So I'm in the cafe at Teachers College getting coffee before class. (Side note: I think I'm turning into an addict. I have been drinking so much coffee that one day last week, when I skipped my regular dose, I experienced mild withdrawal symptoms. Not good. I got tea today.)
Anyways, every day the cafe posts blow-up copies of front pages from international newspapers. And as I'm standing by the counter filling my coffee with cream and sugar, I look up and realize that the newspaper right above me is none other than....(drumroll please) The Namibian! I mean, what are the odds of that? So I immediately call my boyfriend to tell him, and he's like, "Oh I never read the newspaper. But I read it TODAY." COME ON. Out of all days, the one day that he decides to read the newspaper is the day that I see it at Columbia? Seriously, what are the odds!!! I was convinced--it was a sign. I'm not really sure what the sign was, but it was definitely a sign.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
A-B-C, easy as 1-2-3
Today in my multicultural education class, we were asked to share a memory of what kindergarten was like for us. Now, I have a ridiculously bad memory. I can't remember what I ate for dinner two nights ago, let alone try to remember something 20 years ago. Holy crap, has it really been 20 years since I was in kindergarten?! What the hell have I been doing for the last two decades? Shouldn't I have done something momentous and outstanding by now? Sigh...
...[Cough] Anyway! Where was I? Oh yes, kindergarten memories. As I was saying, I had a really hard time coming up with anything. Honestly, the only thing I remember from kindergarten was this big cardboard shoe tacked to the wall, where we could practice tying extra-large shoelaces. Seriously. This is all I remember--and these days I don't even wear lace-up shoes, so I don't really have anything to show for it. You know, it's actually kind of depressing that I can't remember anything else. Here I am, hoping to make a career out of being an Early Childhood teacher, hoping that I will make a lasting impact on countless lives, and I can't even remember what my own kindergarten teacher looked like. Fanfreakintastic.
Apparently, there's a book out there called All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. From what I gather, it's all about the fact that if more adults adhered to the rules of kindergarten, the world would be a better place. Ok, well, I can see the logic in that. In kindergarten, we focus on sharing, cooperation, problem solving, self-control, thoughtful inquiry, etc. All good ideas to live by. Problem is? Even kindergarteners don't adhere to those rules. Nobody does. Oh my god, I just realized--if people actually acted that way all the time, it would be like a continuous episode of Barney. Yuck.
Guess what? There's a revised edition of the book! It hasn't been released to the public yet, but being as I'm "An Educator", I got an advanced copy. The following is a sneak peak at the Table of Contents:
...[Cough] Anyway! Where was I? Oh yes, kindergarten memories. As I was saying, I had a really hard time coming up with anything. Honestly, the only thing I remember from kindergarten was this big cardboard shoe tacked to the wall, where we could practice tying extra-large shoelaces. Seriously. This is all I remember--and these days I don't even wear lace-up shoes, so I don't really have anything to show for it. You know, it's actually kind of depressing that I can't remember anything else. Here I am, hoping to make a career out of being an Early Childhood teacher, hoping that I will make a lasting impact on countless lives, and I can't even remember what my own kindergarten teacher looked like. Fanfreakintastic.
Apparently, there's a book out there called All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. From what I gather, it's all about the fact that if more adults adhered to the rules of kindergarten, the world would be a better place. Ok, well, I can see the logic in that. In kindergarten, we focus on sharing, cooperation, problem solving, self-control, thoughtful inquiry, etc. All good ideas to live by. Problem is? Even kindergarteners don't adhere to those rules. Nobody does. Oh my god, I just realized--if people actually acted that way all the time, it would be like a continuous episode of Barney. Yuck.
Guess what? There's a revised edition of the book! It hasn't been released to the public yet, but being as I'm "An Educator", I got an advanced copy. The following is a sneak peak at the Table of Contents:
- Digging for gold: You know what they say--one man's mucus is another man's treasure.
- Of Lice and Men: Knowing how to make your ideas spread so fast, they'll make people's head itch with excitement.
- No Tag-Backs: Learning how to place responsibility on your coworkers in a way that ensures your immunity from potential problems.
- Shooting for the Target: Striving to "get it all in the bowl," no matter how many times you might miss.
- Tough Love: Sometimes it takes a little push (and shove. and sand throwing. and name calling. and hair pulling. and pinching.) to get the results that you want.
Friday, July 16, 2010
The Hills are alive with the sound of heavily edited "reality" television
I have a confession to make: Over the past two days, I have managed to watch almost the entire 3rd season of The Hills on Netflix. I know, you feel dumber just from reading that last sentence, right? Trust me, I'm with you. I mean, I'll admit that I was a total sucker for it's parent show, Laguna Beach. But in my defense, I was in high school at the time and my life was so utterly boring that I was immediately drawn in by this crazy alternate reality where people wore Ugg boots when it's 75 degrees and sunny, and everyone drives a white BMW, and 16 year olds have, like, a katrillion dollar monthly allowance. But I am now (supposedly) grown up, so I have no excuse for this sudden interest in a show chronicling the lives of the oh-so-fabulous 20 somethings living it up in Hollywood. Where was this coming from?
And then I went to class. I spent four and a half hours talking about how white middle-class Americans have robbed literally everyone else in the world of any chance at a happy and equal life, and how kids around the country are being bullied and beaten and driven out of their schools because of what color their skin is or who they are attracted to, and how our country is allowing millions of children to live in poverty rather than give them any welfare. It's important stuff to talk about, but it's not exactly light and fluffy conversational material. And let me just say to those of you out there who belittle the importance of teachers--come sit in on some of these discussions and find out what kinds of issues we deal with every day, and then try to tell me that teaching is an easy job.
The point is that after so many hours of this, my brain is fried. And I'll admit that I enjoy escaping into the meaningless drivel that occupies the Hollywood scene of The Hills. I can sit back and listen to LC bitch about not getting to go to Paris for a fashion party, and I take comfort in the fact that she is not suddenly going to strike up a conversation with Audrina about the sad state of our country's public education system. It's the only way I'm keeping my sanity. Well, that and a bag of kettle-cooked potato chips. Nothing soothes the soul like some salt and grease. Who's with me?
And then I went to class. I spent four and a half hours talking about how white middle-class Americans have robbed literally everyone else in the world of any chance at a happy and equal life, and how kids around the country are being bullied and beaten and driven out of their schools because of what color their skin is or who they are attracted to, and how our country is allowing millions of children to live in poverty rather than give them any welfare. It's important stuff to talk about, but it's not exactly light and fluffy conversational material. And let me just say to those of you out there who belittle the importance of teachers--come sit in on some of these discussions and find out what kinds of issues we deal with every day, and then try to tell me that teaching is an easy job.
The point is that after so many hours of this, my brain is fried. And I'll admit that I enjoy escaping into the meaningless drivel that occupies the Hollywood scene of The Hills. I can sit back and listen to LC bitch about not getting to go to Paris for a fashion party, and I take comfort in the fact that she is not suddenly going to strike up a conversation with Audrina about the sad state of our country's public education system. It's the only way I'm keeping my sanity. Well, that and a bag of kettle-cooked potato chips. Nothing soothes the soul like some salt and grease. Who's with me?
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Some things money can't buy...
Buying a bus ticket from
Baltimore to New York: $17.00
Refilling your metro card so that you can
ride the subway all over Manhattan: $30.00
Eating lunch at whatever local deli/pizza
place happens to be close by: $15.00
Grabbing an umbrella from the nearest
Walmart when it suddenly begins to downpour: $6.00
Having a late dinner for two at the
Saigon Grill on the Upper West Side: $50.00
Finishing off a long day with a
cup of delicious hazelnut gelato: $4.00
Getting to spend the last couple of days discovering new and interesting places while helping your brother find a place to live in New York which means that you two get to live in the same city for the first time in literally a decade? PRICELESS
Some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's the measly amount of savings you've accumulated after two years of working in an underpaid job.
*On a totally unrelated note, go over to The Sassy Curmudgeon's blog, and check out this post about women's bathrooms. For women, it will make you laugh out loud. For all the men out there, it will unveil the hidden world of bathroom politics and potentially scar you for life by forcing you to think about women doing something other than peeing in a bathroom. (I've tried talking to various guys about this topic--I won't go into it, but apparently there are fairies involved in the removal process.)
Baltimore to New York: $17.00
Refilling your metro card so that you can
ride the subway all over Manhattan: $30.00
Eating lunch at whatever local deli/pizza
place happens to be close by: $15.00
Grabbing an umbrella from the nearest
Walmart when it suddenly begins to downpour: $6.00
Having a late dinner for two at the
Saigon Grill on the Upper West Side: $50.00
Finishing off a long day with a
cup of delicious hazelnut gelato: $4.00
Getting to spend the last couple of days discovering new and interesting places while helping your brother find a place to live in New York which means that you two get to live in the same city for the first time in literally a decade? PRICELESS
Some things money can't buy. For everything else, there's the measly amount of savings you've accumulated after two years of working in an underpaid job.
*On a totally unrelated note, go over to The Sassy Curmudgeon's blog, and check out this post about women's bathrooms. For women, it will make you laugh out loud. For all the men out there, it will unveil the hidden world of bathroom politics and potentially scar you for life by forcing you to think about women doing something other than peeing in a bathroom. (I've tried talking to various guys about this topic--I won't go into it, but apparently there are fairies involved in the removal process.)
Thursday, July 8, 2010
can i have a do-over?
You know those moments that you play in your head, and you plan on it going a certain way, and then the real event happens and it goes nothing like how it went in your head? Yeah, I had one of those moments today.
I was at campus today, and I had about 15 minutes before my first class so I decided to make a stop at the bathroom before embarking on a full 5 hours straight of classes. Just as I'm about to open the door, a woman brushes past me and I do a double-take: it's my high school English teacher. We both sort of freeze in that moment of "did she see me, or can I keep walking?" Once we've both established that we're stuck talking to each other (outside of a freakin BATHROOM, let me remind you), we begin to exchange pleasantries. Now I want to say that for a long time now, I have credited my teachers as the inspiration for making me want to become a teacher myself. This teacher meant a lot to me, and I had some of the best English Lit classes of my educational career with her. I also want to say that I knew this particular teacher was at Teachers College, so I knew I was bound to run into her at some point or another. I by no means spent a lot of time thinking about us meeting, but thoughts did run through my head about what we might say to each other.
I have to say, the actual event was sorely disappointing compared to the imaginary conversation that I had been building up in my mind. In my head, she said something like, "Andrea! You were my favorite out of all the students I taught at Friends School. I have never forgotten about you--in fact, I rave about you when I talk to my TC peers. You changed the way I teach. Thank you!" And I would modestly reply, "Oh no, it was all you. You opened up a whole world to me. You showed me the power of reading and writing, and I am a better teacher and person because I was your student. Thank YOU!"
Needless to say, our actual conversation was a little different. First, we did that awkward hug you do when you're seeing someone you haven't seen in a very long time. You know the one--it lasts for about 3 tenths of a second, and your arms barely touch while the rest of your body is stuck waaaaaaay far out from each other. We didn't even greet each other by name. For my part, it was because to me she has always been Ms. So-and-so. Don't ask me why she didn't say my name. It's very likely she simply forgot what it was. Anyway, we then proceeded to have awkward and stilted conversation. Ms. So-and-so: "Wow, you're all grown-up!" Me: "Haha, yeah." (I refrain from saying that she still looks about 18.) Ms: "What are you doing here?" Me: "My program started this week." Ms: "Where are you living?" Me: "Up on 137th, but in the fall I'll be moving into Whitter [the on-campus dorm]." Ms: "Oh, man, good luck with that." Me: "Heh...heh..." (What the hell does THAT mean?) "What program are you in right now?" Ms: "[something really long and slightly boring so I forget, but it has something to do with private schools and principals]." Me: "[feigning interest] Oh. Wow."
And that's where this pathetic excuse for a conversation petered out. Thankfully, I had to get to class, so I had a natural out. I swear, by the end I was covered in a nervous sweat and my cheeks were flushed with the effort of carrying this painfully awkward exchange.
Oh well. Maybe my next interaction with her will go better. Maybe we should go out for drinks--who knows, after a few beers we'll be talking about the good ole' days. Or maybe not.
I was at campus today, and I had about 15 minutes before my first class so I decided to make a stop at the bathroom before embarking on a full 5 hours straight of classes. Just as I'm about to open the door, a woman brushes past me and I do a double-take: it's my high school English teacher. We both sort of freeze in that moment of "did she see me, or can I keep walking?" Once we've both established that we're stuck talking to each other (outside of a freakin BATHROOM, let me remind you), we begin to exchange pleasantries. Now I want to say that for a long time now, I have credited my teachers as the inspiration for making me want to become a teacher myself. This teacher meant a lot to me, and I had some of the best English Lit classes of my educational career with her. I also want to say that I knew this particular teacher was at Teachers College, so I knew I was bound to run into her at some point or another. I by no means spent a lot of time thinking about us meeting, but thoughts did run through my head about what we might say to each other.
I have to say, the actual event was sorely disappointing compared to the imaginary conversation that I had been building up in my mind. In my head, she said something like, "Andrea! You were my favorite out of all the students I taught at Friends School. I have never forgotten about you--in fact, I rave about you when I talk to my TC peers. You changed the way I teach. Thank you!" And I would modestly reply, "Oh no, it was all you. You opened up a whole world to me. You showed me the power of reading and writing, and I am a better teacher and person because I was your student. Thank YOU!"
Needless to say, our actual conversation was a little different. First, we did that awkward hug you do when you're seeing someone you haven't seen in a very long time. You know the one--it lasts for about 3 tenths of a second, and your arms barely touch while the rest of your body is stuck waaaaaaay far out from each other. We didn't even greet each other by name. For my part, it was because to me she has always been Ms. So-and-so. Don't ask me why she didn't say my name. It's very likely she simply forgot what it was. Anyway, we then proceeded to have awkward and stilted conversation. Ms. So-and-so: "Wow, you're all grown-up!" Me: "Haha, yeah." (I refrain from saying that she still looks about 18.) Ms: "What are you doing here?" Me: "My program started this week." Ms: "Where are you living?" Me: "Up on 137th, but in the fall I'll be moving into Whitter [the on-campus dorm]." Ms: "Oh, man, good luck with that." Me: "Heh...heh..." (What the hell does THAT mean?) "What program are you in right now?" Ms: "[something really long and slightly boring so I forget, but it has something to do with private schools and principals]." Me: "[feigning interest] Oh. Wow."
And that's where this pathetic excuse for a conversation petered out. Thankfully, I had to get to class, so I had a natural out. I swear, by the end I was covered in a nervous sweat and my cheeks were flushed with the effort of carrying this painfully awkward exchange.
Oh well. Maybe my next interaction with her will go better. Maybe we should go out for drinks--who knows, after a few beers we'll be talking about the good ole' days. Or maybe not.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Psychology 101
A couple of days ago, I realized that I needed some kind of bag to carry my books/computer in for classes. Of course, this gave me a very convenient excuse to give in to something I've been lusting after for years. Over the weekend, my friend and I went to the mall and I bought myself this beauty:
It may not look like much, but this Longchamp bag is perfect--durable, simple, and big enough to fit my laptop without being ridiculously bulky. And I bought it in purple which, as my friend pointed out (in a wonderfully enabling way) can go with either black or brown.
So I'm happily walking around the city toting my bag, when it dawns on me. The color I chose almost perfectly matches the color of my high school backpack--you know the one, the classic LL Bean backpack that everyone seemed to have back in the late 1990s:
Yep, that's the one. So basically, I just bought myself the grown-up version of my childhood school bag. Let's explore that, shall we? You could say that being in an unfamiliar situation, I subconsciously drew comfort in the familiar by purchasing something that serves as a reminder of my childhood, thereby offering myself a small source of reassurance as I start my life in this new setting. Basically, I bought myself a security blanket. A very, very expensive security blanket. Well done, Andrea. Well done.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
And so it begins...
Tomorrow is my first day of classes, and in honor of that, I want to share a small moment I witnessed at the Columbia campus the other week:
So I'm walking around the main campus, hoping to get myself a little more familiar with the layout--look, I wanted to feel smart, ok? I figured I would step off the street and onto the Ivy League campus and I would bathe in the waves of intelligence and excellence that roll of the sides of the buildings like rain. So I eventually end up in the college bookstore and I'm wandering the aisles, looking at the the merchandise I can get with COLUMBIA stamped on the sides in big letters. It really is quite impressive. You need something, they got it: mugs, shirts, towels, pens, golf balls, notebooks, ties. I'm surprised they don't sell toilet paper with the school crest on it. I can see it now: Buy Columbia University bathroom tissue (because they would never deign to call it "toilet paper") and even your ass will feel the satisfaction of an overpriced education!
Anyway, as I'm meandering through the store, I pass a group of guys clustered in one of the book aisles. As I hover over the clearance rack (story of my life) I can't help but hear a part of their highly animated discussion. I can't remember word for word, but it went something like this:
Douche #1: Blah blah blah look at how smart I am blah blah blah
Douche #2: You imbecile! Blah blah see how I rebut your argument to show off my higher IQ blah
Douche #3: I concur. Blah blah pretentious blather blah blah
Douche #1: Huzzah! Blah blah condescension and arrogance blaggity blah blah
Ok, well, it probably wasn't that exactly... Still, I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised that a Top 10 school would have characters like these, but these guys looked like they were freshman. Columbia hasn't even had time to pump up their academic egos yet, and they're already sounding like pricks. Maybe it's my fault for hanging out in a book store in the middle of summer vacation--maybe all the normal people are off at the beach or something. Let's hope so, cause if I have to deal with people like that in my classes, this is going to be a looooooooooong year.
So I'm walking around the main campus, hoping to get myself a little more familiar with the layout--look, I wanted to feel smart, ok? I figured I would step off the street and onto the Ivy League campus and I would bathe in the waves of intelligence and excellence that roll of the sides of the buildings like rain. So I eventually end up in the college bookstore and I'm wandering the aisles, looking at the the merchandise I can get with COLUMBIA stamped on the sides in big letters. It really is quite impressive. You need something, they got it: mugs, shirts, towels, pens, golf balls, notebooks, ties. I'm surprised they don't sell toilet paper with the school crest on it. I can see it now: Buy Columbia University bathroom tissue (because they would never deign to call it "toilet paper") and even your ass will feel the satisfaction of an overpriced education!
Anyway, as I'm meandering through the store, I pass a group of guys clustered in one of the book aisles. As I hover over the clearance rack (story of my life) I can't help but hear a part of their highly animated discussion. I can't remember word for word, but it went something like this:
Douche #1: Blah blah blah look at how smart I am blah blah blah
Douche #2: You imbecile! Blah blah see how I rebut your argument to show off my higher IQ blah
Douche #3: I concur. Blah blah pretentious blather blah blah
Douche #1: Huzzah! Blah blah condescension and arrogance blaggity blah blah
Ok, well, it probably wasn't that exactly... Still, I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised that a Top 10 school would have characters like these, but these guys looked like they were freshman. Columbia hasn't even had time to pump up their academic egos yet, and they're already sounding like pricks. Maybe it's my fault for hanging out in a book store in the middle of summer vacation--maybe all the normal people are off at the beach or something. Let's hope so, cause if I have to deal with people like that in my classes, this is going to be a looooooooooong year.
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