I'm fucking old...ish

I love putting the suffixes -ish and -esque at the end of words. It gives finite words a sense of vagueness. It's also a copout for choosing a more accurate word for what one wants to say.

I'm still doing the daily poetry prompts. Instead of posting them here, I'll just post them at the prescribed site:http://3030poetry.com/

Anyway, I uttered a simple question in class today and, upon having no students' hands affirmatively raised, I came to the conclusion: I'm old...ish.

We were discussing use of the vocab word "recuperation." I described the first real-world example that came to mind, Gloria Estefan's bus tour accident in the early 1990s. I asked, "Has anyone here heard of Gloria Estefan?" Not one hand went in the air. I added, "She was popular in the late 80s and early 90s. She is like Jennifer Lopez from previous years."

At home, I googled "Coming Out of the Dark," her hit 1991 single. The song has fairly cheesy symbolism and metaphors and features an overly dramatic choir in the background. Nonetheless, listening to the song made me smile. It makes me think of other hit songs by Estefan: "Cuts Both Ways" (beautiful love ballad), "Bad Boys" (the video featuring large 80s hair and eyebrows, in addition to men costumed as cats), and so on.

So..maybe I am oldish...music videos from my "youth" are awesomely hilarious...and gray hairs do not matter...if I spy any within my mousy brown hair, I just snag them out. 

Animatronic Head

30/30 Poem of the Day

Animatronic Head

Driving on NJ highways is best done

with an animatronic mind.

Stare straight ahead at the expanse of asphalt,

gemmed with small splinters of glass.

Keep the speedometer between 65 and 70,

the neon orange dial slowly seesawing.

Pay the other drivers no attention

and simply bob your head back and forth,

a pendulum moving to the beat of a song

heard one thousand times before.

Stay unaware of the line of tail lights

signaling the long pathway to your destination.

You realize that the machine mindset will bring

the most success

and the least frustration.

But human nature can’t stop you from

noticing the vibrant wildflowers

on the side of the highway,

scattered as if someone made a bet

as to whether or not he could make you smile. 

30/30 Challenge... a few days late

Read a blog post about a poetry writing challenge for April. The idea is to compose a poem each day of the month. I found a site, http://wordxwordfestival.com/challenge/index.html, that gives daily prompts for writers. While the idea of using prompts bothers me (I'd much rather come up with my own ideas), it does help with getting the writing process started.

This is my poem for 4/5...and yes, I realize that today is 4/6. The prompt was "then and now."

Then and Now

Alert, curious azure eyes taking in her surroundings

Straying eyes that look for escapes from reality

Words sputtering from a mouth, bubble-like, one after another

Thoughts perpetually contained, anxious and unrefined

Digital numbers inviting her to welcome the day’s possibilities

Mind-numbing lists of tasks to do and people to tolerate

Roads to traverse, feeling newly turned earth beneath her feet

Old, cracked dirt piled atop her dreams.  

City jitters

Most people have a consensus of what cities are like: crowded, louder than the 'burbs, busier, and with more things to do.  My conception of the city is: pure and utter chaos, droves of people streaming into one another, ridiculous expenses, and lots of things to do.

I think I am partially cursed, in that our nearest "big city" is New York City. According to worldatlas.com, NYC is the fourth most populated city in the world, with over 19 million people---and this is the city I have to live near?!

We have visited other U.S. cities and enjoyed them. Chicago (6 million population) seemed easy to navigate. If you got "lost," you did not feel like you were utterly screwed. We could tell when we were walking into a "bad section," but in actuality, it did not feel all that dangerous or threatening. Parking right by Cubs Stadium was crazy cheap. The people were nice too. We've been to Milwaukee (whoa- population under 600,000!). That was a comical experience. We wanted to visit a brewery and with out NYC state of mind we scrambled for the first parking spot we saw. We proceeded to walk about 3/4 mile to the brewery, only to find copious parking spaces in front of the brewery. We've been to Charleston, Savannah, D.C., and other cities and have had pleasant experiences.

But NYC--utter chaos.

We went there yesterday for a day trip, which I'll go into more detail next time...I just wish we were in closer proximity to a different city. I'd take Charleston. What I remember about Charleston is the eerie sounds of large bugs skittering across the sidewalks at night. Other than that, it was a quiet and polite city.

Modern Chaos

There are many times during the week when the following chant repeats in my mind: "the chaos of the modern world." This mini-chant does not occur once or twice within the week, but at least 10-15 times.

I savor silence. Even when my surroundings are classifiable as quiet, I can still sense noises around me: the sputtering of the gutter outside when rain droplets trickle onto it; the soft buzzing noises that the turned-on computer makes; the sounds of cars passing by outside; the sound of lawnmowers and other yard equipment being used at houses, even distances away...

When I am at work, I am most productive when barely anyone is left in the building. Interestingly, during my prep periods within the school day, I always have music playing in the background. Once the school is almost empty, I just grade papers and plan lessons with silence.

It seems like I would be a prime candidate for nature-living... like Thoreau. I don't feel that comfortable amidst nature though and, as foolish as it may seem, my mind churns with visions of being mauled by bears or something else catastrophic. I am "ok" with being a suburban person...but just wish silence were more frequent.

The Ghost of a Guido

Well, it's been a tumultuous past month, but I feel as if the storm between John and me has reached a point of being calm. With that calmness brings a yearning to write again, even if it's just the silly musings of my days.

My classroom has horrible, old, ugly-colored carpeting. The carpeting is mottled with various shades of brown and neutrals. I'm sure that when the rug company installed it, the colors were labeled as: tawny, burnt sienna, mahogany, copper night, amber, and beige, but the simple assessment is this: it's fucking ugly.

That carpeting has been in my classroom for the 10 years I have been there, and probably for another decade and a half on top of that. There is a large rectangular rust stain from the carpet cleaning company moving a metal bookcase halfway across the room, then deciding they no longer wanted to move it. There's bubbling that occurs right in the center of the classroom on warm, humid days. On muggy days, the classroom smells of adolescents and old carpeting combine to create a hay-like scent.

I generally have an air freshener plugged in to camouflage the horrendous smells. It makes me think of Upton Sinclair's Jungle when people took advantage of the immigrants by selling them spoiled milk, mixing in water with the curdled liquid, so that there was the appearance of freshness. This isn't as drastic, but it's the connection that comes to mind.

Today, there was a potent smell of Axe body spray in the air. I asked my 8th graders, "Did anyone spray Axe spray?" Of course, no one responded. The strong odor remained in the front quadrant of the room, strangely in area where no students sit.

My words that got a laugh during today's class: "The scent must be from the ghost of a guido who is inhabiting our room....Rodrigo."

About 15 minutes later, I renamed our ghost and announced, "Yo, it's Joe Toritelli."

Wintergirls

I'm reading a YA book, alongside an "adult" book. I find it amusing how books are classified as young adult. YA lit features the same topics as "adult lit" sex, drinking, misery, intertwined relationships, and so on. YA books just tend to be shorter and have (sometimes) less complex vocabulary.

Right now, the YA book I am reading is called Wintergirls. The protagonist, Lia, is a girl dealing with all the awkwardness and angst of high school, in addition to being an anorexic. The author does an effective job of showing how focused Lia remains when it comes to the battle between food and her own self-worth.

So....I did an awesome job...tracked food for 21 days and stuck to 1350 calories. I even went to the gym for six consecutive days. Then, Valentine's rolled around. We went out for a buffet... Wednesday was carb-laden lunch at a workshop...Thursday was solo beers...Friday was soggy, greasy french fries at the bar (and beer)...Saturday was 1 1/2 Taylor ham, egg, cheese, and bagel concoctions (mine pus half of Jen's). I look at photos from last night's karaoke time and my face appears fuller. My shoulders look wider. I look how I felt: fat.

I know it is is self-indulgent bullshit when people tirelessly discuss their weight and self-perception. I'm back on a good routine of eating for today and plan to go to the gym. A large part of me wishes I could eat garbage (pizza, fries, beer, red velvet ANYTHING) and maintain a normal weight. Everyone has things that come easy to her and things that are challenging. Academic tasks come easy to me and, generally, always have...right now though...I might exchange some portion of my intelligence for a crazy high metabolism.

Nervousness Symptoms

It's interesting how the body physically reacts to nervousness. For me, just like for everyone else, there are two types of nervousness. There's anticipation-related nervousness, that kind of nervousness when you're meeting someone new or taking a risk and doing something new. There's conventional nervousness, associated with fear of failure.

I got observed by my principal on Friday. Although I've been observed plenty of times since I have started teaching, the whole experience still makes me nervous. My mouth begins drying up and it's hard to get words out; I start to internally worry that every morsel of language that I am speaking is being analyzed. I try to be conscious of filler-words such as "like," "um," or "okay," but probably say them anyway because I am so nervous.

The second kind of nervousness is the fun nervousness...hands gently shaking, head bobbing up and down amidst affirmative self-talk, tapping of the feet... I recently read some of my poetry aloud and could feel the nervousness symptoms appearing. When I first spoke, my voice slightly quivered. After a few lines, I could feel the quivering lessen.

I don't experience that second type of nervousness too often nowadays but, when I do, I revel in it. It's miserable and wonderful at the same time. Nervousness is hard to navigate or control, which is probably what I simultaneously love and loathe about it.

Things I hate about Facebook

1) When someone posts photos of recipes that he/she has made; it's even exceptionally more annoying if the person who has posted the recipe is very ...corpulent...shall we say--- like...are you looking to be ridiculed?

2) (stated on previous post) When people post about the woes of doing schoolwork...if you're a single mom working full-time and going back to night school, then you have room to whine...if you're not that description, shut up.

3) When a "current event" occurs and everyone starts posting about it...these "current events" are never life-altering events of actual significance...cases in point: Superbowl, Whitney Houston's death, etc.

4) The foursquare app--WHY would you actually want everyone to know where you are?

5) When people who are teachers write posts that feature idiotic grammar errors. Think than vs. then, breath vs. breathe, and so on... It's so aggravating. People already do not respect the profession and those grammar idiots are just cementing that disrespect.

6) Recent updates about progress on Farmville, Cityville, Words with Friends, etc. Yes, I have played Farmville for over two years. Yes, it takes me a pathetic six or so weeks to "level up." I don't post about it. The earth doesn't need to know.

7)When people post pictures of newly born babies and others comment, "Oh! So beautiful," "Precious!," or other uncreative, complimentary things...

So yes. I am a curmudgeon:) At least I get a fun word for my grumpiness.

Hopeless Romantic

Despite my cynicalness and doubt, I am definitely a hopeless romantic.  There are two previous romantic things that I recall John doing: 1] surprising me for Christmas with a Clay Matthews jersey--I totally was not expecting it at all and, to me, successful surprises are a huge part of romance and 2] when John left beef tongue for me on the kitchen counter. He had gone to work and beef tongue was on his new recent food ventures. He left beef tongue taco prep directions on the counter, the directions outlined in "idiot format"---which is precisely what I need for any cooking endeavor.

They're definitely not conventional examples, but they're examples.

I just spent 90 minutes watching Teen Witch on ABC Family channel. The fact that I can withstand the cheesiness of this 1989 movie and still revel in the CHEESY romantic scenes is something that I love. I love the end of the movie, where Louise discards her magic-inducing necklace and how Brad falls for her... without having magic involved. I love the stupid scene where they're in the abandoned house, tip toeing around amidst creaks of old wooden floorboards, followed by the camera zooming in on a slow, long kiss.

In between the movie were commercials for The Notebook. I hate all the "old people" scenes of that movie, but love any other scene between Ryan Gosling & Rachel McAdams. I don't desire to like this movie, but I just do.

Hopeless romantics can't be tarnished by anything, not even urbandictionary.com. Urbandictionary.com always manages to find a way to fuck up the most innocent of words. "Hopeless romantic" on the site remains innocent, sweet, and simple: someone who is in love with love. <3

Recent poem

I know that "successful blogs" have some kind of theme: musings on daily life, video clips, top-whatever lists, and so on. I did start writing a blog entry in how I revel at the fact that some people I graduated high school with are now fat. The entry did not go too far. What am I?- a lead character in Mean Girls?

So, instead, here is a recent poem. I've been trying to write more often. Whenever people ask me why I stopped, my reply is, "Students suck the creativity out of me." Well, screw them... I'm making it come back.

(Not yet titled)


The rain slackens 
but its sound
echoes into the air. 
Stray droplets reach my windowpane
and continue intermittent songs.


I am reminded of younger years,
long expanse of time, 
and your hands trailing paths down my body. 
Small, meager lamp on the bedstand,
Nothing but the gentle brush of colliding lips.
Breaths being passed between us
like carefully constructed words in a conversation.


I think of us now
and the sounds that surround us.
Cars battering the pavement, rushing to reach home. 
Dim streetlamps on the verge of disrepair. 
Rickety white fence posts shuddering in the wind.


I long for your breath on my body.

"Mirror," Sylia Plath

A new, mysterious gem that I discovered today...

"Mirror," Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever you see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.


http://quietube2.com/v.php/http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nZht4WMoMo

Moves Like Jagger

Despite being released last June, "Moves Like Jagger" is still constantly on the radio. This song is my WAKE UP anthem. On Friday nights when I have contemplated going to sleep early instead of going out, I've played "Moves Like Jagger" while jumping on a mini trampoline. That definitely does the trick for waking a person up. It also, um, makes me feel sexy.

On the way to work, if it comes on the radio (which it often does), I have a routine: I unroll the window (yes, manually, and yes, even if it is 20 degrees out), frantically flap my arms around ("car dancing"), and sing uproariously. My favorite lines are " Don't need to try to control you/ Look into my eyes and I'll own you." This song energizes me and somehow makes me happy to be on the road, even if it is 7:25 in the morning.

After 4 minutes of utter loud bliss, I am most likely close to work; I only live 4 miles away. As the song's chorus fades into a background and the song ends, I reverse the morning bliss. I roll my window up, re-compose myself, and calmly drive down the main road that leads to work. I turn up the main driveway, pull into my parking spot, and get out of the car.

Sometimes I wish my work day was like a musical, with clever songs and choreographed dances to help me get through the motions of monotony.

Neighbors

When we moved into the house, I assumed that living in a "neighborhood" would equate with a sense of community. In our apartment, we knew our neighbors, but it was on sheer acquaintance terms. I knew our one set of neighbors were Muslim, based on the echoes of prayers that I would hear at various times of the day. Another set of downstairs neighbors would have very short sex-capades; I could hear labored breaths on weekend nights; the labored breaths would last about 20 seconds. Poor girl. Our other neighbors were the #10 couple; the wife was ridiculously thin (had a drinking problem, mixed with the tendency to overexercise) and the husband was very corpulent (he was short, fat, and yelled constantly at his wife).

We moved into our quaint house in the "lake community" and I assumed that with the new residence would come the kind of community that you see on TV and hear about in novels.

FALSE.

Tom is our next door neighbor. He spends lots of time manicuring his lawn and backyard, but never has company over. Bobbi (short for Roberta) and Neil are our next-door neighbors on the other side of our house. She definitely is the commandeering force in the relationship. Neil drives a modest Subaru. Bobbi owns a grey BMW that is frequently covered with a canvas tarp. They also own another luxury car in their garage. They dug up their entire backyard to "re-lawn" it and now the beautiful yard is only used for their purebred poodle to shit upon. The neighbor across the street, Edith, was an elderly woman who would sometimes sit outside with her nurse-on-duty. Apparently, Edith died a few months ago--I didn't know until a few days ago.

I just feel like everyone is in their own house, watching their plasma TVs, using their luxury kitchen appliances, and paying no mind to the world outside their house.

I am definitely a private person and am not the type to just totally have our house open to anyone at anytime...but I do like the concept of a community...which is non-existent here.

We pay $540 in annual fees for the "lake community property owners association;" writing out that check pisses me off beyond explanation.

The neighbors I most detest are across the street... Russ and Michelle...she's a teacher; he's some businessman. They have two children (a boy and a girl) and a shiny, new mini-van. My negative view of them would best be saved until later...

Winter Doldrums

The sun is setting; there's a tinge of orange across the sky, but most of the light has descended. The sky remains a blank shade of blue, a bit more optimistic than its recent consecutive shades of grey. At the height of the day, the temperature was a mild 48 degrees. 48 degrees is a rarity from the normal temperatures around here. Driving on route 80 today, I momentarily got the feeling of sunlight coming through the driver's side window and warming my face.

For the most part, winter on the East Coast sucks. I find myself coming home from work, getting underneath blankets, reading (and never anything uplifting--right now, it's Andre Dubus III's Townie and he is describing how he has almost just killed someone in an altercation), and just waiting for the coldness to end. I'm not a winter sports enthusiast so the idea of being outside "against the elements" does nothing for me. Today, the most momentous thing I did was watch an an episode of Alaska: Ice Cold Killers. Apparently, even Alaska has horrible, crime-ridden areas (they specifically cited 4th Street in Anchorage).

Lying in bed, amidst the background sound of the television, I heard the faint sound of police sirens and the sound of an airplane flying, overhead, in the distance. I'd settle for hearing that wintery crackling sound, snow dusting the ground and pure silence in the air.

Little Girl Lost

Maybe I am entering crazy terrain, although I prefer to refer to my current state of mind as inquisitive.

Last night, I went online and was searching for some record of my father's death. He died in 1986, I know that much. My last memories of him include: sitting in the passenger seat of his dark green truck and counting mile markers on the parkway; drawing fluffy, pliant clouds; and looking at his paperweights collection.

Since it was a Jewish funeral, I didn't see his body. The last I recall is going to the cemetery and seeing relatives uplift small piles of dirt, putting them into the ground.

Awhile ago, I found a site that listed someone with my father's name as a professional boxer from Brooklyn. Though I know he did not grow up in Brooklyn, the past few weeks have been spent with the assumption that my father boxed professionally and that, hey, maybe I could take up kickboxing at the gym and continue the legacy. After further research, the Brooklyn boxer's birth date does not match up to my father's.

There's someone in Florida with the same first and last name who was a victim in the Bernie Madoff investment scandal. Relatives on my father's side live in Florida, but, alas, the person could not be my father (large age difference).

I know he is dead, is gone, has passed away...whatever other euphemism one wants to use. I just feel angry that I have no connection to my father. I have thick, wavy, brown hair---just like him. I have an affinity for glass paperweights, which I have never really given much previous thought to before. That's about it.

When I was six and my father died, I am sure that I felt lost--not understanding the gravity of the situation. At 31, I don't know if I feel any more grounded.

American Traditions

Just saw an acquaintance's Facebook photos of a bridal shower. The bride-to-be was dressed in a short, white sundress; she was surrounded by her bridesmaids, all clad in purple. Obviously, the shower had been carefully planned. Ridiculous.


My own bridal shower was intended to be a surprise, but was ruined because of men. John came home from the gym and said, "Steve said that this is a gift from Maria," and urged me to immediately open it. I opened the gift and the card was post-dated for a Saturday in September. The jig was up as I asked, "Um, is there a shower planned for me for September 6?" 


I still ended up being surprised though, in terms of the bridal shower location. Additionally, since it would hurt family members' feelings to know that I had discovered the shower date, I dressed like myself: hoodie, tshirt, worn jeans, and Birks. It was awesome:)


When I think of how us Americans do things, it aggravates me. We try to orchestrate events so that perfection and originality are simultaneously achieved. Everyone always has to have something "unique" at their wedding; something needs to be done in a "new way." People have been participating in marriage ceremonies for hundreds of years; newness has dissipated. At this point, newness would be unabated traditionalism.


While looking at the overly posed shower pictures on Facebook, I immediately thought of the Gogel Bordello song, "American Wedding." (I used to use that song to encourage me to run swiftly at the gym; now that I leisurely walk at the gym, the song can have other uses). 


Some of the song's lines include:" I understand the cultures / Of a different kind / But here word celebration / Just doesn't come to mind."

Careful orchestration of supposed bliss is not a celebration. And going to a party and wearing matching dresses? That fucking sucks:) 

I think my sister put it best when, over the summer, we got into an argument about gift wrapping. I was wrapping two matching gifts in preparation for a bridal shower that I was attending. Amy, intoxicated, was assisting me but was just making more of a mess than anything. Annoyed, I said, "Come on, take your time. It should look nice. The bride opens the gifts in front of everyone," to which my sister replied, "You're so fucking Jersey." 

Adolph vs. Jesus

I suppose if I had to classify myself, i'd say I am an agnostic. I don't know exactly what I believe in, but I know I believe in some higher power. Mainly, I don't believe in something precise because I am lazy---probably the reasoning for about half of the people who prescribe to no specific religion.

When I was younger, we went to a local Methodist Church. In my mind, I recall small images related to the church: Reverend Bowering had "silver" gray hair and I am SURE my mother complimented him on it (to this day, she loves gray hair and has no qualms about announcing it to ANYONE);  the church had kickass craft fairs with lots of fattening treats that a chubby little kid would enjoy; church services were tolerable because there were little paper pads and pencils next to the hymns; and summer bible camp had some very "interesting" theatrical performances.

It had to be when I was in about 5th or 6th grade, but the summer bible camp put on a performance which featured a "boxing ring." Within the boxing ring were Adolph Hitler and Jesus, throwing symbolic air punches toward each other.

In the first starring role of my life, I played the role of Hitler. I recall having my hair tied back and under a cap, so that it was look short. I had a moustache painted on, in addition to an army-esque jacket that featured a swastika. I get that these were props, but in retrospect, the whole idea was fucked up. If that lesson plan idea were part of 2012 bible camp, it would surely be featured on some news show. It kind of makes me think of a recent news story where students in Michigan, some African-American, had to write a narrative in which they pretended to be slaves. Parents were enraged. Now, imagine the scene of your child coming home from bible camp: "Mom, I got the lead role in the play. I'm Hitler!"

An Ohio Sky

There's a certain type of winter sky that reminds me of Ohio. When I was younger, we used to visit Ohio every Christmas. Other families went to exciting, warm places like Florida or the Carolinas. We went to Ohio. Today's late afternoon sky sky is an Ohio sky.

The December sky is Ohio is a constant gray. It's not a dark, charcoal gray, but rather is a muted gray. It's a sky of indecisiveness. If it was an indecisive sky, the weather was mild (30 degrees or higher) and tolerable. If the sky was muted white, the weather was stark cold; the type of weather where uncovered skin turns bright pink within mere minutes.

They're forecasting snow for tonight. I am going into "kid mode," assuming that there will be some type of delay tomorrow. When we have school delays, I always have lofty goals of getting housework done or doing something else productive; instead, I always succumb to going back to sleep. 

Even though we had Monday off, I feel like this week has dragged. A 90 minute delay would surely be welcomed. 

Self-Indulgent Facebook Posts

One of my biggest pet peeves is when people make Facebook posts about the "tough lives" they endure--you know, taking grad school classes and having lots of work to do. It's spring semester time, so I guess I should not be surprised at some of today's posts. Someone posted a picture of his textbooks and wrote "So it begins. Starting classes tonight. God help me." Someone else posted how yesterday was her last day of "freedom." At the end of last semester, I recall someone posted about getting history papers and stating something along the lines of "woe is me."

Here's background information. Some of these people live at home with their parents. Yes, I know how stressful it is to go to college and have cheap and/or free rent, laundry facilities, dinners cooked for you, and so forth. Some of these people come from fairly affluent backgrounds so, yes, they have to take grad classes and "work" at the same time but, no matter what, someone has (financially) always "got their back."

I try not to post complaints or "woe is me" comments on Facebook. There's so many people on this earth who actually are experiencing adversities; going to grad school for an advanced degree is not an adversity. It's a choice. Too many times, Facebook exists as a place to 1: try to gain pity from others, 2: pass along stupid "awareness" emails about causes like breast cancer when it would be better for people to get off their ass and do something REAL for the cause, and 3: give play by play of sports events.

I guess I could be seen as a hypocrite...my previous post about having a cold is basically "woe is me." However, this is a blog... it's different :)