I’m having a great weekend, actually
I think I’ll decide that for myself, thank you very much Weather.com
(See blue sidebar)
For once, it wasn’t me (update)
It wasn’t until last night that I realized what had set off the events of yesterday. If you haven’t heard:
And I have to admit – it feels great to not be responsible for missing my flight. I mean, sure, I could have prepared better, but who would have guessed my alarm would fail? I’ve spent that last few hours contemplating how else this might have affected people’s days. Of course, it mostly affected people like me, who needed to be somewhere unusually early in the morning. Missing an airplane (although obviously a pain) is nothing fatal, but I feel like it’s one of the more serious consequences of the alarm glitch. What else could have happened?
Late to work? Not good, but they would have to understand.
Late to meet a date for morning coffee? An offense, to be sure, but they’d have to sympathize.
Late to an interview? Now that’s bad, but once again, you’ve got a great excuse.
Ok, so I can’t think of anything really that bad. Missing an airplane, and needing to pay and re-plan your day, is probably one of the larger inconveniences posed by the glitch. I’ll have to give this some more thought.
In the meantime, I’m taking Continental and Apple to task. It’s time to invoke my consumer rights and register some complaints. I’ll let you know what I get out of it.
I’m hoping for a pony.
- Jeff
This is it
And it’s not going to be much. Or very deep. And I’m not explaining why I’ve been absent for so long. You’ll understand soon enough.
For now, I just spent my first day of the year in shambles.
Cut to 5:40 am and Andrew nudges me awake. My flight, as planned, departs at 6 am from SFO. Twenty minutes, give or take, just wasn’t going to be enough, no matter how hard I wished it. A bit delusional, I dressed as quick as I could (mumbling obscenities under my breath, and wondering aloud why I’m always the target of conspiracies). Interestingly enough, we were by the airport by 6:30 – a faster turnaround than expected.
The teller had an accent I couldn’t really understand. His name was Jaz. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that name. I wanted to call him Jay-Z, but I didn’t. I thought that wouldn’t help the situation. Jaz ended up getting me rerouted onto another flight just an hour later, landing me in Philadelphia just 3 hours after my original itinerary would have gotten me there. Not bad. $50 penalty fee later, I booked it to the gate.
Middle seat, damn it. But who was I to ask for anything more? I sat between two really nice and quiet Asian ladies who knew each other. Part of me wondered if they wanted to sit next to each other. I should ask, I thought to myself more than once. Then I could get an aisle or (even better) window seat. But I didn’t, mostly because I also thought that perhaps they planned it this way – to have a stranger sit between them. That would be odd, wouldn’t it? But I figured if that was the case, I’d better not force them into an uncomfortable moment, when they’d either have to bite their lips and switch seats, or say no and risk seeming estranged, or worse, just strange.
Five hours later, I landed in Newark. Almost home. I had checked my carry on bag at the gate in SFO because the plane was too full. So I waited at the tarmac stairs to pick it up until a man approached me and explained that the bag was checked to my final destination. Easy enough.
Upon arrival, however, the bag was nowhere to be found. Unfortunately I was too slow to realize it and got stuck behind a Spanish-speaking woman who also lacked her proper luggage. The language barrier wasn’t helping anyone and their slow conversation took about 30 minutes to get through. She didn’t annoy me at all. What annoyed me was my inability to help. I wanted to jump in and rattle it all out in Spanish, saving the day and getting on with our lives. Instead, I just stood there, as frustrated as her. But when it was my turn, I had the words to get what I needed in a jiffy. It wasn’t long before we figured it out that the little bag had never left California.
And by that time I wanted nothing more than to switch places with that bag. To be sitting in that airport, close to my family and friends, close to the future that is awaiting my return in five short months. I’d wait in a room full of lost luggage to have that feeling again.
But before I could give it much more thought, I remembered something. My keys. My house keys. They were in the bag, in California.
Happy New Year. And if this is it, then it’s gonna be one hell of a year.
Might as well write it all down.
- Jeff
16 days later…
It’s not that I haven’t been inspired to reflect or to get on here and post about this or that. I’m usually inspired on a daily basis. In fact, I just looked up and saw this and felt pretty motivated. I think I just needed a break. A break from anticipating the next day, from catching up with to-do lists and scrounging for time to run or cook or clean. I’ve mostly decompressed from the school year, and it’s time to redirect a few things.
I haven’t taken a true summer break since the two months following my high school graduation. I’ve either been abroad or interning or researching or learning how to be a teacher. So six years later, I’ve decided to take two months to myself. No supervisors, no schedules, and, yes, no money. But being a teacher means a continuous paycheck and thus the ability to have a little fun on my school’s dime.
But my true summer break wasn’t a concerted effort to actually take a break. In fact, I tried to fill these 8 weeks with something more meaningful and productive. I applied to four different programs or internships and to no avail. Deflating my ego is one thing, but seriously – nothing? Did I not just teach in urban Philadelphia for two years? Did I not also simultaneously take classes and earn a teaching certificate and M.S. in Education? Did I not just work my ass off proving to myself that I was capable of just about anything? Yes, I think I did. But only to find, apparently, all that experience was not quite what they’re looking for.
Bitter? Me? No…not at all. Just wondering what all this means and where I’ll end up next. So in the spirit of being self-made, I’m taking this summer to myself. And don’t go thinking I’m just gonna do yoga and watch movies and eat all summer. I’ve got a few plans that might just make this a more meaningful and productive summer than any internship or office job could offer. And trust me, you’ll be hearing all about it.
It feels good to be back.
- Jeff
1891
I’m an observant person. I tend to notice things when they are changed. Come in my room and move a few things, a book or a frame’s angle, and I’ll probably say something to myself. Something like, “that looks different.” Anyway, there’s something I’ve noticed a lot lately and I just have to say something about it.
I was updating a profile for an online purchase and had to input the usual personal info they ask for when you update things like that. Name, sex, birthdate, etc. And I noticed something funny about the birthday years.
Then, earlier today I was making a purchase on Southwest.com and noticed it again.
So I checked facebook and there it was.
All different. And without an explanation I can fathom.
You see, all these sites provide varied years that you can choose as your actual year of birth. The 12 month, 31 day option is standard, but it’s all up in the air when you click and scroll down to choose a year.
Southwest, for example:
1891. Weird, huh? Then I got to thinking, maybe they base it on the oldest person alive. That way, their options would be inclusive of all people on earth. Makes sense. Well, made sense to me.
So, naturally, I looked up the oldest person in the world. And they were not born in 1891. They were born in 1896. Her name is Eugenie Blanchard and she lives in France. I swear.
Maybe Southwest is just really making sure not to leave anyone out. Then again, that 5 year gap between the oldest living person and the 1891 scroll down option might just be for the hell of it.
To make things more complicated, I checked facebook. Their cutoff, to my surprise, was 1900. Now, the century-mark makes more sense than 1891, but then again, they’re leaving some folks out. No matter their reasons (it’s probably up to the engineer who makes the software), I’ll never stop wondering, or scrolling down to check each time I enter my birthdate. It will haunt me as a habit until I die.
And I can’t help but feel kinda bad for Eugenie. She can never have a real facebook account. She can fly, though, and that is something.
- Jeff
Let me explain
My students are sexually active. It’s really not something I’m fuzzy or confused about. It’s actually quite obvious. Pregnancies at my friends’ schools (and, yes, even my own) are not unheard of. But beyond literal insemination, my student’s conversations in the hallway, and their references to sex acts and the such make it clear that they’re far more advanced than I was at their age. In the midst of growing up, I forget my first exposure to all things sex-related. My parents never sat me down for “the talk,” so I must have picked it up from someplace. Regardless, I don’t think it happened in middle school. Then again, that comparison isn’t really very useful anyway. The point is that my students, at my school, are definitely having sex.
While I don’t necessarily condone it, there isn’t the space at my school to even bring it up. As their history teacher and part time mentor, I haven’t found the right place or time to interject my own thoughts on sex at 12 years old. While I think they can assume my position, it’s better ignored in favor of their own moral (or hormonal) compass. My philosophy, as it has been for a long time now, is that young people need access to information about sex at a young age. The more mysterious sex is, the more glorified it becomes, and the less they realize the real-world implications. For this reason, I wanted to play a role in de-mystifying it all.
I posted a list of micro-reforms I wanted to achieve by year’s end back in February. Included on that list was the goal of setting up a sex ed workshop series aimed at educating my students about their bodies, choices and, above all, contraceptives. Although my administration was hesitant at first (“this isn’t really a problem, is it?”) they embraced the idea after rallying other teachers to echo the same sentiment, and collecting a few risque notes that were intercepted during class. Let’s just say my student’s sexual vocabulary is broad and impressive.
I contacted the school district to get their approved organizations for sex ed resources and, upon seeing Planned Parenthood on the list, jumped at the opportunity. So over the last month, Planned Parenthood came in to present three workshops covering a good breadth of topics: from reproductive anatomy and making choices about sexual intimacy to abstinence and contraceptives, we made some good ground. The kids were mostly immature and giggly the whole time, but the mere mention of sex in school must have opened a whole new space to express themselves. The taboo attached to the word “sex” probably became less intriguing when I joined the conversation, and with a straight face, said things they likely didn’t expect to ever hear in room 801.
Our last workshop took place on Friday, after a long day of babysitting 8th graders while the other kids were on a field trip. To keep things rolling, we watched Avatar before the workshop got started. And during the session itself, after getting frustrated with their giggles and loudmouths, I said “We watched Avatar and now we’re talking about sex – what more do you want? Now be quiet.” It shut them up for a bit.
At least until we discovered the presenter left her plastic penis condom-dummy on the desk in our classroom. And after snapping a quick photo, I hid that in a jiffy. I can’t imagine the phone calls I’d be getting from home.
- Jeff
No rest for the wicked
I can’t even wait to get home for this one.
It’s been a real challenge to teach in the heat this week and last. With a sharp increase in the temperature outside, our students have become lethargic and slow. It doesn’t help that my classroom can get to 85 degrees on the worst days, either. So today one of my 6th graders fell asleep during independent work. I usually just poke them awake, but decided to have some fun today.
I left Waheem sleeping as the bell rang, and dismissed his classmates in silence. I whispered to stay quiet as my next class crept to their seats. We started class, and about 5 minutes later he awoke to some chatter and realized what had happened. The look on that little boy’s face was priceless. Obviously embarrassed and probably terrified, he got up and left my classroom. I felt kind of bad about it, but it’s a lesson he won’t soon forget.
It got me through the day, at least.
- Jeff
Spring
My mom’s visit last week was hectic and fun and way too short. We managed to accomplish a lot in the house, but the most memorable thing my mom left behind were her photos of our beautiful street. Spring has sprung, and with it our street was in bloom.
So dramatic, isn’t it?
And then we played in it for a while.
- Jeff
White board sledding
Those who have been reading lately might be getting a little jealous. I haven’t had school since Tuesday, and with the Monday holiday, won’t be back until next Tuesday. It’s been a 6-day weekend and the fun has just begun.
It’s well known in Philadelphia that after it snows, people head for the steps of the renowned Philadelphia Art Museum – made famous by the movie Rocky (as seen here). People grab whatever household items that will slide down the snow-covered steps. From garbage can lids to cardboard, little kids and adults rush the steps and sled their way to the bottom.
We grabbed some plastic folders, cardboard box lids and a whiteboard and headed for the Museum.
And this is what we saw:
And this is what we did:
This fantasy is sure to come to an end eventually. Just not yet.
- Jeff
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