I just spent a bit of time reading my old Xanga blog from my early college days. Specifically entries from mid-sophomore year (Oct. 2005-March 2006). It's remarkable how frequently I mention going to bed at 3am, starting a TV marathon at 1... It's currently nine o'clock and I have crawled into bed. Oh, how five years can change us.
Yet, oh, how we can stay the same. In addition to late night escapades, I read repeated references to my awful procrastination.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
...filling in the blanks
I gave my English exam for the third quarter today, and boy do I have a ton of grading ahead of me. There was a GREAT deal of writing on this test - writing that I have to read, of course - but I have to say that my students were champs. In my previous experience, many students sort of give up when it comes to writing essays, but most everybody stuck it out for the long haul and I had almost a third of the students working after the bell to give complete answers.
Anyway, I love grading objective portions of exams - I like developing a system and holding to that system. My OCD-ishness can come out. I especially love grading fill-in-the-blank activities for vocabulary - it's great when they get things right, but it can be hilarious when they mix things around. Examples:
"William rubbed a floozy on his sunburned shoulders." (The correct answer would be liniment.)
Ohhh boy. I'd share more, but two students will have to make up a very similar exam in the future. But I'm glad to get some chuckles out of grading.
Anyway, I love grading objective portions of exams - I like developing a system and holding to that system. My OCD-ishness can come out. I especially love grading fill-in-the-blank activities for vocabulary - it's great when they get things right, but it can be hilarious when they mix things around. Examples:
"William rubbed a floozy on his sunburned shoulders." (The correct answer would be liniment.)
Ohhh boy. I'd share more, but two students will have to make up a very similar exam in the future. But I'm glad to get some chuckles out of grading.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
...becoming a baleada salesman
I just googled the term "baleada salesman" (in quotes, so it searches just the exact wording)...and it returned ZERO results. So with this post, I should become the ONLY result for the google search "baleada salesman" next time Google trawls the web. Go me.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
...which still calls for occasional homesickness
Sunday I was overcome by my greatest bout of homesickness so far this year. I'm feeling the first major aftershock this evening.
True, the school year is veritably zipping along. I almost can say without exaggeration, "three months until home!" But that's a quarter of the year. What I've already passed away from the comfort of my own home three times, I have to pass yet again. And this last time, it's going to be HOT. This reality has been hitting me over the head like a wooden spoon the last few days.
Don't get me wrong - it's not so much the "enduring" what is down here - that's a verb I used a lot last year, but doesn't even really apply any more - it's the missing what's back home (that part has remained true throughout my Honduran tenure). The Decemberists, my favorite band of the past 6 years, is playing in Michigan TWICE over the next month and a half, including at Calvin, the very first place I saw them back in 2004. Plainwell Ice Cream had their opening weekend, and I talked to my brother as he was eating his first cone of the season on Sunday. I'm listening to the stream from the Grand Rapids local station, 88.1 WYCE, as I type this post.
The biggest problem is homesickness for things that don't even exist. This afternoon, as I tried to take a nap, I was suddenly plagued with the mental image/feeling of being freshly showered, one bare foot dug into the carpet as I sit in the corner of the couch at my folks' place, watching the Tigers on TV before the second-half slump, window and sliding door open to provide a nice cross-breeze, and could not get it out of my head. My stomach began hurting with the desire to feel that in real life immediately. (Sure, that situation would also imply no planning, no grading, no guilt for not doing those things, as well. That's definitely part of the desire.)
It all started when I realized the Holland Christian one-act competition piece, which I saw for 9 years straight, was done for the season. That got me on the HC website, scanning the staff page, seeing all the familiar names of my old teachers. The only way to get it out of my system was to write a few emails and call home.
To deal with today's aftershock, I booted up blogspot, began writing this, and concurrently read over my older posts from when I hated Honduras. The fact that I'm not that same person who wrote those posts speaks in droves toward...something optimistic.
Honduras still isn't paradise. It will never be home. I'll always be a total homebody, not to mention a nostalgia freak - whether I live in Michigan, Colorado, Honduras, or China (I won't live in China, but still), I'll look back on the past (or future) more favorably than the present. I think I'll always find or build some fence to separate me from the perceived greener grass. It's not an appealing character trait, and certainly something not to condemn myself to, but I think that's just me. That will result in bouts of homesickness. Deal with it.
And I will deal with it. But first I have to deal with a pile of grading and an exam to write.
True, the school year is veritably zipping along. I almost can say without exaggeration, "three months until home!" But that's a quarter of the year. What I've already passed away from the comfort of my own home three times, I have to pass yet again. And this last time, it's going to be HOT. This reality has been hitting me over the head like a wooden spoon the last few days.
Don't get me wrong - it's not so much the "enduring" what is down here - that's a verb I used a lot last year, but doesn't even really apply any more - it's the missing what's back home (that part has remained true throughout my Honduran tenure). The Decemberists, my favorite band of the past 6 years, is playing in Michigan TWICE over the next month and a half, including at Calvin, the very first place I saw them back in 2004. Plainwell Ice Cream had their opening weekend, and I talked to my brother as he was eating his first cone of the season on Sunday. I'm listening to the stream from the Grand Rapids local station, 88.1 WYCE, as I type this post.
The biggest problem is homesickness for things that don't even exist. This afternoon, as I tried to take a nap, I was suddenly plagued with the mental image/feeling of being freshly showered, one bare foot dug into the carpet as I sit in the corner of the couch at my folks' place, watching the Tigers on TV before the second-half slump, window and sliding door open to provide a nice cross-breeze, and could not get it out of my head. My stomach began hurting with the desire to feel that in real life immediately. (Sure, that situation would also imply no planning, no grading, no guilt for not doing those things, as well. That's definitely part of the desire.)
It all started when I realized the Holland Christian one-act competition piece, which I saw for 9 years straight, was done for the season. That got me on the HC website, scanning the staff page, seeing all the familiar names of my old teachers. The only way to get it out of my system was to write a few emails and call home.
To deal with today's aftershock, I booted up blogspot, began writing this, and concurrently read over my older posts from when I hated Honduras. The fact that I'm not that same person who wrote those posts speaks in droves toward...something optimistic.
Honduras still isn't paradise. It will never be home. I'll always be a total homebody, not to mention a nostalgia freak - whether I live in Michigan, Colorado, Honduras, or China (I won't live in China, but still), I'll look back on the past (or future) more favorably than the present. I think I'll always find or build some fence to separate me from the perceived greener grass. It's not an appealing character trait, and certainly something not to condemn myself to, but I think that's just me. That will result in bouts of homesickness. Deal with it.
And I will deal with it. But first I have to deal with a pile of grading and an exam to write.
Monday, March 7, 2011
...where roses are red and violets are blue
No, this post is not what you may think. Tonight was a classic night of me and my roommates getting on a topic and making lots of jokes about it. Tonight's topic: romance. The classic "Roses are red/ Violets are blue/ Sugar is sweet/ And so are you" poem came up, and my roommate Matt decided to parody it:
Pennies are brownish,
Angels rejoice;
Dinner with me this weekend
Is the right choice.
This obviously got me thinking about other possible ridiculous "love" poems of the same meter. I've decided to compose a few, starting with something to woo some lady as bookish as I:
Dickinson's dead,
Hawthorne is too;
Don't be a stranger
(like crazy Camus).
Ireland's Irish,
Wales is Welsh;
I am dyslexic
and admire your flesh.
T-shirts are teeny,
Keyboards have keys;
We should get coffee -
No, really! But--please?
Amoebas have one cell,
Prisons have dozens
My love for you
is more than my cousin's.
Post-Armageddon,
If we both remain,
We should hang out
It could be, like, you know, fun, and stuff.
Pennies are brownish,
Angels rejoice;
Dinner with me this weekend
Is the right choice.
This obviously got me thinking about other possible ridiculous "love" poems of the same meter. I've decided to compose a few, starting with something to woo some lady as bookish as I:
Dickinson's dead,
Hawthorne is too;
Don't be a stranger
(like crazy Camus).
Ireland's Irish,
Wales is Welsh;
I am dyslexic
and admire your flesh.
T-shirts are teeny,
Keyboards have keys;
We should get coffee -
No, really! But--please?
Amoebas have one cell,
Prisons have dozens
My love for you
is more than my cousin's.
Post-Armageddon,
If we both remain,
We should hang out
It could be, like, you know, fun, and stuff.
Friday, March 4, 2011
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