I'm in class right now actually. we are talking about pop art and pomo and watching movies. this is my only non-science class, and it's not doing a great job of wanting to make me think about things from the perspective of a non-scientist. at this very moment I am failing to expand my horizons.
here's something about movies though: drew barrymore said she likes being in movies because they are like real life in spite of all evidence to the contrary. like in movies when two lovers see each other from afar and run into each other's arms; that happens in real life too, only slower.
I don't think I could come up with a better way to describe how I feel at seven o'clock (or nine on mondays), leaving class, running home. I'm not running really -- I'm walking four blocks to the train, waiting on the platform, transferring to the express at 96th street, sitting with my music and my magazine, watching the population shift and surge and ebb, watching the mosaics of the manhattan stations slide into a full-spectrum blur, counting down the stops until I'm in the heart of brooklyn, climbing from the subterranean world into my quiet tree-lined neighborhood, waiting for the traffic light to change, unlocking the front door, checking our mailbox, going up the stairs, finally walking into our apartment, into tom's arms -- but I feel like my entire hour-long journey is propelled by something in my heart.
I know how saccharine that sounds, but honestly, I can't muster up the cynicism to even poke fun at myself here. I like being the romantic heroine in our real-life movie.
[ 27.2.07] · [ ]
once in a while, tom and I read lj secret together and point out the secrets that could have been told by our students. it's humbling to realize how quickly you can forget what it's like to have that kind of emotional tunnel vision.
that's one of many things I wish I could say more clearly to students. sometimes it will seem like I don't respect your feelings, and I'm sorry. I do understand that sometimes the rest of your life makes it impossible to be happy, and even harder to care about school. you just might need to remind me sometimes. I might not be able to help you with everything, but at least we can make a plan to get you through today successfully.
when do you say something like that? not on the first day of the semester; I don't think many kids take those introductory teacher-speeches too seriously. they're smart enough to know to wait and watch to find out who their teachers really are in the classroom. but it's not exactly something you drop into the middle of a discussion of plate tectonics, either.
and there are other things I want to say. last week I had a frustrating day in one of my own classes, culminating at the end when I tried to tell my professor I was struggling and her response made me feel like she hadn't taken me seriously at all. my immediate response was to withdraw and shut down. in my twenty-something years as a student, I've become fairly secure in my belief that I am a smart, thoughtful, and capable learner. I like my professor and I know she likes and respects me. yet at that moment I felt wounded, and my self-protective instinct was to disengage from my role as a student.
most of my high school kids don't have the benefit of being in school for something they really care about, let alone the self-confidence to believe in their abilities. I talked myself into feeling okay about class again, but I don't expect my students to be able to do that. so there's another thing to tell them: there will probably be a time when something happens that makes you want to give up on this class. it might be that I say something that hurts you or makes you think I'm giving up on you. if that happens, please tell me. that's the only way I'll know to fix it.
my students do have a good sense of who I am, but I still think they need an explicit reminder of things like this, because it's not human nature to confront emotional problems you have with people outside of intimate relationships. how to do that (without seeming like a pushover or a psychologist, because I'm neither of those)? posters on the classroom walls? newsletters?
if you're a teacher, what do you wish you could tell your students?
if you're a student, what do you wish your teachers would tell you?
and, practically speaking, how do you think that's supposed to happen?
[ 21.2.07] · [ ]
happy valentine's day!
you all know by now that I like this holiday of hearts and flowers. I always feel like I should apologize for it, but even the patriarchal commercial aspect of it manages to be charming to me, when manifested in swarms of teenagers buzzing around department stores and bodegas heaping pink beribboned presents into each others' arms. plus this day, the ides of february, gave me an excuse to spend my afternoon with buttercream and pastry tubes instead of with my homework. I wouldn't complain if there were a valentine's day for every month.
that cupcake, by the way, is a soldier in the vegan cupcake world domination army. (it belongs to the organic infantry, black cherry créme company.) I realized halfway through the frosting recipe that I didn't have enough powdered sugar, so I spent about twenty minutes grinding raw sugar with the mortar and pestle. it gave the frosting a bit of an edge, so I am confident these cupcakes can hold their own in spite of their earthy-crunchy pedigree. later I realized that I had made far more frosting than I needed for these particular cupcakes, so my efforts with the sugar weren't strictly necessary. but I'm sure tom will come up with a use for the bowl of pink buttercream in our fridge. if you have any good ideas, do share.
I hope you're happy today, whatever your feelings about the holiday. I'm sure you're loved.
[ 14.2.07] · [ ]
[if you're reading this on a feed you might be missing the silly 30-second video of my lovebird doing his chicken impression]
on sunday mornings, tom makes breakfast. poppy comes out to cook with us. while we're eating, he likes to climb down our arms onto our dishes to steal some food. when it's something sticky, like oatmeal or waffles, he tends to get messy, with little bits of breakfast smeared across the bottom of his beak, or clinging to his chest feathers.
I had an english teacher in high school who generally seemed more interested in talking about her life, or ours, than about literature. she was fond of telling us that one day, each of us would grow up. she would ask, "you know how you can tell when you're grown up?" we had different silly answers for this, involving things like homework and alcohol and their changing roles in our lives. but she always had the same answer for us: "you'll know because you'll look around and find that you've made your own family."
I like sunday mornings because I don't even have to look around.
[ 12.2.07] · [ ]
new jersey vs. new york
tom and I have an ongoing debate about whether new york state is part of new england. obviously it isn't, which I can prove by way of singing a song that only I seem to know--in the process of growing up, I've had to come to terms with the fact that a lot of the things I thought were mainstays of american pop culture may actually have been invented by my family--but the funny thing about our conversation is how it gives away the place from which we view the world. for jersey boy tom, new england is everything north of the garden state. for new yorker rabi, it's everything east of new york. (and, of course, the states from the song. connecticut makes six. does anyone else know this song?)
to illustrate his hypothesis, tom drew me a map of his childhood conception of the united states.
my favorite part is the island of london. just a short boat ride away!
then I drew mine:
even though I know that many of my childhood beach outings were at the jersey shore, I always thought of new jersey as a place directly left of new york city where people go when they want to drive cars.
also, it seems that london has been eaten by a giant whale. if the look on the whale's face is any indication, london was tasty.
our maps give away our east-coast centrism, but I can't help but think that elementary school social studies have something to do with this too. it took me a long time to realize that idaho wasn't just a giant potato sitting out in the middle of a midwestern field somewhere.
what does your map look like?
[ 6.2.07] · [ ]
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