I had a bad day
Yeah, Tuesday was good, but Wednesday went bad fast. Thursday things got better, and then at class that night I told my students July 6 would be my last day teaching and they got very, very upset.
"Teacher, no! You are the best teacher, Teacher, the very best teacher. You no stop teaching! We need you teacher!"
I explained to them as best I could that I would be traveling quite a bit for the rest of the summer, so I wouldn't be in Atlanta to teach them. I also let them know that I would be at the graduation celebration at the end of August.
Then the trio of little old ladies in the front row pulled out the big guns.
"Teacher, we love you."
My eyes got a little watery and I said, "I love you, too. I love you all."
"Teacher, we love you, such a good teacher, we love you, we love you."
I felt a lot better after that.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Surprise! A day off!
I found out yesterday at 4pm that I could have today off. HELL YES!!! So far today I've made coffee, watched the Brasil v. Ghana game, chatted on the phone with a whole bunch of friends (including fan favorite Loy), stopped for a quick visit with Melissa, picked up the divorce packet (and was declared "sexy" by a passing man in a business suit...), ate lunch, and watched Little House on the Prairie on the Hallmark channel, in that order. I plan to goof off for a few more hours, then go teach English to happy Brazilians.
Oh yeah, a day off is good.
***
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
9 to 5
The 40-hr/week internship is going well. By well I mean it's an office job (yay to not smelling like coffee/baby shit/fruit juice!) and it is in my field. It is paid and I will soon have a laptop and digital camera provided to me. Hey, life is good. I have cubicle walls with pictures of Jim Carrey in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and the cast of The Office hanging on them. I have a single boss lady so I don't have to worry about three people telling me to do three different things NOW.
However, it is really, really boring. And everyone I work with is over 40. No joke. Everyone is OLD. It's not like they're a young and hip 40, 50 or 60. No, no, they are old, with grown kids and toy poodles and scrapbook supplies. I'm in charge of the newsletter, because I'm the only one who knows how to use Microsoft Publisher. Seriously, they're freakin' old. And because it's an office job, I have lots of time to kill (I get, like, three assignments a day that take all of an hour and a half to complete, so I end up with a good 6 hours of "free" time). Which is great in terms of me getting shit done (figuring out the student health insurance plan, putting together a slide show for my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary) but after a while a person begins to crave a little companionship. And all I have is OLD. So I end up sending off e-mails to people I haven't talked to in ages, calling all my unemployed/self-employed/I'm-a-teacher-so-I-get-summers-off friends, and eventually singing to myself in a pitiful attempt at human connection. It's sad.
What's even sadder is my hardened work ethic, honed for years at shitty retail/service industry jobs that demand all of your attention at a time. I believe being at work is all about GO, GO, GO! at full speed. If you have time to read a ten-page student loan application you are NOT working. So I feel like I'm getting paid to not work, which is kind of true but kind of not. I do get all my work done, and I get it done well. I just know how to get it done efficiently without dawdling, so I end up with lots of free time.
Which leads me to my final conclusion: That I need to figure out a way to freelance so I can work hard for four hours a day, make the money, and then goof off for the other 20 hours a day.
The 40-hr/week internship is going well. By well I mean it's an office job (yay to not smelling like coffee/baby shit/fruit juice!) and it is in my field. It is paid and I will soon have a laptop and digital camera provided to me. Hey, life is good. I have cubicle walls with pictures of Jim Carrey in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and the cast of The Office hanging on them. I have a single boss lady so I don't have to worry about three people telling me to do three different things NOW.
However, it is really, really boring. And everyone I work with is over 40. No joke. Everyone is OLD. It's not like they're a young and hip 40, 50 or 60. No, no, they are old, with grown kids and toy poodles and scrapbook supplies. I'm in charge of the newsletter, because I'm the only one who knows how to use Microsoft Publisher. Seriously, they're freakin' old. And because it's an office job, I have lots of time to kill (I get, like, three assignments a day that take all of an hour and a half to complete, so I end up with a good 6 hours of "free" time). Which is great in terms of me getting shit done (figuring out the student health insurance plan, putting together a slide show for my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary) but after a while a person begins to crave a little companionship. And all I have is OLD. So I end up sending off e-mails to people I haven't talked to in ages, calling all my unemployed/self-employed/I'm-a-teacher-so-I-get-summers-off friends, and eventually singing to myself in a pitiful attempt at human connection. It's sad.
What's even sadder is my hardened work ethic, honed for years at shitty retail/service industry jobs that demand all of your attention at a time. I believe being at work is all about GO, GO, GO! at full speed. If you have time to read a ten-page student loan application you are NOT working. So I feel like I'm getting paid to not work, which is kind of true but kind of not. I do get all my work done, and I get it done well. I just know how to get it done efficiently without dawdling, so I end up with lots of free time.
Which leads me to my final conclusion: That I need to figure out a way to freelance so I can work hard for four hours a day, make the money, and then goof off for the other 20 hours a day.
***
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Inglish iz harrd
I'm teaching English to adults twice a week this month. I did it once a week in the spring. I teach beginners. Mostly Brazilians (and man, Brasil must be the most rockingest country in the world. I want to go THERE when I die..and they won in the World Cup yesterday, so there was much rejoicing last night) with a spattering of Mexicans. We've been working on money the last few lessons.
"'Twenty dollars and eighty-three cents,'" I read loudly, my carefully enunciated Standard American English brought out for show.
"Twenty dollars and eighty-three cents," my students repeat.
"Or you can say, 'Twenty eighty-three.'"
"Twenty eighty-three."
We all smile broadly, proud of our ability to read prices two ways, fully and colloquially.
"Excuse me, teacher. When I am at the gas station, he says no 'twen-ty' but 'twenny'. No 'twen-ty'. He say 'twenny'."
"Um, yes. Yes, the man at the gas station does say 'twenny'. I say 'twenny'. But correct is 'twen-ty'."
My students look at me in disbelief.
"You say 'twenny', teacher? 'Twenny'? No 'twen-ty'?"
Damn. I'd been caught between a rock and a hard Southern accent.
"Yes. Yes, I do. I say 'twenny', I say 'twenny fie' for 'twenty-five'. I even say 'fiddy' for 'fif-ty'. I HAVE A SOUTHERN ACCENT, OK??!??!"
Then I had to explain what the South was.
Teaching English is the ultimate challenge, especially in a place like Atlanta where the accents my students hear are so diverse and confusing. It's a lot of fun though. And not just because the Brazilian men flirt and tell me how beautiful I am (is it a coincidence my class is 70% male when most classes skew female? I think not.) It really makes me think hard about language and putting it all together, which is something that fascinates me to begin with. And it's a welcome change after the tedium that is workin' for the man.
I'm teaching English to adults twice a week this month. I did it once a week in the spring. I teach beginners. Mostly Brazilians (and man, Brasil must be the most rockingest country in the world. I want to go THERE when I die..and they won in the World Cup yesterday, so there was much rejoicing last night) with a spattering of Mexicans. We've been working on money the last few lessons.
"'Twenty dollars and eighty-three cents,'" I read loudly, my carefully enunciated Standard American English brought out for show.
"Twenty dollars and eighty-three cents," my students repeat.
"Or you can say, 'Twenty eighty-three.'"
"Twenty eighty-three."
We all smile broadly, proud of our ability to read prices two ways, fully and colloquially.
"Excuse me, teacher. When I am at the gas station, he says no 'twen-ty' but 'twenny'. No 'twen-ty'. He say 'twenny'."
"Um, yes. Yes, the man at the gas station does say 'twenny'. I say 'twenny'. But correct is 'twen-ty'."
My students look at me in disbelief.
"You say 'twenny', teacher? 'Twenny'? No 'twen-ty'?"
Damn. I'd been caught between a rock and a hard Southern accent.
"Yes. Yes, I do. I say 'twenny', I say 'twenny fie' for 'twenty-five'. I even say 'fiddy' for 'fif-ty'. I HAVE A SOUTHERN ACCENT, OK??!??!"
Then I had to explain what the South was.
Teaching English is the ultimate challenge, especially in a place like Atlanta where the accents my students hear are so diverse and confusing. It's a lot of fun though. And not just because the Brazilian men flirt and tell me how beautiful I am (is it a coincidence my class is 70% male when most classes skew female? I think not.) It really makes me think hard about language and putting it all together, which is something that fascinates me to begin with. And it's a welcome change after the tedium that is workin' for the man.
***
Monday, June 12, 2006
Sunday, June 11, 2006
It was a good day...and yes, I deserved it
The only thing that sucks about me having learned to manage my depression is that stress and emotional upheaval and general shittines now manifests itself in panic attacks. I've had two in the past seven days. Very not cool. However, I have a couple tight friends who have really been there for me when I've called in the throes of hyperventilating. And I feel the need to thank them publicly. THANK YOU I LOVE YOU YOU ROCK SO MUCH OH MY GOD I COULD NEVER DO IT WITHOUT YOU.
Today was fucking awesome. I picked up the key to my new place this morning and shmoozed with the new roomies, came home and cooked myself a wonderful breakfast (chopped onions sauteed in butter are a wonderful addition to scrambled eggs, FYI), picked up Rachael, Queen of the Sopo Bicycle Co-op (www.sopobikes.org), stopped by Kroger for chips and salsa, and went to Ori's for mojitos by the pool. Everyone got a tan (except Rachael got a little bit of a burn, because she refused sunblock in any shape, form, or fashion) and tranquilly trashed. After dropping Rachael off, I went and saw my friend Christin's new loft. We drank beer and bitched about men and smoked cigarettes on the rooftop deck. It made me miss living in the old loft, despite the fact that it was completely uninsulated and the management sucked. But I do believe everyone should live in a true, historic loft at some point in their life.
I'm in high spirits, and I've got a fabulous week ahead of me. I've got some projects in the works that just might pan out...into something even more fabulous. I hope.
The only thing that sucks about me having learned to manage my depression is that stress and emotional upheaval and general shittines now manifests itself in panic attacks. I've had two in the past seven days. Very not cool. However, I have a couple tight friends who have really been there for me when I've called in the throes of hyperventilating. And I feel the need to thank them publicly. THANK YOU I LOVE YOU YOU ROCK SO MUCH OH MY GOD I COULD NEVER DO IT WITHOUT YOU.
Today was fucking awesome. I picked up the key to my new place this morning and shmoozed with the new roomies, came home and cooked myself a wonderful breakfast (chopped onions sauteed in butter are a wonderful addition to scrambled eggs, FYI), picked up Rachael, Queen of the Sopo Bicycle Co-op (www.sopobikes.org), stopped by Kroger for chips and salsa, and went to Ori's for mojitos by the pool. Everyone got a tan (except Rachael got a little bit of a burn, because she refused sunblock in any shape, form, or fashion) and tranquilly trashed. After dropping Rachael off, I went and saw my friend Christin's new loft. We drank beer and bitched about men and smoked cigarettes on the rooftop deck. It made me miss living in the old loft, despite the fact that it was completely uninsulated and the management sucked. But I do believe everyone should live in a true, historic loft at some point in their life.
I'm in high spirits, and I've got a fabulous week ahead of me. I've got some projects in the works that just might pan out...into something even more fabulous. I hope.
***
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Splish Splash
Oh, the things I want to write about my first two days at my internship! The extroverted writer in me wants to tell tell tell! Unfortunately, I am sworn to confidentiality.
But I can tell you about some of the amusing things that have happened to me in the past week. I finished up my Maymester class on Monday, turning in my 15 page paper and participating in the graduate panel. In case you don’t know, I am not a graduate student. However, I refused to do the bullshit undergrad assignment and finangled my way onto the graduate panel (this class was crosslisted as both undergrad and grad). This proves that a) I am a true scholar, who loves learning b) I want to practice now so that I can rock at grad school later and c) I’m completely crazy and ask for more work when I don’t need to. Ori was on the panel with me, and it was stunning how sloppy and just plain bad most of the other grad students papers’ were. Ori and I were very well received, both by the class and the professor, which surprised us both, since we were convinced everyone hated our guts. You just never know.
Riding high on our success, and pleased that school was out for summer, Ori and I went back to her apartment complex and headed for the pool. Now, all the times I’ve ever been to Ori’s apartment I’ve seen only a handful of white people around. Most of the people who stay there are black. But apparently Monday was white people day at the pool. And not just any white people, but straight up low class, trailer trash whiteys. A coed gaggle of them decided to sit right next to us, despite there being plenty of other lounge chairs. They looked to be all of 19, and the guys were staring at us pretty fierce. But they didn’t say anything to us, they just stared. It was a little awkward, because of all the staring and sitting right next to us and not talking to us.
Eventually, one of the 19-year-old guys cannonballed into the pool, trying to splash his friends and almost splashing us. He said he was sorry he almost splashed us, and we told him he better not or there’d be trouble.
Then he cannonballed again and splashed us.
Apparently, this dude’s whole game consisted of adolescent splashing rituals. Very not hot. And he was good-looking too, despite being young, and might have had a chance for a mild poolside flirtation had he, you know, approached us in a more adult manner. Irritated, we grabbed our towels and bounced.
Ok, that story was not nearly as amusing as I’d hoped it would be. I apologize. I’m really quite exhausted, rushing from school to work to a new job. I haven’t had a true day off in…see, I don’t even remember. Hopefully this weekend I can share something much more clever and witty.
***
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