High School Computer Time

I was expelled from high school my freshman year. When I got the chance to attend another school it was an "alternative" school nicknamed "burn center". Our school was underfunded and lacked the resources that were available to other schools in the district. For the first year or so that I was there, we didn't really have more than a few computer in the whole school and they were reserved for special projects. However, we shaped up and won the "alternative school of the year" award. This brought in some extra money and the computers turned up eventually.

During "computer time" I looked up bands I liked and political cartoons. The rest of the time I usually spent writing in Livejournal. Every time the teachers caught us checking our email or off task on some other website, we would get the scold. But as soon as they walked away it would be up again. It's fairly easy to hide what you are doing on the internet. :)

Technology in the classroom

There are so many positives and negatives concerning technology. On the one hand, it provides us with access to information we might not normally have. It allows us to receive and transmit data at a much faster pace, and encourages long distance learning. However, technology can also hinder students' learning. When it comes to internet in the classroom, we can't control students using Myspace or chat programs. Technology also cuts out a certain quality of effort and increases the chances for plagerism.

Stacey's Indy Teach

I really liked Stacey's lesson today about language, connotations, and multi-cultural education. Our discussion of how words perpetuate racism in our society was good and I thought we all had quite a bit to offer. After reading Rayford's Song I thought I would post my version of cultural silencing in the classroom:

Central Pacific

Wei forced metal and wood into the earth

twelve hours a day.

One tight fit after another

he moved sideways in the sun.

For two years, with sweat cascading

down brow and cheek,

he put muscle into it.

Arms shining brightly in between trees

and perseverance.

Exhaustion and illness met the end of each day.

With cracked and bleeding hands

Wei went to sleep each night

holding her scarf.

Soon he would have enough to go back

and care for the baby;

To have a field of his own

where his sweat would never fall

on land worked in vain.

Hundreds of men extended westward

with the same dreams as Wei.

With each swing of the mallet

more than a stake was driven into dirt and dust.

Patience.

Hope.

Health.

Integrity.



This promise land.



Jin went to school with a question.

A century later a different story was told.

Manifest Destiny.

"The transcontinental railroad was built

to connect East and West,

industry and nature,

man and his dreams."

Cold, black text fit into a tidy paragraph.

Jin read the page carefully,

over and over,

waiting for the ink to swell and morph.

Waiting for truth to surface from ambiguity.

Jin went to school with his question.

When lunch was over and fourth period came

he raised high his ancestor's hand,

"Who built the railroad?"

he asked assertively.

"Well, all the men who wanted to be pioneers,

railroad workers. Now who can tell me

when Yellowstone was erected?"

More than Jin's question was forgotten

with the early dismissal.

Stories.

Families.

Suffering.

Dreams.



This promise land.

Maybe if I pull
just
a
bit
harder
it will come off this time.
Finger prints smudging down
my last cheek
remains.
If I just push this skin
a little further
I know it will come off completely.
There!
I saw an eye shift downward;
this must be it.
It's really coming off this time.
Slowly,
slowly,
almost got it...
Wait!
My face can't come off,
that's crazy!
Or this acid is really good.

Scrap Poetry

Thousands of blurry-eyed strangers mill around,

searching for the mediocre refreshments they were promised.

I am from John Deere tractors;

I am from a place that is mine.

How much time will it truly take?

Will deprive school kids?

Pictures follow, even ones without the graduate,

It tells everyone in the house when I'm late.

When Chris Missses Class

When Chris misses class my head swells a little;
my throat gets tight and breathing becomes

like

a

stop-

watch.

When Chris misses class I feel a headache coming on.
I start to get sweaty and my limbs are not themselves.
When Chris misses class nothing gets done,
my work is not special,
and no one pays attention,
When Chris misses class.

When Chris misses class I need a sedative
or coffee that isn't mine.
When Chris misses class I like people less.
I squint my eyes and and cross my arms
when Chris misses class.

When Chris misses class I wish I had too.

Another Version of Me

Hands held high,
with warriors in our throats,
we demand justice.
No amount of sing-song euphemisms
will suffice.
Its personal this time
and 6,000 college students
do not back down.
We will stand and stand
with grass between our toes
at the steps of the White House
because it is our house.
The first amendment in my pocket;
I know what we deserve.
And this time,
hand shakes are not enough.

Dumptruck, semitruck, razzel dazzel rose-
It, gargantuan like heavy night,
settles into slick cement.
Hammocked between innocence and arrogance,
trees sway gently, miles away from here.
Suburban sprawl and the constant hum
of semi trucks,
America is here to stay.

Song and Picture; Dance and Drawing

coming up

our father who art in a penthouse
sits in his 37th floor suite
and swivels to gaze down
at the city he made me in
he allows me to stand and
solicit graffiti until
he needs the land i stand on
i in my darkened threshold
am pawing through my pockets
the receipts, the bus schedules
the matchbook phone numbers
the urgent napkin poems
all of which laundering has rendered
pulpy and strange
loose change and a key
ask me
go ahead, ask me if i care
i got the answer here
i wrote it down somewhere
i just gotta find it
i just gotta find it

somebody and their spray paint got too close
somebody came on too heavy
now look at me made ugly
by the drooling letters
i was better off alone
ain't that the way it is
they don't know the first thing
but you don't know that
until they take the first swing
my fingers are red and swollen from the cold
i'm getting bold in my old age
so go ahead, try the door
it doesn't matter anymore
i know the weakhearted are strongwilled
and we are being kept alive
until we're killed
he's up there the ice
is clinking in his glass
he sends me little pieces of paper
i don't ask
i just empty my pockets and wait
it's not fate
it's just circumstance
i don't fool myself with romance
i just live
phone number to phone number
dusting them against my thighs
in the warmth of my pockets
which whisper history incessantly
asking me
where were you

i lower my eyes
wishing i could cry more
and care less,
yes it's true,
i was trying to love someone again,
i was caught caring,
bearing weight

but i love this city, this state
this country is too large
and whoever's in charge up there
had better take the elevator down
and put more than change in our cup
or else we
are coming
up

God Loves Children Who Hate Fags

Grey Shirt: C'mon Betsy, smile for the camera.
Red Shirt: I don't like cameras.
G: Show those fags your pearly whites.
R: Everybody is angry about something called a faggot.
G: Dad says we can go sledding right after we help Jesus spread the truth.
R: Daddy scares me when he gets like this, but Reverend Richard says we'll go to heaven. I'd rather watch the Little Mermaid.
G: As long as we smile big and wear these cute t-shirts, we can watch the Disney Channel.
R: Next month I will be 5 and have to go to head start. Mommy says Jesus loves me and he'll make sure no fags are around. He hates them, Mommy says so...
G: Mommy also says we'll be first in line for the Rapture.
R: ...But I thought Jesus loved everybody.



Love,

Josie and Chris

What is poetry?

I can vaguely recollect the flavor of those months...
it seems as though they tasted like poetry.
I wasn't happier then I am right now,
I wasn't sadder either,
but time seemed to stand still back then
and everything passed by me like water
and I stood still and it all seemed very poetic.

I remember Sarah staring into my eyes and saying,
"tell me something deep."

The faith of other people was an enigma to me
in those Quaker meetinghouses and
Presbyterian churches of my childhood.
Sometimes I go to noon services at different churches
instead of going to school.
Doing this makes me feel above reproach
and nearly holy. Still,
I don't believe in anything.
But I wish I did.

Officially back in the zoo. During my stay in Washington I had the opportunity to meet with Upton, Dingell, Levin and Stabenow. We argued our "one sky vision" which includes an 80% reduction in carbon emissions by 2050 and 5 million green jobs. When representatives told us they supported "clean" nuclear power we gave evidence of the radioactive waste hurting the existing communities today. When they said the process would be slow moving we argued it was time critical. If we are to continue voting for you, we want progress. And finally, when we were refused entrance into the capital building, we simply rallied outside of it instead.

Besides the crazy-political-rushofamovement we all felt, there was Jeff, Elizabeth and Clementine too. Jeff was this NASA scientist that let us camp in his backyard. Elizabeth was his wife and Clementine was his 7 year old daughter. They made us feel so welcome that I couldn't imagine this past weekend without them.

Down the dusy road to D.C.

I'm leaving for Washington D.C. in just 10 hours! After hours upon hours of deliberation with various deans, chairs, and secretaries I was able to acquire $1,300! This will (hopefully) be enough for 10 students to drive, camp and eat for the next 5 days. Cross your fingers. Global climate change is no joke and we intend on proving that to our representatives all weekend!

I just wnat to officially apologize to Katie and Chris for having to miss their Indy Teaches. I'm sure you guys will do fantastic.

Ashely and Michelle's Indy Teach

I really appreciated these Indy Teaches today. Both were insightful, relevant and useful lessons. Ashely addressed some important issues in the secondary classroom for new teachers and I was reminded of my own high school experiences. It's funny the things that we don't consider until we're put in those "other" shoes. What is ethical? What information is necessary? Which consequences are appropriate?
Michelle took it home with a great exercise on literacy. I think this is an issue all too debated, especially with the rules of grammar and standard English paving the way. She made me consider how I would attempt to create an open learning environment in my own classroom when literacy, reading and writing become an issue.

The tools in their coursepacks will be beneficial to me later, that's for sure. Especially Ashely's survey.

Group Teach

Over the past two days we have discussed stereotypes in the classroom, media and global consciousness. We have discussed the prejudice students face in their classrooms. We have seen how minority groups have been misrepresented and degraded by large companies like Disney. We have witnessed the subtle attacks and demographic targeting done by advertising agencies. Now how can we use this information to create more social imagination in our classrooms? What activities from the past two days were useful in deconstructing stereotypes? How can we open students' minds and broaden their world view?

Youth Marketing

Here is a link to some educational resources for media literacy. You will find lesson plans and helpful information for elementary and secondary classrooms.

I wish I had a penis

Men have access to different opportunities than women do. Men still get paid better, treated with more respect and usually are not hired solely because their breast size is impressive. I cannot think of a single memory that highlights my desire to be manly, but I can tell you that my therapist has mentioned "penis envy" in a session or two. I'm THAT girl. The one who walks around wishing she had a bit more to offer in the dick and balls department.
Often I am not taken as seriously as my male peers. It took twice as long for me to get full trust and respect at the biodiesel lab in comparison to my male coworkers. They were sporting keys, confidence and attention from the bosses long before I did.

dialte.

Today is a day for apathy.
A day for emotion to rise up from the barracks
and evaporate into thick air.
In billowing, black music notes
it rises up, up, up.
Disappearing into light and dust.
Straining to see where it might have went,
you focus on a speck.
Blinking, swallowing, blinking,
until you realize it's really gone.

Now what to do?

Go back to the beginning.
To the sunrise and dew of spring mornings.
Eyes peeling open and legs
stretching out forever against a flannel canvas.
Deep sighs and ripe fruit on a clean plate.
Wake up.
The soles of your feet should meet the earth
and become callous.
Climbing trees has never seemed so right.
In breathing deeply we are whole again.

Our eyes knew each other
long before they met across rooms.
They were old friends
of inspiration and freedom.
And hands?
Well, our hands form partnerships
at the opposite ends of oceans.
Pullling the tide back and forth;
knuckles laughing in a tug of war.
Our hands are childhood blood brothers,
keeping secrets and winking.

I came across this short film by Dove. It effectively addresses some of the core issues we are dealing with in the big bad world of advertising. Please check it out.

Beauty?

Indy Teach: "The Skin That We Speak"

I'd like to blur the lines between black and white, right and wrong, standard and non-standard english. In my lesson I hope to deconstruct the negative connotations often associated with certain American dialects. There is a quiz that I'd like my students to take called "Do You Speak American?"

Another aspect of my indy teach will be to discuss things like "white privledge", language in the context of culture, and sociolinguistic identity.

Possible essential questions:

• What is standard english?

• How do we prepare students in the classroom for the professional world of "standard english" while still embracing cultural ties to non-standard english?

• What are the effects of "code switching"?

Red Pens

This teacher seems to be in need of a vacation. It was a real turn off when the author kept refering to "free time" as something to be considered when intensively grading students' papers. I don't doubt that the lack of free time is a serious reality for many teachers, however, it seems a bit unprofessional to continuously mention it in an academic essay. Maybe next time don't come off so jaded.

No one wants to receive a paper that's reflective of a crime scene. I get that. And for the most part I could relate to the feelings of being overwhelmed and defeated. Turned off to writing. It can't be easy to get a paper back that you poured good ideas into and see it marked to hell with that nasty red ink. What students need is positive feedback. The comments that explain what needs to be changed in order to make something grammatically correct. Comments that encourage a student's thoughtful insights. Content is what matters. What we are trying to teach them is how to explain things, how to put opinions on paper, how to tell a story. What they are saying is important; we can work out the details later.

resources online

Last night I spent some time trying to find helpful resources for open minded teachers such as ourselves. I shied away from the university sites and sites centered around selling something. Education World was significantly helpful regarding the various content areas, writing across the curriculum and integrating new technology.

I'm From a Hungry Home of God and Drugs

I am from the tire swing,
Flintstones vitamins and food stamps.
I'm from stuffed green peppers, mom's heavy musk
and hairspray. Barbie birthday cake and
a bunny named Brian.

I am the exhaust of a million cars rushing past,
tables dusted with drugs and a man saying,
"I'll shoot".
I am from a pounding on the door and
"It's only 28 days hunny".

I am from the onions I was forced to try,
the cookies stolen before dinner
and the best mashed potatoes you ever had.
I'm from jack-o-lanterns, "Where the Wild Things Are," and
footprints to be followed in the snow.

I'm from scared, sleepless nights
I was sure "Chucky" lay under my bed; to
fearless days playing pirates under the overpass.
I'm from curious, frog catching hands and eyes infatuated
with a beautiful mother.
I'm from wide eyes and a blonde pony tail thinking,
"I'm just a little girl; it's too hard to understand this yet."

Raising Writers

Nothing could be more important. Writing forces you to think a bit more critically about your personal experiences or insights. When you write you turn information into art. Along the way your story becomes like a child; you now have a responsibility to raise and produce something of value.
The best thing we can do is write what we know. In every paper, poem or essay I have always exposed myself in small doses. Christensen has the right idea in getting her students to open up their lives as they transform into writers. The read-around is a great technique that I could have only dreamed of for my high school. It seems to be an effective catalyst in blurring the boundaries of race, status and gender, but serious energy and persistence must be applied. When Christensen discusses the "class from hell" I am reminded of my own experience as a high school student. There were some grudges that God himself could not have broken. The read-around is a good tool, but may not be for the faint of heart or easily discouraged teacher.
My favorite section of this reading was the "I Am From" portion. Lyons' poem is so poignant and serves as an amazing ice breaker into poetry for these young students. It not only teaches them a writing technique, but it also opens the door to who they are. By revealing these memories, secrets and personal artifacts students share themselves and begin to understand one another. "Classroom life should, to the greatest extend possible, pre-figure the kind of democratic and just society we envision, and thus contribute to building that society."- Bigelow, Rethinking Our Classrooms: Teaching for Equity and Justice.

Writing

"Crafting a Life" was especially helpful to me, professionally and personally. I have been writing since I was five years old and for the past six months I have been banging the proverbial head against the wall. Murray said, "...In the act of exposure, writers discover themselves." This has been an undeniable truth for me. In writing I realize more accurately what I think and why. I sincerely appreciated his view that writing is "a celebration of loneliness" as much as it is an act rising from the condition.
The most helpful of Murray's suggestions was that writing is like a job. You cannot wait for inspiration, you must practice. It is a responsibility to ourselves. This suggestion in itself was inspiration for me to realize the dedication and love that are necessary to becoming a better writer.