bad sport.

Actually, I think I’m a great sport. Because instead of being completely reserved played volleyball today after having not played since 2002 or 2003, I dove for the ball and hurt my knee, only to find it covered in blood later (I was wearing pants). Playing sports is nice.

I am not athletic by any stretch of the imagination, but this has been one of my most athletic years yet. It started off with dodgeball intramurals in February and March. That was fun, despite getting the first ball of the first game directly in my face. It’s a fast-paced game that is way more dangerous than I remember it. Not only was it fun to play, but I also got to be part of a fun team (“The Purple Cobras”) and it encouraged me to buy my first pair of running shoes since probably 2003 or so.

Now the proud owner of some running shoes, I was able to continue my athletic endeavours. So I bought a new tennis racket in the spring. I took tennis lessons with my best friend from down the street about 12 years ago, so I’m pretty pro. I played a bunch this summer with a good friend from high school and university. We both improved, I think. Again, it had probably been over five years since I’d played. To date, my favourite sport to play.

I dabbled in soccer this summer also. And by dabbled, I mean I played once for a couple hours with some coworkers. That was fun, and then I couldn’t walk for two days.

I ran a few times. Never consistently, and I was never sure why I did it. I’m not the type to feel guilty for eating poorly or eating a lot, so I never go out for a run for that particular reason. I also jumped roped daily for a couple weeks. That was neat. Though I would recommend owning a jump rope that is appropriate for your height, otherwise you will likely get frustrated with jumping rope and give up after a couple weeks.

And today. Today, I played volleyball. Near the beginning of the game, someone threw the ball to me (I caught it), and I paused for a moment, unsure what to do with it. The rest of the game was fine, except for my right knee. But that’s old news.

Anyway, I feel the need to get this out there, because this is a pretty big deal for me. I think part of it might be a change in attitude. I hadn’t played sports at all since grade 10 phys. ed., with the exception of a bit of tennis the following couple of years. Part of this is because I identified as a “music kid” in high school (not that my high school was particularly cliquey, but being a music kid made it difficult to be in athletics as well given scheduling problems). Being part of a team is nice. Sometimes, I blame being an English Major for my tendency to work alone on everything ever. I read. I research. I write essays. I read. I read. I cry a little. I read. I write. I sleep for four months. I read. I read. And it goes on. There is no time for being on teams. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a team throughout my time as an undergraduate is a group of English Major friends I would see a couple times a week at the campus Starbucks during fourth year, or my friend in the concurrent education program with whom I worked on any group projects (two people can count as a team, yeah?). But teams are are nice. They are encouraging. They want to have fun, and do well – at the same time. And the latter isn’t always a priority. I didn’t even know everyone who was playing today, but that was alright. Because we were on a team.

Conclusion: sports are alright. Even when you’re getting hit in the face, temporarily losing your ability to walk, or losing some skin off your knee.

hippie.

In the past month, I’ve had two people tell me that they can imagine me as a hippie.

I was talking with a new co-worker one day during a slow shift and she made the comment that she wonders what I look like when I’m wearing normal clothes and not my uniform. I told her that I’m pretty casual – jeans and t-shirts, nothing fancy. And she was surprised, because she said that she imagined me as dressing sort of like a hippie. So she continued to say that she thinks I have an inner-hippie. I found this strange.

Then on Friday, a friend from the teacher education program said something similar. She had the impression that I am, or that she could imagine me being a vegetarian. And then she continued to say that she could see me as a sort of hippie-type.

I’m fine with all of this, I guess. I mean, I appreciate a lot of the authors and musicians and some of the ideas associated with the hippie movement. I went through a phase when I was 11 in which everything I owned had to be decorated with a sort of psychedelic colour scheme and smiley faces, peace signs, and hearts. That probably doesn’t really count, though. I also secretly like tie-dye.

friday night in.

It is a Lost in Translation kind of night.

This is one of my favourite movies. I enjoy movies that don’t have a typical problem/resolution plot. Movies that are hard to explain without just making a person watch them. And I like Bill Murray. And Scarlett Johansson. And I like Japan. I like the music. And how it’s filmed. And the efforts made by Bob and Charlotte to connect to one another.

…I’m not good at articulating why I look the movies I do. Really, I just know that I like them. I used to have all of my favourite movies listed on my Facebook profile. There were probably twenty movies listed, at the very least. I was thinking about this tonight, and about how I actually form initial opinions about some people based on their preference in movies. By putting up all my favourite movies, I think I was trying to make some kind of statement about myself: “Hey! Look at me! I like zombie movies AND Audrey Hepburn!” But if you are a stranger to me, what does my liking zombie movies mean to you? What could it possibly mean to you? You have no idea why I like them. Or how they affect me. Or what memories I associate with them. Or the nightmares I’ve had. I have four movies listed on my Facebook profile (one of them is 28 Days Later).

If I really had to articulate why I like Lost in Translation (I could do it if I really had to), this blog would start getting more personal than I intend it to be. If I put my entire list of favourite movies on my profile, you might think you know me better than you really do.

shake.

I went to a poetry reading tonight at my favourite downtown cafe, held by the University’s Creative Writers Club. It was nice. There was good poetry. There were good readers. There was good company.

My favourite part of the evening was watching one of the really shaky readers. Most of the readers were shaky, but this one was particularly so. It wasn’t funny. But there was something about it that I liked. He stood up there with his poems in hand. He had originally decided not to use the music stand that most others had made use of, and so during his first poem, his shaking was most obvious. The best part – and I mean this well – was his breathing. He held the microphone very close to his mouth, and so in between lines of poetry, you could hear his breathing, shaking. It was subtle. It made me smile. Sort of like when you can hear singers taking a breath on a recorded track, or the sound of the fingers sliding up and down the strings of the guitar. But better.

I think there is something wonderful about students gathering in a cafe to read their poems. It’s intimate. It’s personal. People go up there, willingly vulnerable before everyone, and they read and they shake.

don’t talk to me.

because all I can talk about right now is education. And my teaching block. And my courses. And things that happen in my education classes. And education. And my teaching block.

I was walking through the parking lot tonight with a friend from the teacher education program and for awhile, we didn’t say anything to one another. This was fine; I think we had a mutual understanding of our silence. So finally, I just came out and said it: “Yeah, I don’t know how to have a conversation right now about anything other than education or our teaching blocks.” He agreed. Such is my life right now. It is sad.

Goal for the week: stop talking about education and my teaching block so much. Think of other things to talk about. Like the weather, for example. Or what you ate for breakfast (Shreddies). Or the Bills game (I don’t watch football). Or those weird, awful yellow, skinny leg corduroys you thought about buying earlier today, but then didn’t buy because you figured you’d regret it later.

…Shreddies are great.

saturday morning.

Instead of going to one of my jobs to work this morning, or thinking about lesson planning for next week, I woke up this morning close to 11AM, and had a colouring book party with my parents. My mother and I coloured in a Hello Kitty colouring book and my father in a Tonka book. It was nice way to start my day.

I was thinking about the past four weeks while I coloured, particularly the strange relationship one has with one’s associate teacher. Some student teachers I’ve talked with had a great experience with their’s.  I not so much. Before any consideration of what degree of rapport, there is the simple fact that you are trying to teach a class while constantly being watched. It’s very strange. I can sing, but when it comes to singing in front of other people, I sound like a nine-year-old. I like to think I can dance, but again, in front of other people I look like a fish on land. I like to think I can teach, but in front of  my associate teacher, I felt like I was just another highschool student giving a presentation about poetry… for weeks straight.

I am glad it is Saturday. Christmas is 32 days away. There is no snow yet, but I’m patient.

friday.

I guess I was a wee bit harsh yesterday. I was being honest, though. Today improved my opinion of a few of them, after a  couple of girls went to see what movies were available in the library and they came back with Return of the Jedi. Sure, it’s no Empire, but for a couple of high school girls, I was impressed with their selection. So that is what we did this afternoon.

While I watched, I was thinking back to that comment I made a couple days back about “what would Jack Dawson do?” and realized that if change it to Luke Skywalker, you end up with “WWLSD?”. I found it funny.

And all of the above, dear friends, is the extent of my thoughts this evening as I come to the end of a four week teaching block, during which time I’ve spent approximately 140 hours at a local high school, and have gotten up at 6:15 just about every morning (I slept in once by accident. Yikes!).

 

thursday.

dear students:

I’m sorry that our time together had to end that way, but I had no choice. It’s not my fault that you have a buy out for football every single week, cutting into our class time, and forcing me to squish a million presentations into a short period of time. I’ve had a mostly good time with you, even though very many of you are seemingly self-absorbed and oblivious to what’s going on around you. While you were not entirely welcoming, you at least accepted me and did not make my first teaching block a living hell. For that much, I am grateful. I would have bought you Timbits or something equally cheap and tasty as a friendly farewell, but you were not entirely deserving, and one of you has a severe food allergy. I hope you enjoy getting back into your old routine and that many of you manage to bring up your marks (they are not very good). I have learned a lot from the past four weeks with you. Maybe you’ve learned a few things too. That would be nice.

regards.

wednesday.

I never mentioned High School Musical. But I did happen to hear some students singing in the hall yesterday, and I recognized the song from the High School Musical soundtrack.

Goals for next teaching block: be far more creative and ask more questions of associate and other teachers.

I’m really bad at asking questons. I’ve always learned well from observation and reflection. Without ever getting help from a professor on an essay throughout my undergrad, I improved my average essay mark by 5% over four years. I improved in other areas too, without ever asking questions. I’m very independent – to some degree, anyway – in my learning. I’ve felt at a disadvantage in my teaching block because of this. I’ve been surrounded by some fantastic teachers, who have all be, for the most part, very welcoming. But I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t make use of their experience and knowledge. Throughout my undergrad, I didn’t build much rapport or any kind of relationship with any of my professors because I never asked questions, and never went to them for help. I want to get better at this.

I feel like “What would _____ do?” questions are sort of cliche and usually just bad jokes (i.e. “What would Jack Dawson do?”). But yesterday, as I complained to my dad about how boring the assignment I gave my grade 11’s is, he told me next time to just ask what Sloane would do (Sloane – my grade 8 teacher; amazing person and teacher; creative and encouraging). And I immediately thought of a project that I could have assigned the grade 11’s that would have been a gazillion times more interesting than a 15 minute seminar on a poet/poem. I continue to feel silently apologetic towards my grade 11 students. I would buy them timbits for my last class with them tomorrow, but one of them has a severe peanut allergy, so that’s a no-go. Maybe licorice? Twizzler’s are made in a peanut-free facility, aren’t they? (In any case, I’m joking about the licorice).

What would Jack Dawson do in my situation? Probably nothing. Freeze to death, maybe. The classroom I’m in gets no heat whatsoever. But hey, I’ve only got two days left!

tuesday.

At the end of class, I found a note that a couple students had been passing back and forth.

“wanna go make out?” “yessss!!” “ok! I’ll leave class first…”

Yeah.

On an unrelated note, here’s something to think about: you and a friend are sharing a bed. Before you get to the room in which the bed is (probably the bedroom), your friend tells you that s/he prefers to sleep on the left side. To which side is your friend referring?