Television Watching and a Shout Out

I was talking with my good friend Hollis last night (not his real name, but he knows who he is -- he's lurking out there and giving me crap for not mentioning him more in this humble collection of rants), and the subject of HBO came up. Well, I'm sure I brought it up, because I am enamoured with the HBO, especially the original series. We went back-and-forth about the relative vslue of HBO movies that you don't want to see versus the sometimes skimpy original programming choices for the monthly fee.

My thoery is that my cable company, for all they are evil bastards, offer me free HBO On Demand. Yay! On Demand! So, not only do I get to watch whatever HBO is currently offering, I also get to go back through and watch a bunch of other shows that I haven't seen before, or haven't seen in awhile.

So far, I've been through The Sopranos and have *finally* seen the last episode. (Hollis and I also had a discussion about that. No, I do not think Tony is killed. I think the final episode shows the fear -- and chutzpah -- that epitomizes the Tony Soprano's life. Everywhere he goes, he knows that this could be the time.) I am going back through Six Feet Under because it might just be my absolute favorite television show of all time, beating out Buffy, The Office, House, Gilmore Girls, and even Seinfeld. I've been through most of Big Love -- although I missed a few in the middle because I was out of town. And when Deadwood and Rome start from the beginning, I can pick them up, too.

But here's what I hate. I hate the constant commerical for On Demand that plays in the corner of the On Demand menu. I love television, but I love that I can turn it on and off and change the channels. I hate television in airports and malls and grocery stores and other public places. I hate that the noise is ubiquitous and insidious. And the commerical on the On Demand channel is horrible. It's just an annoying woman telling me what I can choose from and where to find it and showing my clips. I DON'T CARE. When I want to watch your show, I will. When I want to look for it, I will. Until then: Shut your trap.

It's the constant advertising that is pervasive in our culture. There must be a different way to construct a society; one that is not about buying more stuff. We can all see where buying more stuff has gotten our economy. And I buy HBO. I pay to not have to see a bunch of commercials. I'm happy paying for the service, because I like it. So to have that annoying woman in my face all the time when I just want to watch HBO really annoys the crap out of me.

P.S. No more saying you don't get a shout-out on the blog.

Personal Narratives

For once, I will not harp on my own personal narrative.

Every time I have my students write me something that is about their lives, I wish I had done it sooner. I get sucked in by my districts', schools', and departments' highfalutin academic goals. We must write analyses! expositions! reports! But face it: what students kow the most about, and find most intriguing, is themselves. We (and by "we", I mean "I") need to start there -- with their lives.

Last year, I waited until the end of the year before I asked about my students lives. Not totally my fault, mind you, because I started in the middle of the year and we did have some very real district and state requirements to meet. However, when I did get to the end of the year and asked my students to tell me about their neighborhoods, I cried a little bit. One student -- who had done absolutely nothing in class all semester -- literally sat up and took an interest. He moved closer to the board so he could see what I wrote. He raised his hand -- raised his hand! -- and shared his brainstorm with the class. And then he wrote the most heartrending poem about his reality -- and turned it in early. If only I could have tapped into his creativity earlier in the year; instead, I was just one more roadblock between him and a good life -- you can't go to college if you don't pass English, remember. At least (it was the very least I could do), I bought a cheapie notebook at the Freddie's and gave it to him and encouraged him to continue writing. I still have his poem. It still makes me sad that we allow children to grow up in places like his neighborhood.

Fast forward to this year. As a final, I have asked my students to write me personal narratives about a rite of passage they have experienced. We read (well, some of us read) Bless Me, Ultima and talked about the rites of passage that Antonio goes through. We also read a short section from Black Boy and talked about the narrator's rite of passage. Some of them still don't get it, but a lot of them (with my constant yipping in their ears) do. And some of them shared some pretty serious shit with me.

A few colleagues have said that they are sharing because they trust me now, but I'm not sure I totally believe that. I'm not sure that what they've shared with me now is any different from what they would have shared with me if we did this assignment back in September. I think that they respond to the assignment itself. They want to share their stories. They want to write about themselves and their problems -- Hell, it's why so many people write.

But more importantly, it gives me such a better picture of them both as students and as people. I can see who who has a sense of humor, who is dealing with serious issues, who thinks about serious issues, and who seems to be skating through life. And because they know the subject -- they don't *have* to read a book to know what to write about -- it also gives me a much better picture of their writing ability. I can see who can't end a sentence, who doesn't understand plurals, who can use a semi-colon correctly, and who can arrange items in a linear sequence.

Some of these stories are heartbreaking. There is nothing I can say to fix the student who lost a parent or grandparent, who saw the family dog get hit by a car, whose father cheated on the mother, who has a friend who was shot, who has been arrested. But I've been doing my best to listen. And while I do have to help them write their stories better -- with more description, more clarity, more organization -- I try to let them know that I value their stories and their thoughts.

The Agony and the Ecstacy

Well, the ecstacy first.

I passed all three of my stupid teaching English learners tests!!!!! Of course, I can't brag about it at school, because I talked to one other teacher who already told me that he only passed one and he talked to someone else who passed none. But, my test-taking skillz served me well. Nothing like drawing on your background as a white, middle-class, English-only, privileged child with parents who completed college to pass a test that proves you can teach students who are not white, low-SES, non-English speaking, not privileged students with parents who might not have graduated from high school.

And the agony: There have been six homicides in town so far this year. Five last weekend, one more last night (along with three shootings). Rumors were flying around today that one gang was going to drive by my high school when school let out this afternoon. I'm definitely getting out of town tonight, and I'm working on getting out all weekend long. It is a bloodbath.

UPDATE: I am out of town for the weekend. I hung with friends in Monterey/Pacific Grove on Friday night, and then drove up to Los Gatos to chill with my friend's parents. Well, they're off helping their son's family move, so it's mostly me and the dogs with my pile of grading. However, checking the news, my town has been quiet over the weekend, so maybe the gangs are taking a much-needed break from the violence. And I do live in a pretty quiet neighborhood on a cul-de-sac; it's not a good place for a shooting.

Finally!

After sending in my documentation to my district in July, I got an email today from the state of California that I have both my emergency CTEL credential and my Single Subject Credential in English Language Arts and Social Studies. Yay!

Although my district did sit on the information for about a month (I should have called them to let them know I sent it), most of the time was taken up by the state of California. It took them about two months to admit that they were thinking about giving me a credential. Then it took them two more months to say that I didn't send in the appropriate score report. So, that it only took them a month (and over Christmas, no less) to finally issue the credential is nothing short of a miracle.

I figured I'd still be waiting for it when June 12th rolled around.

(Not to worry any of you bureaucratic types too much, I've had my Oregon credential for a couple of years now.)

The Ants Go Marching One by One

But, "Hurrah, hurrah"? Not so much.

The ants are back, but not -- suprisingly -- in my kitchen. No, they're in my bedroom. "Gee, Caroline. Are you eating in bed again? Staying up late and reading at 1am because you take allergy medicines that make you sleep all day long?" "Why no, I'm not. I live alone now. If I want to stay up late and eat, I do it on the futon in front of the TV. As tiny as it is, it's faaaaar more fun than my tiny bedroom."

So, why ants in the bedroom? As far as I can, it's just a shortcut. There was a hole in the molding around the window where they were coming in. I covered that with spackle, so now they can't come in. What I can't find is the other entrance (egress). I have ants wandering the same line, looking at me with the same lost expression when I spray them with the vingar, their sad little legs waving in the air as they try to find their way without a sense of smell. The bastards. Serves them right. But where are they coming from now that the window hole is covered? I have NO IDEA. Me and my headlamp have been on our hands and knees, trying to follow the trail, and it always dries up. Whole bunch of ants on the wall... two tiny ants waving their legs at each other along the carpet. And then... nothing. NOTHING.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THEY ARE COMING FROM.

Here's what really scares me. When I looked outside (back when the hole in the window frame was still open) the ants were not coming in from the outside of the windo. Oh no. There was (is) a trail of them along the outside of the house, along the foundation, then into the crawlspace. er, I don't know if it even counts as a crawlspace. So, all these ants are entering from UNDERNEATH my "cottage".

I live on the Hellmouth of ants. I need a Slayer.

UPDATE: I only found five lonely ants this morning -- which is still disappointing, but an improvement. (I also put a pile of cornstarch outside the house where they appeared to be entering. Maybe it helped.)

Happy New Year Everybody!

No New Year would be complete without collards and black-eyed peas. Eating these dishes on New Year's Day will bring you good luck in the upcoming year. And although I generally take some liberties with when, exactly, I eat this dish, eat it, I do. It is an old Southern tradition, born of slaves who were given this day off (I believe). Certainly, black-eyed peas, or field peas, or crowder peas, or whatever variety grows in your field, were considered slave food; collards are one crop that actually taste better when grown in the cold (something about the cold and the sugar in the rather bitter leaves). So, these two dishes came to signify money: the collards are green like bills and the peas are coin. And in America, lots of money = good luck.

I first heard about this tradition back in my North Carolina days. Wayne was not only a good cook, but he lived in a house with many people and they often had House Dinners. New Year's Dinner was a big one. It often involved people outside the house (like girlfriends, former roommates, coworkers) and it was my first real experience with collards and black-eyed peas.

Wayne was vegetarian, so I also learned how to cook things without bacon or ham -- quite a feat when you're talking about collards and dried peas. I really didn't like collards the first 5 or so times I had them; but I always had at least a bite or two for good luck's sake. I loved the peas, though. As a former Crook's Corner cook, Wayne always made Hoppin' John.

But this past year, I saw a Good Eats where Altan makes collards. Now, I'll do just about anything Altan tells me to; the man makes excellent food and even better television (two of my favoritest things in the world). Altan doesn't use ham -- he uses a smoked turkey leg. So while at the store yesterday, I took a walk down the meat aisle and although I didn't find legs, I did find wings. Here then, I would see if the smoked turkey could compare to a ham hock (it would certainly beat out the veggie version).

Let me just say, yes. By all means, used smoked turkey in your collards. Make a broth first -- boil the wing for 10-15 before adding the collards. (According to Altan, most people over-cook collards and release the stinky cabbage smell, 45 minutes should be enough to cook them.) Altan adds a teaspoon of sugar (which I tried), but no onion or red pepper. I skipped the onion (the onion for the peas already made me cry), but I did add a couple shakes of red pepper flakes. In went the collards and cook. Presto: awesome collards. I admit, I was lazy and skipped the tomato and green onion on the Hoppin' John. I did add cheese, though. It was a very good dinner.

I also made cornbread, although because my oven and refrigerator are stupid, the cornbread wasn't quite ready in time, and I was too hungry to wait. It was crazy cornbread, too. I forgot about the cornbread, so I only had enough cornmeal for half a batch. But I also didn't have sour cream, plain yogurt, or buttermilk and I have discovered the both biscuits and cornbread MUST have some acid or they won't rise properly. Milk is not enough. So I added some mayo. Why not? Also, black pepper and some shredded cheese, because, I currently have too much of it. And, the piece de resistance -- greased the pan with bacon grease. Yes. Good cornbread.

Now, I just hope that all the luck I rack up will cancel out the luck I'm bound to sweep away. I have stacks of paper and mail to go through, but the Chinese say you shouldn't clean anything in the New Year -- you'll sweep out the good luck with the bad. oops.

There and Back Again: A Christmas Holiday

The trip back south was rather bland. Actually, the good times were good, but the driving was dull.

I made it from Portland to Roseburg on Thursday, stopping off in Eugene along the way to pick up M. Actually, it was a little rainy, kinda heavy at times when leaving Portland, but I survived. No hydroplaning, no washed out bridges, nothing crazy.

Then, M and I spent the night in Roseburg with Cialis. I don't think I've laughed that hard since the Fun Group was trying to make me squeak a few Christmases back. Except this time, I was adding more to the conversation. I can't breathe around the Fun Group. We told old jokes, made up new jokes, was "that group" of women at the Freddies. I even pegged my jeans, a la 1986, just because I could. Boy, was that ever a stupid look.

We stayed up late watching "scary movies" and drinking wine. Of course, the power started to flicker just as we started getting ready for bed. Nothing says, "You'll have nightmares tonight" like a power outage after a zombie movie. We got to bed so late, we didn't get up until late. I hit the road (after some yummy blueberry pancakes) around 12:30.

It was raining in Oregon, and it changed to snow around 3500'. Fortunately, it wasn't sticking. So, I went a little slow over the Siskiyou pass, but it turned back to rain at about 3700' on the other side (I-5 hits about 4200' over the pass -- highest point on I-5!) and then pretty much stopped precipitating at all.

I managed to stop at the TJ's along the way and was still home by 9:15. Not bad time.

I already miss Portland. I bought a fancy Bodum single-serving presspot travel mug and made some Stumptown coffee. It was almost like being back.