Some of you may be familiar with Alice's chart on the L Word -- you know the one where she does that patient zero thing where she connects the dots between lovers.
My ex, P, and I used to call this "The Transitive Property of Love" -- you remember the transitive property?
A=B, B=C, so A=C.
Now, the math sites I've consulted warn against applying the transitive property to other settings. But believe me, it does apply here.
I fuck K. K fucks D. i fuck d.
Oh folks, this happens lots.
What is more fun is when,
I fuck Ka. Then Ka fucks Ko. Then Ko fucks P. Then I fuck P.(Ka got mad at Ko then, cuz she hated P at the time, but I digress.)
This my friends, is the Transitive Property of Love in action.
All of the aforementioned are true scenarios.
I remember once I dated a bisexual girl. I was amazed that she had no idea where any of her past boyfriends were or what they were doing. In fact, she never spoke to them, never saw, and never even ran into them and she didn't want to either. It gave me a newfound understanding of straight people (some anyway -- I know a few of them have the same cozy circles we do).
This was amazing to me. All my lovelife long, I had existed in a world where not only was breaking up a matter of endless negotiation, detente and agony, but you were destined to see your ex, umm, for the rest of your life basically, unless you took up residence in a cave in Juneau, and even then, you'd probably run into her ex on a hike in the national forest.
We have another saying, "There are only ten black dykes in the world. I've fucked five of them, and the rest are the exes of the first five."
(Another saying we have is "Straight?Straight to bed!" but that is the topic of another post.)
My dear friend Shak used to bemoan her fate at the hands of the cruel dyke karma. She would shake her fists at the sky and fall to her knees. "Will I ever be rid of my past?" she'd cry pitifully. Shak and I had met at a party where she was telling me a great story about something that happened to her and her ex. Thing is, I had already heard it, a few months earlier, in bed with, umm, her ex.
That ex left her for this other woman. They broke up five years later, and now the other woman is subletting my apartment, and going out with, umm, my ex.
Now I am usually pretty cool with all of this. I figure, when it's over, it's over. Plus I have a non-monogamous brain and come from a sexually loose culture. What can I say? But the worst for me was when my EXES STARTED DATING EACH OTHER. That really sucked. I kept imagining them whispering about me to each other, laughing at my foibles and flaws. I could barely stand to look at them. I knew they were consulting about my most intimate insides as they canoodled. It was narcissitic agony. I got over it. I'm sure my newfound maturity and their bad break up a few months later had something to do with it. Of course, now, we are all friends again.
And so it goes.
There are ten millon stories in the naked city. As I think of more cozy scenarios, I'll add them.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Trini 2 de Bone: My Uncle's Altercation
At the moment, I am laying in bed, typing this on my laptop. As per my usual M.O. I am only wearing panties, for all the kinky people out there. I am happily covered in the down comforter that I've had ever since I started having sex, and my belly is full of my aunt's Easter ham. I just came back from a bucolic 24 hours in Northampton where i fulfilled my dyke karma by responding to a summons from my ex-girlfriend's girlfriend to come and visit more often to keep my ex's spirits up in the Land of the Lost. All is well -- except for My Uncle's Altercation.
As some of you may know, in order to take care of estate business, I have relocated to my mom's house in Queens, which is currently also occupied by my aunt and uncle. My uncle is a mellow guy Pisces who makes a mean curry chicken and who does all manner of wifely things. He also has a "club." This club is somewhat of a mystery to me: they throw West Indian parties, mostly around Carnival time, and they also run a field hockey league. They also have really long meetings about once a month where they discuss esoteric topics such as verifying scores, umpires, and hiring DJs.
At the moment, the meeting facilitator (not the uncle I live with, he's super nice) is engaged in a nearly-shouting match (every one is too bourgie to actually raise their voices that much, so they just repeat themselves sternly back and forth for a while) with one of the group members, which brings me to the topic of my post. Trinis and Jamaicans.
The one woman in the group, the other participant in the inane argument outside my door, is also Jamaican. Two strikes. I am not sure how she got there. I think my cousin told me that she is someone's ex (another strike) and she put up a lot of money, and is good at business (I suppose her black beemer attests to that) so she stays. But the guys in the group don't like her. And I think it's because she is Jamaican.
Now there are lots of little nationalistic prejudices going around, and this is one of them. And whenever I have tried to talk to anyone in my family about it, they either suddenly become interested in a fly in the windowpane, act like I haven't said anything at all, or insist that I don't really know "real"Jamaicans so I don't what they are talking about. My aunts snickered at the Jamaican accent of the groom's mother at my cousin's wedding -- "I ope de Lard take dese chirren in de palm of e an" --she was marrying down, but at least he was part Chinese.
More insidiously, though I had been walking around feeling enlightened and non-prejudiced, when I first went to Jamaica, I realized that I had these little thoughts in my head too. As I walked around Kingston, I was surprised that it was such a big city. I was amazed at how clean Jamaicans kept their cars. I was surprised at anything nice, anyone educated, and that their patwa was really a language. I am ashamed to say that those little icky voices were in my head, too, that Jamaicans were stupid, dirty, incompetent, uneducated, bad cooks, talked jibberish -- you name it. I was horrified and really ashamed.
I tried to think about where this came from . I could not remember my parents ever having said anything bad about Jamaicans. However, I was raised clearly with a sense of Trini superiority. Our "twang" was beautiful and lilting. Our management of our country's natural resources kept us from whoring ourselves to tourists. Our people were the most attractive (ent yuh see how many Miss Universe Trinidad have?). Our food was the most delicious. Our Carnival the best in the world. Our culture the richest and most diverse. And so on and so on.
And though my parents never said anything negative about any group of people (except perhaps Trinis themselves -- not known as trickdadians for nothing) lots of people around me did. My cousins who went to mostly West Indian high schools regularly talked about how trashy and ghetto the Jamaicans were. My aunts at the wedding. And don't let my aunt in Trinidad self get started. And so on.
So now, my uncle's friend is trying to verbally crush this woman -- who is, of course, holding her own -- and that reminds me of when I went to Kingston and was confronted with the voices inside my own head. I am not interested, I suppose, in why these rivalries exist -- neo colonial hegemonic blah blah -- I've read my Eric Williams and company. I am interested in the places that are excavated when we are confronted with the nastiness within ourselves.
I've since returned to Jamaica twice -- for another wedding and then for the Calabash International Literary Festival and I am glad to say that since I found those embarrassing hobgoblins and exposed them to the light, they haven't come back. I still though sometimes hear an accent and hear that bad thing sneering,"ugly." Or see the batty riders and think "ugh, so trashy." And I know that I am not just expressing my personal opinion, but something poisonous that disguises itself as a salve against a terrifying inferiority complex. And so I say to myself, "just different, just different" like a mantra to untrain that brain, and listen to my sister hold her own in my uncle's altercation.
As some of you may know, in order to take care of estate business, I have relocated to my mom's house in Queens, which is currently also occupied by my aunt and uncle. My uncle is a mellow guy Pisces who makes a mean curry chicken and who does all manner of wifely things. He also has a "club." This club is somewhat of a mystery to me: they throw West Indian parties, mostly around Carnival time, and they also run a field hockey league. They also have really long meetings about once a month where they discuss esoteric topics such as verifying scores, umpires, and hiring DJs.
At the moment, the meeting facilitator (not the uncle I live with, he's super nice) is engaged in a nearly-shouting match (every one is too bourgie to actually raise their voices that much, so they just repeat themselves sternly back and forth for a while) with one of the group members, which brings me to the topic of my post. Trinis and Jamaicans.
The one woman in the group, the other participant in the inane argument outside my door, is also Jamaican. Two strikes. I am not sure how she got there. I think my cousin told me that she is someone's ex (another strike) and she put up a lot of money, and is good at business (I suppose her black beemer attests to that) so she stays. But the guys in the group don't like her. And I think it's because she is Jamaican.
Now there are lots of little nationalistic prejudices going around, and this is one of them. And whenever I have tried to talk to anyone in my family about it, they either suddenly become interested in a fly in the windowpane, act like I haven't said anything at all, or insist that I don't really know "real"Jamaicans so I don't what they are talking about. My aunts snickered at the Jamaican accent of the groom's mother at my cousin's wedding -- "I ope de Lard take dese chirren in de palm of e an" --she was marrying down, but at least he was part Chinese.
More insidiously, though I had been walking around feeling enlightened and non-prejudiced, when I first went to Jamaica, I realized that I had these little thoughts in my head too. As I walked around Kingston, I was surprised that it was such a big city. I was amazed at how clean Jamaicans kept their cars. I was surprised at anything nice, anyone educated, and that their patwa was really a language. I am ashamed to say that those little icky voices were in my head, too, that Jamaicans were stupid, dirty, incompetent, uneducated, bad cooks, talked jibberish -- you name it. I was horrified and really ashamed.
I tried to think about where this came from . I could not remember my parents ever having said anything bad about Jamaicans. However, I was raised clearly with a sense of Trini superiority. Our "twang" was beautiful and lilting. Our management of our country's natural resources kept us from whoring ourselves to tourists. Our people were the most attractive (ent yuh see how many Miss Universe Trinidad have?). Our food was the most delicious. Our Carnival the best in the world. Our culture the richest and most diverse. And so on and so on.
And though my parents never said anything negative about any group of people (except perhaps Trinis themselves -- not known as trickdadians for nothing) lots of people around me did. My cousins who went to mostly West Indian high schools regularly talked about how trashy and ghetto the Jamaicans were. My aunts at the wedding. And don't let my aunt in Trinidad self get started. And so on.
So now, my uncle's friend is trying to verbally crush this woman -- who is, of course, holding her own -- and that reminds me of when I went to Kingston and was confronted with the voices inside my own head. I am not interested, I suppose, in why these rivalries exist -- neo colonial hegemonic blah blah -- I've read my Eric Williams and company. I am interested in the places that are excavated when we are confronted with the nastiness within ourselves.
I've since returned to Jamaica twice -- for another wedding and then for the Calabash International Literary Festival and I am glad to say that since I found those embarrassing hobgoblins and exposed them to the light, they haven't come back. I still though sometimes hear an accent and hear that bad thing sneering,"ugly." Or see the batty riders and think "ugh, so trashy." And I know that I am not just expressing my personal opinion, but something poisonous that disguises itself as a salve against a terrifying inferiority complex. And so I say to myself, "just different, just different" like a mantra to untrain that brain, and listen to my sister hold her own in my uncle's altercation.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Dykephiles: L Word Spoilers, Season 2: Episode 2
Okay, I know it has been a while. And surprisingly, as a search term, this little spoiler has gotten me hits from as far away as die Nederland. Well, well, well. So ladies and gentlewomen, here it is, too long on hiatus after Oscars, my Queens soujourns. Thanks to Sammy's Showtime on Demand, ah, extreme tv and neighbor's keys. Thanks, Sammy!
Note: there is no fucking this episode.
So, this episode Tina goes to this hardass civil rights lesbian attorney who convinces her that she needs her "autonomy," a word that keeps coming up dring the course of the episode. Tina gave up everything, is left with nothing, no job, her name isn't even on the utilities, and she "offered her womb to give birth" to their child. While Bette is talking abusively to her little assistant boy who she has looking for apartments for Tina, the attorney contacts Bette, through her job (didn't get that part, can anyone explain why that man knew? and who was he?) and asks for bank statements, house appraisal, etc. Bette is all shocked and upset and storms over the Alice's apt looking for Tina, where Alice lets it slip that the lawyer was her idea. Bette chews her out for it, and Alice says, "You can be cruel, Bette. I should know." Apparently they dated for six weeks once, and Bette dumped her. Bette sees the friends together later having dinner, (where we learn that Bette is Tina's first and only -- the first is never the last we always used to say) and leaves looking all crushed cuz now she is a "pariah." At the end, she is sitting on the steps with Shane and Jenny, and says she should learn about having sex without emotion from Shane.
Shane tracks down the hotass Carmen she dissed in the last episode (she asked Camenr's mother where she was. Wha?) Carmen is PAing on some set for a music video sung by androgynous dark haired triplets. They talk behind a wall, and Shane says, "Sorry about the other night, I was an asshole." (Hmm...how many times have I wished for someone to say that to me? Defensive ass. I digress.) S: "We can still fuck." C: "You wanna fuck me?" So they start making out and then Carmen has to go work and they try to make arrangements, Carmen has to see her grandma, Shane's gonna get Tina a lapdance, nothing pans out for plans. Carmen leaves. Sigh. Bye hotass Carmen.
Jenny is in a writing class with Sarah whatshername, Madonna's ex best bi friend, who is all exacting and mean. We get to hear more of Jenny's tired writing. Jenny goes to Robin's friends house for a gathering and she walks into classic lesbian Stepford land complete with a Chinese baby who is the center of attention (hate that) and an interracial couple who are pregnant. They grill them on when they are getting married (Robin's last wife fucked someone else in the church on their wedding day) and when they are gonna get pregnant. Jenny freaks out and breaks up with Robin. (Thank God, does this mean we never have to see tired ass Robin again?).
Kit tracks down Ivan at his cabin in the woods and asks him to give her money so she can buy the Planet from Marina's "father." Ivan is really cold, but at the last minute comes through with money as Kit's silent partner. There is a really weird scene in the Planet at the end where the Count with 8 names sweeps in to close the deal and rails Bette for judging Marina so harshly, "you conservative American." Bette sheepishly apologizes.They ask how his daughter is doing, and he says, "My daughter? Marina is my wife. We have been marrried for 11 years." Those Europeans! So freaky!
Okay, I hate Tanya, Dana's asshole of a fiancee, but the best scene in the entire show is the moment when she and Dana ask Dana's resistant parents for the blessing for their wedding. Tanya gives this great speech about following your heart, and the message is, if you really love someone, you want them to be happy and to do what is right in their heart. It was great. I also very much appreciated Tanya's panzita (little belly) that was prominent throughout the show. Having a panzita myself, I felt panzita confidence.
Of course, there are all these teeth gritting moments when Alice and Dana allllllmost kiss. They are still really into each other. Will they ruin this example of gay marriage so poignantly argued by Tanya in a surprisingly non asshole moment? Is Tanya just a two faced controlling bitch after Dana's money?
The last big scene is when Shane, Dana, Tanya, Alice and Tina go to a strip club to get Tina lap dance to get her mind off of Bette. I won't comment on the strip club scene (whatever), but Tina gets a dance from a woman who looks like Bette. A dancer asks Shane if she is a player and Shane says, "yeah." Tina goes home and masturbates to weird "t" sounds but starts crying instead of coming. It was interesting pregnant woman sexuality that reminded me of this party I was at last weekend with really sexy pregnant women dancing...but I digress.
Umm, that's it for now. Other random moments: in the review of last week, there was a scene I didn't remember where shit, what is her name? Bette's fuck? Ah-- Candace! --is taking a picture of the both of them while Bette is asleep. That is sure to come back and bite her in the ass later. Also, there was lots of wandering around trying to find coffee now the Planet is gone. In addition, there was lots of great cinematography this time, most notably a camera that spun like a lazy susan from character to character while they were talking in the restaurant. Also, the writing was much better.
Shit, I almost forgot, at the end when Bette, Shane and Jenny are sitting on Bette's steps having a beer, Shane being the only friend who has reached out to Bette, Jenny mentions she is looking for a roommate, and Shane says, "We should talk." SO I guess they are moving in together. Jenny has finally lost those terrible tights, but now she is wearing shorts with heels. Not much of an improvement in my book.
Two questions, does anyone but me really think Shane is the hottest? And, who is exgirl, who is doing all the music these days?
Until next time, this is Dykephiles, signing off.
Note: there is no fucking this episode.
So, this episode Tina goes to this hardass civil rights lesbian attorney who convinces her that she needs her "autonomy," a word that keeps coming up dring the course of the episode. Tina gave up everything, is left with nothing, no job, her name isn't even on the utilities, and she "offered her womb to give birth" to their child. While Bette is talking abusively to her little assistant boy who she has looking for apartments for Tina, the attorney contacts Bette, through her job (didn't get that part, can anyone explain why that man knew? and who was he?) and asks for bank statements, house appraisal, etc. Bette is all shocked and upset and storms over the Alice's apt looking for Tina, where Alice lets it slip that the lawyer was her idea. Bette chews her out for it, and Alice says, "You can be cruel, Bette. I should know." Apparently they dated for six weeks once, and Bette dumped her. Bette sees the friends together later having dinner, (where we learn that Bette is Tina's first and only -- the first is never the last we always used to say) and leaves looking all crushed cuz now she is a "pariah." At the end, she is sitting on the steps with Shane and Jenny, and says she should learn about having sex without emotion from Shane.
Shane tracks down the hotass Carmen she dissed in the last episode (she asked Camenr's mother where she was. Wha?) Carmen is PAing on some set for a music video sung by androgynous dark haired triplets. They talk behind a wall, and Shane says, "Sorry about the other night, I was an asshole." (Hmm...how many times have I wished for someone to say that to me? Defensive ass. I digress.) S: "We can still fuck." C: "You wanna fuck me?" So they start making out and then Carmen has to go work and they try to make arrangements, Carmen has to see her grandma, Shane's gonna get Tina a lapdance, nothing pans out for plans. Carmen leaves. Sigh. Bye hotass Carmen.
Jenny is in a writing class with Sarah whatshername, Madonna's ex best bi friend, who is all exacting and mean. We get to hear more of Jenny's tired writing. Jenny goes to Robin's friends house for a gathering and she walks into classic lesbian Stepford land complete with a Chinese baby who is the center of attention (hate that) and an interracial couple who are pregnant. They grill them on when they are getting married (Robin's last wife fucked someone else in the church on their wedding day) and when they are gonna get pregnant. Jenny freaks out and breaks up with Robin. (Thank God, does this mean we never have to see tired ass Robin again?).
Kit tracks down Ivan at his cabin in the woods and asks him to give her money so she can buy the Planet from Marina's "father." Ivan is really cold, but at the last minute comes through with money as Kit's silent partner. There is a really weird scene in the Planet at the end where the Count with 8 names sweeps in to close the deal and rails Bette for judging Marina so harshly, "you conservative American." Bette sheepishly apologizes.They ask how his daughter is doing, and he says, "My daughter? Marina is my wife. We have been marrried for 11 years." Those Europeans! So freaky!
Okay, I hate Tanya, Dana's asshole of a fiancee, but the best scene in the entire show is the moment when she and Dana ask Dana's resistant parents for the blessing for their wedding. Tanya gives this great speech about following your heart, and the message is, if you really love someone, you want them to be happy and to do what is right in their heart. It was great. I also very much appreciated Tanya's panzita (little belly) that was prominent throughout the show. Having a panzita myself, I felt panzita confidence.
Of course, there are all these teeth gritting moments when Alice and Dana allllllmost kiss. They are still really into each other. Will they ruin this example of gay marriage so poignantly argued by Tanya in a surprisingly non asshole moment? Is Tanya just a two faced controlling bitch after Dana's money?
The last big scene is when Shane, Dana, Tanya, Alice and Tina go to a strip club to get Tina lap dance to get her mind off of Bette. I won't comment on the strip club scene (whatever), but Tina gets a dance from a woman who looks like Bette. A dancer asks Shane if she is a player and Shane says, "yeah." Tina goes home and masturbates to weird "t" sounds but starts crying instead of coming. It was interesting pregnant woman sexuality that reminded me of this party I was at last weekend with really sexy pregnant women dancing...but I digress.
Umm, that's it for now. Other random moments: in the review of last week, there was a scene I didn't remember where shit, what is her name? Bette's fuck? Ah-- Candace! --is taking a picture of the both of them while Bette is asleep. That is sure to come back and bite her in the ass later. Also, there was lots of wandering around trying to find coffee now the Planet is gone. In addition, there was lots of great cinematography this time, most notably a camera that spun like a lazy susan from character to character while they were talking in the restaurant. Also, the writing was much better.
Shit, I almost forgot, at the end when Bette, Shane and Jenny are sitting on Bette's steps having a beer, Shane being the only friend who has reached out to Bette, Jenny mentions she is looking for a roommate, and Shane says, "We should talk." SO I guess they are moving in together. Jenny has finally lost those terrible tights, but now she is wearing shorts with heels. Not much of an improvement in my book.
Two questions, does anyone but me really think Shane is the hottest? And, who is exgirl, who is doing all the music these days?
Until next time, this is Dykephiles, signing off.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Teach for Hysteria: Renewal of Vows
I have been in a wretched mood this year. My tumultuous love life over the past year, coming back from the summer with most of my wonderful friends transferred to other schools, put on a team in a wing where I was the only person who had taught for more than one year, in the wildest mini school in the building, my mother dying, my lover on the other side of the earth -- I went on strike.
I didn't realize that was what I doing. I called it "getting sleep not being such a goddamn workaholic taking care of my family fucking a lot and having a social life and spending my money on me instead of on my classroom." Then I read an article (I'll link it later) about teachers in Berkeley who, to protest two years of working without a contract and city demands that they work longer hours, stopped working non-contract hours just to show that they already worked longer hours. What happened? Tests and papers not graded, extra help and extracurriculars not happening, rooms not kept up, shit just disorganized. Parents are complaining. Hopefully someone, somewhere, will get the message.
I don't know how it started with me. Maybe I had a dream. More likely I had a revelation. I have been a real bitch lately. No patience. No compassion. Okay -- I exaggerate. Maybe I am nice sometimes. But mostly I am find myself incredibly irritated. One of my class actually feels that I hate them. I am sure, with their antics, most of the time I look really unhappy and pissed. Usually I am just really zen and unflappable. Not this year. Yes, I know, my mom died. And I am stressed out. And I cannot even look at my bosses. I HATE them. (More on that growing rage later). But today I decided that I would work really hard not to let anything that is going on with me hurt the kids. It is not their fault.
It is not their fault that my bosses are assholes who criticized me for taking time to stay with my dying mother in the hospital.
It is not their fault that this school is so fucking underfunded I have to buy every single supply I need out of my straining budget.
It is not their fault that they get barely any exercise because they have gym once a week during which they sit for an hour on the floor in the name of discipline and when they get home their parents are too afraid to let them out of the house.
It is not their fault that no one ever taught them that that stick with a dot is an exclamation point.
It is not their fault that they have been in foster care, adopted out, beaten up, and witness to drug addiction and murder.
It is not their fault that my mom died and now I am sad.
It is not their fault.
So today, I decided that I would rededicate myself to being the best teacher I could be. And to practice loving compassion with my students and breathe out my incredible anger at my bosses and the grief I carry around daily. And try, in the words of my girl, to not just work harder, but work smarter.
S'acabo la huelga.
I didn't realize that was what I doing. I called it "getting sleep not being such a goddamn workaholic taking care of my family fucking a lot and having a social life and spending my money on me instead of on my classroom." Then I read an article (I'll link it later) about teachers in Berkeley who, to protest two years of working without a contract and city demands that they work longer hours, stopped working non-contract hours just to show that they already worked longer hours. What happened? Tests and papers not graded, extra help and extracurriculars not happening, rooms not kept up, shit just disorganized. Parents are complaining. Hopefully someone, somewhere, will get the message.
I don't know how it started with me. Maybe I had a dream. More likely I had a revelation. I have been a real bitch lately. No patience. No compassion. Okay -- I exaggerate. Maybe I am nice sometimes. But mostly I am find myself incredibly irritated. One of my class actually feels that I hate them. I am sure, with their antics, most of the time I look really unhappy and pissed. Usually I am just really zen and unflappable. Not this year. Yes, I know, my mom died. And I am stressed out. And I cannot even look at my bosses. I HATE them. (More on that growing rage later). But today I decided that I would work really hard not to let anything that is going on with me hurt the kids. It is not their fault.
It is not their fault that my bosses are assholes who criticized me for taking time to stay with my dying mother in the hospital.
It is not their fault that this school is so fucking underfunded I have to buy every single supply I need out of my straining budget.
It is not their fault that they get barely any exercise because they have gym once a week during which they sit for an hour on the floor in the name of discipline and when they get home their parents are too afraid to let them out of the house.
It is not their fault that no one ever taught them that that stick with a dot is an exclamation point.
It is not their fault that they have been in foster care, adopted out, beaten up, and witness to drug addiction and murder.
It is not their fault that my mom died and now I am sad.
It is not their fault.
So today, I decided that I would rededicate myself to being the best teacher I could be. And to practice loving compassion with my students and breathe out my incredible anger at my bosses and the grief I carry around daily. And try, in the words of my girl, to not just work harder, but work smarter.
S'acabo la huelga.
Teach for Hysteria: We Wear the Mask, Lyrics of a Lowly Life
From Lyrics of a Lowly Life, 1896, by Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)
We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Okay, maybe he didn't mean this, but this poem is what comes to mind as I sit in the teacher's lounge listening to my comrades plotting on how they will handle their meetings with the principal about their plans for next year. That and Derrick Bell's : "A people without power must use cunning and guile." Next year, our present administration will only be in charge of 8th grade; there will be two new schools in the building who will do 6th and 7th; and the following year, our school will officially exist no more.
In case you were wondering, this is how the DOE slowly fires administrators whose schools have shown little to no improvement. In this case, not only have they not shown any improvement, but each year, teachers run to other schools in droves, 35 just last year, and rumor has it that at the Region the word is out not to send anyone good to fill our vacancies because that would be throwing them to the wolves.
SO, in the midst of all this, the principal, let's call him, oh I dunno, Psychotic Man, or PM for short, wants to meet with each staff member to "answer questions and find out plans for the coming year." This is, of course, an exercise in futility, because no one in their right mind is going to tell him the truth for fear of negative repurcussions. One woman actually begged to keep her job next year although she already has one lined up somewhere else. I cannot think of one person who wants to stay. And yet, no one who is trying to continue to teach in NYC public schools is going to tell him the truth -- that we are out of here buddy. Have fun trying to staff for next year when we, in effect, have been offered get out of jail free cards.
Oh, wait, didn't you know? Usually, if you want to go to another school in the system, you have to get your current principal to "release" you -- yes, the other two words that follow that phrase are, indeed, "from bondage." This strategy, according to our Regional Superintendent, "helps create community." Well, yeah, communities full of bitter people who wish they were elsewhere. As you can imagine, the principal who actually grants these magical releases is rare, even when the receiving principal intervenes and BEGS for the new staff person. Hence, those who really wish to leave are forced to use cunning and guile. Of course, once they know you might be leaving, all sorts of rumors start, because there are always those gusanos who are trying to curry favor. And then the games begin.
What kinds of things are my dear work friends afraid of? Oh, I dunno, maybe:
-- Being pulled out of class and berated for two hours until even Psychotic Man sputters that he isn't making any sense or has a point
-- Having bulletin boards ripped to shreds by PM
-- Having your class interrupted and being yelled at ( and I do mean yelled) for some untoward thing, like a book inside a desk, a child without a binder or a pencil or a pen or an independent reading book, in front of your students
-- During one of aforementioned public harangues, having PM ask a student, "So what IS your teacher doing anyway?"
-- Being told to rewrite all your lessons plans by your departmental head (an Asst Principal, and PM's lackey) -- yes, even the ones YOU HAVE ALREADY TAUGHT
-- general blackballing -- want to start a club, go on a trip, take a personal business day, go to a friend's funeral, etc etc? NO.
And it goes on.
It seems that our get out of jail free card is that they are turfing these assholes, and effectively transferring our jobs to another administration. Because of the "restructuring," we don't need his fucking permission to do shit. We can go to any school in the city. But until we are out, we wear the mask.
My meeting is at the end of the month. The thought of lying makes me sick -- the place is poison enough without me doing things that go against my conscience. I'd love to say thay I am leaving. I fantasize about saying why. But I don't know -- what do you think I should do? Let me know.
We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Okay, maybe he didn't mean this, but this poem is what comes to mind as I sit in the teacher's lounge listening to my comrades plotting on how they will handle their meetings with the principal about their plans for next year. That and Derrick Bell's : "A people without power must use cunning and guile." Next year, our present administration will only be in charge of 8th grade; there will be two new schools in the building who will do 6th and 7th; and the following year, our school will officially exist no more.
In case you were wondering, this is how the DOE slowly fires administrators whose schools have shown little to no improvement. In this case, not only have they not shown any improvement, but each year, teachers run to other schools in droves, 35 just last year, and rumor has it that at the Region the word is out not to send anyone good to fill our vacancies because that would be throwing them to the wolves.
SO, in the midst of all this, the principal, let's call him, oh I dunno, Psychotic Man, or PM for short, wants to meet with each staff member to "answer questions and find out plans for the coming year." This is, of course, an exercise in futility, because no one in their right mind is going to tell him the truth for fear of negative repurcussions. One woman actually begged to keep her job next year although she already has one lined up somewhere else. I cannot think of one person who wants to stay. And yet, no one who is trying to continue to teach in NYC public schools is going to tell him the truth -- that we are out of here buddy. Have fun trying to staff for next year when we, in effect, have been offered get out of jail free cards.
Oh, wait, didn't you know? Usually, if you want to go to another school in the system, you have to get your current principal to "release" you -- yes, the other two words that follow that phrase are, indeed, "from bondage." This strategy, according to our Regional Superintendent, "helps create community." Well, yeah, communities full of bitter people who wish they were elsewhere. As you can imagine, the principal who actually grants these magical releases is rare, even when the receiving principal intervenes and BEGS for the new staff person. Hence, those who really wish to leave are forced to use cunning and guile. Of course, once they know you might be leaving, all sorts of rumors start, because there are always those gusanos who are trying to curry favor. And then the games begin.
What kinds of things are my dear work friends afraid of? Oh, I dunno, maybe:
-- Being pulled out of class and berated for two hours until even Psychotic Man sputters that he isn't making any sense or has a point
-- Having bulletin boards ripped to shreds by PM
-- Having your class interrupted and being yelled at ( and I do mean yelled) for some untoward thing, like a book inside a desk, a child without a binder or a pencil or a pen or an independent reading book, in front of your students
-- During one of aforementioned public harangues, having PM ask a student, "So what IS your teacher doing anyway?"
-- Being told to rewrite all your lessons plans by your departmental head (an Asst Principal, and PM's lackey) -- yes, even the ones YOU HAVE ALREADY TAUGHT
-- general blackballing -- want to start a club, go on a trip, take a personal business day, go to a friend's funeral, etc etc? NO.
And it goes on.
It seems that our get out of jail free card is that they are turfing these assholes, and effectively transferring our jobs to another administration. Because of the "restructuring," we don't need his fucking permission to do shit. We can go to any school in the city. But until we are out, we wear the mask.
My meeting is at the end of the month. The thought of lying makes me sick -- the place is poison enough without me doing things that go against my conscience. I'd love to say thay I am leaving. I fantasize about saying why. But I don't know -- what do you think I should do? Let me know.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Mahalo
There is more to come. I especially want to talk about the great performance I went to on Saturday of Mendi + Keith Obadike (see "Links"). There is also something brewing about dyke karma. One of my students wrote me a note in her writer's notebook asking me to explain "karma. I've heard about it in songs and in movies but I don't know what it is." Dyke karma: you've heard about it in tearful phone calls and 30 page emails, but you don't know what it is...I aim to elucidate...And of course the L Word Synopsis is coming, but it was preempted this week by the Oscars and my early bedtime. But next week we'll have a double header.
And, finally, I just wanted to write and thank you, dear readers, for joining me here. Your encouragement got me squinting to read html and actually write some itty bitty code. Thanks for your comments and your emails, and most of all, thanks for checkin' in.
And, finally, I just wanted to write and thank you, dear readers, for joining me here. Your encouragement got me squinting to read html and actually write some itty bitty code. Thanks for your comments and your emails, and most of all, thanks for checkin' in.
Web Trolling: Linkin Logs
I thunk I misspoke, but indeed, I spoke truly. Peep:
Main Entry: 1troll
Pronunciation: 'trOl
Function: verb
Etymology: Middle English
transitive senses
1 : to cause to move round and round : ROLL
2 a : to sing the parts of (as a round or catch) in succession b : to sing loudly c : to celebrate in song
3 a : to fish for by trolling b : to fish by trolling in c : to pull through the water in trolling
intransitive senses
1 : to move around : RAMBLE
2 : to fish by trailing a lure or baited hook from a moving boat
3 : to sing or play in a jovial manner
4 : to speak rapidly
I think I should trademark it...
Anyhoo:
Here are a few websites I found on my RAMBLES. This one was forwarded to me by who threatened that it would "make my day." He was right, as he usually is, and it will make yours. See the little AMENZAC film, now! "Are you feeling overhwlemed by historical memory?" Very funny. Click on Dark Playwright, 3/1/03 to get there.
Then there is Feb 23's "My Dinner At Applebees With White Supremacists," a chilling account of a SF Weekly reporter's dinner with some white "racialists" and their baby. This came from sistanet, thanks to Skye:
And last, but not least, because studies show that three is all you can handle at a time, this link to a new book, published by Simon and Schuster no less, by Jen Sincero's: A Straight Girl's Guide to Sleeping With Chicks. . Are we about to spring into another 30 seconds of lesbian chic? You tell me, dear readers: is Jen sincere? (I am reminded of Phoenix's high school chums' adage: "Straight?? Straight to bed!!") Basically, according to the blurbs and preview, she talked to all these women who sleep with women, most of them self identified as straight, about how fucking women changed their lives. In a nutshell.
Troll at your own risk.
Main Entry: 1troll
Pronunciation: 'trOl
Function: verb
Etymology: Middle English
transitive senses
1 : to cause to move round and round : ROLL
2 a : to sing the parts of (as a round or catch) in succession b : to sing loudly c : to celebrate in song
3 a : to fish for by trolling b : to fish by trolling in
intransitive senses
1 : to move around : RAMBLE
2 : to fish by trailing a lure or baited hook from a moving boat
3 : to sing or play in a jovial manner
4 : to speak rapidly
I think I should trademark it...
Anyhoo:
Here are a few websites I found on my RAMBLES. This one was forwarded to me by who threatened that it would "make my day." He was right, as he usually is, and it will make yours. See the little AMENZAC film, now! "Are you feeling overhwlemed by historical memory?" Very funny. Click on Dark Playwright, 3/1/03 to get there.
Then there is Feb 23's "My Dinner At Applebees With White Supremacists," a chilling account of a SF Weekly reporter's dinner with some white "racialists" and their baby. This came from sistanet, thanks to Skye:
And last, but not least, because studies show that three is all you can handle at a time, this link to a new book, published by Simon and Schuster no less, by Jen Sincero's: A Straight Girl's Guide to Sleeping With Chicks. . Are we about to spring into another 30 seconds of lesbian chic? You tell me, dear readers: is Jen sincere? (I am reminded of Phoenix's high school chums' adage: "Straight?? Straight to bed!!") Basically, according to the blurbs and preview, she talked to all these women who sleep with women, most of them self identified as straight, about how fucking women changed their lives. In a nutshell.
Troll at your own risk.
Teach for Hysteria: Another Asshole Moment Brought to You By Our Local Napoleon
So today was a free work day in ELA with my homeroom of little angels. When we started class there were so many requests for "can't we just..." that I decided to let everyone work on a project of their choice: revising their short stories, working on book projects, writing in their readers and writers notebooks, or just some good old fashioned reading. A group of girls got together and decided for their monthly literature project that they would present a scene from a play to the class. So far so good. They wanted to work out in the hallway. Not so good.
Ms. S: I dunno guys, I won't really be able to see you.
Leader Girl: We'll stand right by the back door! You can come check on us! Please! It's too crowded in here and everyone keeps coming to look at us! Please!
This is true, and plus, I trust them. I know that the last thing any of these girls would do is disappear up to the fifth floor and end up in a stairwell with an 8th grader. Still, I hesitate. What do I fear? The Napoleon of the Fourth Floor.
Yes, the man whose bitterness at being eye level with my collarbone is only surpassed by his need to establish an absolute power that corrupts absolutely. The man who feels that compliments lead to laziness and who works really hard to make sure he can find an error in any haystack or bulletin board. The man who is but a minion of the psycho CEO (aka principal) who is at that very moment, unbeknownst to me, ripping bulletin boards to shreds and throwing books from the library into a pile on the floor in the room across the hall before instructing the teacher to make the room of Wild Children "pick it up," and then leaving the teacher with a room of kids jeering "fuck you" at the door.
All of this of course leads to an atmosphere where everyone is constantly trying to stay out of trouble; well, everyone but the kids, that is. This is a place where the thought of having five perfectly well-behaved-all-the-time-girls just outside the door in an empty, and for now, peaceable hallway patrolled by a security guard becomes an existential crisis. You weigh the amount of trouble you can get in against the value of what might get you in trouble. You factor in a little bit of wtf and maybe-I'll-get-away-with-it, and make a decision.
Ms S: Okay, go ahead, but make sure you're right there.
Leader Girl: Yay! Okay!
Off to the hallway they go.
They do indeed stay by the back door, and I am indeed at the back door putting up some charts. I'm calling people up so that I can update the number of books they have read when Avid Reader Girl peeks out the back door.
ARG: Miss, where are the girls?
Ms S: They're not right there?
ARG shakes her head. I peek outside. ARG goes into the hallway and I come inside and meet her round the front. All five of them are gone! I'm panicked. Where could they have gone? They are so GOOD, I know they would never just leave! Just then, just my luck, I notice one of the wild children from across the hall sauntering in my direction. Ever since their ELA teacher put his hand through the glass of the door after nearly crushing another kid's arm in it, they have adopted me as a sort of okay adult to talk to.
Ms S: Wild Child!
WC: I'm going to get water miss (Saunters past and pushes the door to the fountain)
Ms S: No, Wild Child, please, I need to ask you a question. Come here a minute.
WC: (raises eyebrows)
Ms S: Tell me, have you seen any girls from my class -- Leader Girl, Hazel Contacts, Blondie, or maybe Tulip?
WC: Oh yeah, Miss. They in the Dean's office.
Ms S: Oh good, thank you Wild Child.
WC: It's all good. (Saunters on to water fountain)
Silly me, I actually think that maybe Napoleon saw them in the hallway and gave them a peaceful place to work. I can't imagine why no one told me, but lots of things around here don't make sense. I sit on this for about five more minutes and then, although I am convinced that Wild Child was telling me the absolute truth, I send the adventurous Dervish to check it out, just to make sure. She trots off down the hall, and a few moments later, the phone rings. It's Napoleon.
N: Ms. Soucouyant?
Ms S: Yes.
N: Those girls were working in the hallway?
Ms S: Yes.
N: Where were they?
Ms.S: Between the red double doors and the back door.
N: Well they weren't.
Ms S: Oh really? Where were they?
N: On the other side of the red doors.
Ms S: You mean in front of the front door?
N: Yes.
Ms S: Okay.
N: I'm sending them back.
Ms S: Okay. (still feeling like I am missing something here)
The girls come back, PISSED. Dervish whirls in. "Miss, I HATE him! He said, 'So, she finally noticed they were gone, huh?'
"What?"
"Yeah," Leader Girl chimes in. "We were there and we told him we were working and you had just checked on us five seconds ago and he said, 'Well come on then, let's see how long it takes until she misses you!'"
"Are you SERIOUS?"
"YES!"
Oh, great. I'm in the middle of a really big, really messy Zen koan. I wonder what will happen next, if anything, but apparently everyone gets caught up in making a big mess in the Wild Children room, and I am overlooked. For now.
Ms. S: I dunno guys, I won't really be able to see you.
Leader Girl: We'll stand right by the back door! You can come check on us! Please! It's too crowded in here and everyone keeps coming to look at us! Please!
This is true, and plus, I trust them. I know that the last thing any of these girls would do is disappear up to the fifth floor and end up in a stairwell with an 8th grader. Still, I hesitate. What do I fear? The Napoleon of the Fourth Floor.
Yes, the man whose bitterness at being eye level with my collarbone is only surpassed by his need to establish an absolute power that corrupts absolutely. The man who feels that compliments lead to laziness and who works really hard to make sure he can find an error in any haystack or bulletin board. The man who is but a minion of the psycho CEO (aka principal) who is at that very moment, unbeknownst to me, ripping bulletin boards to shreds and throwing books from the library into a pile on the floor in the room across the hall before instructing the teacher to make the room of Wild Children "pick it up," and then leaving the teacher with a room of kids jeering "fuck you" at the door.
All of this of course leads to an atmosphere where everyone is constantly trying to stay out of trouble; well, everyone but the kids, that is. This is a place where the thought of having five perfectly well-behaved-all-the-time-girls just outside the door in an empty, and for now, peaceable hallway patrolled by a security guard becomes an existential crisis. You weigh the amount of trouble you can get in against the value of what might get you in trouble. You factor in a little bit of wtf and maybe-I'll-get-away-with-it, and make a decision.
Ms S: Okay, go ahead, but make sure you're right there.
Leader Girl: Yay! Okay!
Off to the hallway they go.
They do indeed stay by the back door, and I am indeed at the back door putting up some charts. I'm calling people up so that I can update the number of books they have read when Avid Reader Girl peeks out the back door.
ARG: Miss, where are the girls?
Ms S: They're not right there?
ARG shakes her head. I peek outside. ARG goes into the hallway and I come inside and meet her round the front. All five of them are gone! I'm panicked. Where could they have gone? They are so GOOD, I know they would never just leave! Just then, just my luck, I notice one of the wild children from across the hall sauntering in my direction. Ever since their ELA teacher put his hand through the glass of the door after nearly crushing another kid's arm in it, they have adopted me as a sort of okay adult to talk to.
Ms S: Wild Child!
WC: I'm going to get water miss (Saunters past and pushes the door to the fountain)
Ms S: No, Wild Child, please, I need to ask you a question. Come here a minute.
WC: (raises eyebrows)
Ms S: Tell me, have you seen any girls from my class -- Leader Girl, Hazel Contacts, Blondie, or maybe Tulip?
WC: Oh yeah, Miss. They in the Dean's office.
Ms S: Oh good, thank you Wild Child.
WC: It's all good. (Saunters on to water fountain)
Silly me, I actually think that maybe Napoleon saw them in the hallway and gave them a peaceful place to work. I can't imagine why no one told me, but lots of things around here don't make sense. I sit on this for about five more minutes and then, although I am convinced that Wild Child was telling me the absolute truth, I send the adventurous Dervish to check it out, just to make sure. She trots off down the hall, and a few moments later, the phone rings. It's Napoleon.
N: Ms. Soucouyant?
Ms S: Yes.
N: Those girls were working in the hallway?
Ms S: Yes.
N: Where were they?
Ms.S: Between the red double doors and the back door.
N: Well they weren't.
Ms S: Oh really? Where were they?
N: On the other side of the red doors.
Ms S: You mean in front of the front door?
N: Yes.
Ms S: Okay.
N: I'm sending them back.
Ms S: Okay. (still feeling like I am missing something here)
The girls come back, PISSED. Dervish whirls in. "Miss, I HATE him! He said, 'So, she finally noticed they were gone, huh?'
"What?"
"Yeah," Leader Girl chimes in. "We were there and we told him we were working and you had just checked on us five seconds ago and he said, 'Well come on then, let's see how long it takes until she misses you!'"
"Are you SERIOUS?"
"YES!"
Oh, great. I'm in the middle of a really big, really messy Zen koan. I wonder what will happen next, if anything, but apparently everyone gets caught up in making a big mess in the Wild Children room, and I am overlooked. For now.
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