I have been working in a self-contained middle school classroom for the last 6 weeks, working with emotional and behaviorally disturbed kids. Although this has provided many interesting stories, I haven't written about it much due to confidentiality issues. But today I just had to share.
It started with two boys (we'll call them Dustin and Kendrick) working in the room on separate assignments--Dustin had to write out some strategies to deal with his lack of verbal control (he told a bunch of classmates who wanted to jump him that he'd rape them if they touched him, possibly the result of living on the street for two years with his crackhead mom) and Kendrick was working on his science lesson. His reproductive system science lesson. I was complacently reading a book when he asked me for a synonym for "anus." Caught slightly off guard, I said, "Umm..." trying to pick a non-slang term while the rotund and religious TA gasped and the other kid pipes up--"ass!" Kendrick laughed and then said, "Oh, I know--penis." I looked at the other kid, who looked as puzzled as me. The TA turned five shades of red--she normally says "fanny." She urged us to move on conversationally but I stopped her. "No, Patty. They need to know the correct terminology." God only knows what kind of situational confusion confusing anus and penis might cause Kendrick in the future.
"Kendrick," I said carefully, "the anus would be referring to your rectum--there's a synonym. Your butt, in other words. Your penis, well..yeah."
"Nuh uh!" he yelled. Refusing to believe me and Dustin (Patty cringed at her desk), he went for a dictionary.
"Anus: The opening at the lower end of the alimentary canal, through which the solid refuse of digestion is excreted." He looked up triumphantly. "See?!?"
Dustin laughed. Patty began praying. I leaned in closely and said calmy, "Kendrick? Do you have solid refuse passing through your penis?"
He blinked once. Twice. "Oh. I get it." I ignored Dustin's hysterical giggles and resumed reading.
It was a long day. Dana and I drank a few beers and watched the spelling bee. That took me down a notch.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
The Creek: a Crapshoot.
I've written several times about Bull Creek. Today Dana, Bella and I got there early, round 11am, before the onslaught of families, dog-owners, river rats, and stoners arrived. We got comfortable in our stone ledge castle, jumping into slightly smelly but refreshing water and climbing back up the rock wall to dry in the sun. These two signs made me laugh a little, the first for a missing parrot and the second admonishing us to keep Bella on a leash and pick up her poop.
Some days at BC are heaven--you meet the coolest people with the best dogs, share a beer, and relax. But sometimes you see things that make you doubt the inherent goodness of humanity. I sensed trouble when what appeared to be a pregnant man, two googley kids, and a miserable-looking woman stumbled up the creek bed. He had some of the worst tattoos I'd ever seen: baby footprints (presumably his own offspring, which if you think about it metaphorically is just said) on his chest, just off matching shamrocks on his "pecs." A paint splatter surrounded by the words "Got Balls?" on one shoulder, a Notre Dame leprechaun on the other. His back was covered with a horrible mess of green, orange, and black--nothing discernable. Now I'm not going to judge a person for getting bad ink...much. However, he was dragging a sweet and terrified puppy through the water--he later pushed the poor thing off the rock, its claws extended like a Halloween cat and panic in its eyes. His lumpy wife (who most likely wore baseball caps with pony-tails through the back and glasses with snazzy white sneakers to look "hot" in her pre-child years) carried a bag in one hand and held her cigarette aloft with the other as she yelled profanities to her hapless boys. Later when Dana and I jumped in again I commented on the shame of litterers, saying we always carried out twice as much trash as we came with, and she agreed wholeheartedly as she flicked her butt into the water. I growled, wanting to steal the poor puppy and give the children to Oprah.
Nevertheless, the sky was big and blue and full of sun, and we exulted in it. Bella drank some beer and we read Redbook, learning the secrets of happily married women, recipes, and 21 spicy sex moves we already knew. The creek banks began filling up, looking like shantytowns in some spots with large families with grills and chairs setting up shop. An older guy, probably early 40's but the kind that probably lies and says 30's, began jumping in next to us again and again, doing backflips and climbing up higher to show off, egging his 6 year old to do the same. I gasped when the back of his head skimmed the rock wall, and giggled inwardly later when he gulped a mouthful of pee/dog water.
By two, the place was packed, and my drinking was constantly interrupted by having to give two persistent and incompetent middle-school girls a hand in climbing back up the wall. We decided to split, slightly incredulous at what shitheads some people are but still in good spirits and happy the day was still young--only 2pm.
Keeping with the day's theme of recreation and leisure, PBS had on a documentary called Great Old American Parks. Here. Watch.
Some days at BC are heaven--you meet the coolest people with the best dogs, share a beer, and relax. But sometimes you see things that make you doubt the inherent goodness of humanity. I sensed trouble when what appeared to be a pregnant man, two googley kids, and a miserable-looking woman stumbled up the creek bed. He had some of the worst tattoos I'd ever seen: baby footprints (presumably his own offspring, which if you think about it metaphorically is just said) on his chest, just off matching shamrocks on his "pecs." A paint splatter surrounded by the words "Got Balls?" on one shoulder, a Notre Dame leprechaun on the other. His back was covered with a horrible mess of green, orange, and black--nothing discernable. Now I'm not going to judge a person for getting bad ink...much. However, he was dragging a sweet and terrified puppy through the water--he later pushed the poor thing off the rock, its claws extended like a Halloween cat and panic in its eyes. His lumpy wife (who most likely wore baseball caps with pony-tails through the back and glasses with snazzy white sneakers to look "hot" in her pre-child years) carried a bag in one hand and held her cigarette aloft with the other as she yelled profanities to her hapless boys. Later when Dana and I jumped in again I commented on the shame of litterers, saying we always carried out twice as much trash as we came with, and she agreed wholeheartedly as she flicked her butt into the water. I growled, wanting to steal the poor puppy and give the children to Oprah.
Nevertheless, the sky was big and blue and full of sun, and we exulted in it. Bella drank some beer and we read Redbook, learning the secrets of happily married women, recipes, and 21 spicy sex moves we already knew. The creek banks began filling up, looking like shantytowns in some spots with large families with grills and chairs setting up shop. An older guy, probably early 40's but the kind that probably lies and says 30's, began jumping in next to us again and again, doing backflips and climbing up higher to show off, egging his 6 year old to do the same. I gasped when the back of his head skimmed the rock wall, and giggled inwardly later when he gulped a mouthful of pee/dog water.
By two, the place was packed, and my drinking was constantly interrupted by having to give two persistent and incompetent middle-school girls a hand in climbing back up the wall. We decided to split, slightly incredulous at what shitheads some people are but still in good spirits and happy the day was still young--only 2pm.
Keeping with the day's theme of recreation and leisure, PBS had on a documentary called Great Old American Parks. Here. Watch.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Moxie's Summer Entertainment Preview
Dear Blog,
Sorry I haven't written. Between graduation and the subsequent loss of student loan money plus the spiraling out-of-controlness of American society, I've found it difficult to get my thoughts in order. I graduated last weekend, the parents came down and met my friends and Mark--went better than I expected. I'll be leaving the ATX in a few more months to set up shop with honey in west Texas, something I'm deliriously excited about. The times, they are a-changin', but change is good.
Until I have some solid thoughts on anything solid, here what I think of the summer entertainment lineup. First, TV: TV by and large is total crap. Aside from a few worthy shows, it's insulting, especially the commercials (that's a whole 'nother post). Two upcoming shows have at least induced a quizzically raised eyebrow:
90210. Jebus. Has it been 18 years for real? I was 10 when the original aired? From the looks of it, Jennie Garth has fared the best by nailing a 3pm sitcom with the slightly cross-eyed Amanda Bynes, unless you count Shannen Dougherty's Charmed as success. From what I can tell, the only appeal to the show is that it signals a transition tv time between horrendous daytime court and talk shows before the news and primetime come on. The remaining members of Snobbery White High or whatever high school that is can be found on milk cartoons.
Try not to get distracted by the eyebrows or the asymmetrical eyes:
The new onslaught of CW teen "talent" have updated names--Daphne, Dixon, Annie, etc. There seems to be more of a multi-cultural inclusion as well. Before you start judging, keep in mind that I've been home by myself all night with nothing to do. And I'm grumpy, so shut up. What's next, Saved by the Bell: Redux? Melrose the Second Place? I'm all for recycling, but this is ridiculous.
Another show that intrigues me in a sick kind of way is Swingtown, from CBS: "From the director of "Big Love" and "Rome," SWINGTOWN peeks into the shag-carpeted suburban homes of the 1970s to find couples reveling in the sexual and social revolution that introduced open marriages and women's liberation." Here I thought we couldn't get any sluttier. Although I'm attracted to the 70's context (as I'm sick of shows set in nowadays, as nowadays is all janky), I have a bad taste in my mouth watching these commercials, which keep showing up on my five channels of television. It tastes kind of like latex mixed with salt and shame.
Movies I'm looking forward to:
1. Batman--starring the dead and beautifully tragic Heath Ledger. I bet I'll cry.
2. Get Smart--hell yeah. I love Steve Carrell, and I loved watching the original on Nick at Night as a kid, starring Don Adams. Here's a clip of it featuring another of my heroines, the great Carol Burnett:
Decidedly Stinkers:
1. Sex in the City, the Movie--I'm a devoted fan, don't get me wrong. But here's the thing: if she gets married, it's kind of a sell-out as to her character. If she "chooses New York," not a damn person will be surprised. If he runs out on her, I'll just be depressed. I've seen all the seasons many times over, I don't need to spend $8 to see a longer version of an episode.
2. The Strangers--I don't like movies that feature people with bags on their heads.
Boy, it feels good to write again. I'll cut things off there, 2 tv shows, 2 good movies (hopefully), and 2 bad. I'm out of mixer drink so I either need to drink the vodka straight or go to bed. As I am working tomorrow, I imagine the latter is better.
Happy long weekend, hope you don't have to drive anywhere...
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