i hate teaming up with people for presentations. i hate it so much that it makes my skin crawl. so this part of grad school is not going that well for me.

“It’s all presentations,” one of my co-workers informed me, “You’re teaching, and you’re paying for it.”

“Your profs should be teaching — they’re the ones with the doctorates, not you!” another co-worker said. “You shouldn’t have to teach the class.”

they make me choke once i get up there, these presentations, they make me angry, they make me uncomfortable. and not in a “growing, expanding your mind” kinda way. in just an angry, this is not working for me kinda way.

i don’t like being yoked with someone (other than my husband and kids, and God knows they give me the space I need, and i can generally predict what they’re going to do.) “group process”? I do okay with group process — i yield, i go with the flow, i offer up ideas, and if something is really important to me, i fight for it. God knows we did enough of that with our political associates and PPS Equity.

i acted in a lot of plays in high school and college, worked as stage manager, managed a hair salon, modeled, all sorts of different “presentations.” Productions, if you will. i’ve competed in voice, done some theater work with Steve, i’ve presented to the school board, i’ve introduced myself and given my schtick at about one bazillion meetings. Get in, get out, hit it and quit it. Know your lines. All good. I’ve taught all grades from kinder to 8th grade in the library, and i’ve worked with high schoolers, too. I fly with that just fine.

so why the freak-out, McGill?

i saw a black guy sitting with a white guy at the library once — they were reading together. one with dreads, serious look on his face; one dishevelled, looking anxious. i could not get a bead on them — until i realized that the black guy was teaching the white guy how to read. literacy. adult literacy. one-on-one.

he didn’t know how to read but he was learning.

was that when I decided I wanted to teach? i don’t know. maybe.

all i know is that that moment, right there, with those two guys who were oblivious to me and the rest of the world around them — that is teaching.

and it did not involve a powerpoint presentation, printed hand-outs or props.

peace. and wish me luck, would you?

— wm

just got this message:

500 Internal Server Error

Sorry, something went wrong.

A team of highly trained monkeys has been dispatched to deal with this situation.
If you see them, show them this information:

YQFt-7sXkoue6kk2ygxb6COuz5V4WgsClY3T69cZtalmbpjZw1Dwtt8p_GSQ (and blah blah blah)

Have decided not to drop out of grad school, btw. Just sayin’. In case you were worried.

Funny scene from restaurant last night:

We were seated next to a table full of drunk, white, middle-aged couples. Whereas we are middle-aged, we were not drunk, giving us the upper hand when it comes to recounting this story.

“Jungle Boogie” starts playing over the speakers. One of the women jumps up, starts dancing in the aisle, spanking her own ass, etc. Honestly to Mike, if there’s anything worse than a drunk white lady spanking her own ass and dancing to Kool & the Gang in the suburbs, well. At the moment I cannot think what that worse thing would be.

The waiter stops by with the check. I’m all, Are you catching this? He says, Yeah, I’m changing the station right now. This waiter has really grown on me — we talk literature all the time — this is our family’s usual spot, we’re there once a week or so. I told him he needs to give up waiting tables for now and just get into Columbia, Berkeley, Reed, whatever it takes. His response is always, Eh. Yeah, someday. Then he gives me another reading list: “Feed,” “Brave New World,” “The Master and Margarita.” “You’ve never read ‘Animal Farm’? Seriously?” (…and you claim to be a teacher, woman? haha.) I don’t care for dystopian fiction, so much, it’s Steve and Wacky Girl’s thing more than mine, but my students are nuts for it. I need to at least attempt to keep up.

He flips the station. The drunks are disappointed. “Awwwwwww, you changed the station!”

“Yeah,” he says, flip, “Who doesn’t love Foghat?”

“To be without some of the things you want is an indispensable part of happiness.”

— Bertrand Russell, philosopher, mathematician, author, Nobel laureate (1872-1970)

and…

…I think I’ll write up a bunch of crap. While I’m eating a handful of those delicious little gummie Coke bottle candies with the sourpatch coating.

also, I just invented “Steve’s List of Forbidden Things He Cannot Do While I’m Finishing My Grad Program.” Perhaps you could send him notes or leave comments on his blog, reminding him to back off, honk honk? Thanks, I appreciate that.

They include, but sadly for him are not limited to, the following:

1) let the printer run out of ink
2) imitate his former boss’s voice (by former, i mean 15 years ago. why does this man’s voice continue to haunt us? “Is Steve there?” Now imagine teeny-tiny voice, making the words clipped, “Yes. He is. Would you. Like to. Talk to him?”) (aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.)
3) Mention Juice Newton, or any other performer I hate. Because of this is why: My only mad skill in the world is I remember every lyric to cussin’ every song (almost) that I hear. So when you say, Juice Newton! to me, I will get “Queen of Hearts” stuck in my head. If you yell, Blue Oyster Cult! at me, I will get “Don’t Fear the Reaper” on auto-repeat. Then I will have to sing it out loud to rid myself of it. It’s like song exorcisms, it’s cussin’ horrible, okay??? But we all have our crosses to bear. I actually like Blue Oyster Cult, but not for four days running, aight?
4) avoid the cat litter. He must deal with the cat litter more than I do. (i can deal with it fifty percent of the time, but no more. NO MORE.)

the end.

oh p.s. — Jew Among You is all freaking out on us, and you know we live for cuss like this.

no, I mean it, the end.

dream wish fly if a bird asks you how imagine

like a friend jump with me and pretend

earlier, i thought i wasn’t smart enough for grad school. but right now, i think i am.

think.

no more tears, i’m done with them. awwwwww who had a Bad Day?

Some fun stuff, some serious stuff, and some really heavy stuff:

On the coffeetable:

“Michael Pollan’s Food Rule #22 is: Eat mostly plants, especially leaves! For a crispy treat buy Tuscan kale and spray or brush with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper and place on a baking sheet. Bake at 400 until crispy.” — thank you, Beaverton Farmers Market

“It’s one of life’s lessons: I’ve learned how to be generous, because I’ve allowed myself to receive.”

— my girl Suzanne

And now, for a little light reading:

On the coffeetable:

You know what all this learning hurts? My brain. Seriously, why was I thinking graduate school was a good idea? And not some correspondence-course grad school, either, oh no. It has recently come to my attention that you can get a master’s degree by just sending away for one by mail. (Or e-mail.) But no, I had to sign up for “rigorous program.”

Intellectual discipline is so over-rated.

Also, this week’s episode of “Glee,” the one with Kurt’s dad?, made me cry my head off, especially when Mercedes sang “Bridge Over Troubled Water,” and when Finn did “Losing My Religion.” So what did I have to go and do? Yeah, that’s right. We went to my daughter’s band thing last night (really fun), then when we got home, Steve made us grilled cheese sandwiches and I made the mistake of drinking two glasses of wine and watching “Glee” again. I was a hot mess after all that was over. Damn “Glee.”

Now, I work out and study.

xo

me