I am trying to fit in my community. I am trying to make some lemonade over here. So, I have been occassionally eating at some local establishments. One town favorite is Great Awakenings. There is a location in Salinas and another on Monterey. I went to Monterey with a friend, and it was pretty good, so I've been giving the Salinas location a whirl. There are some disappointments.
First, the potatoes. Call me crazy, but I think a potato should be cooked through with no crunchy at all. Potatoes are not like green vegetables or noodles which should by all rights be cooked al dente. No, potatoes should be soft the whole way through. Obviously, the cook at Greak Awakenings does not agree with me. For the second time today, my home fries were underdone. I suspect that they do boil them first, but in an effort to keep them from falling apart, they undercook them. But then they don't cook them enough on the griddle to actually finish the cooking process, leaving you with a slightly crunchy, unsatisfying potato. If it happens again, I'm complaining.
Second, the burger was bizarrely constructed. The most obvious defect was that it came to me cut in half. Now, I know a lot of people prefer to eat their burgers cut in half. That's fine. It's not the way I prefer to eat mine, however. And while anyone can cut a burger in half when it is sitting whole on his or her plate, it is impossible to glue a burger back together once it's been cut. So strike number one is the cutting of the burger. Leave the integrity of the patty alone.
Second, who melts cheese on a piece of tomato. I mean really. The lettuce and tomato are cold, and should maintain that coldness. You do not try to melt cheese on the tomato. This is not a grilled cheese with tomato, this is a burger. The burger is the hot item, it is onto this round piece of food that the cheese should be melted. Oh, sure, there was cheese melted on the underside, but not on top. What?
Let's pause for a moment and consider the entire structure of the burger. It began with a soft, floofy bun. I suspect there was some potato starch in the bun. It was not quite sturdy enough for a full burger, but whatever. That was grilled with some butter. Next came a melted layer of cheese and the actual burger patty. On top of the patty was mayo. Wha? Hu? The mayo does not go on the burger. It goes on the bread -- which does not need butter because it is getting mayo. Then there was a layer of iceburg letter (ooh, fancy). Then, tomato. Then the cheese. Yeah -- warm tomato and cold cheese. Joy. Then the top of the bun. Notice what is missing? That's right, the onion. The onion that I specifically said I DID want. So right there we have strikes two and three.
For the record, a cheeseburger should be constructed in the following mannter. Bun, dry toasted. Burger, preferably a hand-formed patty made freshly ground meat. Then, melty cheese. Jack, cheddar, swiss, or provalone all work, as does blue cheese. Then onion. The onion should nestle into the cheese and provide a piquant bite to the mellow cheese. Then bacon (if required). Then tomato -- garden ripe. Then lettuce -- green leaf acceptable, but romaine is better able to stand up to the temperatures and juices of said burger. Red leaf and mesclun are really too thin to be ideal. Finally, a nice spread of mayo on the top bun, which again has been dry-toated. Now *that* is a burger.
Oh, and my waiter kept on calling me "Sweetie". Don't get me wrong, I do not mind the pet names. Eight years in the South, and I am down with a Honey and Sugar and Shug. However, I have not been a "Sweetie" in I don't know how long -- especially from a pimply 20-something man who is obviously younger than I am. (At least it was obvious to me.) He also had taken a page out of Office Space; and was right there with the 27 pieces of flair. I do not remember the character's name, but he's the "good" waiter at the restaurant. He was chipper and friendly (but forgot the onion on the burger) and had a long conversation with himself (considering the task) of getting me more water. And he called me "Sweetie." Weird.
I might still hit them up for breakfast again, but lunch is sadly lacking.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Fuck It Dude, Let's Go Bowling
That's right. For the first time since I broke my pinkie (last March), I went bowling. And, it's the first time in a new lane -- I've been to about four bowling alleys in my life -- no kidding -- well, if we're talking 10 pin, not candlepin. But I hauled out my bowling shirt, dusted off Evan (my bowling ball -- the name was already printed on it when I bought it at the Goodwill for $8), and put on my wristbands (I don't know why, but I wear wristbands when I roll).
As I was at the bowling alley, I realized that although I am overshadowed by the hipsters in Portland, I am a hipster anywhere else. My combination of ironic gear and in-jokes it just too much for average people. My fellow English teachers didn't really know what to do with me. They did get a kick out of my shirt, though.
Of course, I lost the last game (I rolled a 76). I was penultimate in the 2nd game (I rolled an 85). And I tied for penultimate in the 3rd game -- but I broke 100, rolling a 102.
There was league bowling going on next to us. I tried to explain to them about the guy with the string tied to his foot and his wrist... but I just can't. I guess you had to be there. (Good enough for you, Hollis?)
Oh, and there was this one frame? The 6th, I think. We all bowled strikes. (It was my third mark of the night -- I am not ao good bowler). So, we're getting shirts made up and calling ourselves the Cinco Equis.
Oh, but no one sang Sweet Caroline to me when I got a strike or a spare. That was very sad.
As I was at the bowling alley, I realized that although I am overshadowed by the hipsters in Portland, I am a hipster anywhere else. My combination of ironic gear and in-jokes it just too much for average people. My fellow English teachers didn't really know what to do with me. They did get a kick out of my shirt, though.
Of course, I lost the last game (I rolled a 76). I was penultimate in the 2nd game (I rolled an 85). And I tied for penultimate in the 3rd game -- but I broke 100, rolling a 102.
There was league bowling going on next to us. I tried to explain to them about the guy with the string tied to his foot and his wrist... but I just can't. I guess you had to be there. (Good enough for you, Hollis?)
Oh, and there was this one frame? The 6th, I think. We all bowled strikes. (It was my third mark of the night -- I am not ao good bowler). So, we're getting shirts made up and calling ourselves the Cinco Equis.
Oh, but no one sang Sweet Caroline to me when I got a strike or a spare. That was very sad.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Oh Yeah, That's Right
When I first moved here, I noticed that the town had a culture of violence. The gangs, the military presence (and reverence), the fist-fights in class. You know, the stuff you've heard about. But it got pushed to the back of mind while dealing with all this other crap, but it's back in front.
And I've realized, it's not so much the violence itself that worries and saddens me; it's the anger that these kids are dealing with. They are so angry it is incredible. They tell me they are angry. They sometimes even explain their anger. Let me explain.
We are reading Oedipus to prepare for reading Antigone. We'll, we're reading a condensed version of Oedipus, but they need to know who all these people are. Anyway, Oedipus's tragic flaw is his anger (and maybe his hubris -- but his anger is what feeds that). He gets mad, makes rash decisions, kills some guy at a crossroads in the first documented case of road rage -- thus killing his father. And it goes on: he vows to kill the killer of the king, he assumes Creon and Tiresias are out to get him, he demands to know the truth. All of which lead to his realization that he has, in fact, killed his father and married his mother.
So, I ask them to think of a time when they got angry and did something they regretted as an opening free write. Some take it seriously: there was the time that a guy insulted my race, so I pulled out a knife and slit his throat.
Er. OK. That's good. Now tell me why you regret that.
Do you know how hard it is to not react to that statement? I do my best to keep a nice, flat affect with my students. (They do not need more rage or derision.)
And then -- there was the time I punched a kid and he punched me back. I kicked him because he wrecked my four-wheeler -- while he was lying on the ground injured. Or, what might be the best: I get angry, but I don't regret anything I do.
Really?
My mom is really lucky that I didn't punch her.
Huh. Tell me why.
Well, it would have knocked out her teeth. She has loose teeth.
Oh, and what would happen to you if you punched your mom?
Nothing.
Nothing. That's the response. These kids know they have anger management issues. They obviously grow up around adults with anger management issues. And it's not just one or two kids. It's a good minority of each of my classes. They are angry, violent children. They all need serious counseling. But the chances of any of them getting the services they actually need is really quite slim.
So, we read Oedipus, and talk about anger management. I'll probably pull out Joseph Campbell, and try to convince them that myths have a meaning for our lives. And maybe, maybe, one or two of them will walk away with something useful.
And I've realized, it's not so much the violence itself that worries and saddens me; it's the anger that these kids are dealing with. They are so angry it is incredible. They tell me they are angry. They sometimes even explain their anger. Let me explain.
We are reading Oedipus to prepare for reading Antigone. We'll, we're reading a condensed version of Oedipus, but they need to know who all these people are. Anyway, Oedipus's tragic flaw is his anger (and maybe his hubris -- but his anger is what feeds that). He gets mad, makes rash decisions, kills some guy at a crossroads in the first documented case of road rage -- thus killing his father. And it goes on: he vows to kill the killer of the king, he assumes Creon and Tiresias are out to get him, he demands to know the truth. All of which lead to his realization that he has, in fact, killed his father and married his mother.
So, I ask them to think of a time when they got angry and did something they regretted as an opening free write. Some take it seriously: there was the time that a guy insulted my race, so I pulled out a knife and slit his throat.
Er. OK. That's good. Now tell me why you regret that.
Do you know how hard it is to not react to that statement? I do my best to keep a nice, flat affect with my students. (They do not need more rage or derision.)
And then -- there was the time I punched a kid and he punched me back. I kicked him because he wrecked my four-wheeler -- while he was lying on the ground injured. Or, what might be the best: I get angry, but I don't regret anything I do.
Really?
My mom is really lucky that I didn't punch her.
Huh. Tell me why.
Well, it would have knocked out her teeth. She has loose teeth.
Oh, and what would happen to you if you punched your mom?
Nothing.
Nothing. That's the response. These kids know they have anger management issues. They obviously grow up around adults with anger management issues. And it's not just one or two kids. It's a good minority of each of my classes. They are angry, violent children. They all need serious counseling. But the chances of any of them getting the services they actually need is really quite slim.
So, we read Oedipus, and talk about anger management. I'll probably pull out Joseph Campbell, and try to convince them that myths have a meaning for our lives. And maybe, maybe, one or two of them will walk away with something useful.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Butterflies in My Stomach
I am in love... with my new teaching technique. Well, it's not really a "teaching" technique. It's more of a motivational policy.
Here it is.
"You have options. Don't let anyone fool you; you always have options. You can choose to do your class work, or you can choose to do your work in detention. You will serve detention with me, today, after school to finish your classwork."
Oh, they hem and haw: "But I can't stay after school." "Are you going to drive me home?" "What if I have to leave for an emergency." The answer, however, is pretty simple, "Then choose to do your work in class." It is your choice. If you do not want to stay after school, then work during classtime. (Time is a scare resource, by the way, and so must be used wisely.)
The wording is critical: it is the student's choice. It is not something (else) that I do to them. Oh, sure, I am leading them towards the choice I want them to make, but it is ultimately their decision. They are aware of the consequences of their choices from the outset. And I tell them that I will have the campus supervisors deliver them to my room to serve detention, so they can't just blow it off.
And you know what? Students who have not done any work all year got some work done on Friday. Not necessarily a lot of work, or great work, but work. One student refused. He got brought brought in for detention. Then he pushed past me when the bell rang. It's another choice he made. Now he'll be up for expulsion for pushing a teacher. It is all his choice.
Here it is.
"You have options. Don't let anyone fool you; you always have options. You can choose to do your class work, or you can choose to do your work in detention. You will serve detention with me, today, after school to finish your classwork."
Oh, they hem and haw: "But I can't stay after school." "Are you going to drive me home?" "What if I have to leave for an emergency." The answer, however, is pretty simple, "Then choose to do your work in class." It is your choice. If you do not want to stay after school, then work during classtime. (Time is a scare resource, by the way, and so must be used wisely.)
The wording is critical: it is the student's choice. It is not something (else) that I do to them. Oh, sure, I am leading them towards the choice I want them to make, but it is ultimately their decision. They are aware of the consequences of their choices from the outset. And I tell them that I will have the campus supervisors deliver them to my room to serve detention, so they can't just blow it off.
And you know what? Students who have not done any work all year got some work done on Friday. Not necessarily a lot of work, or great work, but work. One student refused. He got brought brought in for detention. Then he pushed past me when the bell rang. It's another choice he made. Now he'll be up for expulsion for pushing a teacher. It is all his choice.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Becoming a Bitch
Or: How I learned to stop worrying and love behaviorism.
You've all heard about some of my horrible classes. On Tuesday, I kept one of my junior classes after the bell. They wouldn't shut up, so I added up (a small portion) of my time that they wasted, and kept them after the bell that amount. The bell rings, they go to stand up, and I laugh at them and tell them to sit down. They grumble. They don't get to leave until everyone is quiet.
I also started keeping a chart on how often they do things, like share in a discussion, have a side conversation, or say something disrespectful. It's not scientific; I miss a lot. But, they started to notice it today. Today, I also wrote down how long after the bell they would stay. (I just want to get through the damn journal and agenda without it taking 15 minutes. It should take 3.) And then, the student who would not take notes (for a whole 8-slide lecture) or stop talking... I put him in a desk facing the wall. That way, he can't make eye contact, he can calm down, and he and everyone else can get some work done. It actually works. Especially when I woulnd't let him leave the seat, even after he finished his test. Dude is seriously taller than I am, and yet I managed to get him to sit in that desk all class.
Anyway. They end up being quiet while everyone is finishing their tests. I am sitting perched on my stool at the front of the room, dispensing glares and marking hashes in the appropriate columns in my behaviorism chart. They don't even get rowdy for the last 15 minutes. I am internally stunned. Then, with 3 minutes remaining, I calmly stand up, close the door, and wait there patiently for the bell to ring.
The bell rings.
No one moves.
:-D
I wait for it to finish. I tell them how pleased I am that they were quiet during the test. It was very respectful of their classmates who were still taking the test. They could turn in their assignment, otherwise it was due on Monday. On Monday, we will watch a movie, but on Tuesday we will be working in the book, so they need to bring it with them. They were quiet during my announcements. I opened the door, and they left.
I kept my facing-the-wall student in. He was not stupid enough to push past me. (I had earlier told him that he could begin taking notes or stay after class; the choice was his. He chose to stay.) We talked. He evaded. Perhaps told a lie. I let him go. I then emailed his couselor to check on his story and called his parents. Parents not home, cell numbers not working, but I did leave a message.
Yes, I just might be getting the hang of this "bitch" thing. I almost told them (we were learning about rhetoric and ethos, logos, and pathos) that pathos didn't work on me because I am a cold-hearted bitch. I decided to leave the "bitch" part out of it. Not school-appropriate, you know.
You've all heard about some of my horrible classes. On Tuesday, I kept one of my junior classes after the bell. They wouldn't shut up, so I added up (a small portion) of my time that they wasted, and kept them after the bell that amount. The bell rings, they go to stand up, and I laugh at them and tell them to sit down. They grumble. They don't get to leave until everyone is quiet.
I also started keeping a chart on how often they do things, like share in a discussion, have a side conversation, or say something disrespectful. It's not scientific; I miss a lot. But, they started to notice it today. Today, I also wrote down how long after the bell they would stay. (I just want to get through the damn journal and agenda without it taking 15 minutes. It should take 3.) And then, the student who would not take notes (for a whole 8-slide lecture) or stop talking... I put him in a desk facing the wall. That way, he can't make eye contact, he can calm down, and he and everyone else can get some work done. It actually works. Especially when I woulnd't let him leave the seat, even after he finished his test. Dude is seriously taller than I am, and yet I managed to get him to sit in that desk all class.
Anyway. They end up being quiet while everyone is finishing their tests. I am sitting perched on my stool at the front of the room, dispensing glares and marking hashes in the appropriate columns in my behaviorism chart. They don't even get rowdy for the last 15 minutes. I am internally stunned. Then, with 3 minutes remaining, I calmly stand up, close the door, and wait there patiently for the bell to ring.
The bell rings.
No one moves.
:-D
I wait for it to finish. I tell them how pleased I am that they were quiet during the test. It was very respectful of their classmates who were still taking the test. They could turn in their assignment, otherwise it was due on Monday. On Monday, we will watch a movie, but on Tuesday we will be working in the book, so they need to bring it with them. They were quiet during my announcements. I opened the door, and they left.
I kept my facing-the-wall student in. He was not stupid enough to push past me. (I had earlier told him that he could begin taking notes or stay after class; the choice was his. He chose to stay.) We talked. He evaded. Perhaps told a lie. I let him go. I then emailed his couselor to check on his story and called his parents. Parents not home, cell numbers not working, but I did leave a message.
Yes, I just might be getting the hang of this "bitch" thing. I almost told them (we were learning about rhetoric and ethos, logos, and pathos) that pathos didn't work on me because I am a cold-hearted bitch. I decided to leave the "bitch" part out of it. Not school-appropriate, you know.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
An Assault
Yes, I was "assaulted" in class yesterday. That's what happens when a student pushes past a teacher after a directive to not leave the room. It's been coming for a long time.
This student is used to getting her way. So, she just does whatever she wants: walks out the of the room, texts her friends, talks out loud, doesn't complete work, doesn't stay after. I have been in contact with her case manager, who communicates with the parent, and nothing happens. Nothing changes. Ever. And I should have handled this much sooner, because the entire class disrespects me (and therefor, anyone who actually wants to learn). It is not a good scene.
So, my "Turn your phone off" turned into her "Get out of my way! Don't touch me!" In the meeting this morning, the vice principal did an excellent job of retelling the story and explaining how everything that happened was a direct result of the choices that the student made. She chose to not turn off her phone (which was a polite request on my part -- I am allowed to confiscate it). She chose to not turn it on silent. She chose to check it. She chose to not hand the phone over. She chose to talk back to me. She chose to leave the room. She chose to some so close to me that it was threatening and I had to put up my hands. She chose to push past me.
I could press charges, but I decided not to. We did go over that option with the student, however. She could end up in juvenile hall for the choices she made. She could end up expelled. She is far more concerned, however, not with her suspension, but with the school confiscating her phone. The school will keep it for 30 days.
There are probably other things that I could have/should have done to keep it from going this far, but the student actually said in the meeting that she didn't care what I directed her to do. Actually, she had to look for the words, "I didn't care". Classic. So, maybe we have been on this path from the start.
I will say that this placement has been a huge learning experience for me. I remember a teacher friend of mine telling me about his time in LA, and how he turned into the biggest hard-ass. (It doesn't hurt that he's 6'1" or 6'2" and weighs a good 240lbs. -- of muscle. He's a football coach, and NOT a tubby one.) He said how he had gotten so bad that his students in Portland staged an intervention with him. They said that they would do what he said, and he could relax. That's what LA will do to you. So, I guess this is all about learning how to brandish the big stick, even while speaking softly. Having the big stick is no good if no one notices it.
This student is used to getting her way. So, she just does whatever she wants: walks out the of the room, texts her friends, talks out loud, doesn't complete work, doesn't stay after. I have been in contact with her case manager, who communicates with the parent, and nothing happens. Nothing changes. Ever. And I should have handled this much sooner, because the entire class disrespects me (and therefor, anyone who actually wants to learn). It is not a good scene.
So, my "Turn your phone off" turned into her "Get out of my way! Don't touch me!" In the meeting this morning, the vice principal did an excellent job of retelling the story and explaining how everything that happened was a direct result of the choices that the student made. She chose to not turn off her phone (which was a polite request on my part -- I am allowed to confiscate it). She chose to not turn it on silent. She chose to check it. She chose to not hand the phone over. She chose to talk back to me. She chose to leave the room. She chose to some so close to me that it was threatening and I had to put up my hands. She chose to push past me.
I could press charges, but I decided not to. We did go over that option with the student, however. She could end up in juvenile hall for the choices she made. She could end up expelled. She is far more concerned, however, not with her suspension, but with the school confiscating her phone. The school will keep it for 30 days.
There are probably other things that I could have/should have done to keep it from going this far, but the student actually said in the meeting that she didn't care what I directed her to do. Actually, she had to look for the words, "I didn't care". Classic. So, maybe we have been on this path from the start.
I will say that this placement has been a huge learning experience for me. I remember a teacher friend of mine telling me about his time in LA, and how he turned into the biggest hard-ass. (It doesn't hurt that he's 6'1" or 6'2" and weighs a good 240lbs. -- of muscle. He's a football coach, and NOT a tubby one.) He said how he had gotten so bad that his students in Portland staged an intervention with him. They said that they would do what he said, and he could relax. That's what LA will do to you. So, I guess this is all about learning how to brandish the big stick, even while speaking softly. Having the big stick is no good if no one notices it.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
A Few More Reflections
I'm sure I've told you about the self-reflections I have my students complete at the end of each quarter. Bla bla bla: based on my CT's lessons and the truest expression of his awesomeness as a teacher.
Anyway. At the end of the semester, I ask them to evaluate not only their academic work and their participation, but the class and my teaching. It's only fair. Of course, I get a lot of the usual: this class is boring, you should be more strict (generally spelled strick), you should lighten up, you suck (in so many words), we should do more fun things (with no explanation of what is fun), this class is OK, this class is cool. And, I get some things I know: we should do more work in groups, you should only keep in the kids who are misbehaving, we should read more interesting books (take it up with the department). You know, the usual. And then a few of them stand out.
From a student who is stubborn, defiant, tardy, truant, and a general pain in my ass: "Your cool. And I'm not trippen." (I actually like the kid, he's just a royal pain as a student.) From a quiet student in an abnoxious class: "I like that you keep teaching when the class is disruptive. Other teachers will just give us worksheets and sit behind their desk."
Anyway. At the end of the semester, I ask them to evaluate not only their academic work and their participation, but the class and my teaching. It's only fair. Of course, I get a lot of the usual: this class is boring, you should be more strict (generally spelled strick), you should lighten up, you suck (in so many words), we should do more fun things (with no explanation of what is fun), this class is OK, this class is cool. And, I get some things I know: we should do more work in groups, you should only keep in the kids who are misbehaving, we should read more interesting books (take it up with the department). You know, the usual. And then a few of them stand out.
From a student who is stubborn, defiant, tardy, truant, and a general pain in my ass: "Your cool. And I'm not trippen." (I actually like the kid, he's just a royal pain as a student.) From a quiet student in an abnoxious class: "I like that you keep teaching when the class is disruptive. Other teachers will just give us worksheets and sit behind their desk."
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