A Mental Block

This is meant as an addendum[b] to my previous post. As of late I've been feeling sluggish and not able to copy & paste my thoughts from my brain to words in paper/blog form. Whether it was a result of working too much or a brain-fart of epic proportions, I'll never know.

What I DO know is that I've found temporary reassurance in my writing abilities as a new contributor to the Horrorthon blog. Thus far in the month I've seen & reviewed Insidious and Suspiria.

I can already see that contributing to Horrorthon combines two things that I've always cherished: being opinionated and watching movies. Also when I was young I envied Roger Ebert (actually I still kinda do).

Who still wants to be a teacher?

"Ms. Crystal, do teachers really get fired if their students do bad on the CST*?"

*gulp*

Why, yes, that's a harsh reality that many teachers knowingly face every day. Sometimes I wonder, with all the bureaucracy and paperwork, long hours and loopholes we've got to jump through each day, with the added pressure of pleasing parents and terrible 'tweenaged young people -- who still wants to be a teacher?

*cst = California Standards Test, also known as the STAR test, also known as that document that you bubble in your answers.

TEACHING & YOUR CRANIUM
I've been thinking quite a bit about how teaching affects or re-wires one's brain. What would a picture of my brain look like when I graduated college? What would it look like now? When I was taking those classes and interacting with people, challenging myself to further my own education, I felt like I could stretch my brain every which way, late into the night, in philosophical meanderings with like-minded folks. Now I need to forcibly separate myself from my gradebook, the textbooks from which I teach, and my email account filled with work-related topics and questions from eager students, and sometimes I find it hard to find the multi-syllabic words needed to convey my feelings about an issue.

For one, as a teacher you MUST adapt quickly to a new set of parameters each day. At least in my situation, during my first year it felt like every day brought a new set of rules and restrictions about what we could or couldn't do. One day a teacher would be out and my prep time would be sacrificed in order to cover for them; during lunch a student comes in asking for help, or consolation, both of which I immediately comply. I know it sounds cheesy but I get a lot of gratification in knowing that my words and anecdotes of struggle and success help a kid get through the next few hours. Or days. Or weeks. Or maybe not at all.

Time spent at home during which I am usually journal writing, drawing, or sketching potential knitting & sewing designs is now spent in sloth, sprawled on my bed watching television shows that I haven't decided if I give a crap about them or not.

Today I took a day off after waking up congested, weary, and sick -- but in a very strange way it was a great feeling to take something for myself after so many weeks of doing stuff for other people. I'm not griping about all the tests I've graded or the delicious foods I've prepared with others; I'm just saying it's one of the most difficult things for me to admit that I need to give myself a break.

It's even more difficult to take that break. :-P


O-BUMMER & EDUCATION
Obama recently gave a Back to School Speech -- and of course I'm going to look at it critically. Four years ago I remember hearing about people protesting what seemed like every weekend in Sacramento for educational rights. I remember teachers, operating under a Republican government and agenda, fought more and with the general public than when Obama was first elected. I'm not 100% anti-Obama; in fact, I hate to admit to being 100% anti-anything (with the exception of a few things) but it is worthwhile to make the observation that the people will fight more and will fight harder for their rights under a system that they disagree with on a superficial level than a system that they agree with on a superficial level.

What the hell am I trying to say?

I'm trying to say that neither political side is going to give the public what they want because politicians are too busy trying to please everyone; and in doing so, they do not please everybody. No matter how many times I hear Obama elicit chants of Si se puede, it doesn't make this proud half-Latina support him because he is not taking care of the teachers (even though he was a teacher). No matter how many times I hear about John McCain's support for the US troops, it doesn't make me want to support him because he's not taking care of veterans (even though he was a prisoner of war and most likely suffers from PTSD).

My primary issue with a lot of politicians is that they don't put themselves out there. Sure, occasionally you get someone like Dennis Kucinich who IS a part of a mainstream political party and DOES push a "radical" agenda (like searching for alternate energy and halting overseas wars). He's one of my few heroes that's recognized on a national level. Cali governor Jerry Brown is another one -- if only because he gives it to us straight-up, no bullcrap.

In reading Obama's Education Speech I find myself coming across too many cliches to scribble down.
"We've accepted failure for far too long."
"Enough is enough."
"The time for holding ourselves accountable is here."

. . . I'm sorry if anybody reading my blog is a passionate Obama supporter, but if I were your teacher and I kept telling you that the time for change is now, after you've seen so many before me give the same song-and-dance, would you have -- dare I say it -- hope?

Class, it's time I expected more from you. It's time to demand results from [you] at every level. It's time to prepare [everyone] to out-compete any worker, any where in the world. My classroom's entire education system must be the envy of the world -- and that's exactly what I intend to do.

As plain words on a blog it doesn't seem to say much; said in a speech I'm certain it appears to hold a lot of weight. I do like what he's got to say about making education a "collective responsibility," but again, it's not a new idea.

The two main headlines I see prominently discussed are Education and the Economy. So which E do you think is more important? Will bailing one out help solve the other?

follicle phallacies: me & my hair

My hair means a lot to me. I have gotten a lot of compliments for its style, shininess (that's such an awkward word), and color. On a few occasions, I've even gotten compliments on my eyebrow-grooming capabilities.

But my hair is more than just an accessory of vanity to me. If the first most notable thing about my hair is its awesomeness, the second most notable thing about my hair is the ability it has to give me comfort. It is a fact that when I was a baby my father would stroke my hair as he held me, and this would put me to sleep. As I got older, if I became distressed or came home crying, I would sit on his lap and he would pet my hair as I told him all my troubles. Sometimes I wouldn't even have to talk because it was clear that I was upset. Either way he would pet my hair and the worries would go away. I would get sleepy, but most importantly I felt safe and comforted.

At age 4 1/2 I had a major operation before which my hair was completely shaved off and during which a team of doctors made an incision from ear-to-ear and reshaped my skull, and after which I wore mummy-like bandages over my head and eyes. I couldn't see anything, and it is my only experience being completely blind, but I still wanted to listen to a tape narrating "The Wizard of Oz" and read along with its accompanying children's book. Before the operation my hair had been blond; when it regrew, it was brown.

When I was in middle school my friends thought it was hilarious that simply stroking my medium brown hair (it wasn't dyed until I was in 10th grade; now at age 26 it's black) would put me nearly to sleep. This theory was tested in the middle of choir class, and, sure enough, my eyelids began to droop and I yawned deeply and loudly and we all got discerning looks from our peers and the teacher.

I was in 12th grade when I started going out with my first boyfriend. I never cut my hair during that relatively short period, nor did I keep it up (on a separate note, it seems like you let go of some things when you have been with someone for just the right amount of time). After the break-up, I cut my hair and dyed it red. An act of defiance against post-relationship depression. A statement of independence, flashiness, and a reclamation of one of my greatest assets.

Throughout college, I explored all different sorts of haircuts. I cut my own hair, had roommates and friends cut my hair. It was dyed blonde (multiple times), black, burgundy, shades of purple, and bright pink. It was comforting to know I had control over something.

At the age of 24 I cut it all off. "It's, like, Halle Berry-short," I'd say when giving others a visual over the phone. The haircut was perfectly functional for me but it got mixed reviews:
"Love it!"
"I usually like women with longer hair."
"Why'd you cut it so short?!"
"Hmmmmm . . . " (my mother)

I could do anything, anywhere, anytime with my hair -- the constant of utilizing my hair as an instrument of comfort still remained.

Almost a year ago I moved to my current space, a room in a house with others I don't know. If I wasn't hanging out with friends or my boyfriend I was hanging out with myself (the necessity of which increased as my workload did), and I began to stroke my own hair now and again if comfort was needed.

During this past week in preparation for school I've felt more anxiety than ever before an academic year begins. I've been petting my own hair a lot -- waiting for public transportation, in heavy contemplation, or to subside a bad dream or feeling. My hair is most definitely an instrument of comfort and silky candy for my sensitive fingers to touch; with all of this in mind, I continue to wonder if all the effort will ever result in a permanent feeling of safety and reassurance.

Stroking Iron Man's ego -- or kicking it in the balls

I realize I am a few years off from reviewing this, but after feeling the pressure from friends and family with whom I share my adoration of superhero movies, I felt compelled. I lived through Watchmen, the original Captain America movie, and even the Wolverine movie, so what could be so difficult? Besides, what better things are there to do on an oddly chilly summer day in the San Francisco Bay Area?

I really didn't like this film.

The core of Iron Man is a stereotypical storyline of an egotistical millionaire (with a heart of gold!) that has nothing better to do than soak in the wealth his corporation obtains from taxpayers and government-backed military operations by partying, courting [blonde] women, and driving fast cars. Until, of course, he finds the errors of his [company's] ways and tries to correct them to benefit “the people.” From the first frame of Tony Stark's perfectly man-scaped goatee, I knew I hated him. 

Set against the backdrop of a modern day, post-9/11 society that puts more dinero in the military than it does in schools, the comforting escapist feeling I've come to know and love from Batman and X-Men films was thrown out the window. Instead I put my social justice-oriented thinking cap on and did me some man-hating. (Disclaimer: I do not actually hate all men. Just Tony Stark. Well, mostly Tony Stark and the bro-minded frat boy pro-America dudes that exemplify his entitled mannerisms and blind patriotism.)

Iron Man shares similar elements that I can't stand about James Bond movies: female characters are cast either as objects of attraction that have been conquered in the bedroom or will be conquered in the bedroom. Aside from Stark's personal assistant Pepper Totts (played by Gwyneth Paltrow), any other woman he encounters is simply an object of sexual desire. He even tells a female military officer, after noticing she's a woman (ugh!) “Now I'm looking at you in a different way.” You bastard.

Totts (her first name should have been Tater, Ms. Totts if you're nasty) is, indeed, the perfect woman – er, I mean, Personal Assistant – she knows everything he likes and dislikes, takes all his calls, dresses him for special events, brings him coffee & the newspaper in the morning, knows his social security number, tolerates a rising sexual tension between herself and Stark without directly confronting him, and buys herself birthday gifts with his money when he forgets the date. In the end she helps to save the day (by following Stark's orders on how to detonate some big shiny high-tech thingy) and kill the bad guy, all the while in stiletto heels. Girl Power!

I find Totts to be a very interesting character, I really do – and I found that there was great potential to explore, or even subtly hint at, the idea that Totts has a life outside of performing her duties as Stark's mom-substitute -- sorry, Personal Assistant. Throughout this movie I found myself asking all the wrong questions about Totts such as, “What does she do in her spare time? Does she have any hobbies? Does she have a family?” To go on a brief tangent, here, I think it would have been interesting to see how differently Totts would be interacting with Stark if, say, she were a single parent, or the wife of a US soldier, or a computer scientist that could contribute meaningful research towards Stark's objective of helping “the people.” 

(My morbid curiosity regarding Totts' life away from Stark is the single most driving factor for why I added the sequel to my Netflix queue. The second driving factor: Scarlett Johansson.)

The prospect of Stark conquering women before he conquers evil mostly upset me when, within the first half hour of the movie, a journalist grilling the ethics Stark Industries' weapons manufacturing asks Stark, “Do you even lose an hour of sleep at night?”

“I'd be willing to lose a few with you,” he responds. And she takes the bait. Give me a fucking break! This is inconsistent for a character that we've only known for a few moments and, in that brief moment, is supposed to be opposed to everything this man stands for – or was sleeping with him the ulterior motive? 

I'm not opposed to consenting adults getting it on if that's what they both want, but within the context of what we're shown in this film, the only message the viewer can be left with is, “Man, it must be easy to score if you're Tony Stark! And journalists compromise their morals quite often!”

The only thing Iron Man inspired me to do was write this scathing blog review. Hello, Blog, it's been awhile. How are you? I'm fine, just honing my inner Roger Ebert and Gloria Steinem . . .

So I can reiterate my dislike for Iron Man with the following:

1. I have no patience for, and give no credit to, egotistic womanizers.
2. Overabundance of wealth disgusts me.
3. The overall message of Iron Man comes across as a pro-American vehicle by which to stroke the egos of patriots without any sort of critical discourse about foreign policy or international relations. Stark is a white American cisgendered male, speaks only English, and surrounds himself with other privileged Americans for the benefit of only himself. (For whom did he make that special suit? The antagonist, portrayed by Jeff Bridges, even points this out at the end.)
4. Bruce Wayne, though of the same DNA strand as Tony Stark of rich and entitled men, was and is much better in execution of superhero stories, mostly for the escapism factor, and because more layers are explored to develop multi-faceted characters that withstand the test of time and with whom viewers can relate.
5. The final words in the film exemplified Stark's aforementioned ego and made me hate him even more.

Seriously – if I wanted to be lectured about corporate accountability and corruption of military weaponry I'd watch a Michael Moore film.

 

My Relationship with Ballroom Dance

In the Spring 2006 semester of college an idea was planted into my head to take a fun class amidst the Real Analysis II, Euclidean/Non-Euclidean Geometries, and Astronomy courses I had signed up for. Well, admittedly the Astronomy class was supposed to be the "fun" class.

The idea was to take a Ballroom Dance class. "The Beginner's level course is on Monday and Advanced level course is on Wednesday," the instructor informed us, "so you can come two nights a week, and get more practice!"

My relationship with movement to music up until that point was dancing a coordinated Macarena at a family-friend's wedding, and putting together a choreographed number to *N Sync's "Bye Bye Bye" as a part of a talent show on the last day of a summer program for which I co-taught Mathematics to 8th graders. Both were fun and got me moving even though they were full of silliness. And despite the fact that I went to nearly every middle school and high school dance, what I did I wouldn't count as dancing. Just a lot of wiggling and shuffling. And knowing all the lyrics to "Love Shack."

The Ballroom Dance class was a survey of all the formal styles: waltz, foxtrot, quickstep, Viennese Waltz, swing, and then . . . LATIN DANCES! Rumba, tango, salsa, am I forgetting something? They were all amazing, a total trip, tons of fun -- soon every song I heard I wanted to partner up and grace the floor with some impressive moves. Blue October's "Ugly Side" stuck in my head for MONTHS:

I think that one would go with a nice Viennese Waltz. Thoughts?

I started watching television again, in search for more dancing. Before I discovered Dancing with the Stars, even before I happened upon So You Think You Can Dance and tortured my partner once a week with frantically postulating who would be eliminated (and why they deserved to stay), I found a ballroom dance program on PBS that included this eccentric couple:

All I need say is that it opened up a whole world of possibilities for me. I was excited to dance the Rumba to Linda Ronstadt's "Blue Bayou," but this was a riot!

This couple goes all out . . . might one say, they go . . . "Gaga?"

Having watched these all back-to-back, and following the last 8 of 10 weeks of Dancing with the Stars, I think it's time for me to put on my dancing shoes and learn some fancy footwork. Here's more inspiration:

You Spin Me Round -- Donny Osmond?!??

 Can Kirstie Tango? Oh, yes, and so much more . . .

The dance that stole the show -- of COURSE he won dwts; he's a football player! Anyway, check out the footwork, it's very admirable.

With all these videos I'm almost absolutely certain you're pondering -- "Crystal Math, through all the dancing, all the leaps and throwing and twirling, is there an all-time favorite routine you have?"

Why yes, dear readers! There most certainly is! During the last season of SYTYCD when Billy Bell and dance partner Anya Garnis danced the jive . . . to Meatloaf!

Well, fine readers, that just about wraps up the story of my relationship with ballroom dancing. With the introduction of such awesome music as Gotan Project, I feel like it's about damn time I got out there and added some timing, rhythm and structure to my wiggling and shuffling.

xo

Crystal Math

"Follow your dreams and follow my blog!"

Shameless self-promotion comprises my wishes for the Class of 2011.

I've purchased a yearbook each year I've been at my school, and let the kids go crazy writing in it. The third yearbook was placed in my hands this month, and this year as the Senior Class Advisor, I'm really tearing up at some of the stuff that's being written, some of it by the graduating class:

"I hella love you! You were honestly on of the bestest teachers I've ever had! [. . .] Goodbye for now, and I will miss you, have a great summer!"
12th grader

"I'm happy to say that you were a FUN teacher and I thank you for all the math you packed in my head."
11th grader
teehee

"Hey Miss Crystal I just want to let you know how much I'm going to miss you, a lot! [. . .] It's been fun having you as a teacher and a good friend, you always listened to me when I needed someone to talk to, you always encouraged me to reach my highest dreams. I'll miss you very much and I love you."
10th grader
(This one moved me to tears.)

". . . You always got me through Algebra with a laugh. Thank you Crystal and I love you so much!"
12th grader

"Hi Crystal! I honestly think you're the best teacher I've ever had. Not even trying to kiss up or anything. You made math bearable. So for that, I'm going to draw a bear! On a unicycle!"
12th grader

"Hey Crystal! I wish you the best along your journey as a teacher. You inspired me to go out in my community and strive for social justice!"
12th grader
(More tears. Bring the sandbags for commencement, there will be floods.)

"Crystal you are a great listener and you're a very good teacher. I always enjoy listening and talking to you. I hope you have a happy fun summer."
10th grader

Seriously -- a lot of these kids who allow themselves to freely express their emotions will break any and all stereotypes that the media tries to pin on teens. How often do you hear from a 15 year-old that you're a good listener?!??

I remember being 15 or 16 and that all I wanted from an adult was to be listened to. Aside from my immediate family members I can't recall feeling like I was being heard until I was 18, months away from graduating. My Calculus teacher and I were comparing how often we'd moved in our lifetime. He'd moved over 20 years ago to the small town where I graduated from and still didn't feel like he "fit in."

At that point I realized:
a) sometimes you will never fit in; but more importantly
b) it is ok to be a "square peg"

It was that teacher that inspired me to pursue education seriously. As far as I know, he's still teaching Geometry, Calculus, and Physics and making tons of kids laugh, cry, and feel.

Years later I have come to realize that eccentric folk, the ones that didn't fit in or have a huge group of buddies at their fingertips, or the ones that went against the current and took risks and tried something new despite the fact that they were alone in doing so, are the ones that make the world go 'round.

Keep it up, Weirdos! Rock on, Nerds! Follow your dreams and follow my blog, you Dweebs.

How Obama Got Osama, and Why Romantic Comedies/Dramas are Bad for Me.

Introduction.
The end of the school year is coming to a swift close. Although there is a lot of excitement coming from . . . well, everyone at school . . . I'm again experiencing the anxiety of the unknown. I'm applying for several jobs that exemplify my skills and experience as an educator, but as with everyone, this be tough times and I've been turned down from a couple of tutoring centers.

Cause for rejoice comes in the next three weeks: a Disneyland/Universal Studios road trip with the graduating senior class, attending "Education Day" in the South Bay, and, of course, Commencement. The class of 2011 were a bunch of great young people and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss 'em. However, I've got some great ideas for the incoming Freshmen class that I'll be advising come August.

How Obama Got Osama

This is brief: I'm watching President Obama being interviewed on 60 Minutes, a show that was prominent in my childhood, if only for the time spent making fun of Andy Rooney and his ridiculous, disconnected, irrelevant, rants.

I didn't vote for Obama -- but I also didn't vote for who you think I did, the "other guy." (Hint: She's not a dude.) At the time I had lost a lot of "trust" (if that's even the right word) in mainstream politics and still very much believe in the power of grassroots movements. It's very obvious that as I experience more and gain more knowledge of the political left, right, and radical, the areas that I believed were black & white (like international relations) are now varying shades of gray. Looking critically at Obama as a president, I think he bit off more than he could chew by implanting the ideas of universal health care and shutting down Guantanamo Bay. Don't get me started on the budget, i.e. military spending and education. President Obama is not the sole person to blame, and I'm not trying to blame him for what got done or didn't get done so far in his first term. I just think he conveyed ideas that he, working with his administration, couldn't reasonably conceive in a short four years.

With regards to the killing of Osama bin Laden, my frustrations are geared more towards the mass public -- anyone who "celebrates" another's death excessively (partying/drinking/wearing stupid t-shirts, etc). I have a lot of respect for the sincerity and seriousness with which President Obama has conveyed during this whole ordeal. Everything he's said has been very logical, matter-of-fact, and rational no matter how you vote.

Mr. Obama, I didn't vote for you, and I still won't claim ownership by referring to you as "my president," but you can be a pretty cool dude. Thanks for being an intellectual and keeping a rational head about a situation that could have been dealt with in a more juvenile fashion.

Why Romantic Comedies/Dramas are Bad for Me

It has been consistent that, whenever a TV show or movie comes along that's received well and has a romantically-driven plot line with an exceptionally good-looking cast, I experience emotional turmoil.

I have no clue how long this has been going on, but the first time I realized it was when I became OBSESSED with the show Grey's Anatomy. I saw the pilot episode and was immediately hooked. Sexy people can be doctors, too! It was exciting. I downloaded episodes so I could get caught up (TV was airing Season 3, I believe). I'd watch an episode a night, sometimes two on the weekend. Before long I realized that I was bringing drama into the relationship and my co-habitant was receiving the worst of my nagging and imaginary reasons for jealousy and deceit.  
Didn't wash the dishes? Came home late?? And, what, you didn't tell me I look sexy today?!??

I really became a wreck and immediately downsized my intake of GA to a couple of episodes a week. The less I saw, the more realistic I became about things that were said and done (or not said and not done) in the relationship. Eventually, I gave up on it altogether because there were too many new characters. Seriously, you miss one season you might as well have died. *sigh*

Earlier today I watched the 90's romantic comedy Singles. I love lazy weekends, and I love lazier Sunday mornings even more, and I even loved the grunge soundtrack the movie brought with it, but -- !

But there were some pieces of monologue/dialogue in the movie that threw me off and jump-started the same paranoia and thought process. One character's monologue involved how long to wait before calling her dude:

"If I call him now, I'll come across as desperate. I'll call in an hour. If I call in an hour it'll seem like I'm busy and it won't be as bad. . . I don't want to be desperate."


In my brain began the slippery slope of relationship dramas -- dear gawd, I've created a monster.

It's true: we DON'T want to look like the "desperate" ones (who does?). Who's supposed to call, anyway? The dude's supposed to call, or the chick? What happens with same-sex couples? Or couples without any identified sex or gender fluidity? My mom had ingrained in me from a young age that as the female in the relationship, you DON'T call the dude, for the very reason of not being desperate. At the time I felt like there was no reasoning with this kind of logic, but lo and behold, in the years I dated in college I found out quickly that dudes seemed to disappear if I called them "too much," or at all. D-:

After how long does it become OK for either partner/companion/boyfriend/girlfriend to call? Who the hell made these rules, anyway? So many unanswered questions . . . In the end it's just important to know that you're dedicated to one another. But what if you scare the other person off by your desperation?!?? :-0

I think we've gotten ourselves stuck in a time-space-gender-continuum vortex, people. :-/