glamoroso me

Most people may not consider teaching to be a glamorous job. However, that's only because they've never seen how I do it.

I mean sure - tantrums are frequent, you have to hold your pee all day, occasionally you come home with chalk dust on your ass and sometimes there's vomit, but we don't ALL wear holiday sweaters adorned with giant plastic pins, and if you play your cards right you can swing yourself some pretty sweet swag. Case in point: my job is sending me to Spain next week. That's right doctors and lawyers and professory types - Spain. To visit. For free. And all I have to do is make sure a handful of kids board the right plane, don't come home pregnant, answer their wake up calls, and don't get gored by bulls. (Wearing a holiday sweater while I do all this is, of course, optional.)

So, in the spirit of my upcoming intercontinental adventure, I've been trying to brush up on my Spanish. I originally had this grand plan to get myself some instructional CDs that I could listen to on the commute to work, but then I remembered that this is 2009. If robots don't do it for us then there's an app that will, so actually learning a language has become a bit...passé. So I searched around for a few minutes and, sure enough, there was an application available to download onto my phone that would not only translate useful words and phrases, it would even say them for me. I know, right?! Sweet Jesus, Hallelujah! Here I've been so busy dreaming of a day when I could somehow avoid all direct communication with strangers that I had failed to recognize that day when it finally arrived. Hello, brave new world!

Now, truthfully, the system isn't perfect. There's a very limited number of words and phrases that my phone will say for me, however, it will say "hello," "goodbye," and "I'm sorry" for me, so what else does a socially awkward English-speaking girl really need?

Well, after consulting the app's "Travel Safety" list, it appears that the creators of this particular application feel that an English-speaking girl traveling in sunny Spain also needs to be able to say:

Doctor

Hospital

Police

Don't shoot!

Stop thief!

and best of all:

Those drugs aren't mine!

Yep, it's a glamorous place I'm headed to for my glamorous job. Better pack my nicest holiday sweater.

so long, and thanks for all the shrunken heads

Things have been quiet 'round these parts this past week, and this is largely due to the fact that I've been a flurry of end-of-the-school-year activity. Cleaning out my classroom, weeding through a mountain of emails, and grading final projects and papers has left very little time for play, hence I've been a very dull girl. HOWEVER, I am now officially a lady of leisure, and as I type this I am sitting on my deck drinking a large glass of sangria, working on my first sunburn of the season, and have just noticed that a fairly large wasps' nest has formed on the inside of the umbrella from under which I sit. So I imagine that something fairly interesting is bound to happen any minute now.

Wait for it...

Anyway and retrospectively, this year's been quite the mixed bag. In some ways it's been one of my most successful, easiest school years to date. I had a wonderful, unusually bright and friendly group of kids, I mentored a student teacher who was fairly capable, thus could help shoulder some of the enormous burden this job can be, after seven years of the same I FINALLY got to teach a new class, and that new class is both awesome and a joy to teach. So, yay.

However, for all its successes and joys, it's been a beastly year as well. I had three preps and last hour planning, which meant I was teaching like a frenzied maniac until the very last hour of the day, I had to share a classroom, which made it virtually IMPOSSIBLE to get anything done on my prep hour, I had some of the most demanding parents I've ever had, I decided THIS would be the year I'd write a novel in a month, and I handled all this while managing some personal stresses which, more than once, made me want to phone it in. However, it is now done, and I'm fairly comfortable saying that I was friendly, helpful and supportive more days than I was not. I just hope my students felt the same.

Regardless, a glass of fruity wine and a long stretch of lazy sunny days lay ahead of me, and I'm anxious to start enjoying both. (Barring, of course, a vicious wasp attack and/or my pasty, pasty skin lighting aflame, either of which are bound to happen any second now.) So to conclude, I leave you with two things my students left me.

This, which housed a multigenre research paper on Things Fall Apart, and which I plan to somehow sneak onto my Principal's desk next year:

And this, a line from one of my students' final exam essays:

"Lady Capulet was persistant and medling and says things to Juliet like 'what are you busy, ho?' Which just isn't nice. She was alot of things, but a ho? No."

Yep, we sure learned good this year. We learned real, real good.

we all fall down

So, I was filling out a psychological evaluation on one of my students the other day (one of the myriad things that makes my job ever so glamorous), and I must say that the little sucker gave me considerable pause.

Sprinkled between obvious statements like: "subject appears depressed," "displays acts of anger and aggression," and "has been observed talking to herself" were the following:

Uses foul language
Has eye problems
Is nervous
Has problems with mathematics
Is creative
Is a poor speller
Has poor handwriting
Falls down frequently

Now, the whole of my psychological education can be summed up in one undergraduate Intro to Psychology course, so I'm clearly not the expert here, but on the basis of this survey alone, I think it's fairly safe to reach the following two conclusions:

The student in question appears to be fairly well adjusted.

I, on the other hand, am quite clearly insane.


(Not that we haven't all had our suspicions, I'm sure. Wheee!!!)

winner of the most awesomely bad opening sentence from all the sixty-four freshmen rough drafts i've read this week:

"In this book there's some crazy stuff going down. Some crazy, crazy stuff."

(Sigh.)

various strategies i've been considering for dealing with the pervy kid who keeps whistling at me every time i walk past him in the computer lab:

1. Continue to feign deafness.

2. Seek out his name and then call his mother to tell her what a disrespectful little dirty birdie she raised in the hopes that it shames him into stopping.

3. Sit him down for a little convo about misogyny, sexual harassment, objectification of women and how it's generally just nicer to be respectful of your fellow humans.

4. Start whistling back in the hopes that he takes it in the ironic, sardonic manner that I intend it (rather than as some sort of creepy invitation).

5. Sit him down for a little convo about boring clichés and how whistling at random women as they pass by is exactly that.

6. Call him a fucktard and be done with it.

Decisions are tough, doves. Lots of thinking to do.

an open letter K---, from my 3rd hour class,

No, I will not be your valentine.

I’ve told you this once already and in person; however, since you are so persistent – asking me several times throughout this past week – allow me to formally lay out my reasoning: 1) It is illegal, as you are only seventeen and I am…not. 2) Even if it weren’t illegal, it’s unprofessional. 3) I’m married. 4) It’s icky. 5) You are not particularly strong in English, which has always sort of been requisite to earn my affection.

This is not, of course, to say that I do not appreciate your effort. Placing a box of conversation hearts on my desk was a sweet, old school touch. And the hand-made card was nice, although I would have really preferred you’d been listening to the lecture I was giving rather than spending the hour drawing me a picture of a chubby dragon cuddling a heart. But here’s the deal, K--- - it’s not like you’re the first kid to ever ask me, and if I didn’t acquiesce to that one kid who serenaded me on his guitar to John Mayer’s “Your Body in a Wonderland” five years ago, then I’m certainly not going to give in to you.

So - once again - no, I will not be your valentine. I will, however, be eating your conversation hearts.

Best,
Mrs. White

in today's society...

...we are all constantly falling prey to peer pressure.

Yet...

...we are so much more independently minded.

In today's society...

...people are no longer racist/sexist/generally intolerant of one another.

Because...

...everyone is far more intelligent (or, at least far more educated) than in the past (whenever that was).

However...

...no one thinks for themselves.

Yet...

...we are all more free to be ourselves.

In today's society...

...being in possession of strong morals is important/rare.

...our problems are generally endless, varying and overwhelming.

Yet...

...our worries are infinitely less, easier to manage and more trivial.

And overall,...

...we are more happy/sad/pathetic/lost/wealthy/poor/religious/promiscuous/

thoughtful/hopeful/free/restricted/hopeless/hopeful/positive/

negative/whatever than we ever were before...

in today's society.


At least, this is what high school sophomores in today's society would have you believe if you were to read their high school compositions in today's society......!

And IN TODAY'S SOCIETY there exists a rage a-brewing inside of me.  The next person who writes "in today's society" is getting a purple pen chucked to the head.  

TRUST!!!

(And yes.  They have been warned...)

and other such nonsuch

So, there’s this boy in my first hour Freshmen Intro to Lit/Comp class that - thanks to the student teacher - I’m just now getting the chance to know. From what I can tell so far, he seems to be the brightest bulb of the bunch, and, from what I can tell so far, it’s a fairly bright bunch. But he plays it cool, see.

He’s one of those kids who always takes careful notes, listens intently, contributes thoughtfully, never fails to do his homework, and aces every test. And yet, you wouldn’t know any of this at first glace. Like I said, he plays it cool. He goofs off in the halls, makes little jokes under his breath in class, is a jock, and – for all his nerd potential – he seems to be really quite popular. For all intents and purposes, he seems to fit seamlessly into the unaffected cool kid crowd. We should have all been so lucky.

However, I caught a glimpse of something today that totally gave him away. As I walked past his desk, I happened to look down at his English binder – the cover of which he had decorated with crude little drawings of books and writers, penned in crayon. This is the kind of thing that just slays me. Here’s this teenager who, on one hand, is trying so hard to be a “big kid,” yet he still can’t stifle the impulse to give into his inner Kindergartener. Better yet, he’s gotten this far in his public school education without having that sort of innocence beaten out of him. You think I’m a lunatic, I know, but these are the sorts of things that make me smile.


On an unrelated note, I had to explain to an older teacher today that she had been "Rick Rolled,”and that this was an innocent joke AND NOT IN ANY WAY PERVERTED. Hells bells. That poor kid almost got written up for sexually harassing a teacher...

like she doesn't mess around

Today was the first day of the school year without the student teacher, and let me tell you how nice it felt to finally be able to RECLAIM MY SPACE.  I know it's the type-A in me, but between her tendency to hoard things and my complete inability to share a desk, I wasn't sure I was going to make it.   Sure, my work load has already increased exponentially, but I can only stand to watch someone else steer my ship for so long before the urge to wrestle the wheel out of her hands gets to be too much. And so, ironically, my stress level has actually diminished now that's she's gone.  I marked the occasion by ripping down all the crap that had been up on my walls since September, then went shopping for all new crap to put up in its place.  

Because, you see, shopping soothes me.

Tangentially, I learned something about myself today.  Or, rather, I learned something about how students perceive me.   My freshmen,  who I haven't taught since the first week of September,  appeared terrified of me.   My sophomores, who I taught for the first six weeks, were massively concerned that I would be the one to grade the essays they recently submitted, since I, apparently, grade much, much harder than Miss T did.  My seniors couldn't care less because I've been teaching them all along, but my next-door-neighbor teacher shared with me a little conversation she had with one of her students that was more to the point.  

Apparently, I had just walked past her classroom, and one of her students - a freshman, I think - said, 

"Is that Mrs. W?"  

To which she said, "Yes.  Why?" 

"She scares me."

"Really?" my neighbor teacher asked, "How so?"

"I dunno.  It's something in the way she walks.  Like...like she doesn't mess around."

And it's true.  I DO NOT MESS AROUND.

Which is why when I bought this poster for my room- a cute attempt to convey the message that all will be well, despite the fact that the kinder, gentler student teacher is now gone - :

I also bought this poster, lest they get *too* comfortable:

Because a little fear is always a good thing.  (Muhahahaha!)

isn't it "ironic"

Today, after reading all of this:

I used to sneak outside after curfew to "play" with the next door neighbor.

Overall, I think that Michael Moore is a excellent "filmmaker."

John Proctor was a tragic "hero" in 'The Crucible'.

I "believe" that prejudice is one of the worst "flaws" a person can have.

I know I "wrote" that essay. I just forgot to turn it in.

'Grizzly Man' depicts Timothy Treadwell, a "man" whose obsessions ultimately led to his "death."

....I am left to assume one of two things is true:

1) Many of my students are operating in a wholly ironic world where all meaning is merely figurative,

or,

2) The vast majority them have absolutely no stinking idea how to properly use quotation marks.


Either way, I'm "concerned."

one of my students on the subject of...

growing up Presbyterian:

Being Presbyterian can be summed up in one word: "Eh."  Sin? Eh. Do whatever you want. Instead of wine and Christ chips we get juice and bread, we sit and listen nicely to the pastor for a bit, and if we get bored there's always donuts in the back. Take 'em whenever you're ready.

(So there's your dose of sacrilege for the day. Don't say I never get you anything.)

So that's what my band teacher was doing whenever he disappeared into his office after ordering us to spend the period independently practicing our scales!

Good grief. What a bonehead. 

one of my students, on the subject of:

Media Manipulation

In my opinion, the worst offender is the Weather Channel. It's completely untrustworthy. Do you know how many times I've canceled my plans because they've said it's supposed to rain, but then it never rained? Too many. That's how many.

one of my students on the topic of:

Chuck Klosterman

What a emo, hypocrite crybaby.  Either shut up and stop complaining, or move back to Germany or wherever, pal. 

my students on the subject of: normalcy

Taken from a 9th grader's research-based photostory project on the AIDS crisis in Africa:

"Surveys show that Africans spend more time at funerals than they do doing normal things such as getting haircuts, flossing their teeth or barbecuing."

overheard in the classroom…

...during a very quiet, very intense peer editing session of their biggest, badest, beastliest composition of the year:

Kid A: Oh my God, Evan. Did you even proofread this? Can you even spell?

Evan: What’s wrong?

Kid A: How can “racism and dialect exemplify the ongoing rollercoaster of dignity of life?” Dude, this makes no sense.

Evan: (Runs over to look at the paper in question.) True. But all the words are spelled right!

Kid A: (Pointing.) Look here. “Futhar?” That’s not even a word!

Evan: Yes it is!!

Kid A: Yeah? Then what does it mean? Use it in a sentence.

Evan: How about, stop mocking my paper in public, motherfuthar.

Kid A: (After a pause) Okay. Fair enough.

statements that, if i weren't so very professional, i'd attempt to sneak into converation during tomorrow night's parent teacher conferences:

• I find that actually reading my students' essays takes far too much time, so I've taken to assigning grades based on how far each flies when I chuck a stack of them across the room.
• However, this was all before I was stripped of my teaching certificate.
• It seems that your child doesn't respond as well to corporal punishment as the rest.
• I've found that Breakdance Fridays have really improved standardized test scores.
• Unfortunately, my current journey through sexual reassignment means I've had to be out of the classroom quite a bit this year.
• Would you believe that I never actually learned to read?
  
• Does this look infected to you?
  
• Sorry. I seem to be having a difficult time focusing on what you're saying, seeing how I'm so very drunk at the moment.
  
• You do realize that none of this actually matters what with the rapidly approaching apocalypse, right?
  
• Can you tell that I'm not wearing a bra right now?
• It's just terribly hard for me to concentrate with all these voices in my head!

You know, for fun!

because that's just how they do it up in canada

We've been discussing the portrayal of women in both art and the media, so naturally all this Juno hoopla carried over and into my classroom today.  While I was doing a little fact checking on the believability of some of Juno's pop culture references (none of my kids had heard of The Ramones, Patti Smith or The Thundercats), I asked them whether or not they thought Juno represented a true teenage girl.  Here's the best response:

"I mean, yeah, I buy her wit, but not the way she talked. I don't know anyone who talks that way. But, she was Canadian, so that probably explains it."

file under: proofreading's stoopid

Well, it finally happened. I found the perfect storm of student errors while grading quizzes. Behold:

"Walter Cunningham is defiantly to poop to pay Atticu's back since he can barley feed his own family."

Amazing, huh? I suppose I should be frustrated, but I'm really just...awed. Seems as if it should be commemorated in some way - embroidered on a pillow or framed in calligraphy or some such thing...

an actual text message conversation held between myself and a (at the time) unknown student sending me illicit messages from somewhere in the building

2485558129: Hey baby.

Mrs. White: (silence. ignore, ignore, ignore...)

2485558129: Uhm sorry about that. I meant that for Michelle H-.

Mrs. White: I wondered. Figured no one actually meant to call a teacher "baby." :)

2485558129: Oh no. I would.

Mrs. White: I see. Perhaps you shouldn't.

2485558129: Perhaps. Still, I was just cleaning things up for professional purposes. Didn't want 6th hour to be awkward.

Mrs. White: But you and I both know this is now unavoidable, don't we?

2485558129: Oh yes. Fo sho.