Show and Tell

I finally have a card reader for my camera! (a real one, not a crappy RadioShack deal that came dead in the package) Here's some of what I've been up to...

My parents came out for spring break:

They like to text.



My mom likes the observatory at night.







We went whale watching in Santa Barbara.







My camera has a sketchy function. Don't you feel like you're in an episode of Saved by the Bell?



More to follow when I get all 350 pictures safely sorted out.

Seriously?

This morning I had to call...The District. It was going to be a delicate operation at best, because I couldn't very well call and say "Hi there! I need some of my personal information to complete a form that is being used in a grievance against you. Have a great day!". Still, it's my file, and I should have access to it, right? Right???



Call #1:

Me: Hello, I'm calling to confirm ____________.

Doofus: I can say yes or no.

(does she mean that she has the right to refuse me my own information? That doesn't sound entirely legal)

Me: Okay. I would like to confirm my _____________.

Doofus: Go ahead.

Me: I know it's _______(partial answer) but I need ________.

D: Yes. _______ is correct.

Me: Okay, what's the rest of it?

D: I can't tell you.

This went on for several minutes, most of which was me being put on hold. Finally it was explained to me that I could say the thing I needed, and she could tell me if it was right.

Me: Seriously, this is how we're doing this?

D: Yes.

Me: Okay. So you mean I have to guess, and if I guess right you'll tell me? (didn't I play this game in middle school when a friend liked a guy but didn't want to say who?)

D: Yes.

Me: **Takes guess**

D: NO.

Me: **Takes second guess**

D: NO. You only get one guess. Goodbye.


Call #2 was to my school to see if I could get the information that way. The secretary was in a meeting, so I gave my number and waited for her call. Meanwhile, let's try downtown again, shall we? Maybe I'll get someone different, someone friendlier.


Call #3:
Phone rings uninterrupted for a full minute. No one picks up, no voice mail. They know it's me, I'm sure of it.


Call #4:

Me: Hello, I'm calling to confirm _________.

Rude Lady (different from Doofus): Listen, we already told you *long rant restating info*.

So they know it's me. They've been discussing me. Greeeaaaaat.

Me: Yes, I have some questions about that.

Rude: Well, *dismissive rude rant* Why do you need this information?

Me: Because I need it.

Rude: WHY DO YOU NEED THIS INFORMATION?!

Me: Look, I just do. If I come in will that help?

Rude: NO. Here's the fax number. 213--

Me: Hang on one second please, I need to get a pen so I can --

Rude: Hold please.

**elevator music**

Rude: The number is 213blahblahblah. Goodbye.


Luckily, the secretary called back later and we pieced together the right date from my records, and the faulty guess I'd made earlier. And if those two ladies are ever in my position, I hope that someone is just as helpful to them as they were to me.

Waiting is Hell

I have never been good at this part of the year. When I was younger it meant waiting for report cards, waiting for AP test scores, waiting on job interviews, with maybe some other fun surprises thrown in. My family can attest that this was a tough time to be around me; I would often bounce back and forth between listless, annoyed, snippy and depressed. Teaching has been a relief from this state, and I've really enjoyed the light feeling that comes with turning in my gradebook, signing off on everything, and walking out of the building for the summer.

This year is different.

The goons at LAUSD call it a RIF. In most other districts it's referred to as a pink slip. Either way, you get a not so nice letter of termination effective a certain date, and then you have to keep being a professional even with unemployment hanging over your head. The worst part is, they keep telling you "maybe, maybe not" as far as a rehire situation goes. I won't go into details, but I will say I'm on pins and needles over here. To sum up: it totally sucks.

Hopefully I'll be writing more this summer, and hopefully I'll have tales of adventure instead of worrisome stories of me twitching in some corner.

Do they not know they're playing with peoples' lives??

This is pretty much my life for the next two weeks...

I'll be helping to direct the chaos...but secretly I'd like to be Sally.

Angelinos On Ice

The sun is shining, and it is 75 degrees. People are bundled in coats, scarves and hats. Only in Los Angeles, I chuckle to myself as I help Jacob lace up his skates. I am wearing a t-shirt, and I'm already sweating. Still negotiating Jake's laces and pretending to listen as he instructs me how to tie them, snippets of conversation fall into my ears:

"I haven't been ice skating in 17 years!"

"I've NEVER been ice skating!"

"My skates are too tight..."

"No, they're supposed to fit that way."

"Are you sure?"

"Not really..."

It's then I realize a hideous experiment is about to unfold: we are about to put a snowless city's inhabitants on a makeshift ice rink in the middle of Pershing Square. Only after this thought do I fully understand why giant signs yelling "SKATE AT YOUR OWN RISK" are everywhere, and why children clutch their parents with excitement-but-fear in their eyes.

All too soon, the death shoes are on everyone's feet and it is time to go. Time for me to fall and crack my teeth. But first, a surprise: Jake is holding a hand in the air, expectantly, in my direction.

This kid NEVER wants to hold my hand. Here he is though, waiting for me to take him skating.

Feeling mom-like in a good way, I lead him out and quickly learn that he has no idea what he is doing. Fortunately, neither does anyone else. For the first 15 minutes of the hour skate session, young and old alike clutch the walls and gingerly inch their way around, exclaiming over the fun of it all and holding digital cameras perilously outward to capture the moment. I take up a position on Jake's other side, and try to coach him as he slip-walks across the ice.

Did I mention I'm going to be his step-mom? Did I mention that this is the first time I've watched the kids all by myself? Did I mention that after we told them "we're engaged!" it was wierd and awkward and silent? Yeah, this kid will not fall. This kid WILL NOT eat it on the ice on my watch. There is more riding on this afternoon than Kaitlyn or Jacob know about, at least in my mind.

At first I'm trying to help him, and he's not listening. Jake is caught in the fun of the moment, the slippery-ness and laughter of it all, and does not seem to care. I wait 15 minutes, and then his competitive side kicks in; he wants to be better than the other kids, better than me. I model how to do it, give analogies and imagery, everything I have been trained to do. We lurch laps around the rink, refining his abilities. We stop twice to loosen and then tighten his skates. No fewer than five times he pitches forward and grabs my arm (catching me completely off guard), putting all his weight on me. No fewer than five times I hold up my 7 year old boy with one arm, balancing and somehow not falling. To borrow from Dave Eggers again: "I am America! I am the Olympics!"

After 45 minutes we have had enough, mostly because our ankles hurt. We amble to the benches and de-skate. Again I fuss with laces, and while I am at his feet untying knots he says it:

"Those other kids didn't know what they were doing, but I did because you taught me. Thanks for teaching me."

I fight tears the whole way home.

Why I like Going to Nature Mart

First of all, it's only a block and a half away. So I feel very eco-awesome while walking there, especially since I usually bring my own bag. Yes, I get all smug in a Los Feliz kind of way, which is fun for someone like me, who originally hails from the Midwest and usually feels like the short, awkward girl in the room.

Second, there is always an assortment of characters to pass and smile at. Today I nodded at red-suspender-and-high-top-wearing-with-crazy-hair dude, and he gave me a similar chin bob before continuing past me.

Third, when you get to the store, everyone is nice. It doesn't matter that it's late. Who cares that it's crowded with people buying their last-minute tempeh patties for dinner, and the staff is busy re-stocking the shelves. People smile, and say fun foreign phrases like "please", "thank you", and "excuse me". Health food makes happy people, and I have seen the proof.

Finally, the cashiers all rock. After being told off by a defiant 8th grader today, slogging through masses of students who all have a lame excuse why they didn't do their homework, and sitting through cynical yelling of teachers at our afternoon staff meeting, I was pretty drained. So while digging through my wallet, I had to stop and look up when the cashier ACTUALLY asked me "How was your day?" (not the usual "how are you" said quickly with no eye contact or empathy, but a real question!) When I looked up, he was smiling at me. Since there was no one else in line, we chatted for a minute. Mind you, this is not a fluke. Every time I go to this store, the cashier takes a minute to shoot the breeze with me. Huge plus.

Oh yeah, and their prices are actually very competitive. I've blown off Albertson's to go there for staples, in addition to getting my decaf green and vegan cereal. People of Los Feliz: Shop At Nature Mart!

That is all.

This is Who We Are. This is What We Do.

So I went to school here.

I chose MSU because of its excellent education program (2nd in the nation; suck on that California elitism), its true "college" atmosphere, and its flute professor, who is a true artist and the teacher most compatible with my style. It was a wonderful time in my life, full of new friends, midnight study sessions, and of course, the marching band.


When I was a sophomore I decided to audition for MSU's drumline. The Drumline at State is also world class, and I worried that I would be laughed out of the building. But I went, and I'm glad I did. Two years as a cymbal player flew by, and I can honestly say some of the best moments of my life occurred as a member of that group.


However, being a part of the group that roots for MSU football has its downside.


Our team is wildly unpredictable. We can upset the top team in the nation and make them cry. We can have a 20 point lead going into the 4th quarter and lose. We can kill a school one week, then turn around and get our butts kicked in the next. It is truly a labor of love to root for this football team. Week after week, I watch friends update their facebooks to say "Go Green!!!" only to be replaced a few hours later with "I'd rather lose as a spartan than be anything else". And so it is on the weekend we play our biggest rival that I once again pull on my school spirit like a protective shield, and utter the following battle cries:

Go State! Beat Michigan!

Ann Arbor is a whore.

We'll get 'em in basketball season.