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| Friday, August 22nd, 2008 | | 8:39 am |
Because I feel like wasting my time. And yours. NOT SAFE FOR WORK
Dear Friends, I never post on livejournal anymore; however please join me now in greeting the city of Chicago by reading a selection of the craigslist personal ads in each of the four categories (women seeking women, women seeking men, men seeking women, men seeking men). I must say, this time around I was a bit hard-pressed to find strange enough ads, which is in itself strange. Something must be wrong when the ads on craiglist read as if, oh I don't know, people who like to go to museums and have long talks wrote them. Seriously, I found ads that stated as much. ISN'T THAT DISTURBING? CAN I GET SOME? Can I get some? Seriously! I just want a cute, pretty bi curious/sexual bired (bird) that I can hang out with, go to lunch or coffee with, and mainly eat out. Note the difference in effect if we changed the order of activities here: I just want a cute, pretty bi curious/sexual bired (sic) to mainly eat out, hang out with, and go to lunch or coffee with. Sounds a little less insane, doesn't it? That's because you should always state the most shocking activity first. E.G. NOT "I want to drink some Chianti, play darts, and listen to Mandy Moore while I venerate my hand-carved statue of Charles Manson." INSTEAD, "I want to venerate my hand-carved statue of Charles Manson while I listen to Mandy Moore, play darts, and drink some Chianti." I really want a thick bodied, nice ass to grab and nipples to suck on. I have the strongest desire to eat her out and receive the same great juice producing session. The phrase "juice producing session" is a strange juxtaposition of the violently clinical (session) and the intensely graphic (juice). It makes me feel like I never want to never leave my house again.
I don't want a relationship because that's what my man with a penis is for. Okay. I DON'T WANT MEN OR 3sum?? Are you somewhat unsure about this? I want a pretty bird to fool around with. Pretty bird?? Who says that anymore besides old men and characters in black-and-white movies?
If you're serious, reply with a picture. I'll counter with my own. Nudity is NOT necessary. No long drawn out romance. We email, we meet, we connect, we fuck. How is nudity, at least some level of it, NOT necessary then? And what about the hanging out, the lunch, and the coffee? You're so tergiversatory. * WHERE IS MY GREEK GOD? Where they all are! On Mount Olympus! If you have Apollo’s physic (note the antiquated spelling--physic, not physique), lots of brains and charm, then please write. This 51 year old, single, highly educated and professionally successful lady is looking for you. Curvaceous 5’-4” Caucasian, who loves to travel, bikes, plays tennis, loves art, music, speaks foreign languages and can have intelligent conversations, wants a man with similar interests. Please tell me ten words that best describe you. A photo would be appreciated. You're so charming!! In my head this woman is Dame Judy Dench. Someone please inform her craigslist is not the place for this kind of genteel, old-fashioned connection-making.* GIRL ARE YOU READY FOR A NEW JOURNEY? I am looking for a very unusual relationship...due to my business I am not seeking a woman that can not be part of my journey, as I do not like to drama of someone upset when I do not have time to put down the phone or computer...business is important as there is a bigger picture, it is in saving lives and saving the environment through humanitarian means...ladies want to tag along for the great life but do not want to understand what it takes to have that life, nor the biggest gift in giving ones heart to save others and putting others first. Aw, he's sweet and kind! He wants to save the world and he just wants someone who won't impede him from doing so! I can't believe it! There must be something wrong. So I am needing to discover the right soul that is submissive, ...Oh, there is... she would become my assistant, travel with me is a must and relocation. So if you are set on never leaving Chicago then I am not for you. You must desire to be with the person you are with more than a location. Most never get that, thus end up without the one that is truly for them and settle or are alone. And YOU are the one who is "truly for them"--THEM, meaning the hundred people who will respond to your crazy ad, with whom you have never yet had a conversation. You will have a very high salary, benefits, and in time a nice trust fund to secure your life...you must be fit, attractive, professionally skilled, organized, communicator, great personality, people person and able to care for me in all respects to include my health. You're so concerned about my soul! You must also seek long term. Long-term what? Submission? Long-term unhappiness? Long-term selling my soul for your trust-fund? A nonsmoker, no drugs or heavy drinking would be allowed. Oh, but he's an upstanding moral citizen! I forgot that in the intervening paragraphs. Be able to work in the car as we are enroute to our destination. WHAT?!? What does that mean? What kind of WORK are you talking about?!?* ANY HOSTING COCKSUCKER IN AREA? Need a hosting cocksucker in this area to suck and swallow my 7.5 cut cock CUT COCK? Do you PUMP IRON with your penis? till you drain these balls dry. Not just any balls. These balls. These balls that belong to me, that hang within this scrotum, that are below my rippled, muscled, heavily-veined, steroid-enhanced cock blow and go needed and i will deliver. not real hard, i come in and your naked playing with your cock. I'm flattered. I'm anonymously reading your ad and and you're already undressing me in your mind. i drop pants and feed you what you need
you mlik me dry and i leave No, I do that and then you cook me breakfast. What then? Huh? let me know asap I get it, ASAP--I'll text message you on a whim while I'm walking from the bank to the laundromat. 46, masc 6'4 230 clean cut bi and discreet Right. Don't pretend you won't tell all the guys at the bar about this tomorrow during the game. You asshole. | | Tuesday, February 26th, 2008 | | 9:12 pm |
| | Monday, July 2nd, 2007 | | 10:45 pm |
Ms. Edwards on Paris Hilton
So I was talking to my old 4th and 5th grade teacher today, and somehow she started talking about Paris Hilton. To begin, let me say that Ms. Edwards is herself a Christian. Here are her words:
Paris Hilton? That girl is crazy with capital letters and a capital K. She said she's found Jesus in prison. I wonder where she thought he was lost in the first place. | | Monday, June 18th, 2007 | | 5:39 pm |
A Disneyland of the Mind
Yesterday I went to the Shambhala Center for their Sunday morning service. It was so nice. It was three hours long--sitting meditation, walking meditation, readings, and chanting. I talked with this nice guy named Dan for a long time afterward and asked him a bunch of questions. He met Allen Ginsberg once, but was too star-struck to say much of anything to him. We talked a lot about Chogyam Trungpa and his idea of spiritual materialism (something Trungpa, the founder of Shambhala and Ginsberg's guru) was really against. I don't think I'll ever be comfortable identifying as anything as far as religion goes, but Buddhism makes so much sense to me in so many ways. I think of religion (along with philosophy, politics, etc.) as a tool--it (and the others) are about life. Then there's life itself, ineffable, sublime, ultimately irreducible to any kind of system at all. For me, art is closest to life, and that's why art will always be my primary 'religion'--or practice, if you want. Anyway, today wasn't so good, in many ways--not just because of the following. I had (and must, for the next 2 weeks) to get up at 4:30 in the morning to go to LMB (much like Sylvan Learning Center) for training. It was all so corporate. LMB uses lingo like "All-Star Cast" and "game-face." They talk about their 'culture.' Those who participated in Q&A got 'critters'--candy, highlighters, and other such useless items. Most bizzare of all, they call going above and beyond the line of duty 'bumping the lamp'--an obscure reference to the Roger Rabbit movie. What? WHAT? Why? I took copious notes on all this, but I believe everyone else just thought I was being studious when I was actually writing down ridiculous corporatisms to make fun of later. Oh yeah-- and LMB outright acknowledges the fact that their approach to service is Disney-inspired. Jesus. And our trainer is such an ex-sorority girl that I feel like her voice has been burned into my mind and I can't forget it. But of course she's nice (or tries really hard to be), and the actual methodology does a lot of good and makes a lot of sense to me. During lunch I was feeling low and went upstairs to get some fruit. Another clinician told me, "Don't worry, training is pure hell. The real reward is working with the students." So true. That's what I remind myself of, and have to, because otherwise I would just as soon light myself on fire. Anyone who gets the obscure reference in the title of this entry gets a "critter" from me. Seriously. But it won't be lame. I promise. Hint: it's the title of book of poems, and it's by a member of the Beat Generation. | | Saturday, June 16th, 2007 | | 1:41 pm |
Tobin Finale, &tc.
Friday was my last day at the Tobin School. In so many ways, it was a wonderful day. Here's why:
1. The eighth-grade graduation ceremony was really amazing. Allieyah sang "Hero" so well it shocked even me--when she finished the song the entire auditorium stood up and screamed. I went up to her mom after the ceremony and asked her if she had a teacher; she said no, but she was looking for someone who could prepare her for next year when she'll enter the Boston Performing Arts Academy. I said I would love to work with her, so she's going to be my voice student for the summer. I'm so excited to work with her. She's going to be a great student.
2. After the ceremony I went around to the classrooms and said goodbye. I made the mistake of going into one of my favorite classes, a kindergarten class, and telling them exactly what was going on. I should have just said have a good summer and I'll see you all later. Instead, I said I didn't know for sure if I was coming back, that they were some of my favorite kids, etc. Three of my favorite students burst into tears, and so I gave them big hugs and told them no matter what I'd come back to visit. I apologized to the teacher and she said, "Don't worry about it--she what a difference you've made already?"
I went around to the other classrooms and got big group hugs. I went into the SPED room and one of the students yelled, "I'll see you in my dreams!"
3. At the end of the day I was assigned to probably my favorite class in the whole school--the fifth grade ESL class. All of the students are native Spanish speakers, and most of them are first generation immigrants. They are an amazing group of kids. They are nice to one another, they listen when I talk, and they are just fun to be around. Plus, they know how to have real fun, which brings me to my story. When I walked into their room at 2:00 the entire class was dancing to loud Spanish music. It was amazing--they were dancing for real. Girls with girls, boys with boys, girls with boys--salsa, chacha, whatever else. And they were SO good. I asked the teacher how long they had been doing this; she said since 11:30 in the morning. And they danced until the end of the day, at 3:10. So for the entire rest of my last day at the school, I danced with a bunch of fifth graders. They taught me moves and everything. I told one of my favorite students (Gillary is her name) that I didn't really know how to dance. She said, "You don't have to know how to dance, you just dance." So I did. It was a perfect end to the day.
4. Then I found out that the bill to amend the MA State Constitution to ban gay marriage had been defeated by a huge margin. On the front of Boston Now there was a huge picture of two young guys kissing ecstatically, the American flag flying over their heads. It made me so happy that I cried because the 'bad' guys lost this time, and gay marriage will be legal for years to come. Inside was a point-counterpoint, a woman quoted as saying, "The existence of my family should not be placed to a vote" and a man saying: "This is not a civil right. They didn't suffer like the blacks did...Homosexuality breeds violence." Now, I have a tendency to read something like the latter and let it ruin my day. But for once I felt nothing but sorry for that kind of ignorance. I felt like telling him, "Your hatred for people is what breeds violence." And I didn't get angry myself, and I'm proud of that.
| | Thursday, June 14th, 2007 | | 4:51 pm |
These two things made my day
1.) While grading a bunch of short-answer questions on the middle school science exams, I came across this:
Q: Name three ways in which a car is not alive.
A: "Cars are not alive because boy cars don't ever date girl cars. Cars can't date, so they are not alive."
2.) Eighth-grade graduation is tomorrow, so Aaliyah and I rehearsed "Hero" once again. She was having trouble with the bridge and said it was too high for her voice. I told her no, it isn't too high for you, you're just scared of it. You can sing this. But she didn't believe me. So I ran her through a bunch of vocal exercises. I had her sing scales and it turns out her range is WAY above the notes she was so afraid of. Then I took the notes of the bridge and disguised them as an annoying little melody that sounded nothing like the actual song. I had her sing my new song and then finally told her--you're singing all the notes you just told me you couldn't sing. Then I told her what I'd done. "You tricked me!" she said. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes. I asked her if she was upset and she shook her head no. "Are you happy?" She shook her head yes.
| | Wednesday, June 13th, 2007 | | 4:45 pm |
Some Random School Episodes
Okay, there are a few things I have to tell all you about, all concerning school.
1.) I'm playing piano for the 8th grade graduation ceremony, which necessarily must include the song "Hero" as sung by Mariah Carey. This really, really talented 8th grader named Aaliyah (no joke) is singing it and I'm accompanying her, so a few days ago we practiced together for the first time. It was so fun. As I said, she's really talented but also extremely self-critical. She was singing really timidly so I ran her through some vocal exercises and all that, and then had her sing the song again. She was still singing really softly, so I ended up yelling something cheesy like "Aaliyah, YOU are the hero of this song! YOU have to be the hero! Don't be afraid of the notes! You sound awesome!" and all that. But man did it work. She sounded so good once she opened up. And then I realized I had become someone I never thought I'd become: Mr. Holland. Right after we got done practicing, another teacher told me I was a beautiful man.
2.) Today a sometimes sweet, sometimes utterly insane 2nd grader tore my glasses off my face and threw them on the ground and bent the frames. He is now suspended.
3.) Also today I had to go into Ms. Murray's first grade class. Now, I have never lost my temper like I lost it in this class a few weeks ago. But ever since we had a very serious (read: me yelling like a deranged person) lecture about how everyone in the class deserves respect and love from each other, they love me. Today when I went into the room the entire class gathered around me and gave me a big group hug. Then, not to be outdone by the affection of her classmates, this one really little, high-strung, skinny girl named Lisbeth jumped on me and hung from my neck (which choked me) while she yelled, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I'M GONNA TO KILL MYSELF! Throughout the time I was in the class I received paper cutouts of hearts, a bunch of notes that said I LOVE YOU, and the best was when this other girl in the class brought me a picture of two people sitting at a table. I asked her what it was and she said, "Me and you...on a date."
Now all I need is a deaf son and I really will be Mr. Holland. | | Thursday, May 31st, 2007 | | 4:23 pm |
Sometimes you gotta make yourself laugh
Even though I have been accepted for Massachusetts' own FREE CARE program, I am still required to pay the ER doctor $108 for the visit I paid about a month ago. (In MA you can't go to any clinic without insurance, so I had to go to the local ER.) He spent about five minutes with me, looked into my ear, told me it was inflamed, and gave me a script for an antibiotic. THEREFORE, I will send the hospital two bloodstained dollars in a mangled, dirty envelope every month until this bill has been paid. Because it's all I can do to show how ridiculous all this is. And the thought of doing it makes me laugh. | | Sunday, May 27th, 2007 | | 12:34 pm |
A Random List
1. I'm glad today is cool. The heat and humidity of the last week was making me feel nauseous. I couldn't sleep, but I couldn't do anything productive either. 2. Because of the heat, I took a walk last night just to feel the breeze. I ended up visiting notpiecebypiece, with whom I drank Jack Daniels and watched Arrested Development. We were both brain-dead, and decided that we share a streak of really bad luck. Both of our computers have recently died, she's just lost her job, I have very little money (which was further cut into when Sovereign Bank decided to slam me with outrageous overdraft fees to the tune of $360. I can often be really spacey about money matters.). Etc. We decided we should buy those thingies that protect against the evil eye, or be exorcised by a priest, or something. 3. Whiskey is better than anything; it's like medicine for the soul. If whiskey is consumed with coke, even in great quantities, no hangover is involved. Of course I mean Coca-Cola and not actual coke, whose combination I'm sure would really fuck you up. 4. On Friday someone at school said to me as I was getting coffee, "We can't be without our coffee, can we?" "No," I said. "We need coffee in the morning and whiskey at night." She laughed extremely hard, and we both looked at each other knowingly, which meant: you're going to be drunk tonight too. 5. I was talking to my mom this morning and a realization about my hometown hit me. Well, not exactly a realization, but a good metaphor to explain the social climate there. Hammond, Indiana, is a vast insane asylum, and one is either a patient or a doctor, and often both in alternation. People like my favorite high school teacher, John Bolinger, would be a doctor; nearly everyone else in my high school (many other teachers included) would be patients. (There's a certain teacher who is infamous for telling freshman of the alien spacecraft that visits her backyard sometimes. So infamous that the administration asked her to stop. She didn't.) Anyway, if one acts as a doctor for too long, one is consumed by madness and becomes a patient, which gives way for another to become a doctor. The vicious cycle repeats. 6. My youngest brother recently spent a night in prison because the police stopped him and his friends for a traffic violation and found a marijuana cigarette in his shoe. (Doesn't he know that you're supposed to either swallow joints or shove them up your ass when the cops stop you?) His bail was $500, which I'm sure my dad was overjoyed to pay. My other brother was recently accepted to Columbia College in Chicago. He's going to study classical guitar and composition. Patient, doctor. Another example: my dad has, for years, helped out crazy 'friends' of his that come knocking at our door when they've been kicked out of whatever house they were previously living in. Mike Fowle (an old patient of my dad's) has recently been staying at my parents' house. Last night, after my dad had given him work to do and taken him to Goodwill to buy him clothes, for God knows what reason they went to a bar and got plastered. Why? I guess Mike has talent at being a drunk, and who doesn't appreciate an excellent drunk sometimes, especially when one wants to be drunk? My dad drove Mike, who was mildly wasted out of his mind, home; and then he proceeded back to the bar to get more drunk than he already was. Obviously the case is clear: my dad (usually the doctor) in this situation became the patient. EDIT (At dinnertime) 7. I am so, so, SO sick of eating. Would anyone like to join me in a liquid-only diet? We'll have coffee, cigarettes, and protein shakes in the morning, and (of course) whiskey at night. It will be wonderful. So there's this kinda creepy guy that reads at Open Bark in Cambridge, whose work I actually sometimes like. Here's an annoying poem (annoying, but so annoying that it becomes funny again) that is an appropriate ending to this entry: Life is weird.
So am I.
Will it be normal
When I die?
| | Wednesday, May 23rd, 2007 | | 8:57 pm |
Update, of a sort.
So just so all of you know, teaching has become, in so many ways, wonderful. But in so many ways, it still sucks. Let me try to explain. I was talking with one of the middle school teachers, Ms. G, about this, and she put it nicely: "Teaching is completely schizophrenic. One day you hate the kids, the next day you love them." It's so true. But in the end, no one would be doing this if they really didn't care. A LOT. It's just the toughest job in the world, but also one of the most rewarding. So many students, even most all the crazies that I have to yell at constantly for throwing chairs, walking on tables, calling each other bitches, whores, assholes, ugly retards, etc. and generally trying to end one another's lives in some kind of horrific manner--give me high fives in the hallway and say hi to me when I see them in the hallway. Some even give me big hugs. The other day I had fifteen minutes of the purest fun playing basketball with a group of fifth-grader boys and pushing girls on the swings. But then there are totally awful days like today ,when I came home with my hands bloodied and scratched up because a certain insane first grader wanted desperately to kill several classmates and I had to bodily hold him back from doing so. So he tried to kill me instead. He told me, I kid you not, "Don't ever come back here." And that's not the only thing that happened today. Imagine witnessing a first-grade girl (Sixianalize is her name, no joke) jump up on a table, totally cuss out half the class with relish and zest, then proceed to CHOKE (yeah, like face-turning-red choking) not one but two classmates by the collars of their shirts. I really wish I could take all of you to school sometime so you can see the absurd circus these classrooms turn into on a very regular basis. The other day this really sweet boy in first grade made a picture of me. Thanks to the help of tipofaspoon, I present to you this likeness:  I'm going to frame this and hang it on my wall. Children really do see the truth: my head is huge, my body is small, I have no eyes, constant facial hair no matter how often I shave, and (truest of the true) I am usually suspended in a blue atmosphere with small amorphous animal-like beings and floating trees as companions. I thought for a while I wasn't doing any good for them, but I don't think that's true anymore. They know I'm there for them and that I care, and that's what counts. I feel like I've fallen in love with them. | | Sunday, May 13th, 2007 | | 9:57 am |
Read this poem
I just found W.H. Auden's "September 1, 1939." I can't believe I've never come across it before; it's amazingly powerful. Listen friends: September 1, 1939
W. H. Auden I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night. Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return. Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again. Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong. Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good. The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone. From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
"I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb? All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die. Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame. | | Saturday, April 21st, 2007 | | 1:15 pm |
The temple bell breaks But the sound keeps coming Out of the flowers. --Basho | | Friday, April 20th, 2007 | | 5:40 pm |
| | Friday, April 13th, 2007 | | 11:23 pm |
Friday the13th
Walking to get something to eat tonight I pass by Joey's, a local bar. One of the men in the doorway shouts menacingly at me, "HOW ARE YOU DOING TONIGHT?" I wasn't in the mood for belligerent 40ish male provacateurs, so I just glanced up at him, looked him in the eye, then looked down again. "FUUUUUCK YOUUUU" he shouts after me. It was the very last thing I needed tonight, the very, very last thing.
we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
--Philip Larkin, "The Mower"
So tonight, instead of letting that kind of stupidity win, I want to say that I hope all of you reading this are happy. Know that I care. Love to you.
-T
| | Thursday, April 12th, 2007 | | 10:20 pm |
Note to self
I talked to two old teachers from my high school tonight, and they had excellent advice on teaching in a difficult environment. 1. Humor and compassion are two of the most important things in teaching. 2. It's the little victories that count. 3. Do what you can and what you can and what you can. 4. Start from where the students are and be there with them, no matter how painful or shocking it is. 5. You touch lives in ways you can't even begin to imagine. I think these are applicable to life as well, so I thought I'd share. These are simple really, but sometimes simple truths can have a shocking resonance when you're in an extreme situation. | | Tuesday, April 10th, 2007 | | 11:07 pm |
Substitution. Day One.
After sitting in the office of the school I'm assigned to for the rest of the year (a K-8 school in Roxbury) I was finally thrown into a third grade classroom at around noon. The following are scattered and inaccurate notes of what occurred after that. Also, while the whole day was insane, these are only the most insane moments: First everyone in the class screamed for an hour (no exaggeration) while we tried to read. One kid (R) sat with his arms crossed and would do nothing but scream shut the fuck up. He also tried braining a few of his classmates with an old 70s tape player. His nemesis M would not leave him alone. He kept shouting in R's face, and when he wasn't doing that he was shouting at everyone else. Eventually M also tried beating some of the other kids with a chair. After M yelled in R's face for the thirtieth time in twelve minutes, R ran out of the classroom and started "throwing up" (not really, he was just spitting on the floor). I think at one point in the day there were three individual fights going on at one time. My heart was racing, I was sweating, and at one point I became so dizzy I was afraid I would pass out. One kid had to use the bathroom every ten seconds. The principal came in and talked to the class; they were good for a minute, then started to try to kill one another again. I had to restrain R from charging at and punching his classmates, and finally he had to leave the class. So did M, who after R had left, tried to kill other kids in the class. Also, a kid named Xavier for a reason only God knows slammed another kid's face into the sink. He had to leave too. Eventually it was me, two boys, and a classroom of girls. Peace finally? No. H gets a marked and scribbles on A's clothes. They chase each other around the room. H runs to the office. I go fetch her. V has to go to the bathroom. Then he calls H ugly and bitch over and over for seemingly no reason at all. I hate him for this, and tell him to be nice if he wants others to be nice to him. He seems to understand, then calls H ugly again. At the end of the day I feel like I've been run over by a truck and I want to cry for everyone, myself included. I write down the names of the three girls that gave me absolutely no problems at all so the teacher knows to do something special for them, because I couldn't do anything special for them--I barely even talked to them. The good kids get ignored because the kids that want to kill each other have to be restrained from killing each other. The principal told me that this was one of the best classes in the school. As I leave the school I see two younger staff members; they say did you make it. I say I'm alive. They laugh, way way too hard. Principal Ms. H mentioned at the beginning of the day that this class would be my "baptism by fire." That's a good euphemism for hell, I thought. I'm not a substitute teacher. I'm a substitute babysitter in every way. I don't know if I can take this. | | Friday, March 16th, 2007 | | 12:53 pm |
For Your Enjoyment
Sometimes when I am bored I look at the personals on craigslist for enjoyment. Most of all I enjoy the supreme dialectic between the women seeking women ads (which are usually sweet and make me smile) with the men seeking men ads (which are usually pithy, direct, and include a lot of references to penis size). The women seeking men ads and the men seeking women ads are, well, you decide. I've lined up all four categories for your reading *pleasure*. Women Seeking Women Why does meeting people have to be so hard? This is my third posting and I have gotten some responses. Some people have been really nice but I am having a problem with people being truly genuine. Here's what I want: Sincerity, caring, intriguing, independent, open, honest, fun, intelligent and open to being yourself*. I don't want a u-haul on the first date. I don't want to wait for you to "decide" if you are lesbian. All I want to do is hang out, talk and be real. This does not have to be a date, it could just be friends. Is this really too much to ask? Is it that hard? * I love this cogent list of admirable characteristics. I want to meet this person and just "be real" with her. :-) Men Seeking Men anyone in walking distance* to the TD BankNorth Garden ?? hit me back I can host around the corner, and will give a guy UNDER 30 a long lubed hand job, or condom covered bj -- I am a big cummer if you want a load to the face let me know. Send stats , age, and be ready to meat** in 45 minutes. NOBODY under 30 !! this means you Calvin333 ........ * Why within walking distance? Would a busride take too long? **Hahaha. Freudian slip. He meant to do this, right? Men Seeking Women I've been in a relationship for a long, long time, and to be perfectly honest cannot do that again just yet. Here's the problem... I don't like sleeping around, but I also don't want to be in another serious relationship just yet. I'm convinced that the female species is incapable of this type of arrangement*. Ideally, I'm looking for someone hot who wants to hang out and have fun like once a week. That doesn't necessarily mean sex 24x7. I want to do normal things - like go out to eat, hang out, watch movies, do out for drinks. This whole idea sounds so shady now that I wrote it. I really didn't intend it to be that way. I am above average in the looks and brains department, very gainfully employed**, love to go out to bars and have a good time. You: 20's, attractive, physically fit, stylish, and above all NOT NEEDY.*** Trust me when I say this isn't purely for sex. I am honestly looking for someone cool to hang out with. I just want to be upfront and let you know that I am not boyfriend material right now. * Let's begin with some overt sexism!!!!! Also, someone should tell this man that "female species" makes no scientific sense. ** "I don't wish to hide my superficiality! I am smarter than average and better looking than average! You'll think so too, I promise!" I hate the phrase "gainfully employed." So stereotypically straight. ***This "You: direct list of superficial characteristics" is something I've noticed in a lot of men seeking women ads. I find it annoying. Women Seeking Men I AM LOOKING FOR SOMEONE BETWEEN THE AGES OF 32-LATE 40'S I AM LOOKING FOR SOMEONE WHO IS KIND, CARING , UNDERSTANDING,SOMEONE LIKE ME WHO DOES NOT LIE OR PLAY GAMES AND SOMEONE WHO IS GOOD WITH KIDS I DO HAVE 4 (15,13,11,09) THEY ARE MY WHOLE LIFE IT IS JUST ME AND THEM NO DADDY DRAMA** IN MY LIFE,IF YOU ARE GONNA ANSWER THE AD PLEASE BE SERIOUS,SO FAR PEOPLE RESPOND WE CHAT AND THAT'S IT,,SERIOUS INQURIES ONLY* *Why is the whole ad shouting at me? ** Just the phrase "daddy drama" makes me feel depressed. ---------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------- --------------- Note: Just in case you're feeling a bit weird about my posting these, I promise you that in no way do I consider gender or sexuality to be determinant of social behavior or anything else for that matter. | | Tuesday, March 13th, 2007 | | 2:17 am |
Creepy Day
Today was creepy. You know those days when everything and everyone you see inspires paranoia and a vague but ever-present sense that something really bad is about to happen? Well, that's how I felt all day. I went to an interview for a piano teaching job in the North End. The woman who interviewed me was nice, but way, WAY to into asking me somewhat inappropriate questions. (Mind you, this job would be teaching piano to kids one day a week.) She asked me what J does for work, why we moved to Boston, what my plans for grad school were, if I planned to stay in the city for grad school, whether I was left or right handed, etc. She even asked me to send her an email contrasting my life during my final year at IU with my life now. I told her I could tell her then and there. She said no, she wanted it in an email. She said that my CV made me look like a maniac and she wanted a more grounded picture of what I do every day. She asked me how many times I masturbate per week. (That IS a joke--but she wasn't far from asking that sort of question.) Anyway, I came away from the experience feeling more than a little bit violated. I want to teach piano, but do I have to go through THIS sort of thing? Jesus. I LOVE to talk, but she asked questions like I had some secret I was keeping from her. It was weird. I think SHE has a secret she's keeping from the world, and I don't want to know what it is. I'll find out when I read about it in the papers. I hope she's not reading this now. God, that's one more thing to be paranoid about. I don't mean to make her seem monstrous; she was quite nice and positive about nearly everything I said. I think she is just really hyperobsessive and neurotic about weird things. (Oh yeah, she also counseled me on when and how to throw disrespectful piano students out of the studio. Awesome. I failed to tell her that's not how I roll. Did I mention she's not a musician but simply runs the studio?) Now that I think about it, I think the interview is what gave me the creeps all day. Nothing else. Edit--13 March So this morning I woke up to the following dream: J and I were in some kind of creepy fundamentalist church; the sermon was about a woman piano teacher who murdered someone with a pick-axe. I was sitting there in the pew drawing a clock-face and felt compelled by some unknown force to draw in the hands at seven o'clock even though I didn't want to. (Somewhere around here I also saw a hand painting in blood but I can't remember what it was painting, or how it related to the rest of the dream.) Then we went into the parking lot where, you guessed it, the woman with the pick-axe materialized and slowly raised her weapon over my head. I tried to stop her but I couldn't move (as you can't in dreams) and so I muttered "J stop her!" in my sleep, but J didn't stop her and at the same moment her pick-axe struck me down I woke up. The whole dream left me with an intensification of the same uncanny, weird feeling I had yesterday after my interview, and I wondered whether I dreamt I was the person murdered, or the murdered person is dreaming in death that he's me. Whoa. | | Tuesday, March 6th, 2007 | | 12:49 am |
Joycean/Borgesian Tautology Day!
This 'piece' is dedicated to JS, who is the only person who will get the ridiculous reference, and to whom I swear to read this aloud at the CANTAB the next time we go. On my way to retrieve my cell phone which I lost on the bus, I lost my black stocking cap from Ireland on the bus. I also bought more cannoli for J and myself and they were just as good as they were two days ago when we bought and ate cannoli and I lost my cell phone on the bus. Two days later I decided to buy cannoli again when I went to pick up my lost cell phone, and on my way to retrieve my cell phone which I lost on the bus, I lost my black stocking cap from Ireland on the bus. I also bought more cannoli for J and myself and they were just as good as they were two days ago when we bought and ate cannoli and I lost my cell phone on the bus. Two days later I decided to to buy cannoli again when I went to pick up my lost cell phone, and on my way to retrieve my cell phone which I lost on the bus, I lost my black stocking cap from Ireland on the bus. I also bought more cannoli for J and myself and they were just as good as they were two days ago when we bought and ate cannoli and I lost my cell phone on the bus. Two days later I decided to to buy cannoli again when I went to pick up my lost cell phone, and on my way to retrieve my cell phone which I lost on the bus, I lost my black stocking cap from Ireland on the bus. I also bought more cannoli for J and myself and they were just as good as they were two days ago when we bought and ate cannoli and I lost my cell phone on the bus. Two days later I decided to to buy cannoli again when I went to pick up my lost cell phone, and on my way to retrieve my cell phone which I lost on the bus, I lost my black stocking cap from Ireland on the bus. I also bought more cannoli for J and myself and they were just as good as they were two days ago when we bought and ate cannoli and I lost my cell phone on the bus. Okay, if you read all that and want to throttle me, I understand. | | Sunday, March 4th, 2007 | | 11:41 pm |
Tonight And What Is Deteriorating
Well friends, it's time for me to write in my journal again, because the night is late and I'm not tired, and it's still very cold and I am slightly drunk, as usual. Please note that Mike's Pastry in the North End makes the most amazing cannoli...I mean, the most amazing anything ever. Also, please note that I am actually (and sadly) not really being hyperbolic either. In other news, I actually feel that my brain is deteriorating. These days when I sit down to read something difficult or in any way abstract, I feel like my mind shuts down and goes to sleep. The other day I forgot how to spell the word "occasionally." Yeah, I know NOW how it's spelled, but I looked it up. I think it's the stress of 1) being in a completely new place, 2)not being sure what I'm doing in this new place, 3) not feeling all that inclined to read or do anything remotely meditative because of 1 and 2, and 4) my brain is deteriorating. Seriously, I do keep thinking about going back to school. I feel like I really should. Mostly it's a hunch/gut feeling, but for what would I go back? I have at least three distinctly different options, all with various drawbacks. I could try to do an MFA in poetry somewhere (most likely somewhere around here, since several of the only programs I'd consider are in the Northeast); I could go back for a Ph.D. in English (but do I really want to write academically, or be forced to write academically, for the rest of my LIFE?); or I could go back to school for music composition and effectively relegate literature to the backburner, because if you didn't know, being a composer is like being a doctor. Kind of. All this is complicated because I really don't want to make a choice right now. But that doesn't stop me from thinking constantly about going back to school. I need to be content right now with where I am, because (you guessed it) where you are is where you'll always be. In a way I almost regret the fact that I have two passions. One would be simpler and more manageable, but where's the fun in that? Tomorrow I interview to become a sub for the Boston Public School System. I'm weighing the various options for horrible/inappropriate things I should say and trying to decide which to choose. I could tell them I was inspired by the show Boston Public and want to live out my own version of that classic drama; I could say I have a burning desire to read Allen Ginsberg poems out loud to fifth-graders; I could say that selling drugs just wasn't fulfilling to me anymore and I want to give back to the demographic that I formerly sold to, etc. I could also just shove all those things and go dressed as a woman. Or a clown. God, I wish I had enough money to be a total eccentric. In other news, attending the Cantab poetry readings on Wednesdays is beginning to make me hate life. I don't know why, because I actually appreciate, if not love, a lot of the poetry I hear there. I think I just feel completely out of my element. I am not a slam poet (not into violence), do not want to verbally terrorize people in any way, and am just not IN YOUR FACE enough to feel a part of the community. When I read all I can think of is how much I feel like I'm not connecting with the audience, how different my style and voice are from theirs. I also realized that, while I can stand around in a bookstore and read for hours and feel great, I usually come away from poetry readings feeling a little, I don't know, dead inside. By the way--guy from the Cantab who SLAMMED on "roses are red," please note that no one thinks it's cool anymore to use that rhyme as a sarcastic takeoff for your own beleaguered nonsense. Also, girl from Cantab who utters emo nonsense phrases like they mean something, please stop. You hurt me. [Example: Out of nowhere, with no relation to what came before or after, the phrase "This is the home you should have burnt when you still knew what home FELT LIKE" with intonation like that of a father scolding his daughter.] I feel like so many 'poets' I've heard at readings lately try so so so so so hard to be original, cool, hip, and up-to-date when all I want to feel is one human being speaking to another, and all I want to hear is something beautiful. Is that so hard, CANTAB PEOPLE? Can we just BE REAL for once? Jean Cocteau, when asked about the subject of originality, said "I avoid it at all costs." I think when one tries too hard to be original or popular or up-to-date, one actually dates oneself immediately. And that's what I feel when I attend these poetry readings--the pathetic sense that I am in time, not out of it. Ok, that subject is boring me. Let's talk about how I lost my cell phone on the bus when translikelance, quinnesocrates, and I visited the North End and ate cannoli. No, let's talk about cannoli. |
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