What Teachers Make
by Taylor Mali
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxsOVK4syxU

He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.

I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.
Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.

"I mean, you¹re a teacher, Taylor," he says.
"Be honest. What do you make?"

And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something your son said today.
He said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.

I make parents see their children for who they are and what they can be.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write, write, write.
And then I make them read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this (brains)
then you follow this (heart) and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this (the finger).

Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?

So I have 5 free music downloads from iTunes.

I'm getting:
1. Beyonce - Check On It
2. Vanessa Carlton - San Francisco
3. Shakira - Hips Don't Lie

Suggestions for the other 2, anyone?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lcIRXur61II

Stephen Colbert, you are a god.

(thanks, Josey)

This is the best plug I've ever seen for any b-school...

http://dealbook.blogs.nytimes.com/?p=2478

i'm too sad about what's going on in the Southeast to write angrily about all the people who have failed to save more lives. i only hope they're doing their best to remedy their mistakes. unfortunately, for many that are too far removed from danger to care... i doubt that is the case.

to those who have been doing what they can, i hope your efforts have been fruitful, and i hope you know its not just the survivors that are grateful to you. you're stronger than the rest of us, and i think many of us wish we had the strength and courage to leave our lives to help save other's.


and now to what i can do.

how much should i donate? and to which organization? The Red Cross is the default, but has anyone done research on this? is one organization more effective than others? what % of the amount donated actually makes it to the victims? how much has already been donated to the organizations? how much has the federal government allotted? how much of the nation's GDP is in the business of saving these lives?

if anyone has seen some reliable numbers, please let me know. i want to know how much has been done by those like me who feel helpless to do anything but throw money at this awful problem. and more importantly, i want to know how effective this helpless effort really is.

Il y avait tant d'?toiles
Comme si, la nuit
Avait des milliers
De taches de rousseur.
Ces petits grains de beaut?, charmeurs.
Attirer quelques heures
Vers l'au-del?.
La m?lancolie
De ces autres nuits
A dormir sans toi
A r?ver parfois...
-Patricia Kaas

Translation:
There were so many stars
As if, the night
Had thousands
Of freckles
These little beauty spots, charming
Bring a few hours
Towards them -- beyond
The melancholy
Of these other nights
Sleeping without you
Dreaming sometimes...

so I haven't actually posted anything of my OWN in this journal for a damn long time.

what to say...

so much has changed. so much has happened. i think my general moods can be tracked pretty well through my SOTDs, but...

god i'm being incoherent.

I was really depressed all of January. REALLY depressed. irrational, insecure, and just all around nuts.

and somehow it just got better.

(check out the eloquence on this one, Holmes!)

I dunno.

I'm exhausted. I really am. I don't think I've felt so tired for so long since senior year of high school.

But it's SO GOOD.

This whole quarter has been SO GOOD. Well, after I got over the dehabilitating depression, insecurity, irrationality, jealousy, hatred, and phobias. Whee!

But really. I LIKE international business. What's with that?!?! I am all over my classes, which hasn't happened since I went to IMSA. International Trade explains international transactions to me with mathematical models. World Systems explains things to me through international political history (all of a sudden, I give a shit about politics too). And Microeconomics explains things with extremely abstract algebra that is just so wonderfully applicable in every day life as well as in any negotiation between two parties, like different countries (think game theory). And my other classes are language, so I'm just having an orgiastically wonderful academic quarter.

I care!!!!! And I love it!!!!! I actually think about my classes - I actually WANT to know more, I actually feel like I'm fucking learning something. Oh yes.

I'm so sad to see the quarter end. I just feel like this has been such a rare, precious, and spectacular intellectual experience. This makes me feel like I have a purpose - like I'm going to do something, and I'm actually going to enjoy it.

So that's good.

Then there's Nick. Love of my life and then some. ...I don't even know how to describe it. We were so rocky until That Fateful Weekend. And now...it's like...I can trust him again. And more than before, even. Like, I know that even though it was hell on earth, we pulled through some heavy-duty skank-ass shit (yes, that is the technical term)...and I feel like I can trust him to be able to deal with it more now when the shit hits the fan. I feel like he's going to really be there for me. And somehow that trust feels so much better and makes me love him so much more than the weekends of total lack of responsibility and spectacular fun. It's easy to love someone when they're laughing, but it's something more meaningful entirely to love them when they're crying (and won't stop).

I worry about my friends, though. A few of them are going through some foul and evil shit, and I wish to the heavens that I could help them, but I feel so powerless. My motivational speeches can only go so far. And I know that there's nothing more I can do than be there, and anything else I did would just aggrevate the problem, but... well, damn, I just want to send some happy vibes or something. *happy vibes, happy vibes*

You know what's really cool?
What's really cool, Yuanxia?
I'm ok.
Really?
Yeah.
That is cool.
I know, right?
Yeah.

I'm tired, but I'm happy. I honestly can say that I've been working harder and playing harder than I probably ever have in my life this quarter. Every weekend kicks ass and then some, and every week makes me feel some mix of important, overwhelmed, and crazy. And it's not a bad thing, because it's all stuff that I love.

My boss asked me the other day how everything is going, and I replied, "Crazy, but I love it." And she said, "Do you know that you've said that every time I ask you that question?" I just smiled.

I'm really nuts. I'm working 2 jobs, taking 5 classes, maintaining a relationship and an active social life, and somehow in the midst of all this, I manage to love who I feel I'm becoming. Somehow, I'm growing up. Not enough to feel old or tied down or overwhelmed with responsiblity, but enough to feel like I have a lot of shit to handle but I'm going to handle it.

And I've gotten so much better at communication since I left IMSA. Oh man, can you believe this? I address issues, express my needs, and compromise to meet the needs and desires of others. (Usually, unless I'm crying and depressed and irrational, but that's not nearly as often as it used to be.) But really, it's such a huge change for me to feel really good about being there for others, and to WANT to be there for others in more than just a motherly over-protective way.


School. Classes. My future. My boyfriend. My friends. Myself.

I honestly give a damn. :-)


But now: sleep.

Ebudae
by Enya

Amharc, mn? ag obair l?'s mall san o?ch,
Ceolann siad ar laetha geal, a bh?,
Bealach fada anonn's anall a cho?ch.

Translation:
Look, women working by day and late at night,
They sing of bright days that were,
A long way back and forth forever.

Meaning:
The origin of "Ebudae" is best described by Roma Ryan in her foreword:
"I had come across Ebud? in Ariosto's classic tale of Orlando Furioso, the island thought to be intended as one of the Hebrides, referred to as the Dreadful Isle or the Isle Of Tears. I had fallen in love with the name, and when sometime later I was browsing through an old book of ancient maps, I was delighted to find Ebud? actually recorded and in this original form! The title of the song 'Ebud?' and the lyrics concern themselves with ancient sounds.
There are two 'voices' which work their way through the piece. The first voice concerns itself with the story - which is loosely based on the tradition of women weaving and chanting to the rhythm of their work. The second voice is a mixture of sounds and fragments of sounds half-invented, half-remembered from childhood. As is often the case, what one actually hears and what one thinks one hears can be two very different things. With this rhythmic section we try to capture those impressions."

Growing up means letting go of the dearest megalomaniacal dreams of our childhood. Growing up means knowing they can?t be fulfilled. Growing up means gaining the wisdom and skills to get what we want within the limitations imposed by reality - a reality which consists of diminished powers, restricted freedoms and, with the people we love, imperfect connections.

-Judith Viorst (Necessary Losses)

And now I have to decide what to keep and what to leave. To choose a crossroads, to take the first heart-breaking step away from the freedom of choice. I've walked so far already, with my head down in fear of looking up and seeing how much I've lost and how far I've come down an arbitrary road. Yet in my heart and in my mind, I've remained the child that gazes wide-eyed in awe of all the possibilities.

But I have no defense when someone reproaches me about my faith with my own lifestyle. Yes, I am a hypocrite. And worse, my hypocrisy is driven by fear - a fear of imprisonment. A fear about losing the infinity that only exists in childhood.

I've walked so far, blinding and deluding myself into thinking I still have a way out. Now I have to reconcile my heart, my mind, my spirit with my footsteps. I've tried for too long to be everything - to be eternally limitless. Each day I live, I find that there are greater and greater limits on who I am and who I can be. I feel like I'm dying with every decision I make. Every day, I have to give up on pieces of myself all over - the artist, the dreamer, the teacher, the dancer, the student.

Who knew growing up meant giving up?