80's crap = Crystal Math gold

As a part of my 2012 New Years "Revolutions," I'm composing a list of [early] 80's mediocre music to accumulate next time my favourite persyn and I go on an excursion for obscure music. My list so far consists of well known and well-forgotten artists and "artists" of the desired decade. But I'm laying down one major rule:

• NO, and I repeat NO "best of" bullllllllllshiiiiiiiiiiit. It goes against the purist music snob that's begging to get out. Greatest hits albums are a cop-out and a limitation of what this artist is truly capable of.

Some of them have since reunited, and some of them have since insisted it never happened. Whether we listen to these bands on an LP or mp3, they are:

1. Howard Jones

2. Europe -- ever since "Final Countdown" came on the airplane radio on my way back to California I've been on a kick.

3. The Human League

4. A Flock of Seagulls

5. Adam and the Ants (focus on early punk, technically late 70's)

6. Marshall Crenshaw

7. Plastic Bertrand --> Here's Sonic Youth's cover of "Ca Plane Pour Moi." I don't think he ever had another hit...

8. Missing Persons -- this band was mentioned in a book I read, Less Than Zero, and prompted me to check out all the obscure bands therein.

9. 'Til Tuesday

10. Romeo Void -- I first encountered this band on an 80's compilation from Time Life (my eyes were glued to the tv whenever the infomercial came on and somehow my mom bought my whining pleas, and consequently the CD series)

11. Numbers -- yet another female lead band that fell into obscurity. Brush off the dust and you've got an interesting collection.

12. The Pretenders -- Yeah, everyone knows these guys already. In addition to the Human League, they'll probably be the easiest to find.
13. OMD (Orchestral Manuevers in the Dark)

14. Dugites --> The lead singer reminds me of a Pat Benatar/Jane Weidlin hybrid, though she was from the same era (but Australian). "Waiting" is another good one, but this tune caught my attention as well:

*ok ok ok ONE MORE*

15. Sparks -- forget that the guy has a Hitler mustache! He reminded me of Pee Wee and the video is cute:

Musings Not Bemusings

I feel like the world is my effin' oyster right now. 

Ever since I returned from El Salvador, I see so many options and paths ahead of me. It literally opened up my eyes to the people, the culture, the language of the world. It made me feel closer to those I hold dear to my heart -- or it inspired me to get closer to them. Conversely it's inspired me to let go of the things that have been the source of my hold-ups for the last two years.

Both are going to inspire big changes, but I have so much optimism that I'm hopeful for a future even if it means struggle. At least it'll mean change.

I'm not as offended anymore when people remind me how "young" I am... (I think what bugs me so damn much is that I have no perspective on the matter ... think about it: I don't know what it feels like to be any other age than the ages that I've already experienced, how could I possibly know how relatively "young" I am compared to someone older than me?) ... but it certainly has made me feel that I need to take the time to go the extra mile to represent, protest, oppose and propose the things that I want to see happen in my lifetime. I want to make this semester at school the best ever, and I want to make this summer the best ever, and everything else afterward: The Best __________ Ever!

Exploring another country that is as rich in history as it is in tragedy inspired me to explore my options that lie in my own local community. People that I talk with about my journey seem fascinated and admire me for doing it, but some part of me doesn't understand why. It makes sense to me that one would want to pursue a cause about which they are passionate. I know that there are some hold-ups: money, risks of traveling to a "developing" country, trust, etc.

I had never been more homesick but once I returned to the United States I couldn't stop thinking about returning to the pueblos and learning more about what it meant to be from El Salvador. When I returned from the Twin Cities to protest the Republican National Convention four years ago I was surprised to see that "nothing" changed while I was away; now, returning from another country, I'm witnessing the same thing (I just have more colorful stuff). Only this time around I'm taking more initiative to creating the results I want.

Figures

Are you a Dot, a Line, or a Squiggle?

At today's teacher in-service I did a dramatic reading of The Dot and the Line to illustrate the four phases of the Interactive Reading Method which was integrated into the Caluco workshops I did in El Salvador.

1. Literal Phase -- who/what/where/why/when
2. Personal/Interpretative Phase -- do you know anyone who feels ...? What would have happened if ...? 
3. Inferential/Multicultural Phase -- how could have ______ been avoided? Have you or anyone you know ever experienced ...? How might you have reacted if ...?
4. Creative Phase -- write a story of what happened afterward; draw a picture or character profile of your favorite part; perform a play/monologue/song in the voice of one of the characters.

It was compelling to see the light in my colleague's eyes as the story progressed, and to see who sided with either the dot or the line. Seeing their enthusiasm in guessing what would happen next rejuvenated me and renewed my energy for the classroom tomorrow.

But first I've gotta grade these quizzes... :-P

27

I'm happy to say that I'm going to be turning 27. It's pretty special stuff since 27 is a cubed number (3^3 = 27), and Cubic Birthdays are something to make a big deal out of.

Cubic Birthdays are something experienced so rarely; the last time was 19 years ago when I turned 8 (2^3), and won't experience again for another 37 years, "when I'm 64" (4^3), and if I'm lucky enough, 61 years after that will give me 125 (5^3) years.

(Note: Isn't it cool how the difference between each of these cubed numbers is prime?)

I just want to keep this blog entry short and sweet -- this past year at 26 (nothing too special; just a multiple of 13) held so many fun memories, comprised of a few major "firsts:"

• First year contributing to the Horrorthon blog
• First trip out of the country to El Salvador
• First time to the southwest (Albuquerque, NM) -- also my first time traveling alone, with the exception of road trips from the SF Bay Area to Ukiah to visit my parents.

A fun "second:"

• Second year attending San Francisco's Zombie Prom

And a continuation of other things like Yoga, knitting and my career as an educator. Such great things life is made of, folks.

I was proud of this pina I acquired in Suchitoto.

1 of 2 proms we attended that year -- this was for my school; the second...

... Zombie Prom! It's gonna be hard to top the KISS zombies.

One achievement I'm proud of was supporting the 2011 graduates on their trip to Disneyland and Universal Studios (not JUST 'cause I got to go with them...)

My favorite photo of 2011 -- and it's spectacular coming from my archaic phone. I got the opportunity to participate in the SF Exploratorium's Teacher Institute and got to see this every morning.

Real-life in the movies

(Alternate title to this blog entry: My Brain Takes an Intellectual Dump After Watching 27 Horror Movies in October, then Overcompensating with Documentaries and Dramas)

Two years ago I happened upon the documentary Crips and Bloods: Made in America in my local video rental store (before it closed down). I didn't rent it at the time but watched it for free online (feeding the monster that closed down the rental store in the first place). Later on I rented Crips and Bloods from Netflix (that monster's fattening up real good) to show to students and begin a discussion about gang mentality and its long-term effects. The film itself is filled with amazing, insightful quotes and observations about oppression, discrimination, and the extent the mainstream press will go to create an illusion of safety for the general public living in the 'burbs away from all the "trouble."

Working at a school where wearing solid reds or blues violates the dress code, and working with youth that, for the most part, lack a perspective of the history of the gangs of which they are a part (or that they fear -- in the abstract, everyday, etc.) opened up a lot of doors for communication. I didn't document everything that was said but I remember they made very acute observations and that some connected the intellectual dots that lay before them, when they might not have been encouraged to before.

I'd recommend anyone and everyone watch Crips and Bloods. Yes, it was heart-breaking, but it was also a hard-hitting and exposing of a reality that a whole helluva lot of people aren't exposed to either out of privilege or due to location. Although I spent seven or eight years of my childhood living in the vicinity of a maximum-security prison, there was never the threat of violence or danger. (Just ignorant "rednecks.")

I'm not promising any answers about where gang violence originates, I've just been slowly watching more movies that confront it through the eyes of African-American youth, particularly boys. Earlier this year I watched, and re-watched Boyz N The Hood with Cuba Gooding, Jr. and Ice Cube. It was the perfect film to accompany Crips and Bloods.

This past weekend I had the chance to see Fresh, another amazing film about a 12 year-old boy (amazing acting done by Sean Nelson) doing what he needs to survive living in the projects of Brooklyn.

A Wiki listing of 'hood films is here, and I feel compelled to stock up my queue knowing full well that not all of them will deliver as Fresh did, or represent the demographic in the same light as Boyz, but it's worth it to look. Although each of these movies I've seen has broadened my perspective and knowledge of living in a world of gangs/drugs/other shit, I can't help but feel like I'm "studying" this subject of humanity as if a student enrolled in a classroom, keeping myself at an appropriate distance from the location and population I'm "researching."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to move to a poverty-stricken neighborhood in hopes of conducting an anthropological ethnography -- but I also don't plan on merely watching movies to educate myself. I feel lucky to work in a setting where I can engage in powerful, sometimes painful one-on-one conversations with teens about their past experiences or the present fears. Not every child is living this tough life, but the overall feeling of allowing youth to voice their opinions when they are not always able to is gratifying.

If ever there was a moment when I had to abandon my college career in math, I think I would have fallen back either on Spanish studies or cultural anthropology. Spanish is pretty easy for me (at least I don't have to overly exert myself), but Anthro involves a lot of critical thinking and connecting these dots, putting yourself in another's shoes (they call that "cultural relativism").

What further inspired me towards working class struggles was reading The Broken Fountain by Thomas Belmonte. It was required reading, and, in addition to monthly protests against state university fee hikes and the military presence at career fairs (mandated by the Solomon Amendment), The Broken Fountain was a perfect stepping stone towards my out-of-classroom education on the ins and outs of class war.





Later on I accumulated Resistance Behind Bars,

How Nonviolence Protects the State (download as .pdf here),










and several articles from Bitch Magazine

The article entitled, "I'm not a feminist, but. . ." is amazing.

(especially one analyzing the class disparity between vampires/elite and werewolves/lower-class in popular culture), among others.

October's Over -- Freakin' Finally!

Just kidding -- I wish it could've lasted forever!

For the first time I participated in Horrorthon, a blog put together by one of my favorite people and many of his favorite people. You watch horror movies during the month of October, post reviews, then read and comment on others' reviews. Sounds pretty freakin' sweet. Except I became really behind in work, and in the middle of moving from one tiny room to the next.

Here are my posted reviews thus far:
1. Insidious
2. Suspiria
3. Troll Hunter
4. She-Wolf of London
5. Rosemary's Baby
6. Amusement
7. I Saw The Devil
8. The Birds
9. 13 Hours in a Warehouse
10. Blood Harvest
11. The Tomb of Ligeia

Not a review but a summary of Zombie Prom 2011!

There's about, oh, 16 more to write! I'm pretty damn proud of myself for making it this far on a first year's run. Maybe that number will double next year??

"You're going to be a helluva ______ someday."

I remember once a long time ago I was up for 18+ hours moving crap from one apartment unit to two doors down. My then-roommate and I had had our ceiling cave in from all the recent downpour. There were few moments during that day-and-a-half stretch where I stopped to think. I was always moving, moving, moving. Hauling, hauling, hauling. I recall little of what my then-roommate did but that doesn't mean that she did nothing. I remember making sure everyone was comfortable, making sure that everything was taken care of, everything was put back in place in the new unit as it was in the old one (they were cookie-cutter apartments; one looking exactly like the last).

I remember making sure that everyone had enough to eat.

I've always made sure that everyone is comfortable.

I also remember never wondering when it'd be over. I was just moving, moving, moving. My head would turn but it would be hours before I felt the impact of the wind on my face. Hours before feeling dizzy from the dance of Lifting Heavy Shit, transitioning to Where Did That Go Before?, finishing with a triple-dose of Whatever Happened To My ____?

After the ordeal was over I was carried up to my room. Told to rest. My new room looked exactly like the old one and was arranged as such. Bed in the corner, closet in the opposite wall. Nobody asked me if I was comfortable, if I needed anything, but I remember being content at the very most.

After the ordeal was over I remember cooking breakfast for two. I don't remember if it was scrambled eggs or cereal. I just remember saying that I was tired, and hearing a response that – for better or worse – still echoes in my brain:

“You're going to be a helluva mother someday.”

That was almost six years ago. Every now and again I think back to that quote with pride. I think back to those words that came from kindness and I feel foolish for being offended. At the time I didn't understand how someone could view me solely as a baby-making machine, producing little people and running (or waddling) around making sure everyone was fed and comfortable and taken care of. I had no maternal instinct at 21. You say you fell down? It ain't the end of the world. You want a candy bar instead of a lollipop? Fuck off.

Needless to say I feel different now, but only by about 80%. It's still in my instincts to react in the ways mentioned above, but I feel more of a need to protect. Keep safe from physical and emotional dangers. Project my prospects and hopes and dreams in the young 'uns for whom I see so much potential, not to mention that I see them everyday. I can't exactly tell them that if they don't do x-y-z they'll end up like me because I think I'm a damn good role model. I'd like to think that, in the event of procreating mini C-Maths, that they'd be just as creative and thoughtful and passionate as I'd ever hoped myself to turn out with every shred of my being. All the while being well-looked after, advocated for, and comfortable.

. . . Or maybe I'm just losing my edge.