Missed the Epistle

Good Behavior = Boring Blog Posts!

2009-07-24T13:40:00.001-07:00

Dear Readers,

I apologize for not writing in forever. My life has been boring, almost without interruption. I will tell you the only small tidbits of excitement since my last entries:

1) (The bad news) The Na Na and Hannah are leaving for a mission trip in the next few days. Make a list of the five very most dangerous countries in the world in which you can imagine being a missionary/ traveling at all right now, and the country they are visiting will be on that list. So of course I am preoccupied. Any prayers to any good deities or any warm fuzzy thoughts sent their way would be appreciated. I will be going back to Evangelville next week and I will be there for awhile. I'm guessing the Saved household will be a bit more tense and somber than usual for a good part of that time.

2) I went to see Bruno, and one of my students was in the audience. The end.

3) My head hurts from studying because I am gearing up for PhD Program Application Season! Woot.

4) The Lolo breakup has stuck so far, even though we still talk and see each other on occasion. Last weekend I went to a party at his BFF's apartment. It was pretty great. At one point I was standing on the balcony with three guys and we were looking inside the apartment where a huge group photo was being arranged. One of the guys said, "Look, they exiled all the non-Colombians to the balcony so we wouldn't be in their photo." I turned to my companieros and asked, "Where are y'all from?" Two were from Puerto Rico and one was from Mexico. It was true. We were at a segregated party. When they left the party I pulled on Lolo's sleeve and said, "Oh, no, I'm the only non-Colombian here!" He said he thought I would survive the experience.

I spent the evening with Lolo's BFF's girlfriend, Petra, "singing karaoke" (screaming old- school Shakira songs and syrupy Carlos Vives numbers into toothpicks that doubled as microphones) and dancing merengue and vallenato with Lolo and his friends.

I watched as Cristina, the only Colombiana I have ever met in my whole life who I might be able to sort of compete with in the looks department, grabbed Lolo's ass. More than once. He kept shuffling off to try to avoid her, but in her drunken horny state she followed him without resting. It was hilarious.

Meanwhile one of the Puerto Ricans kept following me around. He was easy to talk to and attractive but I was trying to be at least a little sensitive to the fact that I just broke up with Lolo, so I kept finding reasons to excuse myself from his conversations. He has become quite an impressive Facebook stalker. This one is 14 years my senior and also has a daughter. What is it about me that I only attract men who were born before 1979? Anyway, he lives far away in a place I will (hopefully) never have a reason to visit, so I think I'm more or less safe.

At 5 in the morning, Petra sent Lolo and I off for ice and coke since we were determined to be the most sober(!). Petra screamed after us, "NO SEX. You can't just sneak off. You HAVE to come back to the party." Lolo said, "Don't worry, Petra, she's not even going to THINK about touching me."

Upon returning, I danced some more with a Colombian who still managed to smell delightful, even at 5:45 and after seven hours of uninterrupted dancing and drinking. Then I took a very brief nap on the couch cuddled up with Petra's boxer, who snores. I drove home at 7 am, the sun all the way out and Counting Crow's cd "Saturday Nights/Sunday Mornings" playing on my car stereo.

After recovering the next day I accompanied Lolo to a movie we had both wanted to see. Afterward he told me, "You know, you can kiss me if you want to..." I told him thanks but no thanks. See? Resolve! Determination! Prudence!

5) Now I must be off to my zumba class. If you don't know what zumba is, you need to get with it. Yes one of my students also goes to the class. Yes it is awkward. And after the zumba class, I will eat a boringly healthy dinner and then I will probably go to bed, in my ugliest pj's, accompanied only by the four books I'm working on simultaneously right now. But tomorrow morning I am going on a brief road trip with Lori and another friend, so we can all hope that good adventures await.

Hang in there, readers. Classes start in less than a month and then I am sure to be chock full of stories that have little or nothing to do with my personal life! Yay!

Enough with the Infinite Jesting, Already!

2009-07-14T05:03:00.000-07:00

Some days I believe in G-d and some days I don't. The days that I do, it is usually not the majesty of the mountains that convinces me. It is simply that somebody out there enjoys making fun of me and is way too good at it for it to all be chance.

I was reminded of that this morning.

When I first moved here I knew almost nobody and found it a little hard to meet people without the dependable structures of college life. I was socially starved and I missed the city I lived in before. I thought a lot about the ex I had left there, who wasn't thinking of me anymore. I developed a pretty good case of the blues and I knew I needed to get out of the house. So, much to the chagrin of my mother, I joined a dating website.

I didn't find the love of my life. I did get out of the house. My membership more than paid for itself in free dinners and drinks. In fact, part of the reason I ended my subscription is because I was being taken out to so many fancy dinners that I was beginning to gain weight. The other reason is because I was totally overwhelmed with suitors.

But it did what I needed it to do. It got me away from the computer and reminded me that not all men find me icky. I got to check out some cool new restaurants and bars and have conversations with interesting people. Those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile will remember Bahram, the Iranian with whom I had very passionate parking lot arguments. I met him this way, and we had a decent little run of it. Plus, this site only lets you see the profiles of people you are matched with, so I felt pretty safe using it.

So this weekend, returning home slightly tipsy after my first night since January out with the girls as a single woman, I renewed my subscription. Don't look at me like that. Lori provoked me.

Imagine my horror when I woke up this morning and checked my email and saw that I had been matched with someone named Lolo. I reassured myself, "There are millions of people in this city. There are other people named Lolo." Imagine my deepening horror when I opened his profile and discovered that this Lolo was also a 34-year-old economist with a penchant for cycling.

It's going to be awkward next time we talk. I can hear it now, "Ever. A computer-generated database even thinks we should be together..." I'm not buying it. And I'm not renewing my subscription.

***Update***

As soon as I walked in the door after classes, my phone rang. It was Lolo. I expected as much, since his approach to getting dumped seems to be to pretend it never happened, and he still calls me every day to chat.

He talked to me awhile without mentioning anything unusual. Then I said, "Ummmm...Lolo...can I ask you kind of a strange question?" He offered up an insipid, faltering "yes?" I said, "Do you have (dating website)?" He stumbled around, "umm...what do you mean, 'do I have it'?" I said, "Do you have a profile, Lolo?"

He confessed, "Ok, yeah, I do, Ever. I do have a profile on that thing; everyone does, you know. But I haven't used it in a really long time, like since before I moved here. Why do you ask?"

I said, "Well, because I have an old profile on there, and I am pretty sure it matched us this morning."

He was incredulous and doubtful, until I read the entire profile back to him on the phone. Finally he started laughing, "Yeah, that thing is definitely mine." Thankfully he wasn't wierd about it; we spent some time talking about our different dating experiences using its services and then wished each other a pleasant evening.

And I would like to reiterate now that no, I am not taking this as a sign. It's been five days without him and I still haven't even come close to questioning that decision.

Assorted Nightmares

2009-07-13T20:15:00.000-07:00

One of the innumerable delights of being a profesora is "professional development." It happens in all fields, but in teaching it takes on a life of its own.

My mother, who is an elegant and reserved woman (in public, at least), tells tales of grown women converting back to their 4 and 5-year-old selves- and not in a good way- during her preschool teacher workshops. Training for high school teachers takes on distinct unpleasantries, according to my recent observations.

I am enrolled in a series of workshops at a prestigious local university. I have been excited about this training all summer, because it gives me an excuse to be on a university campus and also because I thought it might be a wonderful way to meet some cool new people.

Imagine my disappointment when I found myself surrounded by tragic stereotypes! It seems that (almost?) everyone in the class falls into one of the following categories:

1) The Mean Girls, Grown-up Edition: These ladies are young and borderline sarcastic. They have good hair. They also all come from the same few schools and avoid the rest of us as if we were carrying swine flu. They are also all too important for me because they are: a) engaged b) new mommies c) pregnant. They might be fun to be around...if you are one of the lucky few.

2) The Elderly Gringas: These tall women have a fondness for super-snazzy flip-flops, frosty "coral sunset" lipstick and matching toenail polish, and sensible short haircuts. They wear a requisite combination of classic linen and cropped pants in neutral shades. In their twenties, they had a forbidden romance/joined the peace corps and kinda learned Spanish. They got jobs teaching Spanish...before school districts would hire actual Spanish-speakers? Their favorite phrases: "Spanish is a important thing to know, you know, because of the immigration and the illegals," and, "Why don't any of the Spanish kids want to go to college?"

3) The Emasculated Male Teachers: I am presuming that these nightmares are most insecure, because they feel a need to swagger in late after every break, forcing everyone else to shift around to accomodate them and interrupting the lesson. They express their opinion...on everything. They wear too much cologne and, while introducing themselves, include the following statements as many times as possible: "Before I came to the district..." and, "There wouldn't be ____________ if I hadn't come along," and, "Here's what I do in that situation..." It's ok, fellas, the only one judging you is yourself here. Sadly, the professor (who is quite nice otherwise) feeds right into this, listening to each of their uninspired commentaries with an indulgent, doting grin.

4) The Embittereds: This is everyone else. They are mostly older ladies who don't quite fit the Elderly Gringa mold, but they do complain. About. Everything. Including (but not limited to): The Administration, the district, the lazy-ass kids, the impossibility of their job and their lot in life, the futility of human existence, and the poor quality of the coffee in the breakroom. So when the teacher asks, "What strategies do you use to introduce students to different dialects," they respond with another question, like, "How would you suggest dealing with an administration that values core classes like math and science over Spanish?" The rest of the cohort then purses its collective lips and nods in unison.

I'm not trying to be mean. I'm sure that most of these teachers are perfectly lovely individuals when they are cut out of the pack. Maybe they inspire greatness in their students, are masters of organization, and care for delightful families at the same time. I would probably be friends with any of them if they worked at my school and I actually knew them. Right now they are just caricatures.

In fact, I'm sure plenty of them look at me and see a sour-faced girl with bangs in her eyes, a nose ring and an inability to match her accessories and would say that I'm my own tragic stereotype. I can be defensive like the emasculateds. If Mario were around with us mortals instead of cavorting in Spainland, drunk off of tinto de verano and papas a lo pobre, he would be happy to tell you that cuando me pongo nerviosa my Spanish is halting and awkward at best. Any of you who read my blog know I do (much more than) my share of whining. But still.

I'm just disappointed that I don't see any prospects for new BFFs. And I'm frustrated because, though I did get some awesome resources and learn about useful websites, I didn't learn much. And it's been so hot that every time I had to step outside to go to another classroom I thought I would puke. Really. I could feel a heat stroke coming on, hunting me down with shaky legs and the kind of chills that do nothing to cool you down.

Plus, when I got home and was talking to my mom on the phone I realized there was a large bug crawling in my hair. I threw the phone and screamed obscenities(in a subdued voice) until it came flying out. My poor mom was scared to death and shocked by my language until I told her what had happened. Then I carried the bug outside on a bit of toilet paper. I still don't know what it was, I just think it must have fallen out of a tree and ridden home from campus on my head. It's not that surprising that it mistook my sweaty, swirly mess for some kind of brush or undergrowth. But what kind of a fucked-up world is this, anyway, that mystery bugs can fall out of plants and take up residence in your bob?

And I have to get out before teaching high school turns me into one of them.

Rumored Registration Riots

2009-07-13T19:31:00.000-07:00

It is a well-established fact that students always know more than teachers when it comes to the important stuff, like why little Shlomo was expelled from school or which junior was caught holding hands with some freshman girl in the theater last Tuesday night.

So I wasn't shocked when the following exchange took place yesterday morning.

I went to the gym, as I usually do in the mornings this summer to keep me from being a complete bum.
You should probably understand that, when I exercise, my very fair skin with ruddy tendencies turns a lovely splotchy magenta. You should also know that whether I torture my hair into submission with products and heat or leave it completely natural and curly, when I work out the short pieces around my ears stick straight out, giving me the look of a yorkshire terrier with a bad hair day.

After working out and stretching, I headed toward the bathroom to wash my hands.
Of course as soon as I opened the door I almost ran into Amit. Amit used to work in the middle school that feeds into our high school. She doesn't work there now, but I know her because she is good friends with Lissa. That means she has seen me really drunk. She has even seen me jump into a pool fully clothed, with my phone in my pocket.

Anyway, I said, "Hiiiiiiiiii," in the exaggerated, drawn-out way you do when you are surprised to run into someone. Amit had to look at me twice before she realized who I was. We chatted for awhile about our summers, and then she gave me this little tidbit:

She said, "So I saw on Facebook that a bunch of the kids are upset that they don't have you as a teacher next year." I didn't know what she meant. I thought maybe Rabbi Asher had finally seen that YouTube video and fired me and forgot to let me know. I stuttered out a confused and worried, "um...wha-at?"

She said, "Well, it seems that they were registered for your class and then the registrar had to make some last-minute schedule changes and put them in Tori's class instead. Something to do with balancing the size of classes, I think."

I laughed and shrugged, "Well, they know more than I do, then."

Amit responded, "They always do. Anyway, a bunch of them were discussing how upset they were on Facebook, and I thought, 'awwww, they must really love Ever.' So I'm glad I ran into you today while I was thinking about it still."

I gave Amit an awkward smile (I couldn't blush anymore because I was already a delicate fuschia) and thanked her for sharing before ducking out of the bathroom. I didn't want to lose my cool in front of her, but this information totally made my day. I'm glad they don't all hate me anymore. They're kind of cute sometimes, I guess.

And It's Official...

2009-07-09T13:23:00.001-07:00

I'm a single woman again.

And I think I even managed it without creating an enemy.

Lolo Update

2009-07-08T20:39:00.001-07:00

For the (thousands of) curious, lovely readers out there, Lolo and I just had a knock-down drag-out over the phone. I am pleased to announce that I initiated this, which is saying something when you consider how non-confrontational I am.

I used the, "I feel..." and, "I think..." key phrases that are supposed to help diffuse these kinds of things. He responded with the height of meanness by saying, "This whole conversation is nothing but 'you, you, you.'"

The whole fucking relationship has been about him.

And I was reminded of this when I pointed out that we actually never talk about any of my interests, although I am a new expert on all of his, and he responded that it's because I don't have any. Any that I mentioned he dismissed as not being "real interests" (aka his interests). Wow, I never knew until just this minute that I was that boring and lame.

To be fair, though, he never knew about my secret writing skillz.

He lectured me while we were arguing about his conversational tone. I mean, sure, it's not like I can blame every single thing on him. Maybe if I had stood up for myself more since day 1 things would be casi perfecto. But probably not.

Finally we both got so upset that we had to postpone the conclusion of this conversation. Actually, I was ready to put the last nail in the coffin but he accused me of being rash. He asked me to, "at least give [him] the respect to think about why I was picking this fight with [him] for a few hours." You know, since I have wasted so much of his valuable (unemployed) time over the last 5 months.

Sorry that you have to read this bilious entry, dear readers. It's mostly to remind myself of some of the highlights of our conversation so I am strong when we talk the next time.

I've been treated better than this before; I will be treated better than this in the future. By someone else, I'm thinking.

A Seinfeld quote came on tv tonight. I'm going to butcher it, but it went something like this: Jerry asked George, "She cried and you gave in, didn't you?" George said, "Yeah..." and Jerry responded, "Eh. You've gotta break up two or three times; you have to build up an immunity over time." G-d I hope I'm immune enough to finish things off once and for all next time we talk. I think maybe now I'm angry enough for that to be the case.

And thanks to those of you who have offered me advice, moral support, empathy, and most importantly have put up with my oversharing and wimpiness without offering up anything but kind words.

Now I'm going to go cry myself to sleep (from frustration/nerves, not sadness!)

Steamy Melty Storytime

2009-07-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday night I returned from one of the longest weeks of my life. I was dogsitting for an aunt in a godforsaken suburb (I will write about this shortly), and she had neglected to reveal the true nature of her dogs as hellions disguised as fluffy, loveable creatures.

After a long, trafficky, exhaust-filled drive home, I pulled into my apartment complex and climbed the stairs. I was looking forward to a short but refreshing nap in my own delicious bed, curtains drawn and fan whirring. I was sleep-deprived and my cheeks were hot and dry from the weather and dehydration.

I unlocked the door and I had to lean hard into it to force it open, because it was sticky with disuse and humidity. The air smelled stale, and I ditched my belongings on the living room floor and walked over to turn on the ac. I turned on last week's TAL episode and started unpacking my things.

An hour later, I realized it wasn't getting any cooler. It was too hot to sleep, so I took a cool shower. When I got out and started drying my hair, I started sweating so much that the shower seemed pointless. My bangs, which had been cut too-short the day before, curled against my forehead and any makeup I tried to put on ran off my face in rivulets. I went back and checked the thermostat. It was holding at a steady 87 degrees.

I went out for dinner and a few beers with Lori and her boyfriend, and when I got back around ten it still seemed hot. It was still 87 degrees. I could hear the ac unit running, so I was still thinking that maybe it was just taking a long time for my apartment to cool off given the extreme temperatures outside.

I slept in my underwear, on top of the covers, with my fan on full speed, and I was still sweating. I got up and checked the thermostat; it had finally cooled down to about 78 degrees, which is not much warmer than where I usually keep it when I am home. But by 9:00, when I got up after a night of dreams in which I was suffocating and suffering from strange diseases, the temperature had crept back up to 85 degrees.

This is when I knew I had a problem.

Where I live, ac is not a luxury; it is a necessity. In the hottest months of the summer, the city sets up shelters for people who cannot afford to pay their electric bills or fix their units. The heat here right now is like a natural disaster, with heat indexes that make 100 degrees look pleasant. People don't even go swimming except at night.

I went to the grocery store and left a message for my apartment management. When I got back it was up to 90 degrees, even with the sunlight blocked by my heavy curtains. I called the management again and unpacked my groceries. Then I found a fruit smoothie I had made and frozen and sat on the couch to eat it with a spoon. It was too hot to read, so I just sat there and thought. Lolo called me twice and I ignored his calls.

Around noon I was bored and a little hungry, and I wandered into the kitchen to see if there was anything appetizing. I remembered I had bought a bar of dark chocolate at the store and decided to eat a square of it. It was sitting on the kitchen counter. When I went to open it I discovered that the bar was squishy and melted all the way through. Disgusted, I threw it into the fridge.

At last my salvation came, in the form of my BFF maintenance guy. When I opened the door he said, "Hey girl, how you been!?" as if we were long lost amigos. He asked me if I liked living in my new apartment, and then he said, "So where is your friend? She got married?" I said that she had. He said, "You got a lot of stuff in your closet?" I opened the door to show him and he said, "Oh, you have to move some of that."

So as I was tossing empty bags and boxes onto my bed he asked, "So when are you going to get married?" I laughed and said, "Oh, I don't know..." He said, "Well, I guess you need a boyfriend first, right?" And I said, "Yeah, I actually have one of those." I didn't tell him that I probably wouldn't have one of those for much longer.

He screeched, "What!? You do!? But I thought you didn't. I never see you with a boy, you know?" I responded as I squeezed around him to deposit another load of closet crap on the bed, "Oh, yeah, he comes around sometimes..."

Then he said, "Oh, well, you still have time, right? You're young, right? Like 20?" I laughed and said, "Um, not quite. I mean I'm 24." I looked up at him; he was frowning and looked confused. He said, "Oh, yeah, I guess you have a little time then...I mean you have until you're like 30, maybe, I guess...but in ten years you'll be 34, you know? Don't you want kids?" He trailed off. "I'm 34," he said. I nodded and crossed my arms and walked into the living room. I turned on MSNBC, one of the only channels I get, and watched more Michael Jackson coverage as he worked. After a trip up to the roof he had my ac working again. He walked back in and said, "OH, it's freezing in here now. I might get hypothermia, you know? It's like Alaska in here, like where Sarah Palin lives."

And then I thanked him and he left, on his way to maintain other things, and maybe to tell other single girls that if they didn't want to vestir santos they better get on with things.

Yet Another Pathetic Cry For Help (Literally)

2009-06-24T21:08:00.001-07:00

Sorry to get all Dear Diary on you here, but I have to for a moment. All the real people out there have lives and I'm here obsessing over boy problems when it's too late to call anyone.

Lately Lolo has not been making me feel especially happy. I know dude has a PhD and ten years on me, but I also know I'm not dumb. And he kind of has been treating me like I am either very stupid or six years old.

Exhibit A: On Sunday we went to see Hangover (hilarious) and as we were driving home I mentioned that one of the characters in the movie plays a role in The Office. He started telling me about how much he hated the show, and I suggested that perhaps we have different tastes. He reprimanded me and explained that it's not a matter of taste; The Office simply sucks (and apparently he has the authority to make this judgment while I do not). I gave up arguing after awhile.

We got back to his place and we were sitting on his balcony having a glass of wine. He points across the way to a girl sitting on her balcony smoking a cigarette and says he is going to move in with her. He doesn't know her but they have a mutual friend and he needs to save money on rent. (Am I crazy to be irritated that my boyfriend of five months is moving in with another chick without even mentioning it to me before signing a lease?! I mean I think I'm among the coolest girlfriends ever, but even I have limits.)

After springing this on me, I was a little quiet and Lolo asked me the dreaded question, "What are you thinking?" Ugh I HATE that question! It doesn't seem sensitive to me; it just seems invasive. Ask me something more specific, like, "What do you think about me rooming with a random woman?" So I told him what was occupying one little part of my brain to change the subject. And what I told him was that I am restless, that I want to go somewhere but I don't know where. I told him that one day I almost packed a suitcase and left, but then I couldn't think of anywhere I wanted to go alone, and I also had to be back in a few days anyway since I had promised to housesit for my aunt. His reaction was to chastise me for not following my gut, and we bickered for awhile about whether I was being justified in postponing my adventuring for a few weeks or not.

At some point I stopped talking and stared straight ahead while he droned. When he finally stopped, I said, "Sometimes when we talk I feel like you are lecturing me. You know there is a difference between saying, 'I don't agree,' and saying, 'You're wrong,' don't you?" And then I started crying. At first it was the heavy silent tears rolling down my cheeks. I hate crying in front of people, especially boys, and I was trying to hide it. As soon as he noticed, though, it got worse. I went inside to try to hide in the bathroom for a few minutes, but he convinced me to come out and sit on the couch with him and he held me as he admitted he was wrong to talk to me like that and apologized. He told me to cut him off whenever he did that. He was really sweet for a little while.

Exhibit B: Yesterday I asked him, "So what did you do today? Did you just get ready for your interview?" and he shot back, "Ever. No. I sat and stared at a wall all day. Why do you always ask me what I do during the days? You know I'm an economist. I read all day. That's all I ever do. And I have economist friends that I talk to about what I read. It pisses me off that you always ask what I did during the day when I do the same thing every day." And then he spent a good period of time telling me I am wasting my life because I'm not taking scuba diving lessons or golf lessons or something this summer (zero interest in either one).

Exhibit C: Today he had an interview. I know he is superstitious about talking about his interviews, so I just asked, "Did you have your interview this morning?" I didn't even ask how it went. And he replied, "I DO NOT want to talk about it, Ever. You know that, why do you always ask me? I'm going to start lying about those things." He also asked me what I did at the gym today and when I told him about my 40 minutes of cardio followed by weights he told me that it was all useless because I don't have a heart rate monitor and so probably I didn't do it right. These two topics of conversation occupied like...an hour long phone call.

Ugh. I can't tell if he is going through some sort of a male PMS period that will pass or what. He has an appointment with his shrink tomorrow; maybe that will make him nicer. And to be fair, he did say he responds well to criticism (actually he said, "So tell me to shut up when I start doing that.") It's just not really in my nature to ask people not to express themselves, even if what they are saying bothers me. Free speech and all. I'm a little on the too-passive side when it comes to these things.

I know that the long and short of it is I need to break up with him. But I honestly tried once and he talked me out of it. (We are seriously over-educated.) I told him that I didn't have strong feelings for him and that I didn't know if it was a good idea or even worth it to keep trying to make things work, especially given the uncertainty of his immediate future. He begged me to give it a little more time, looked all devastated and everything. I gave in.

Because of his job situation I kind of had thought he would have moved by now and fate could decide these things for us. Instead he is just unemployed and bitchy and not going anywhere anytime soon. I still have not discovered a topic about which we can agree I might know a little more, or about which I may have a valid opinion that is different from his. Really, it's exhausting.

Part of me is tempted to let it be until August, when school will distract me again. I'm worried that if I end it now I will be pitiful for the rest of the summer, and maybe bored and sexually frustrated enough to call him now and then and make the situation even worse. Lolo is not a bad person; we're just not for each other. And I only have like three friends here, so I hate to alienate one of them (and by extension my whole little Colombian community), especially when summer is making me vulnerable.

Help.

Cultural Learnings Part 2: Geographical Learnings

2009-06-24T14:43:00.001-07:00

Before you read this, you must know one thing. My children actually did BETTER on their maps than my college students ever did. It's amazing how many high-school-graduated adults there are in the world that actually believe Spain is a state in Mexico.

Funny shit: 1) She liked the music (especially Tupac!! :-)) Ugh of course. 2) The message of Chacarron by el Chombo (see video below...and no, he is not saying anything that makes any sense in any language) is, "don't do drugs." 3) This chiclet drew in Texas and California as, "Spanish-speaking countries." 4) She included Portugal (you know, where they speak Portuguese) as a, "Spanish-speaking country." 5) And the best part of the whole thing is her disclaimer, "I mean there are people that SPEAK Spanish in Greenland...and Ireland," with the subsequent footnote, "*looks up and tries to imagine irish accent speaking Spanish*." I mean...you can't make this stuff up. Or at least I can't.

Ha! So do the repubs.

Ok this one is actually pretty impressive, if you overlook the misplacement of Nicaragua. Several things crack me up, anyway. 1) The labeling of the US as, "Kinda" a Spanish-speaking country. 2) His learning that "empanadas are hispanic food, Ps. I ate one last night." Bravo. 3) He asks for more songs by Fanny Lu (Hilarious Fanny Lu side note: My students asked me one day, "Ms. Saved. Did you cut your hair just so it would look like Fanny Lu's?" Answer: Uh, no.) He loves Fanny Lu. Wanna know why?

Ok so I could forgive the creative spelling of, "Arginta." I could even maybe kind of forgive labeling Brazil as a, "Spanish-speaking country" since half my students made the same mistake. But how did the, "Domican Republic" make it all the way to the Arctic Circle, huh!?

*Sigh* Remember the previous Cinco de mayo incident? Well, it repeats itself on this child of the tribe's final exam. Regarding the maps, he gives the disclaimer, "these are all guesses...so im not really that stupid" with the addendum, "except Mexico and USA."

A Children's Treasury of Hilarious Almost-Forgotten Student Artistry

2009-06-24T13:52:00.000-07:00

Assignment: Invent and Advertise a new business:

For the goyim out there, hamentaschen are a delicious cookie, usually filled with jam and spices, eaten around Purim. Translation of the above sign: Welcome ..to.. HAMENTASHERY! It's delicious! Hello! I call myself Hamantaschen!

Tranlation: "Open" 24 hours! *Dietery*

Box 1: Before... I am (what does semano mean??) and not happy
After...I am strong and happy.

Please notice the buck teeth and six pack on the "After" model. Also, check out the caption under the 100mg Steroid pill (hint: it says, "actual size.")

Box 2: Before...I am fat and hunger (yes, it says hunger).
After...I am skinny and very happy.

Notice how the astonishing effects in the second box are accomplished: they literally burn the fat right off you! Yay!

Sometimes...

2009-06-24T13:48:00.000-07:00

They are kind of cute. Or something. I guess.

Caaaaaaaaaarlllllll

2009-06-22T23:04:00.000-07:00

This was (is?) the latest craze among 14-16 year-old Jewish males, based on my very scientific observations:

Just imagine the delights of hearing, "Caaaarllllll," anywhere between 13 and 527 times per class period! Yay!

What to Say About This...

2009-06-22T22:52:00.000-07:00

And the other buried treasure I found is here for your viewing pleasure. The assignment was: make a poster about the things you liked and didn't like as a child.

Here is a quick Spanish lesson so the monolinguists can decipher and enjoy:

De ninio = As a child

Me gustaba = I liked

No me gustaba = (predictably)I didn't like

Pollo de Tejas = chicken of Texas/ Texan chicken

Goldfishitos = little goldfish (ito is diminuitive)

-and-

Pescados de oro = fish of gold/ golden fish

Cultural Learnings for Make Gratification Astute Readers of MTE

2009-06-22T22:13:00.000-07:00

Now that school is over, I have been spending some time sorting through the papers in my desk. Among my treasures I found photocopies I made of some intriguing responses to my culture questions on the last test I gave before the final. I had meant to put them up here but of course that didn't happen because I smoked too much during grad school or something.

Anyway, here they are, at long last:

I think this child means, "Granada," which is not a country. It is a city, in the country of Spain, which is not the country we talked about in class. It kind of hurts me to try to unravel all the problems in this response.

Next up:

Umm...duh. Tricky but...yeah...fail.

Answers like the above (or the oft-repeated response of "Cinco de mayo") dragged me down a bewitched and foul path that forced me to grade like this, demented frowny faces and all...

Which is why this girl got half a point of extra credit for her response to the same question, even if she does think the Dominican Republic is where!?!? (Answer: near India)

And finally, the grandmother of all intriguing culture question responses:

Ok, let me explain since it is hard to read. The answers to questions 1 and 3 are quite thorough, more or less accurate, and boring. The response to number 2 is what wins the prize. The question is: "What did you learn about the drug trade in Latin America (remember we talked especially about Colombia, Mexico, etc.)?"

This is how I thought the response read: "The cocaine plant has been used for recreation uses such as tea by the locals. Since the Mayan age, the US government has tried to destroy the crop by the use of Pesticides, but has made it more resilient [...boring accurate stuff]"

I read this over and over to myself, wondering how this child could have arrived at such a conclusion based on our discussion. I showed it to colleagues. Finally I asked the author about it, and he clarified by pointing out that what looks like a period after locals (you can't see it in the photograph) is just a random dot. So it should read, "The cocaine plant has been used for recreation uses such as tea by the locals since the Mayan age. The US government has tried to destroy the crop by the use of Pesticides, but has made it more resilient [...boring accurate stuff]"

The Mayan age bit is still a little problematic, but at least it makes a little more sense and makes me want to give up less.

Final Finale Finally!

2009-06-22T22:06:00.000-07:00

One of the many end-of-year delights (along with more Starbuck's cards, oreo truffles, and Barnes & Noble cards) is final exams!

I love exam time. I wear jeans even though it's not allowed. I sit around proctoring here and there and reading books and listening in on the gossip. This year we had some good gossip, since Rabbi Ben was arrested and spent almost an entire day in jail following a little traffic incident (don't worry, charges were dropped a few days ago).

I also get to create fun and exciting exams, with questions like: "Write five sentences about what you think Ms. Saved is going to do this summer." Here are the exciting responses, literally translated for the monolingustic monos out there.

1. Ms. Saved is going to visit Ugly Bette* in Colombia. She is going to visit Bette because Bette is the best friend of Ms. Saved. Before visiting Bette, Ms. Saved is going to visit Erik Estrada. In order to visit Erik Estrada**, she goes to Mexico. Ms. Saved also is going to visit Mr. Mario in Spain.

*Ugly Betty was actually a telenovela from Colombia, created about ten years ago. Sad news: I watch it every night on Telefutura.
**Erik Estrada is American.

2. Ms. Saved is going to go to Spain in the summer. She is going to talk to Little Ronit (jaja). She is tiendo (?) "grade" for exams. She is going to wake up at 12:30 in the morning or afternoon...

3. She is going to go to San Antonio. She wants to see a movie and she is going to eat in (a Mexican restaurant where my students all frequent) with friends. Ms. Saved likes Mexican food, and because of this she is going to go to Spain*. Ms. Saved is are going to listen to "One Semester of Spanish Heart Song!" And, finally, she is going to see Betty the Ugly.

*In Spain, they don't eat so much Mexican food.

4. Ms. Saved goes to Colorado. Ms. Saved plays many sports. Ms. Saved buys many songs by Tupac Shakur. Ms. Saved visits the family of you for July 4th. You are going to the movies many time with your boyfriend.

5. Ms. Saved is going to pass time this summer with Little Ronit and Rebecca. They are going to go to the Chile and Brazil. They are going to play with the children in the small towns of Chile. They are going to go shopping in the mall of Rio de Janeiro. Also they are going to swim in the beach of Ipanema (in Rio de Janeiro).

6. In the summer Ms. Saved goes to Canada. In Canada Ms. Saved is going to play soccer. She is very good at soccer. Ms. Saved's best friend calls herself Amy and Amy lives in Canada. In Canada the very cold, you I need a jacket. Goodbye Ms. Saved. I was having much fun in the Spanish class.

7. Ms. Saved is going to do nothing this summer. She is not going to travel. She is not going to visit. She is going to talk with her cat. She is going to be in her house.

8. Ms. Saved goes to Alaska. She is going to visit grandma. Grandma is going to dance with Ms. Saved and the "Polar Bears." They are going to have a party. They are going to invite all of the "Penguins." *

*Even in college, penguins often were a part of the response to this question on the final. I have no idea why. I don't think I have ever mentioned penguins in class. Why penguins!? The sociologist in me must know!

9. Ms. Saved goes to Shakira. Ms. Saved and Shakira are going to they dance a lot. Ms. Saved and Shakira are going to they sing. Erik Estrada wants Ms. Saved a lot. They are going to go to bed and party tomorrow.*

*Is she saying that I am going to sleep with Erik Estrada during my summer vacations? Because that's how it sounds...at least in Spanish.

10. Ms. Saved what I do is to listen to of Tupac. Ms. Saved what she sees is the ghetto! Ms. Saved that I visited Erik Estrada and Mrs. Victoria. Ms. Saved that would want this no hot during summer. Ms. Saved that feels herself that you "(misses)" her students.

11. Mrs. Saved is going to go to Mexico. She is going to eat the tacos and the pizza. Mrs. Saved wants that to eat the tacos. She is going to go to the movies. She is going to visit Erik Estrada.

12. Ms. Saved is going to go to Mexico with love of her. She is going to play professional basketball. Ms. Saved I am going to visit to me and mi class! We are going to have a happy. And after, Ms. Saved is going to go to my school.

13. Ms. Saved is going to travel to Colombia this summer. She is going to meet the parents of her boyfriend. She wants the parents of her boyfriend they like her. She is going to go to the parties and to have diversion and she is going to drink a lot (just kidding.)

14. This summer Ms. Saved goes to Atarctica. She is going to visit the penguins.* She hopes that she can ride a penguin. When in Antarctica she is going to I lived with the eskimos.** She you need a jacket.

*The fucking penguins again!!! Dooood!!!! WTF?
**Eskimos do not live in Antarctica

15. You are going to buy very very very music of Tupac. This summer very sad because I not with me and Sarah. You are going to visit El Chombo and Manu Chau and Mike. You are going to like the videos of Sarah and my in Youtube. Yourself summer goes very fun.

16. Ms. Saved is going to go to Mexico with her sister. Ms. Saved is going to go to Spain with her "friend" (HER SECRET BOYFRIEND!)! Ms. Saved hopes that she should hear music very well. Ms. Saved visits her family. This summer, Ms. Saved visits me in Israel!!!

17. Ms. Saved goes to Albuquere. Ms. Saved visits Zac Efron and Kate Hudson. They are very handsome. Ms. Saved likes Zac Efron. Ms. Saved is very sad because Zac has a girlfriend.

Wait, wait, there's more! Hannah and The Na Na visited me recently, and they went to school with me to help me carry out some books and things. While at school, they met the famous Rabbi Ben, who had recently been sprung from jail. Hannah made the fatal mistake of reaching out her hand to shake his. They waited while I submitted grades, and while The Na Na slept in a coworker's chair, I gave Hannah one of my finals to take. She had taken a semester of Spanish in college, and the final kept her entertained for some time. As she went along, she marked any tricky questions that she wanted to ask me about with a deformed Star of David.

She is a mathematician and I thought she was just fond of complex geometrical shapes, but she informed me otherwise.

She also hid treasures throughout. On one fill-in-the-blank, instead of writing, "Maniana van a despertarse (Tomorrow they are going to wake up)" she wrote, "Maniana vaca a despertarse (Tomorrow cow to wake up)." Similarly, given the option of completing a blank with the correct conjugation of either, "tomar or parecer" she filled in the word, "tomahawk."

Her response to the, "What is Ms. Saved going to do?" question was: "Ms. Saved is going to visit Colombia. She is going to have much sex with Lolo. She is going to meet his family. They are going to have a party. Ever is going to drink much and to buy cocaine from his family because they are "druglords." Then, she is going to die."

It was the best final to grade EVER.

Of course I also made her attempt the extra credit questions. She gave the dreaded Cinco de mayo response, for which I subtracted one point. For the, "What is one interesting cultural thing you learned in class this year?" question she wrote, "That they drink wine w/ coke in Spain." This was something we learned while drinking with Lolo. And on the, "What is one song we have listened to in class?" question she wrote, "No te pones a fluer (Don't put yourself to flower) by Fanny Lu; No flowers, just naked dancing...almost."

She got an 84 with my curve. This also set off an extended drunken Spanish session, in which Hannah would ask me...very fervent...creatively constructed...scandalous Spanish sentences, which I would answer right in front of The Na Na. It was a good time all around.

And Now, Evaluate This!

2009-06-22T21:19:00.000-07:00

Well, I have survived my first whole year of teaching at the Jew School, to the shock of some (myself) and perhaps the disappointment of others. I got back evaluations again. I felt my heart in my mouth when I heard that they were ready for us, and I paced nervously while our amazing admin assistant made copies for me.

Walking back to my desk with the evaluations in hand was like walking through some kind of a vortex. I heard nothing but the distorted voices of my coworkers chattering in the background, saw nothing except my chair at the end of a long, dark tunnel. And then, to my amazement, I discovered that the evaluations were not going to make me cry this time!

Most of the darlings wrote nothing in the comments section, letting their numerical ratings do the talking. But there were a few gems:

They are kind of cute sometimes, I guess. And tell me this: Did YOU ever write "I heart you" on things you turned in to your teachers, and mean it? In a completely appropriate way? The warm tingles are a benefit of working at a lovey-dovey feely "community school."

Of course Little Ronit and her friend went a little too far, using the Forbidden First Name. The above evaluation was actually submitted by Rebecca. Little Ronit's was written too lightly to photograph, but she wrote basically the same thing. But on hers she made a whole little border of "I (heart) You!" all the way around the comments section.

And no evaluation packet would be complete without the one bitter kid's comments. Thankfully I don't pay too much attention to anyone who a) writes in all caps b) uses the word, "roudy," or c) has that many problems with subject/verb agreement in her native language.

Just Go Ahead and Drown Me, Too

2009-05-31T08:38:00.000-07:00

We had a going away party for Lissa last night.

Usually I am so good about behaving myself around my work friends, but something snapped in me last night. I got completely wasted. And then I jumped in a pool with all my clothes on. And my phone was in my pocket, though I did remember to take my turquoise off first.

Shit. Guess I'm going phone shopping today once I pull myself together.

Then I proceeded to write about seven different emails to Lolo. We've been having some issues, but basically I just wanted to see him. So these emails were basically explaining that my phone drowned but he could come over anyway, and I wrote them in the slangiest border Spanish you've ever heard, which is what my Spanish is always like when I am drunk.

I haven't heard back from him.

G-d only knows what other completely ridiculous things I said and/or did. I'm really glad there is only one week left of school.

Yoga Update (Like You Care)

2009-05-27T18:12:00.000-07:00

After Sunday's success with an assisted wheel, I ventured into the solo wheel territory tonight.

I crashed on my head. Hard.

Also, I experienced an...un-graceful...dismount out of crow.

So I'm at home now, icing a heel that doesn't like running and nursing my various yoga injuries as well. We're going to require a beer and ibuprofen tonight, folks.

Close Encounters in Oral Exams

2009-05-26T19:21:00.000-07:00

Today we had the dreaded ORAL EXAMS in class. Every time we talked about it the students would giggle at the word "oral," and I would feel dirty. I would also get the same feeling I get when I'm on the edge of a cliff or something, where I feel like maybe my body will throw itself over the edge without first consulting my brain. I was sure I was going to blurt out something about the oral sex without meaning to, and then my life would pretty much be over. But what else do you call them?

Anyway, the children were all abuzz today with fear. I had one loquacious little sprite start stuttering. Another nene started swallowing compulsively. I had to talk down several other students, whose eyes welled up as soon as they sat down across from me and who were so psyched out that they couldn't even answer "Como estas?" "Ok, take a deep breath," I would tell them in a slow voice. "It's ok, we're just going to have a little conversation now, just breathe and relax..."

Never had a curly-haired blonde woman wearing capris, a floral t-shirt, and gold flats struck such terror into so many. SO scary!

I spent four solid hours asking, "What do you call yourself" and being told, "I call myself is _______." Or I would ask, "How are you doing today?" and I would get the response, "I am intelligent, nice, and athletic." The best miscommunication was when I asked one student, "What are you going to do this weekend?" and he responded, "I go to the China." I rephrased the question, clarifying that I didn't mean over the summer, just over the weekend, and I got the same response. Finally I asked him in English if he meant what I was understanding, and he said, "OH, no, I meant to say, 'I go to the movies.'" Of course.

So I have one darling named Mitch. Mitch is a student that drives certain teachers crazy, but I love him. There is something vulnerable about him even though he is the tallest, broadest-shouldered boy in the class. When we had a class party, he and his mom made a tres leches cake from scratch and brought it in. Most of the other students forgot to bring in paper cups or juice. He is too sensitive and too earnest for the other students, who already seem harder, more cynical and disinterested in comparison. The others pick on him a bit.

I had just finished his oral exam and he had walked down the hall to put some things in his locker. I had two students sitting across from me getting settled in for their exam when suddenly I heard, "MS. SAVED" stage-hissed. I turned around. Mitch was walking towards us, carrying a cup with a binder on top of it and looking altogether like a bottle of soda that's been shaken all up and hasn't been opened yet. There was some kind of energy just barely contained beneath his skin. "Ms. Saved," he repeated, "HELP!"

I said, "Mitch, what the heck is going on?" "There is a poisonous creature in this cup," he said.g I thought it was a joke until I saw his green eyes rounded in genuine terror. Then thoughts of scorpions and black widows started prickling my bare ankles. "Well what is it?!" I asked.

He leaned toward me and tried to pull the binder off, but of course every time he did that the thing in there started making a run for it. "Well don't let it loose!" I cried.

That's when he said, "I...I think it's a bee. Someone left it in my locker with a note." (Side note: my school is so not street that the kids don't even put pretend locks on their lockers; they all "share" books, etc.)

I responded, "Well, for goodness' sake, Mitch, just take it outside and let it loose!" He walked down the stairs and outside, and returned a few minutes later, interrupting my oral exam once again.

"So you lived?"

"Yeah, listen to what I did. I put the cup on the ground with my binder on top, and I was going to throw a rock and hit the cup out from under it. But then of course the wind blew it over. And then this drunken bee came crawling out, and he was moving his butt all around (at this point he doubled over a chair and demonstrated) and so then I threw the piece of paper on top of it and I stomped it, like this! (he stomped hard on the ground)"

The whole time he was telling me this he was yelling in his over-excited voice. We were in the halls, with class going on all around, so I hushed him and then told him I was glad he survived. I think Mitch needs to hear that reassurance pretty often.

Does My Straitjacket Match This Skirt?

2009-05-25T14:17:00.000-07:00

I have to stop listening to Mana in the car. It always results in tragedy.

I was driving along the other day, in my very own neighborhood, on my way to school, and I was listening to that same song by Mana. I sang along, daydreaming about the day I hope will come in the future when I will finally feel strongly enough about a person to mean those words.

I was singing my heart out, lost in a bittersweet trance as I waited for the light. I shook my head and drummed my palms on the steering wheel in time with the rhythm. To me, this is maybe the most romantic song I've ever heard. I was thinking that, if I ever get married, I most definitely want that song played at some point. Whether my husband speaks Spanish or not.

And then, all of us a sudden, I got that undeniable, hair-prickling feeling that someone is watching you.

That's when I turned my head and saw not 1, not 2, but 4 of my students in the car next to me. They were literally pointing and laughing. I smiled and waved, because what else can you do in that situation?

Later that day some students walked into class and said, "Hey, Ms. Saved, I heard the Rosen twins and some other kids saw you talking to yourself in the car this morning."

G-d I love my life.

Ever Predicts Her Next Momentous Fuck-Up

2009-05-25T13:49:00.000-07:00

Just because I haven't mentioned Mario's abuse lately doesn't mean that it has stopped. If anything, it has intensified.

He calls poor Tori "la fea" (the ugly one). Tori is so adorable it hurts a little, but he tells her all the time that she is the ugliest person in the whole state, and also that she is a stupid creature for being a vegetarian.

Meanwhile, I suffer both physical and emotional abuse at his hands. He calls me, "Mean Girl" and yells at me for anything that goes wrong in his life. If a book falls off his desk he yells, "EVER. Why you do that, Mean Girl!? What problem you have with me, huh?!" and then he throws something at me.

A few days ago, this abuse reached a new height. I was sitting at my desk and he was standing and talking to me about some mundane little thing.

Suddenly he stopped talking and narrowed his eyes into slits. He hovered. And then he reached out a firm hand and cupped my chin in it. He pulled me toward him a little. Of course I was freaking out, wondering what the hell was going on. I frowned and tensed. This happened over the course of no more than one or two seconds.

Then he shoved my chin away from him, yanked my hair, and walked off laughing.

It's a very strange relationship, and one laced with perhaps just a strand of sexual tension?

My students ask all the time, "Ms. Saved. Is your boyfriend's name Mario? Is it!?" And no matter how many times I tell them no, they won't believe me. If they ever meet Lolo they will be so disappointed!

Anyway, I think that Mario living in the same apartment complex as me has interesting and maybe dangerous possibilities. As long as Lolo sticks around I'm safe, but if he moves (which he will probably have to do, and soon) I might be in serious trouble.

The worst part of it all is that numerous people have warned me to stay away from him, for my own good. And also I know better from personal experience. But when has any of that really mattered when faced with a summer's worth of boredom, pool parties, tequila, and the potential sudden onset of post-relationship loneliness?

Shit.

A Spoonful of Sugar AND a Human Dictionary

2009-05-25T13:00:00.001-07:00

I actually do really love a lot of my students. Much to my surprise (and horror?), I have come to realize that I will kind of miss them this summer. And I will miss them even more when I stop working at the Jew School and go back to school.

Recently, though, they pulled some unbelievable shit. We are talking large-scale shim-sham and trickeration.

Brie's wedding was the first weekend in May. It was beautiful, Brie was gorgeous, it didn't rain, and I didn't fall on my ass as I was walking down the aisle, etc. But I had to miss a day of school for travel. No big thing, right? I put in a request for a sub and left an assignment for my students.

Um, until I got back to school and started grading their assignments and realized like half of them had used electronic translators. Here is an example of what an internet translator does even to a very simple passage (translated from Spanish to English):

Hello, I am called Ever. I am Spanish professor and I have many jewish students. To some of my students they like to find ways " alternativas" in order to make the task, but I am very intelligent and I always they do when it.

So surprise, surprise, I can tell when they do this. I've caught a few individuals before, but they still think they can get away with it. Imagine their shock and discomfort when they walked in and saw little tidbits extracted from their journals written all over the board.

I said, "Raise your hand if you can tell me what any of these phrases mean."

They all squirmed and looked at each other, their chins tucked in and their eyes wide with guilt. Finally, knowing they had been caught and cornered, they admitted that the substitute had been a dumbass and had let them all go to the computer labs during class.

The most irksome case, however, was that of little Riley Levy. Riley is the kind of kid who is small for his age, but picks on the one boy in the grade even smaller than he is. He never does any work in class. He distracts and annoys everyeone around him, and then blames it on someone else. And he turned in an absolutely perfect journal. I mean, we are talking squeaky clean and full of verbs that Spanish 4 kids are still trying to master. He is in Spanish 1. And, to make things worse, this was not the first time this had happened.

I pulled him outside. "Riley," I asked, "can you tell me how you wrote this?

He threw his hands in the air. "Ok, I'm not gonna lie," he said, "I'm just gonna be honest. My maid helped me." (Translation: My maid wrote it.)

I knew this before he told me.

"And what did I say about that?" I asked.

"I know I know I know, I'm just so worried about my grade."

"Well," I said, "this isn't going to help it, anyway. I need this re-written, and it will be for a late grade. And I'm also taking points off for dishonesty."

"Yes, Ms. Saved." He hung his head and walked back into class.

A few days later we were having a teacher meeting to review modifications and to see if students really needed/were using the modifications for which they qualified. Little Riley's name came up next to a list of about 12 different modifications, and a unanimous, teacherly groan filled the air. Upon further discussion, it appears that his maid has been doing his homework in all his classes.

My heart hurts a lot every time I think about Riley's maid's life.

When We Talk About Poland...

2009-05-25T11:56:00.000-07:00

If you have ever been a) part of a listserv or b) a user of Microsoft Outlook at work, you will not be surprised when you hear that sometimes at the Jew School epic email battles break out. The latest one has been about the possibility of cutting lunch a few minutes short in order to create a very short homeroom period at the beginning of the day.

One side thinks this will encourage bonding between teachers and students and correct our...ahem...lax approach to taking attendance. The other side is basically pissed that they will absolutely have to be at school for first period every day and that they will have less time to make a Starbuck's run over lunch. We will probably create a committee to resolve this issue, which is the Microsoft Outlook equivalent of signing a peace treaty.

The Homeroom Dilemma is an example of the boring, typical Outlook battles. A few weeks ago we had one that was much more juicy...

Rabbi Ben had been talking in assembly about how, on a recent trip to Poland, he saw a family taking a shortcut through a concentration camp on their way to town. I thought, "Oh, well, if you grow up with a concentration camp in your backyard that tends to happen...," but Rabbi Ben had a different interpretation. He went on to talk at length about the lack of Holocaust education in Poland and about the insensitivity of Poles, etc.

About two hours later, there was a lengthy but articulate email sitting in everyone's box from Tomasz, the resident Pole with a fondness for all-black attire. Tomasz doesn't take shit from anyone, and he is also about twice the size of Rabbi Ben. In it he reminds readers that, growing up in Poland, many of his acquaintances were actual survivors. He said that many of his teachers had numbers on their arms, and that they had learned about the Holocaust not only from textbooks, but also from people all around them that had lived through that time. In short, he argued that those who had grown up with survivors and reminders all around them had a different relationship with the artifacts of the war than those who made a pilgrimage halfway around the world to see them. This seemed like a no-brainer to me.

Rabbi Ben hit "reply all" later that day. In his email of equal length he apologized for offending anyone and pulled the, "I mean it's not just _____ that do this; we all do in some way..." line, but he never recanted his initial analyses of the situation.

And that's when the shit really hit the fan. Below you will find an abridged version of Tomasz's reply-all response:

I want to thank Ben for his clarification.
I also want to say that I have the deepest respected for his scholarship, so I am surprised that it would slip by him that 3 million non-jewish Poles died in the war including 800 000 in the camps.

I have witnessed personally the disrespect of the memorial places in Poland - including my own soccer games on the German cemeteries [...] however, I have never arrived at the conclusion that all Poles are antigerman [...] there are so many places of slaughter in Poland that people tend to be desensitised [...]

I am writing this email because what has happened touches on a more general issue of prejudice. Holocaust is the ultimate example of prejudice and it should remind us that one crucial aspect of its emergence is the imbalance of power and the loss of the public voice. Jews did not have it in the prewar Germany and Goebbels did.

Poles and Palestinians lack this public voice in our school. Since pluralism is our motto maybe we should give the voice to the other side.

He said the "P" word and didn't equate it with terrorism. Oh, hell.

Within a matter of minutes we all had an email from the headmaster asking us to please refrain from discussing the matter further via email, although he encouraged respectful person-to-person dialogue.

As for me, I thanked Tomasz in an over-loud voice, in the crowded workroom, for voicing something plenty of us felt but did not express publicly. Having just passed through all the Yom holidays (Holocaust remembrance day, Israeli Memorial Day, and Israel's Independence Day), I have been feeling a bit overwhelmed with the Zionism. But I've already dipped my toes into some near-boiling water by suggesting to a few people that Women could be added to that list alongside Poles and Palestinians, and was glad Tomasz stepped up to the hotplate on this one.

A Yogarific Day of the Lord

2009-05-24T20:26:00.000-07:00

For most people who practice yoga, class is a relaxing, healthy part of their daily lives.

For me, yoga class is like every other part of my life: wierd shit happens to me for no apparent reason.

I had been neglecting yoga (among other things, ahem...), but I have been jogging lately and I have been having some kind of major pain in one of my achilles tendons. Stretching, ice, and ibuprofen is the recommended treatment. So what better place to stretch than yoga class, right?

I went to class this morning and we had a brand new yoga teacher. Instead of the young female dancer with the perky ponytail, a 60-year-oldish man was on a mat in happy baby asana in front of the class when I walked in. He was shorter than me, and compact. He was moreno with broad feet, muscular legs, a long gray beard and ponytail and an accent I couldn't quite identify. He was dressed in a shiny, snug black spandex tank top and matching shorts.

At first class was great; it was the perfect pace for a yoga slacker like myself. I had a few beads of sweat drip off my nose, but I was able to keep up with everything(even crow and plow, which are kind of hard for me!). I only got reprimanded once, and that was for not being deliberate enough with the extension of my arms in warrior II. I was feeling pretty good about myself.

And then we got to wheel. Wheel freaks me the hell out, because I have an irrational fear that my arms won't be strong enough and I'll come crashing down on my head. So I had a mean bridge going on and that was the end of that.

Until suddenly brand-new yoga instructor walked up to me and jumped so that he was straddling me. He snapped a strap taut in his hands and squatted so he was hovering just above my pelvis. I sucked my teeth to keep myself from making a dirty, very un-yoga-like crack about how I'm not into kinky stuff before the third date.

Without even asking my permission he threaded the strap around my hips and pulled me upward, asking the class to watch him and explaining the benefits of an assisted wheel.

The wheel did feel fantastic once I was in it, and I stretched in it and played around with shifting my weight, and then he talked me back out of the posture. The class started clapping.

But why the fuck me? There were probably 30 people in the class, and while I wasn't new to the class itself I was new to Mr. Yogi. Most of those 30 people were not in wheel, anyway, and a lot of them were better students than me.

More importantly, a lot of them were skinnier than me. This would be an important consideration to me if I were about to hoist a complete stranger off the floor with a strap looped behind her butt without asking her permission or even warning her.

After that I went home and, as I was walking to my apartment, saw an adolescent dry (?)-humping threesome in the hot tub. In broad daylight. On a late Sunday morning, when everyone is at home with their windows thrown wide open.

All around it was just a lot of hip action so early in the day.

Nothing to do with Ted's Therapist

2009-05-04T19:15:00.000-07:00

One of the traditions of my Jewish school is to celebrate a certain obscure aunt's "birthday" with a surprise for the students. The students drudge up to the doors, ready for a normal torture-filled day of school, and then in assembly we announce that it's the aunt's "birthday" and, therefore, we will not be holding classes.

The kink is that the students usually know about this before the teachers do, by some mysterious and unidentified extra sense they possess that sniffs out any possibility of missed class time.

So then, of course, we go to elaborate lengths to throw the students off the scent. This year our stealth tactics involved an entire series of alternative schedules, a fake fire drill, and of course bald-faced lying. This is how we instill the virtues of honesty and sincerity in our youth.

Anyway, on this year's "birthday" we brought in an improv troupe and we ate snacks.

And then the headmaster announced that our hopes and dreams would be fulfilled that day when he introduced a judge from the Guinness Book of World Records and informed us that we would be setting a world record for the largest hora dance.

The rules: we had to stay fully connected for at least three minutes; we had to dance in both directions; we were not to speak to the camera man.

For those of you not familiar with the hora, here are two versions of it, both performed by strange non-Jewish types:

So a whole mess of exuberant, over-stimulated students and teachers rushed into the courtyard and we formed a giant circle, trying to figure out how to navigate the trees and mud slicks. We joined sweaty, determined hands (gross). The music started playing, and we danced our hearts out.

The song ended. And repeated. And ended. And repeated. And ended. And repeated. We danced the hora for way longer than ten minutes. Mario lost his blackberry and keys out of his pocket and started to reach for them where they lay in grave peril next to a murky puddle. He hadn't understood the rules. But the students on either side of him squeezed his hands tighter and pulled him around the circle, as he screamed unintelligible, confused things in two different languages.

Meanwhile Tori was holding one of my hands, and she lost one of her shoes, so she kicked the other off her spirited foot and danced with brave toes straight through an ochre patch of mud. She had to wash her calves and feet off in the sink afterward. I was lucky to be wearing bright green and yellow tennis shoes with my dress pants (of course...I'm that professional...) so I did not have the shoe problems. But it was hot, the childrens' hands were sweaty, and the pressure was on.

We were all becoming tired, but I did not slow my pace. Nor did I let my form slip. I kept up the hopping and foot-crossing to the very end, leading one Jewish youth to exclaim, "YEAH MS. SAVED!!! WHOOO!!!! THAT'S AMAZING!" *

Finally, after the fourth or nineteenth round of the song, we were told we could stop dancing and that we had been succesful in our mission.

A few days later, the headmaster announced that he had just been lying about the whole thing. We didn't break any records. "But we had fun, right? It was beautiful!"

The truth is, I will find any excuse to dance the hora badly. It is almost as fun as skinny dipping in public with millionaires (I told you that story, right? Oh, I didn't? Ooops...it will be here soon....**) and carries less risk. But I was also a little disappointed to not be able to brag about my bizarre new (fake) record.

Nonetheless, back in the Camp Evergreen days I never saw my life taking this particular route. Most days now I'm glad it did.

* A special note to M5K: While this may not be as physically impressive as...say...running a mile or masturbating after a few Red Bulls, how many other entries have you received that involve coordinating and participating with large groups + deception, all in the name of a pseudo-religious practice? Think about it.

** This should also be considered a submission