Glennalicious

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June 28, 2005

Bitter?

From the comments section of my blog:
MY are you getting bitter! Don't you realize that you're slowly turning into one of those hateful teachers you've always bitched about? Glenn, when are you going to call it a day and switch careers already (or at least teach somewhere much better)? You're too bright and talented to go down like this.
A fan

Hmmm.

I think teaching is a bit like having babies. No, we don't dilate to 15 centimeters, but we do labor for 9 months. We get fat, we eat lots of ice cream and weird snacks to cope, we get crazy, we get weepy, we get cranky, and yes, we get bitter (I'd prefer to call it tougher). Those with blogs bitch and moan, making the huffing, puffing, and pushing noises. And unlike those females who can produce a maximum of nine or so babies, we produce offspring that can number in the hundreds.

I don't think I'm turning into a hateful and bitter teacher. If anything, I enjoyed a lot of my job this year. I was also fairly effective, which does wonders for my feelings of self-worth. I know for certain that most teachers in my school, even the best ones, are exhausted at the end of the year. It is stiflingly hot, the kids are cranky, and you have to live with knowing that you let a few kids down. Whether or not it was my responsibility, I've lived with some of these kids for two or three years, and it is tough seeing them make bad decisions and fall on their faces.

I am far from perfect and beat myself up for it more than you can imagine, A Fan. However, I was pulled aside by my district superintendent yesterday. She told me that the first time she encountered me, she figured that I didn't have a chance in this school. Last year, she sat down with me and told me I needed to get tougher. She then went on to tell me how proud she was to now walk into my room at any given point and see kids learning, and that I was teaching them with love, respect, and much-needed toughness. I did get tougher, and I don't think that I lost too much of the nice side. If anything, I was able to ease up on my kids this year. She also told me how sad she was to lose me.

Today was my last day at my school. I packed all of my materials into boxes- all of the rulers, posters, puzzles, transparencies, protractors, and scissors. I swept up, turned off the lights, and closed the door.

Schools and other teachers know that with a few exceptions, good teaching is something that comes with experience. Three years in most other schools means you've finished the probation period. In a tough NYC school, it means you're a veteran. As the math coach at the new school, I'll be co-teaching with a new teacher and be in charge of the math department. It is also the best opportunity for additional training to make me more effective as a teacher.

So thank you for the comment, A Fan, although I think you're partially incorrect. I'm sorry that I mostly write about the bad things in my blog, but that is why I write. I bitch about the students and events, but I do that to get it out of my system and for encouragement. You don't get to see how I dealt with Student A the next day, used the situation to show the parents what was really going on with their son, and made sure that they are going into good counseling. You don't see that I pair every bad phone call to a parent with a good call to another parent. I should write more about that, and I will in the future.

I'm not getting bitter, I'm getting better. I swear.

Posted by G at 07:28 PM | Comments (13) | TrackBack

June 25, 2005

Folsom Street East

More pretty pictures if you click this link.

Posted by G at 04:14 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

Not dead yet, just moving

I have not been in the mood to write. First, my laptop was vandalized by Student A, so it was out of service for some time. Next, everything in my life is under scrutiny, as I'm doing that hateful evaluation of everything I own as I pack.
Finally, everything at school is just gross and undefined at the new school, so I'm just cranky.

Now who wants to get beer with someone as fun as the present me?

Posted by G at 04:02 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack

June 19, 2005

Hell, 6 Flags, and Children

I had so much fun at 6 Flags with my kids last year, I was really looking forward to the trip on Thursday. Unfortunately, this year's trip was planned by our counselor, a woman so stupid that she could only have two brain cells if she were pregnant.

Click on the extended entry for the rest of the story.

She didn't give out the permission slips to the classes until the day before, so many good kids didn't have time to get permission. All of the bad kids with multiple suspensions had already been given the slips, as they cut classes and hang out in her room. She didn't get the right number of buses, so about ten good kids didn't get to go. The two head teachers of the trip neglected to get an accurate head count before we left, and I discovered four kids on the trip without permission slips. Because of her lack of organization, we were almost two hours late leaving the school.

Once on the bus, we discovered that we should have provided our own videos. They told the counselor a few weeks back, but she forgot. When we were kids, we didn't need TV to entertain us, but this is a scary new generation. Lots of problems on the bus, as many of the special ed students were allowed on the trip, but the counselor hadn't allowed the special ed teachers to join.

Not to pick on the world's dumbest counselor, but she also didn't do the tickets correctly, so four teachers had to pay to get into the park. I always bring emergency cash, so I was one of them. I was saddled with too many students, including the special ed students. The bilingual teachers refused to take any extra students, which meant I was saddled with 15 students while each of them had 6.

The special ed students ran away once we were in the park, so I was stuck searching for them, as they didn't know when we were leaving. My other kids were great, so we just checked in periodically. I finally found the wandering boys trying to get on another ride at the departure time and hauled their butts back to the bus.

I should have let them ride the rollercoaster, as the bilingual teachers ignored the deadline and were 90 minutes late returning to the bus. Since we never made a list or headcount leaving the school, we were just hoping that we had departed with the same number of students. At that point, severed bits of one of our students could be floating down the log ride, and we would have left.

The trip back was in peak traffic with a full bus of sugared students. Many had skipped lunch and had only eaten candy. One of the special ed students with a speech issue kept screaming out "Kingda Ka!" for over 45 minutes. Students that normally lose focus after 2 minutes were entranced by the shrieking, dancing boy the entire time.

I finally had to get off the bus as we were heading through Manhattan. The bus would have been the quicker route home at that point, but it was also the quicker route to insanity.

Posted by G at 10:26 AM | Comments (10) | TrackBack

June 17, 2005

The tin or aluminum anniversary

I was sitting in the kitchen of my sister's house in England. We always seemed to be in the kitchen, chatting while cooking, eating. I always was stretched out on the floor. I like the comforting feel of leaning against cabinets, the cold feel of the handles. I'm pretty sure I was drinking tea with milk and two sugars. I had some big news, at least for her. I know I had rehearsed it about a thousand times on the flight over. I don't really remember how exactly I said it. I just know that I finally said it. It felt so good, letting go of something I had held tight for too long.

"Ummmm, I'm gaygaygaygaygaygaygaygay. I want to fuck men, or at least kiss them for a really long time. I'm a knob shiner, I travel the Hershey Highway, I listen to the Village People, I eventually might even figure out who this Joan Crawford person is." Or something like that.

She was like, "Great! You know that Gay Pride in London is this week, right? You should go!"

Well, okay, maybe it wasn't such a surprise. Was it the perpetually naked Ken dolls when I was a child? Was it the gigantic hickeys strung like a necklace after a particularly drunk night in London about a year earlier, with a seriously pathetic story of a drunken American girl? Maybe she just knew her brother better than he knew himself.

Ten years.

Posted by G at 08:03 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack

June 15, 2005

The inadvertent murder of my economics professor

My microeconomics teacher was amazing. She was smart, communicative, and her class was very useful.

I didn't inadvertently kill her.

This story is about my macroeconomics professor.

I inadvertently killed him.

When I pay for classes, I expect a certain amount of utility from the class and clarity in the class. It's my money, and as long as I'm showing up and doing all my work, I expect the teacher to deliver the same effort.

I can't remember what his name was, but he had claws for hands. Either his mother had used thalidomide, or there was some other genetic defect.

Unfortunately for him, his hands were the ONLY things interesting about him. He had no real knowledge of economics, would yell at students who questioned him or his theories, and would talk endlessly about his divorce from his wife. Students knew more about his wife's unfair seizure of their rental property in Kentucky than about the laws of supply and demand.

I argued rather fiercely with him on occasion, and he would always turn this florid red color and just scream at me to never question him. When the final came around, I was the only student in the class who passed (with a 96, I should mention), and he was screaming at all of the class on the last day. He told them that they were a lousy bunch of students, that none of them listened, and that all of them deserved to fail. I was seriously done with him.

I told him in front of the class that he was the most incompetent teacher in the history of mankind to grace a classroom. I told him that the only reason I passed his class was because I ignored him and read the book. I told him that his teaching was a joke, that his wife was smart to have fled somewhere so she didn't have to listen to his endless whining, and that the entire class was going to rip him apart in evaluations.

He just stood there, clacking his claws together mutely, face suffused with blood, then he erupted with screams. He told me to get out of the room and never talk to him again. I told him I was happy to leave with my A, and good riddance to him. He slammed the door on my way out.

Apparently he had a heart attack that night. I feel partially to blame, but I know that I was probably only one of the final triggers. I guess I should have just complained to the dean, but it was too satisfying to tell him off in person.

I haven't killed anyone else since then, I swear.

Posted by G at 03:54 PM | Comments (14) | TrackBack

June 13, 2005

Gnashing of teeth

Texas Chris tells me that he always thinks of hell when he hears of the gnashing of teeth.

I'm not in hell, not really. If I were, I'd say hello to my grandfather on my dad's side, plus the economics professor that I inadvertently killed.

However, I've been unconsciously grinding my teeth all day, and I've got a roaring headache.

Nothing is really going quite right today.

School is definitely wrapping up. My control is so much better, or the kids are just too overheated to move. My classes are well-behaved, but the school is insane.

The air conditioner that I hauled to school has been sitting on the back shelf of my room for two weeks. I finally jury rigged it into an upper window. Even my father and his infamous jury-rigging of mechanical items would recoil from my dangerous setup.

Speaing of my dad, I tried to print some photos for him, as the marketing day chosen to sell cards geared towards sperm production is next Sunday. The printer is low on some combination of colors that produces a lovely beet tone for our skin colors. Since one of the photos is of me and Derrick, I guess it gives him a reason to not put them in frames, right?

On Friday I had purchased some pastries from this awesome place near my school. I left them on the counter of the kitchen, unnoticed until this evening. I bit into one, belatedly realizing that the center was a dairy cream that had turned into a soured cottage cheese mass with veiny gray liquid. Yummy.

I swallowed some before I could spit it out, so now I'm drinking a glass of wine to kill bacteria in my stomach. Maybe the wine will also relax my jaw.

I could really go for a massage right now, either a strong German woman, or a six foot former rugby player with vengeance in his hands.

Posted by G at 10:21 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

June 09, 2005

Like a Frikkin' Laser

I don't get preoccupied. No, really. My brain doesn't ignore everything else and obsess about something. My brain isn't like one of those laser pointers.

Well, okay, it might be more accurate to say that I obsess and fixate on one thing until something else distracts me. So I guess I'm like one of those laser pointers, but one that is being waved wildly about by a drunk man inside my head. Unfortunately for my friends, family, and boyfriend, the last few weeks have been a weird mix of Glenn obsessions.

I had chosen this middle school in Harlem for work next year, then the principal was fired. This morning I met at 7:30 am with the new principal. Yeah, 7:30. No coffee. Oatmeal made by my boyfriend, but he gave me a small spoon. I don't understand small spoons. How can someone eat efficiently with a small spoon?

The new principal has a doctorate. He is an interesting guy with a background in prison management, so he just might be able to handle a middle school in Harlem. He likes me, I like him, I've got the job. Yes, you can call me Coach, if you want. Just don't ask me to wear those little gym shorts.

I wore my suit to the interview. It was last year to the day that I first wore my new suit at my mom's funeral. I bought it with the assistance of my friends Dave and Erin in Dallas the day before the funeral. One of my mom's friends hugged me with tons of makeup, smearing the side of her face onto the shoulder of the suit. I basically looked like one of those cave paintings in France. The suit has been dry cleaned since then, a year has passed, and no major breakdowns. I don't recommend watching Six Feet Under episodes for the first year after a death, or maybe I do. Maybe I just recommend not watching them with anyone else around. Rentals are much cheaper than therapy, unless late fees apply.

Derrick and I are looking at our first apartments here in Harlem. This is a worse ordeal than clothes shopping. We have the cash, we have the move-in date, we have a dog and tons of furniture. Maybe I should get buzzed beforehand, as that seems to help with clothes shopping.

Get through interview: Check.
Get through first year of death of mom: Check.
Get through first year of relationship with Derrick without him killing me: Check.

Get through third year of school: Almost check.
Get through apartment hunting: Almost check.
Get through packing things, trimming furniture load: Who am I kidding? That is for 1 day before the move.
Plan Texas roadtrip for July: Check.
Route? Umm, no.
Dates? Umm, no.

It's a laser, not some broad spectrum light source.

Posted by G at 10:31 AM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

June 05, 2005

Four phone calls from family and friends, all warning me to be cool on Monday. Charming.

Guess I win the contest for being the flakiest of the family when it comes to things like this?

I can't help it. I miss her so much.

She didn't see her granddaughters graduate, or their prom, or any of their amazing futures.
She will never meet Derrick.
She won't see me teaching a group of kids actually in their seats, learning.
She will never tell me how proud she is of me again, or mail countless cards of encouragement, or give truly strange gifts, or cook me whatever I wanted.

A person is always more than the sum of their parts. She was bad, she was good, she was horrible, she was amazing. Love it or hate it, she is one of the key influences of my life.

I miss you Mom.

Posted by G at 11:12 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack

Things I'll miss.

My school here in Brooklyn has been tough, but there are some things that I'll miss:

Brooklyn/Queens Day this Thursday
It is a day that only the schools in Brooklyn and Queens are closed. Every other borough is open for business and rampages. I'll be interviewing with my new school again, so I hope it will be a good day.

An amazing view of Manhattan from my fourth floor windows.
Yes, they are often blocked by either the miasma of teenage odors, smog erupting from the city, or my inability to see anything nice after an extremely long day, but it is amazing.

The best pizza in the city, in my opinion.
Unremarkably called Tony's, it is this one cranky Italian family with amazing pizza. We go there every Friday for lunch. I never realized how great plain cheese slices can be until I had some of these slices. Yum.

Give me the perspective of a few months, and I'll probably miss my first few crops of kids. This being the last three weeks of schools, I'm eagerly awaiting that point in the future.

Posted by G at 07:47 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack

June 04, 2005

Joys of Ketek

I found a great new side effect of the antibiotics I'm taking. Woohoo, the runs! Some people would think this is a horrible thing, and they are partially right. Sure, I keep having horrible cramps, I'm still coughing and almost inadvertently crapping in my pants, and I am stuck inside for the weekend.

I prefer to think like Karen Carpenter. She sang such happy songs! If I eat food and it shows up within about three hours again, that means that I CAN EAT ALL I WANT AND ABSORB NOTHING! Tonight for dinner I had a giant bowl of my specially modified mac and cheese, with extra cheese, HP sauce, onions, garlic, and ground beef. I also ate a box of cookies and some ice cream.

Yes, yes, yes. I'm keeping hydrated with lots of water. In about one more hour, I will probably regret my decision. Until that point, I'm going to have fun.

Posted by G at 11:41 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack

June 03, 2005

Giving of gifts

I would really love it if my kids ever gave me a gift.

Let me clarify that.

A nasty head cold that spreads into your lungs and gives you nosebleeds is not a gift. If it were, then I would have to write a thank you note to some disease-carrying child who sneezed on one of my desks last week, as I have been dying since last weekend.

I continued going to work, as I have no sick days. Four other teachers are out from this cold, but teaching chess consists of me stumbling around the room with tissue. I finally went to my doctor today. I've been trying to get in since Wednesday, but he didn't have any openings. I'm now on a five day treatment of some antibiotic called Ketek, or Ketek for any dyslexic readers out there. He said I should begin feeling better tomorrow, and watch out for things like bloody diarrhea and blurred vision. Fun.

I am still miserable and crabby this evening, and it hurts to touch my head. Since I'm on my own tonight, I had a healthy dinner of chocolate cookies and cheese, with a healthy kick of cholesterol.

I also watched some episodes of Six Feet Under from Netflix and cried for a short time, but that's a whole different ball game.

John Wayne, John Wayne, John Wayne....

Posted by G at 11:03 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack