets it off. Whether or not I'm cold (but more often if I am), I shiver about five times an hour. Sometimes it's just a shimmy, but sometimes my arms fly up in the air and my shoulders convulse. If I'm walking, it occasionally goes through my legs.

It doesn't usually bother me that much; it's just a quirk, but it's getting OOC...Out Of Controlllll!!!

People like me are usually the comic relief characters in movies that slap people without meaning to or have to restrain their own arms to keep themselves from doing inappropriate things...maybe that's supposed to be Tourette's, I don't really know. My point is...I'm a freak.

I've narrowed it down to 151 disorders I could have. As good as I am at diagnosing myself, maybe I should see a real doctor.

MEDIOCRE!

I started to write a self profile for Technical Writing, and this is what happened, as it usually does (I just might have to rework it a little):

If there's one thing I've been noticing about the story of my life so far, it's that people don't expect much of me.

Picture it: Mrs. Lewin's preschool class, 1990

Parts were being given out for the annual nativity play. Mrs. Lewin called out students' names along with their designated roles. "Kimberly, you will be the star. Aaron, you will be a wise man..." Finally, she got to the most crucial role. "Anna, you will be Mary."

Immediately, I panicked. As much as I loved attention, I couldn't be Mary! Mary has a million lines to memorize! I couldn't do that; there's no way I could memorize everything Mary has to say - she's like the main character! I started bawling in the middle of class until Mrs. Lewin called me up to the front. Slowly, I stepped over the other children sitting Indian style on the floor (it's called criss-cross now, but remember, this was 1990) and made my way to her chair.
I told my teacher that I didn't want to be Mary, and upon my suggestion, she conceded to letting me be a sheep.
"What will your costume be?"
"I don't know, maybe you could make me a paper sheep head?"
That's exactly what she did, too.

The day of the play arrived, and Kelly made a lovely Mary, who incidentally, had absolutely no lines. No one did. It was a preschool play. No one makes preschoolers memorize lines! Meanwhile, I munched happily away on some grass in a nearby pasture, paper head in place.
Mrs. Lewin narrated, and the play was off. "Some shepherds came to visit the stable..." The shepherds, however, stayed in place. Yep, the newborn king wasn't gonna get any visitors this year, because the shepherds were clearly clueless. This was a job for a paper sheep.
"Baa," I cried, and made my way to the stable, guided by the light of Kimberly the star. "Baaa," and the shepherds followed. My plan was working. The play was saved! And of course, I was the only one who had any lines.

Parents congratulated me at the end and told me what a wonderful job I had done. Seriously guys, it's not that big of a deal. All I did was act like a sheep. It's not that hard.

Flash forward a year to kindergarten:

On the first day, I expected to have to find all my classes myself, as if it was a high school. Then I realized no one expected me to do that. We stood in a line, and they led us into our room.
One time, Mrs. Eltermann told us we could get a prize if we wrote five stories. I spent days working on different stories.

1. One was about some fruits and vegetables that were hungry but didn't want to eat each other...in the end, they decided to go out to a restaurant together.
   
2. Another was about some turkeys that were afraid when the farmer came outside with an axe. (Turns out he was only chopping wood - crazy farmer!)
   
3. One was a bit of a thriller where these bugs were playing in the woods, then they heard this eerie tapping noise...after hanging on the edges of their seats, the readers discover that it was only the bugs' parents coming through the woods to invite them home for warm buggy stew! This story also included a poem at the beginning: "Bugs are big/ Bugs are small/ Bugs are short/ Bugs are tall"
4. One story recounted the mixed-up antics of Amelia Bedelia as she attempted to make a cake.
5. The last described the imaginary time that I got a pet pug and let him sleep with me.

I typed all my stories up on the Commodore 64, illustrated them, and taped them into a spiral notebook to create a kind of anthology. I came into class and heard Allen reading his stories...two of them were "Once my brother cried," and "Once I crossed the street." I was a little upset. I thought we were supposed to be writing stories, not sentences. Buuut, I guess I was wrong.

This trend has continued until today. In every job I've ever had, my employer has more or less said to me, "I really didn't know if you could handle it at first, but you have proved me wrong." Whenever someone compliments me about how I'm doing a good job, I always get the feeling of, Uuum...aren't I expected to do my job? Cause that's pretty much all I'm doing. I only hope this trend continues in student teaching, because that would be pretty sweet. If people continue to only expect mediocrity from me, then I am well-prepared. Chances are, I will exceed those expectations.

So there you have it. If I can just figure out how to channel my obsession for babbling about my childhood into concise and meaningful anecdotes that illustrate some type of quality about me (not being mediocre?), I think I can be a little more interesting than "Please hire me; I'm a hard worker." Feedback?

ooooh the controversy

In other news, this is fun.

It guessed Freddie from A Different World, but not Dwayne Wayne. Maybe I'm just throwing off the answers because I'm unsure of the details of his career. He was like some kind of businessman...he went to Japan, right? And...invented something?

I do like Kanye

Yes, it's a stolen link from someone else that you may have already seen, and no I'm not just trying to laugh at something that's really serious...it just makes me proud to see how sincere he is.

...the man's got guts to do this on live television

and in case you haven't donated

what would Dr. Phil say?

Tonight I realized an incredibly obnoxious and immature habit I have...

1. First, I make things awkward in a relationship (friend, acquaintance, whatever).
2. Then, I assume the worst...that I am really annoying, and I've weirded the person out, and now they hate me.
3. Next, I become a blurter. I tell everyone that "So and So hates me."
4. Then, someone mentions it in front of the person, and more awkwardness ensues. Or I blurt it to the person myself, all dramatically.

I was at a party tonight (parties are where the blurting part gets the worst...I'm a huuuge blurter at parties), and honestly there were about 4 people about whom I said, "they really don't like me." This is not the first time I've done this, just the 4 in a row kind of made me realize that it might be a pattern. Why do I do this?? Is it some sort of weird defense mechanism for a strange insecurity? Or am I just, generally, an awkward person?

BLEEEEHHHH

Just kidding about asking Dr. Phil though. I'm really not a fan at all.