| 1 may 2003
currently reading
The Last of the Mohicans
I've gotten (well, been) on a classic-reading kick. Just finished reading Dostoyevsky'sCrime and Punishment,
which was tedious at first. I almost put it down after 200 pages, but am so glad that I persevered. Yeah, the guy writes as if he got paid by the word,
but it is compelling psychological reading. Also a good education in Russian Nihilism and the beginnings of the Bolshevik Revolution.
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so...close...
I can practically smell the end of the school year. Nothing along the space-time continuum moves faster than a school year. I look more--a lot more--of my eighth-graders in the eye now. So many of them are out of proportion, their torsos tottering on rangy, foal-like legs. The eighth grade is not about academics. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. It's learning how to navigate a new body. My kids are in the first year or two of realizing that they must one day take custody of themselves.
We're in the middle of our EOG (end-of-grade testing) blitz right now. The state has mandated that everyone close out the year with a standardized migraine and stomach ulcer. We spend the entire year being beaten over the head to "differentiate" instruction for different types of learning. (This is how education should be--kids are different.) Then, we spend the last month of the year making sure that everyone can color the bubbles correctly. Activities include timed reading drills about the history of band-aid adhesive in Akron, and sonnets celebrating momma's sweet tea drunk under the big cliche' tree.
Mmmmph...
In happy news, I visited Mom and Kelli in Florida over spring break. South Florida, where NO ONE owns any black clothing. I stepped off of the plane in Ft. Lauderdale looking like I was on my way to a Marilyn Manson concert--black pants, black tank top, black shoes. I don't own much that goes with Florida. Too complicated. When you drive into work at 6:30 a.m. like I do, everything you own is designed for dressing in darkness and sleep-deprived delerium. In short, everything I own is solid, simple, and doesn't have a lot of fasteners. Also dark, so as not to show coffee stains.
Lucky for me, street vendors sell pink and turquoise shoes to out-of-towners to bring them up to speed. People take one look at you down there, and you don't have to say a word before they state, "you're not from around here, are you."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Well, you're squinting. Hard. You're obviously not used to equatorial levels of sunshine, Cave Girl. Also you're wearing solid colors. Aaahahahahaahaaa! Here you go, poor thing." (Hands me tank top and shorts set with flamingo print.) "Make yourself at home."
You know how in most parts of the country, the stores have wall displays of things like...food? They've got their priorities straight in Palm Beach County. They cover their walls with flip flops: all colors, all styles, woman and man-flops. Parents who teach their toddlers to tie shoes in Florida...come on, people. Quit wasting your time.
One of the neatest things about South Florida was the hospitality. Palm Beach County is what happens when you expose New Yorkers to sunshine--they get nice! Really nice! No one yelled at me, not once, all week long. It was cool. I guess what I'm saying is, next time you want to go to New York, just go to West Palm Beach. My whole trip there, and Mom and Kelli's satisfaction with the place, made me want to sort of "lose" my plane ticket. "Guess I'm stuck here. Dang!" But they were starting to get irritated with me winning the Trivial Pursuit games, so I had to leave so they can study up for next time.
That's what happens, see? You raise your kids right, make them get an education, then they get all uppity and whoop you at Trivial Pursuit. Makes you wish they'd flunked a few classes, huh.*
*Editor's Note: Mom might try to tell you I made everyone else's drinks stronger than mine. That would be true. Viva victory!
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