peace like a river

Let's talk about "US"

2009-01-04T06:37:26Z

Kate and Caitlyn and Bridget, this is for you. I will possibly write more often. I definitely try to read more often.

Alex's Romantic Adventure

May: I'm almost too busy to be sad that my amazing relationship with E$ has ended against my will.
June: Hey there, sexypants UPS Man, you are some hot stuff! Our pseudo relationship is ideal because I don't feel lonely when I pretend you are my boyfriend AND nothing will ever actually happen between us AND you have nice a nice package... err... nice packages.
July: Emoney, why you callin' me so late? I really can't talk right now. My UPS man might hear. (But you do have a sexy voice.)
August: I hate this damn island, so I will adventure into the forest and talk to Jesus. Maybe he will be my boyfriend.
September: CITY YEAR! BE MY LOVER! I WILL MARRY YOU, RED JACKET!
October: Erik was my one true (sexy) love and I may never know what it feels like to look into his adoring eyes again. Oh heartache.
November: I am too busy to think about about how lonely I am. Except that I'm not. However, devil ex-boyfriend Erik who only wants to be my friend can rot in hell while I consider (but not really) online dating.
Early December: I love being single. It means I get to spend all my Saturday nights playing cards with my parents and their friends. (I wonder why Erik keeps calling me leaving me urgent sounding messages to call him back. That's weird. Oh well. I have better things to do. Like actively hate Christmas.)
December 20th: Erik wants to see me over break? He must have realized he was madly in love with me and be scheming to win me back with an overly-large romantic gesture!
December 21st: Erik doesn't do overly-large romantic gestures. He's probably just asking to see me because he feels obligated.
December 22st: I want to believe that we can make it work, if only to make Christmas seem a little brighter.
December 23rd: I will write him a long, love letter revealing all my feelings.
December 24th: I will delete said letter from my hard drive (but save it on my flash drive just in case.)
December 25th: YAY JESUS! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOVER OF MY SOUL!
December 27th: Everything will be alright if we remain just friends. It will be nice just to see him.
December 28th: I'm too busy for a boyfriend anyway.
December 29th: It's not like I ever really liked him. (I just loved him, that's all.)
December 30th: It's cool. I like being friends with guys I'm in love with. I make a habit of it. It's the way I roll. Friends are awesome. Unlike boyfriends whom suck.
December 31st, 7:00AM: What if...? But, no, it's not even what I really want.
December 31st, 8:30AM: Which shirt screams, "Too bad you only want to be friends with this hottie?"
December 31st, 8:31AM: Now I just look desperate. Better go for the sweater.
December 31st, 9:00AM: The sexy men of the LOST cast will distract me from myself until it is time to leave.
December 31st, 12:00PM: Better get going... It's a long drive.
December 31st, 2:00PM: I should have been backing out of my driveway two hours ago.
December 31st, 4:14PM: Just because Erik isn't early doesn't mean he's going to stand me up. Everybody runs late sometimes. Even Erik. Not.
December 31st, 4:22PM: That was the most awkward hug I've ever felt. Very friendshippy.
December 31st, 4:30PM: Kill me now, so I can avoid this awkward. Maybe even being friends is a bad idea.
December 31st, 4:50PM: He wants to talk about 'us'?! What the hell does that mean? Should I apologize for being a clingy ex-girlfriend? Really? US?! There is no 'us'... is there?
December 31st, 4:52PM: Erik, even if you did want me back it would never work for us because... Wait. WHAT?! You want me back?
December 31st, 4:53PM: Ummmmm....
December 31st, 4:54PM: Welll.... Ummmm... Okay... Um....
December 31st, 4:55PM: Yes. I, um, yes. I want to. I want you.
January 1st: This year is going to be awesome like high fives. Well, at least, it can't be nearly as pathetic as last year, can it?

poor_cinderalex @ 2008-06-20T11:37:00

2008-06-20T15:44:31Z

I am walking down the street after my run. Two vaguely European-looking men pass me going the opposite direction. I'm pretty sure the taller one gives me a thorough once-over. I am vaguely unsettled. A middle age man and woman pass on a tandem laughing. They clearly know something I don't. I pick up my pace. An elderly woman on a blue bicycle with a white basket containing flowers putters next to me humming. I have the urge to run again, to get myself as far away from her as possible. That's when it hits me. People in sunglasses sketch me out.

I kind of wish it would rain again.

poor_cinderalex @ 2008-06-11T22:33:00

2008-06-12T02:52:54Z

Forgive me. I must do this publicly so that I cannot take it back. Friends, hold me accountable. Help me stand up for myself!

Dear UPS Man,

It's over. We had some very special moments. Despite the resulting workload, signing for packages was the highlight of my day. Our conversations were meaningful. I loved hearing you say, "Thank you. Have a good day." Our relationship was nothing short of uplifting. I thank you for that.

But yesterday, yesterday! When you had the gall to see me, and hide your face, pretending you hadn't seen. When you walked past without even a nod! When you sent your coworker to deliver my packages!

If you will not look at me, if you will not ask me to sign for packages, if you will not blush and stammer, "Two today," we have nothing left. Our relationship was built on shy smiles, but those are obviously in the past.

I will not let myself spend anymore time pining over you and the beautiful thing that we had.

No longer yours,

Alex

P.S. If by some huge chance of fate, you are reading this and think: I am a UPS man. I deliver packages to a cute blond girl at the Michigan Peddler and Destination Mackinac. Crazy to think that last time I saw her, I ducked and hid my face. I'm that girl, jerkface. ~~However, I might forgive you if you are sweet and 20+. Next time you can't avoid me, ask for my number.~~

ETA: I just saw the quote of the day from google. It is this: 'The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up.' -Paul Valery How apropos.

ETA(6-13-2008): I take it back. Maybe we were meant for each other('s amusement every afternoon around 1PM.)

An experiment.

2008-04-10T12:29:40Z

Since my twenty-first birthday, my parents have been eager to share their favorite drinks with me. None of us are huge drinkers, so it's taken a while. I thought I'd post a run down and ratings. I've left the wines out because I don't know how to judge them.

Key: ---I wouldn't drink it even if someone else bought it for me. --♥ I would only drink it if someone else bought it for me. -♥♥ I enjoy it enough to buy or make for myself. ♥♥♥It's one of my favorites.

Father's Favorite
Gin and Tonic:---

Father's Recommendations
Baileys:--♥
Tequila Rose: -♥♥
Lemoncello: -♥♥

Mother's Favorite
Hummer: -♥♥

Mother's Recommendations
Kamikaze: ♥♥♥
Mike's Hard Berry: ♥♥♥

I think it's not hard to see who I take after. I'd like to also thank my darling roommate who hooked me up with my first margarita and my awesome friend tbaberox for introducing me to my very favorite drink, Asti.

I Missed You

2008-04-02T06:17:54Z

I know what you're thinking. Who are you and what are you doing posting on my flist? It's been ages, friends, but I'm back!

I thought that I had outgrown livejournal. Posting about anything less socially significant than the plight of the children I worked with in New Orleans seemed glib and egocentric.

However, my TE professor has convinced me that blogging is a skill, perhaps even a marketable skill. So, I'm back on lj to hone that skill.

1) I am super excited about a piece of writing astraevirgo and I have begun to plan. Maybe this shows the immaturity of the work, but it's as magical to me as those imagination, dress-up games I used to play with fudgemajub when we were younger. You know the ones. We were both young women, traveling west with our families during the gold rush and falling all over the gallant young men making the journey with us. That is not what our work in progress is about. But it may as well be.

2) My boyfriend and I can talk about everything, even things we maybe shouldn't talk about. It's not nearly as heartbreaking as I would have imagined. I love it. And therein lies the problem.

3) Summer employment is a mess. I am running away. (Hopefully to Mackinac Island with cherrys8fan and ghetto_bridget.)

4) Leaving MSU is not nearly as sad or scary as it should be. It's mostly a relief.

5) My room is a mess.

6) I have to fill out one more piece of paperwork before I can be sure I will receive my degree. I've been putting it off for two years for no good reason.

7) Leaving MSU may not be scary, but not being certain of the future is very scary indeed.

8) Are you conscious in Heaven? Like, will I know that I was Alex before I passed? I never believed that to be true, but E$ insists that it is so. To me, being conscious of who I was after I die is much more scary than the alternative. I'm not sure why.

The Long Promised PicSpam of Adorable Children

2007-09-04T05:05:04Z

This will come in three parts, with eight or nine pics per part. This part will contain pictures of the kids working (or not) on a newspaper fish. I have more to say about these kids. I will add some more to the captions later, probably, more for my own memory than anything else, though.

Jada, always well-behaved, usually incredibly sweet. She wrote about 25 of 40 journal entries about Beyonce.

In this picture they seem deceptively well-behaved. I told them I would put the camera away and take photos of no one if they didn't sit in their seats and work.

Emanee. Doesn't she have an incredibly sweet smile?

Tyrean.

Bernard.

Eric. Notice the absence of a fish in his hands. Guess who refused to participate in our little project?

Jeremy, the ladies' man.

E'shante. Finished early. As usual.

Christina. Never said a word. Except for at the zoo when she wanted to ride the carousel. Then she had a lot to say.

</div>

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-08-21T23:17:00

2007-08-22T03:19:54Z

Harry Potter in the Hood.

Watch it.

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-07-14T23:29:00

2007-07-15T03:34:38Z

I wrote a poem. It’s titled for E’shante because in one brief moment she taught me a universal human truth that you can’t understand until you experience it, until you feel it and for the Lip Gloss song by Lil' Mama which seems incredibly innocuous until you watch my eight year olds sing the chorus with more passion than they have when they talk about their families.

Ode to E’shante
Or
Whatchu Know ‘Bout Me?

Nothing.
Turns out.
Well…
It’s like…
I mean…
I’d read, I’d learned, I’d analyzed
Everything
About you,
A young colored child
From a low income home,
Your education,
Your language,
Your family,
Unequal to mine
And so much less,

But when we both cry
Helpless
You’re me and I’m you.

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-07-11T22:13:00

2007-07-12T03:15:03Z

I could easily convince myself that yesterday was the worst day I've had with my children. Granted, it was not the kind of day in which trash cans were lit on fire or in which children were expelled, which is where we were at with my last entry. But it was also not the kind of day in which the children didn't fight, in which they listened to me, in which they sat (relatively) still while I read them The Boxcar Children, in which they asked good questions which I could answer and teach from, in which they eagerly ate up all the books I brought from the library for them to read silently if they finished their work early, or in which they told me "Miz Alex, if you leave camp, you gonna take us too... aw shoot!" No, that was Monday. And so I started yesterday, Tuesday, on top of the world.

It turned out to be the type of day in which I called my mother in tears. And when she said, "Well, honey, at least no one was injured," I had to reply, "Yeah, except for the girl who now has a minor concussion." The day was so tragic that, in relating it, I accidentally forgot the part where David flew through the air at Chyleah (who's twice his size) sending her backward, her head cracking first against the desk, then the floor.

Ms. P, like many of the residents of New Orleans, has all sorts of business she needs to conduct with contractors and electricians and plumbers during business hours, as she is still living in trailer on the lot where her house used to stand. And she doesn't have any paid sick days, so I understood her dilemma when she scheduled an emergency appointment with a plumber during the middle of our camp day. And when she asked me to watch the children for a "little while" while she ran out to take care of it, I just nodded understandingly because, really, she's usually so good to me. Usually, when she says "little while" she means it, unlike other teachers I've heard about who take hour or hour and half lunches. This time when she said "little while" she meant four hours.

So I tried to teach my fourteen eight year olds all by myself for four hours. At fifteen minutes, I was ready to have them all sent to the principal's office. At an hour and a half, I was ready for a long, long break and I fervently thanked God for my twenty-five minute lunch break. At two and a half hours, I was praying for the opportunity to dump the class on someone else and go home, like all the way home to Michigan. At three hours, I was in tears. At three hours and one minute, the classroom was silent, all the children sitting still and quiet as the angels I know they are somewhere deep, deep inside.

I thought they would ignore the tear or two and the barely controlled sob. Or jeer at me. Or break out into renewed fighting, now over who exactly had made me cry. Their sudden change from the complete chaos of at least three fights to a stillness, both cautious and repentant, was unexpected.

I have never been so thankful for being a big, grown-up crybaby.

While those children may not respect me as a their teacher, and I think might be starting to, they certainly respect me as a person. And I couldn't help but love them more for it, despite my tears.

Ms. P says all teachers have bad days, days where they cry, and that I handled the situation well, considering. She told the class to apologize to me, and so, throughout the day, each one came up to me gave me a hug and told me how sorry they were for hurting my feelings or disrespecting my authority or misbehaving. Sweethearts all. Of course, they still didn't do anything I told them to, but one can only ask for so much at a time.

I learned a lot. I learned that the children don't want to make life miserable for me. I learned that they know I care about them, and that they care for me in return. All of them. Even the ever obstinate Donovan and the ever testing Clarence and the ever angry Eric. And receiving in return even the smallest bit of love I've given them is worth every minute of the time I've spent in that classroom. So yesterday was not so bad after all. Emotionally exhausting, certainly, but worthwhile.

And then Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix! OMG! Talk to me about it! Did everyone else love Umbridge and Luna as much as I did?

I took more pictures of my class today. For the five minutes of the day in which they actually worked! I have tons now! Still no usb hook-up though. I think I'm going to cave and purchase one this weekend.

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-07-05T21:49:00

2007-07-06T02:26:24Z

My heart broke today for one of my students. He was causing trouble, sure, but that's what these kids do. It's how they get the attention of the adults around them and the respect of their peers.

Logically, I understand that if a student lights paper on fire and throws it into an overflowing trashcan, the program cannot risk allowing him to stay. But Steven's brilliant and unbelievably energetic. He wants to learn and loves playing with the rest of the kids in the class. The program was providing a positive outlet for his uncontrollable excitement for life. He's going to lose that.

I can't control him. I wouldn't be able to promise that such activity would not happen again, and neither could he. I don't think he realized that what he did was dangerous. He only understood that it made many adults very angry. I wish I'd had a chance to talk to him. To tell him I cared and that I'd miss him.

When he fessed up to starting the fire, he made an effort to relieve every other student in the class of any blame. I'm sure he egged on by his friends, so I was surprised and impressed by this gesture. He's a sweet boy with integrity by the the boatload.

Seeing one of my kids run into trouble like this, ruining his immediate chance for building a better future is like having a cold water dumped on top of me. I know this is what happens. A high percentage of my students' fathers are in jail, trapped by the "cycle of poverty and crime." I've discussed and analyzed the hopelessness of this cycle tirelessly in class and out of class. And I know that elementary school trouble-making is only the beginning. Watching one of my students, one who I consider bright, loving and, as such, filled with potential, slip so easily, so seamlessly that the adults in his life do not even pause to consider the consequences, into delinquency depresses me to tears.

I ask you to pray for Steven, that he is able to find his way out. He's only eight. Hopefully this expulsion isn't the start of a pattern. Hopefully Steven is smart enough, strong enough, and motivated enough to pull himself up to his full potential.

I have pictures, but no way as of yet to get them off my camera and onto my computer. Finding a mini usb cable is part of my next action plan. Also, tomorrow I am going to the aquarium! I'm really excited. I love field trip Fridays!

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-07-04T12:31:00

2007-07-04T18:18:34Z

On the spammage: Okay, so maybe updating everyday is a bit much, but I have so much to say about this experience and I'm pretty sure it'll be easier on everyone if I dump a little at a time, rather than writing super long posts every few days. Also, it's a good habit to get into, I think.

Here are links to two of the songs that my students adore:

Lip Gloss by Lil' Mama

Cupid Shuffle by Cupid (This is such a fun dance. All the teachers at my site love it too!)

I'm going to bring my camera to work tomorrow!

When I listened to Chyleah, E'shante, and Tyrean discuss creative uses for ketchup, I was mildly appalled. E'shante told Tyrean that she was going to put ketchup underneath her nose in order to feign a bloody nose and miss school. Tyrean cheerfully added that she should use a new ketchup bottle because the runny bit at the top looked a lot more authentic than the thicker stuff. Chyleah asserted that she'd already done it dozens of times. I'm pretty sure Chyleah was lying and I'm pretty sure that none of these girls hate school enough to actually go to such lengths to avoid it. I suppose trying to avoid school is normal for most children and I shouldn't have been that surprised. But a ketchup bloodied nose seems rather gruesome when a faked fever would do the trick.

Talking to my fellow VISTAs, other children actually do stage injuries or even hurt themselves in order to be noticed. One of my coworkers said she watched as child laid down on the ground, pulled a desk down on top of himself and then began screaming out to her in pain and crying for help. She wasn't sure whether to play his game or not. Clearly he needed positive attention, but he also shouldn't learn that hurting himself is a good way to receive it.

Another coworker shared a story of a student who started a fight with another student. The first student approached my coworker swearing fervently that the second student had hurt him. When my worker scolded the student for starting the fight instead of sympathizing with him, the student walked away and proceeded to pick at an old scab until the old scrape began to bleed. Then he approached my coworker again, saying the other student had hurt him real bad. I would not have known what to say.

In other news, my address is up on facebook!

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-07-03T23:13:00

2007-07-04T03:39:03Z

Today we took the children to a program called “Essence Cares.” The Essence Festival is a huge music festival that used to take place in New Orleans around the Fourth of July every year before the Hurricane. Last summer, the festival took place in Huston. This summer, it’s back home. “Essence Cares” is a program in which several of the artists performing at the festival, as well as other local celebrities, attempt to make a positive impact on the impoverished youth of the city. The local summer camps bring children to a free morning concert.

The idea is an incredibly brilliant one. If anything unites these children, it’s their music. The moment any music begins to play, it’s like I’ve arrived on the set of a musical. Every child not only sings every word to every song, but also dances what appear to be well choreographed moves to each chorus.

The first time I experienced the phenomena I was on the bus with the children on the way to the skating rink for a Friday field trip. The bus driver turned on the radio and all the kids stopped talking, sat down in their seats, and began to sing and dance. As unbelievable as magic. I’m speechless with wonderment every time I see it. I spent a lot of today speechless.

What’s disturbing about it is that these artists have so much power over these children and what do they choose to sing about? Sex. Drugs. Violence. Money. Or less harmful, but still not necessarily positive: dancing, relationships, being angry.

Today, I was thrilled to see these artists attempting to make a positive impact on the children who worship them. All the songs they sang this morning were either of the second group, or even containing genuinely uplifting messages. And the children (hundreds ranging in age from 7 to 18), sang along, enjoying the music and feeling the power of the message.

Yes, their lives were hard. Yes, Katrina made them a lot worse. And yes, they could succeed. Yes, their dreams could come true if they worked hard, avoided violence, and stayed committed to pursuing their education.

Despite the positive message and the fantastic music (don’t tell me you're not jealous that I got to see Cupid perform the Cupid Shuffle live because I won’t believe you), the corporate sponsors almost ruined the day.

I was sick of hearing the MC say things like, “And a hand to Chevy for sponsoring this,” or “Let’s not forget that Coca-Cola is providing all this for you” or “This is just another way McDonalds is trying to make us smile.” To make things worse, a McDonald’s representative talked to the students, asking them things like, “Who’s lovin’ it?” and “Who makes the best fries around?”

I mean, I love to watch the students receive gifts. So the free tee-shirts and back-packs and food would have been awesome, except that the names of major corporations were splashed in huge lettering all over them. The advertising was shameless brainwashing.

Lest I forget that the students lives are difficult…

On the bus ride home, I sit next to Jeremy. He turns to me, “You mad about Hurricane Katrina?”

I nod, and he continues, “I’m mad, real mad. I’m mad about my school. It’s gone. And my house. My house was near my old school. Ms. P taught there. And my dad. And me and Ms. P and my dad’s old school, it’s gone. And they set my house on fire. Before the storm. Me and my mom was inside. The smoke was trappin’ us. My dad had to break down the kitchen door. I’m mad about my house.”

He looks out the window. We’re passing the Superdome. He’s quiet for a moment, then he starts speaking again with renewed vehemence, “And the superdome! I’m mad ‘bout that too. The hurricane blew the roof off. We’re moving back, you know? We in the seven ward now. But we moving back to the nine ward. Not to the same house, not the one that burned down.”

“I’m mad too,” I tell him.

After lunch, Ms. P leaves the classroom to my supervision. As soon as she is out the door, the students begin acting up. I try to read to them. I fail. So I hand out paper for them to journal on. I yell a lot. Finally, the class is almost quiet. E’shante’s hand shoots up into the air.

“E’shante, I told you no talking. I’m not helping people spell today. Sound out the words. If you need to go to the bathroom, go.” E’shante rolls her eyes and keeps her hand raised. “What could possibly be so important that you must talk about it now?”

She stretches her hand up higher into the air and nods her head, encouraging me to call on her.

I beckon her up to my desk. Clarence has taken my distraction as license to start burping again and Steven is muttering threats to punch him if he doesn’t stop.

Standing before me, E’shante is grinning brightly, as if she’s won a prize. And she has: my attention. “What?” I ask, irritably. Clarence is humming loudly. I am very close to tears.

“My cousin’s dead.”

“Oh.” Right. That’s awful, but I have no idea why she’s telling me, especially now. Part of me wants to send her back to her seat, to tell her that she isn’t supposed to chatting right now. The other part of me is sympathetic to the fact that this is probably her way of processing her grief. At exactly the moment when I am about to have the class under control.

She’s still smiling. “We went to his funeral.”

“When?”

“Yesterday. You watch the news, Miz Alex?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Nope, not down here.”

“Well, he got shot.”

I’m not sure what to say. “That’s miserable.”

“Yeah.” She returns to her seat. She hasn’t stopped smiling. I have to run to reach Steven before he starts throwing punches at Clarence.

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-07-02T21:40:00

2007-07-03T02:35:21Z

In some ways, today was rough. And when I say rough I mean that I broke apart three large-scale fights. Three. At the very least. Steven and David's back and forth 'your mom' insults while I was giving a spelling and dictation test escalated into back and forth punches. When I managed to pull David away, Donovan began kicking Steven (for no reason, as far as I could tell, other than that he is full of rage towards everyone). Now Donovan is larger than David and Steven, probably put together, as they are each roughly the size of a circus peanut. However, they are both much quicker and much more agile. So David darted out of my grasp and Steven ducked around Donovan from behind. It took four of the other students help to eventually pull them all apart and calm them down.

After lunch, Donovan decided a good use of his head-down-on-the-desk-time would be to walk around the classroom kicking other students in the shins. Most students in the class just whined to me about it (while I was pleading with Donovan to "JUST SIT DOWN OR YOU WILL NOT BE SWIMMING THIS AFTERNOON!" Okay, so pleading probably isn't the right word.) or called him and his momma names, but Chyleah was not going to stand for his disrespect. She took it upon herself to teach him a lesson. Now Chyleah is very, very smart. Turns out, she's also very, very strong. She took a hold of that boy round the middle and whapped him hard across the back eight times before I was able to get between them. I was able to calm her down relatively quickly (as she was relatively satisfied she'd beat him good), but the other students in the class were inspired by her "victory" and began taunting Donovan viciously. Soon David, funny name caller extraordinaire, and Donovan were at it. Then Jeremy joined in. Jeremy is a sweet boy. I've never seen him fight before. I was stunned. I finally captured Donovan in my arms, but he kept squirming and yelling at me to "LET GO!"

I said, "Do you promise not to fight?"

"HELL NO!" He yelled back.

At that moment his grandmother, who works at the school, came in to see him. Apparently, one of the students had left the classroom (I probably gave him or her permission as they all "need to use it" all the time), found his grandmother, and told her about the fight. Ms. P was upset about the intervention (she thinks he's spoiled), but I felt saved.

I'd like to reiterate that these kids are eight. And half my size. But boy can they throw a mean punch. So says my bruised shoulder.

Finally, at the end of the day Bernard, who's my favorite (I know favorites are not allowed, but I really can't help it), and Jeremy started pushing each other. Luckily, I was able to intervene just before Bernard started to get really mad. I think he might be mentally disabled. He's socially awkward and far, far behind the other students academically. He's usually so eager to please! Today, however, he was just mad. At Jeremy. Who's usually equally eager to please (because he has slightest crush on me. "Miz Alex, I don't want to go swimmin' if you not commin'." "Miz Alex, lemme open the door for you." "Miz Alex, you be the X [in tic tac toe] because they always go first.") I still have no idea what set them off.

Goodness gracious. So that was really frustrating.

But, in other ways, today was amazing.

Once I broke up the first string of fights in morning, with the help of Ms. P and the premature end of the spelling test, I was able to play hangman with the class. For an entire hour. And they were quiet. And seated. And eager to engage in a partly scholastic activity! This is generally unheard of! Ms. P was mildly impressed and it takes a lot to impress her.

Later, Ms. P took 2/3 of the class swimming. Six students (including the ever energetic David and Steven and the ever sassy Chyleah and Tyrean) stayed back. I read them The Boxcar Children for forty minutes (though I convinced them it was only a half an hour cause I love it when they're not fighting and seated and quiet) and they enjoyed the story, retained information from it, and were interested in what would happen next, though they were more eager for playtime which was their reward for good behavior.

Playtime without Ms. P is usually disastrous. Today's potential for disaster was escalated when 5 students from Ms. F's class joined us. But everything went smoothly. No fights, no yelling matches, no play wrestling, and no "your momma" insults. One of Ms. F's children even taught me how to play jacks. (Fun game, by the way. I think I'm going to invest in a set.)

During playtime, I allowed each child one sheet of paper to draw on. (Classroom resources are scarce and Ms. P sends me to steal copy paper from the office when the secretary is occupied.) Two of the children drew or colored pictures for me! Coreinisha's said "I love you very much, Alex" and Tyrean's was a coloring book cut out of Barbie on a picnic. Many of the other VISTAS received gifts from their students early on, but I did not, probably because I act more like their teacher than their friend. But we are finally beginning to develop a relationship in which they respect my authority without me having to maintain an emotional distance. So that's amazing. I'm going to make a scrapbook of the things they've given me, for sure.

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-06-30T21:03:00

2007-07-01T01:08:07Z

I was playing “Everyone’s a Little Bit Racist Sometimes” for one of my VISTA friends and we entered into this intense discussion about racism and how we’re experiencing it in our classrooms.

She felt resented when the teacher she works with presented the children with a lesson about Jim Crow and lynching. Being white, she was one of the ‘they’ that had beaten and slandered ‘our ancestors.’

We don’t talk about racism, past or present, in Ms. P's classroom. The kids are still a bit young, and they need so much help with basic reading, writing, and arithmetic, that we just don’t get around to social studies. But I do see it. Racism, I mean. And feel it, though it’s not directed at me.

E’shante, the fairest skinned girl in the class, is finishing her work, coloring in the picture she’s drawn of herself and her sister for her journal. Chyleah, by far the smartest girl in the class, who's been done for at least ten minutes, wanders over and whispers in her ear. E’shante frowns and mutters something back. Sitting across the classroom, I have no idea what they’re saying. Tyrean, the most easily distracted girl in the class, has turned around in her seat and is listening to their conversation. Emanee, completely average, but a doll, looks over as well.

Their hushed discussion escalates into an argument, which is not unusual in itself. Chyleah is always starting something. As I walk over to urge Chyleah back to her seat and the others back to their work, I hear Chyleah say vehemently, “Whatever, E’shante, you’s a white chick.”

Tyrean squeals, “Don’t say that, Chyleah!”

Emanee nods, “You might hurt Miz Alex’s feelings!”

Luckily, Ms. P comes to my rescue. “What have I told you about those kinds of insults?” she demands. Chyleah looks away, a resentful expression on her face, but she does not reply.

“What did I say?” Ms. P asks again.

Chyleah looks up, her gaze darting from Ms. P to me to E’shante to the floor, her self-righteous attitude still apparent. “Sorry.”

“Alright,” says Ms. P, “Everyone get back to your work. I know you’re not finished yet. David, what have you got in your mouth?!”

I’m not sure what to think of the episode. There’ve been others like it, too. As far as I can tell, calling someone ‘white,’ to these children, means the same thing as calling someone a geek, or a social failure, or a brownnoser.

I feel like I should add some analysis to this story, but it's a Saturday night in the summer and I've spent four and a half hours processing the National World War II D-Day Museum today. I just can't do it right now.

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-06-28T23:31:00

2007-06-29T03:33:32Z

So I want to apply to Teach for America, which is ironic because when the recruiters came to my classes this winter, I thought that program was idealistic at best. (I still do, actually.) I felt like listening to my fellow college students rave about a program they hadn’t yet participated in was a waste of my time. These students weren’t even education majors so what did they know about teaching? And while the they understood all sorts of social theories about poverty, I found it hard to believe that any of them had actually experienced it to any great degree. Personally, I wasn’t interested in teaching, as a career, or even a pre-career. I mean, I love to teach, but nothing intimidates me more than a classroom full of children. And inner-city children? I wouldn’t know where to begin. I was certain they wouldn’t respect me or even listen to me. And if I wouldn’t be able hold their attention, how could I teach them?

If the last three weeks has taught me anything, it’s that applying for the program with that attitude of disinterest, pessimism, and pure terror would have been a waste of my time.

They probably wouldn’t have let me into the program. And if they had, I’m sure I would have run screaming. As Ms. P says, “Teaching these children is something you really have to want to do. It really is.”

And now I do. I really do.

It’s almost a complete 180 degree turn from where I was before, and I’m having some difficulty processing it myself. So I’ve decided to start journaling about my experiences at Dryades YMCA Summer Enrichment Camp, NOLA because that is where the change is happening. The children I’m working with are weaseling (and these children can weasel) their way into my heart. I want to spend much, much more of my life making certain these children are receiving the attention they so desperately crave.

When Avis, my site director assigned by the AmeriCorps VISTA Summer Initiative dropped me off at Ms. P’s classroom, that first Tuesday morning two and a half weeks back, I had no idea what I was getting into.

No, really. I knew nothing. I didn’t hear the teacher's name or the age of the students. I wasn’t informed as to my duties in the classroom. No one told me where I was to eat lunch or if I got breaks or when I was supposed to meet the class each morning or how long I was supposed to stay each day.

So I just jumped in. I walked around the classroom and asked each child their name. (I messed them up so badly because I'd never heard most of them before. E'shante? Emanee? Malik?) The teacher told me they were between second and third grade, but that most were much, much closer to second. I didn’t know what she meant. (After spending an hour encouraging Eric, an eight year old who has already given up on school, to read ten pages of Hop on Pop, I do.) I spent the rest of morning answering calls of “Miz Alex, you help me spell ‘happy’?” and “Miz Alex, you sharpen my pencil?”

That’s enough for now, I think. More tomorrow for sure.

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-06-12T19:11:00

2007-06-13T00:26:59Z

Things I already love about my experience in New Orleans:

my roommate
air conditioning
the children I work with
the flowers
~~Julius~~
the size of my room and bathroom and closet

Things I already hate about my experience in New Orleans:

starvation (particularly my own)
my lack of toenail polish (and toothpaste... who knew you could make bombs out of the stuff?!)

The fact that this is actually happening makes me feel like a very brave and intense person. Which is ridiculous. ~~Because we all know that I am not actually a person at all, but in fact, a polar bear~~. After meeting my fellow VISTAS (that's what they call us), I realize that I am actually very boring and have no skills. I also do not belong in New Orleans because apparently it's all about the partying. And I am all about the... board games and tv dvd marathons?

Some Notes And A List

2007-05-27T03:23:19Z

Dear Livejournal,

I take back all those nasty things I said to you back in February. I'd become cocky. I began thinking I didn't need you anymore. How wrong I was.

Please forgive me. (But I can't promise I'll be anymore faithful.)

Love,

poor-cinderalex

DUDE,

WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING? HOW DID YOU EVER CONVINCE YOURSELF THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA?!

Bridgy!

I can't find the OotP trailer you're talking about! Where is it?!

1. I love my job, even though it rained all today and tomorrow.

2. I genuinely pampered myself tonight for the first time in a long time. My dinner consisted of chips and salsa and vanilla ice cream with hot fudge. I ate it while watching Jesus Camp.

3. Someday I would like brainwash small and incredibly gullible children, but not like the Jesus Camp pastors into being an army for Jesus. More like Michael on The Office, I would make them all be my friends. We could all eat salsa and ice cream together instead of real food.

3. But seriously, I expected that movie to shock me much more than it did. Maybe I'm used to the idea of evangelical brainwashing. I feel like their political might is only worth so much. I don't think I buy this "thief-in-the-night" and suddenly they'll control the entire world business. The only part that really got to me was the fact that these small children were being manipulated emotionally to an abusive degree.

4. News flash! I have an obsessive personality. I feel like at least one person on my flist has tried to tell me that before. Some things you just have to figure out for yourself. <3

5. For those of you who have seen Pirates 3, was the plot really disjointed even if you stayed awake through the whole thing? (I definitely fell asleep three times, roughly twenty minutes each time and had no idea what was going on.)

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-02-27T11:52:00

2007-02-27T17:03:06Z

To whom it may concern*:

I hate you and I hate your face.

We're not speaking and I'm deleting you from life until further notice.

That's all.

Alex

*This list includes, but is not limited to: Lord Voldemort, tropical polar bears, suicidal cheerleaders, large noses full of ~~snark~~ snot, Cuddy's low cut shirts, unseemly scars, the phrase "Dunder Miflin, this is Pam," bodice-rippering entertainment (of any kind), Dr. Where?, homicide, and large explosions.

ETA: Yes, livejournal, that means you. And you too, refresh button. Stop looking at me with those puppy eyes. I do not have time to play right now. And my email inbox refreshes itself. So just stop.

okay. sensation overload.

2007-02-02T06:16:26Z

Is the hero worship of figures like Jack Bauer and Billy Costigan in The Departed (very compelling movie, by the way) all that is right with the world or all that is wrong with world?

I love The Office. Especially Creed.

Stephen Colbert, how are you still alive, you dirty racist biggot, you?

I spent the day playing with photoshop. In the end I learned nothing new, but I did download some pretty cool textures from 77words from which I made some texty office icons. And because I love sharing icons, here they are:

1. 2. 3. 4.

5. 6. 7.

Also. Yay for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows being released on July 21, 2007!

poor_cinderalex @ 2007-01-07T23:33:00

2007-01-08T04:33:45Z

The funny men in my life include my father, my boyfriend and Stephen Colbert.

So a couple weeks ago my father calls me up in the middle of the day, which is strange in itself, to tell me two things: 1) the title of the new Harry Potter book (which I had already posted an lj entry about by that time) and 2) that he had just listened to an interview of Stephen Colbert in which our favorite bear-hater professed to be a devout Roman Catholic who taught his daughter's Sunday school class. My father has never even seen the Colbert Report (because he refuses to buy cable, which is a very silly choice if you ask me.)

When I told my boyfriend of the second point (he wouldn't even pretend to care about the first for my sake), he laughed and said this:

AG: (imitating Colbert) Now children we all know what would happen if Jesus and Muhammad got into a fight. Let's do a demonstration. I'll be Jesus. Who wants to be Muhammad?

So, I love my boyfriend. He drove me back to school in the snowstorm. He hates leaving me at school and he hates driving in storms. Most days, even when it's not snowing, he whines until my parents cave and take me back. But today he didn't complain at all. And he spent five hours at my house working on a puzzle for me (so I could prove to my mother that I had what it takes) while I laid on the couch and watched him/napped. Although we he didn't finish the puzzle, my mother was impressed with the progress we he did make. I hate puzzles.

And then I told him how much I appreciated all the things he did for me and he looked at me in astonishment. Of course I do all those things for you, he said, I love you, but I love you even more for noticing.

Never afraid of being too sweet, that one. A hopeless romantic. 'Swhy he loves Debussy so much. And I love him for it.

Happy Jesus' Birthday!

2006-12-25T08:49:02Z

Just finished wrapping presents. I love my family.

My sister sent me this link and it made me happier than shiny presents or overfilled stockings or even ham and cheesy potatoes.

Click Gift of Ages and then click the download icon in the corner. It'll be two well spent Christmas minutes.

I hope your day is filled with hope and peace and love and joy and Jesus.

Merry Christmas!

Harry Potter and the Title Release of Book Seven

2006-12-22T05:51:43Z

If you want find out the title for the last Harry Potter book by playing JKR's fun little game go here and play hangman.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I kinda hope this means she kills Harry in the first chapter and he wanders around as an inferi for most of the book. That would be wicked sweet.

On another note, being bored and doing chores is almost as bad as writing papers and taking tests. Lord help me if that sounds like I'd rather be back at school and in class.

Not Done

2006-12-14T19:40:43Z

My semester is not even close to being over yet. I have twenty-four hours of Hell left.

Sorry friends, but your entries of "YAY DONE!!!111!!!" are really depressing me.

And to the exam I showed up an hour and half late for with minimal preparation (the alarm your cell phone doesn't work when your cell phone DIES, funny that) I say: All's well that ends in chocolate doughnuts.

Edit: WTF am I doing refreshing my flist every ten minutes! Why am I not working?!

But, why?

2006-12-13T18:33:12Z

Since when did assigning copious amounts of tests and papers all due at the same time seem like a good teaching technique to anyone?

Professor of Wooly Mammoth Hunting: The students all really like my class this year. They are doing all their homework and visiting me in my office hours bearing the tusks of beasts they slayed all by themselves.

Professor of Cave Painting: Ha! Three of my students just finished a mural the size of a mammoth depicting me teaching them to paint. Another two drew a stunning portrayal of a mammoth clobbering a man who had arms and legs that resembled your thick stumps. Clearly, they like my class much better.

Professor of Building Large Fires: If you'll allow me. I believe that the students enjoy my class the most. Did you see the size of the forest they burned yesterday? However, there is a simple way to solve this disagreement. We shall make each of our students slay a mammoth, paint the wall of a large carvern, and build a massive fire by sundown tomorrow. For every student that completes your assignment more effectively than either of the others, you get a large rock. The professor with the most rocks at the end wins.

What the professors failed to realize was that they had not given any incentives to their students. As such, none of them got any rocks because the students roasted them over a large fire with their freshly caught mammoths in their lavishly decorated cave.

However, when those students became teachers and a similar conversation arose, they did not make the mistakes of their forerunners. They created the GPA system.

Yes. I just wasted my time making up a story about cavemen.

poor_cinderalex @ 2006-12-10T21:44:00

2006-12-11T01:44:11Z

Things I did today:

-Bled out of my... nose. Three times already.

-~~Stole babies from the nursery.~~

-Ate turkies.

-Read things that may or may not have concerned Communism.

-Changed clothes four times.

-Colored with crayons.

-Kissed a fish.

-Told Matt that he did stupid things that got him hurt. Laughed when he proceeded to prove me right.

(Really, I just wanted to use my new icon because it suits the day of nosebleeds so well.)

And I love Titanic.