ALL NEW: Links

I've filled in the links section on the right. I'll use it to post cool stuff that people send me.

Today was the last day of MCAS. When I asked most of my students how they did they said, "It was easy." In my third period class, I showed episodes of Family Guy. In one, Peter knocks on this woman's door. She opens and says, "You don't look anything like the ad. You'd better be HUGE." Rachelle goes, "What does that mean?" I had been burying my face in my hands, so I snapped up and went "Nothing!"

Tamara and Nick have been coming in to hang out with me at lunch. I love those kids! Tamara says she wants to go to Harvard, but I'm trying to convince her that's a bad idea. I've been selling her on Stanford--I think she'd like it, for the cultural opportunities and the social life (and the weather). She wants me to bring in pics of the campus. Nick says he wants to get "TRINIRICAN" tattooed across his back. Like this:


(That's Nick's email signature)

I decided last week to say fuck it and loosen up with my students. For the first month or so of my student teaching I was very businesslike & strict--I thought this would help students pass my class. It didn't work, and I felt fake. In this situation--where I didn't have the class since the beginning of the year and so much is out of my control--there's no point in fighting the tidal wave of poor behavior every day. It was stressing me out. I plan on getting more sleep and being a more laid back Mr. Borrelli.

My Mom's in Paris! She writes:

I'm staying at the Villages Hotel in Lisses, a suburb about 30 minutes southeast of Paris while my students are staying with their host families here. In the morning, they go to French school from 8:45 - 11:45 and then I take the bus to meet them and we all take the RER (commuter train) into Paris for afternoon adventures, using the Metro to get around. Yesterday we went shopping at Galeries Lafayette, and I found a Virgin records and bought you the CD "TUBES 2006" (Hits of 2006). Last night I had dinner (and drank some really good French wine) with the Huart family (Kelly and Heather's host family) and after dinner I taught them how to play 3 - 13. Got back to the hotel just after midnight for bed. Later today we're going to the Musée D'Orsay, which is featuring Pissarro, so I'll buy you a nice print.

On Mon. we went to Montmartre to see Sacre Coeur Basilica and the Place du Tertre, where the street artists gather to paint and sell their wares; afterwards we went to the Moulin Rouge and Place Pigalle area, which is like the Tenderloin in San Francisco;
Sex Shop, Museum of Erotica, Porno Shop...Japanese Restaurant(?), SEXDROME, Peep Show, etc.

I asked her to buy me a CD of French pop/electronica music, hence TUBES 2006. I still have the present she bought me the first time she went to France with her students, about ten years ago. It's this eight-inch, curved, bejewelled dagger.

I need to go to sleep. Tomorrow afternoon I'm going to this guitar clinic at Berklee (with Kaki King!) so I can't come back and sleep after school like I have been.

Hahahaha, check this out.

"They have called it Colymbosathon ecplecticos, which means 'amazing swimmer with a large penis.'"

I might learn sometime. American Idol gave me Lisa Tucker, and American Idol took Lisa Tucker away. What else is there to say? I loved her. You fall in love with someone, you think it matters, and then Ryan Seacrest tells them that not enough people voted for them. I might learn sometime. I barely got to know her. Don't leave, Lisa! I mean it! My tiny fantasies are all I have.



I barely got to know her.

I'M NOT READY

TO LET HER GO!

Yesterday and today: high on cold meds and sports drinks. Hardly left my bed. A talk with Brianna reminded me of one of my favorite Italian words: prezzemolo (parsley). So much happens in my mind! Most of which I'd never tell anyone.

I'M OUT!

I've come out of hiding on The Facebook. I've been sending out friend requests, but if I haven't gotten to you yet, request me as your friend.

Also, check out my buddy Lisa T's profile here. WHO ARE YOU TO CALL ME PATHETIC.

Michelle Tiu was fucked up out of her tiny body Friday night, but before she went and made things awkward for everyone, she managed to snap some faux toes:



Everyone witnesses my scathing parody of Michelle's huge smile. Shane in the intermediate stages of exposing his chest.



Your words are beautiful to me, Mike.



She manages to take the picture just as I'm getting attacked by a shark.



Getting head.



A nice picture of Michelle and me.



Jesus Christ, Krzysztof, open your fucking eyes asshole.

After that, Adam and I went to Southie where everything gets spotty. We went to The Cornerstone, right by the Broadway T station, and another bar across the street--my agency was retreating from me. I drank shots of Jameson from a bartender who, as Adam pointed out, looked like a fat version of Shane--same glasses, even. We were threatened, in a way I can't remember, by an Irish guy with pointy teeth. I just remember being scared and moving to the other end of the bar, where we met three kids our age from North Carolina. We spent the rest of the night talking with them. I don't remember anything we talked about. On the T, this poem by Matthew Rohrer, "The World at Night," kept circling in my head.

from THE WORLD AT NIGHT

I went out one night with people from work

to an editor's apartment. I drank

a glass of poison. She served me poison

and everyone else was either immune

or politely refused. In the subway

I didn't know the meanings of any words

and my sweat stung me. People on the car

pushed me off at the next stop when I puked

in my hands. Without any meaning, time

accreted to things in funny shapes—old,

asymmetrical hobbledehoys

tormented me, a stern but benevolent

lizard gave me counsel. My stomach contents

spilled around me. My mind was actually

seven or eight minds, all but one of them

composed of helicopters. The other one

was sad. Satellites could tell I was sad.

When another subway came I crawled on

and technically I passed into death, but

passed through and awoke at Coney Island

and saw black cowboys galloping on the beach.

Hungry, mentally defeated, I stared

at The World's Largest Rat—for fifty cents.

Really, it was only the same color

as a rat. "It's from the same family,"

the barker explained. I felt vulnerable

illuminated by neon and fried light.

Everyone had to use one big toilet

and the sky was orange with satellites.

And satellites know everything.


It was especially powerful when I was drunk, as most things are, although trying to remember lines from the poem made me dizzy. I remember falling face-first onto my bed and Adam taking off my shoes. I woke up the next morning still drunk and sweating in my clothes. I stared into our one big toilet and spilled the contents of my stomach.

In a way, I guess you could say it was our own little Teenage Wasteland.

The-Day-After-St.-Patrick's-and-I'm-Feeling-Green

Oh my god my head.

#&*$&*#&$%Q)*#@*$(&!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK AMERICA! LISA IN THE BOTTOM THREE???

I've fallen in love, everyone. Her name is Lisa, and she's my American Idol.



Adam keeps reminding me that she's only 16, which is the age of most of my students, but what Adam doesn't realize is that you can't put walls around love. (I voted for you tonight, Lisa!)

Classes went better today. I had called a lot of parents yesterday, for both good and bad reasons. Nick was on time and working because I talked to his mom. I called Vashsana's mom to tell her how well Vashana's been doing (best score of both classes on the quiz!) so Vashana was like my best friend today. She was keeping other people on task. In the middle of class she asked me where I'm from. When I said Wisconsin Tamara and Luis started talking about That '70s Show and telling me I look like Eric Forman.

Please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow Sheila please bring a notebook tomorrow

There was a fight in my class today. At the beginning of my third period class, Rachelle was getting heated at Joe, sitting a few desks away. At first I thought they were just messing around, but then I realized it was serious, so I went and stood in between them, right next to Rachelle's desk. I asked her if she needed to go out into the hall and cool down. She wouldn't respond to me, and instead kept getting more and more worked up yelling at Joe. So I told her she needed to go into the hall and I started to pull her out of her desk by her arm. I nodded to Peter (my mentor teacher) to come help me. We both took an arm and started to get her moving. Now, Rachelle is pretty tough girl, and Joe is as tall as me and twice as wide across. As we pushed Rachelle toward the door, she and Joe are screaming at each other and lunging toward one another. Joe's up out of his desk pushing me out of the way to get to Rachelle. So I let Peter try to get Rachelle out the door, while I try in utter futility to stop Joe from advancing. I had my forearm across his chest and was trying to plant my legs behind me to press against him, but I couldn't get in the right position. I kept repeating, "Joe, calm down it's not worth it." Joe pushed me right up against the door where Peter was holding Rachelle, and they're almost in each other's faces with me and Peter in between when BAM, Rachelle throws a punch over my shoulder that lands square in Joe's face, snapping his head back. Joe was stunned for a second, then looked fucking PISSED and charged out the door after Rachelle, who Peter had forcefully dragged down the hall toward the office. At that point I was scared to try to stop Joe anymore--plus I had to stay with the class. Joe stormed out into the hallway, where I'm sure he was met by security or the school disciplinarian, Ms. Drummer.

Why the fuck should I have to see a student get punched in the face in my classroom? NOT FAIR. THIS KIND OF THING SHOULD NOT HAPPEN. It makes me angry and scared and sad and frustrated and confused and guilty, so many things, but above all just sick. And I do feel responsible, in a non-specific way--it was my class. I feel ashamed, in the way that a parent might feel ashsamed if they fall victim to a crime when their child is present. If students aren't going to learn English, if they aren't going to succeed academically, my classroom should at the VERY FUCKING LEAST be a place where they can be safe and not get punched in the face and their head snapped back. I feel stupid, tricked, inadequate. I feel like I owe them an apology.

Okay, I just REALLY don't like violence. I do feel like I handled it very well. If I hadn't gone over and stood between Rachelle and Joe at the beginning, it might have broken out right in the middle of class.

Thunderstorm outside right now. I can see the blue flashes of light through my blinds. We'll see how things go tomorrow.

Oh my god, a new post!

Man, I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while, but it's like, teaching is HARD. I wish I wish I wish I wiiiiish I could sleep past 5:30 a.m. but the fat bitter gods of Boston have decided it will not be so.

Looking at my last post, I should say that I found a novel to read, courtesy of Adam. It's Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. It's good light reading. It moves along quickly. It has a lot of scenes of naked little boys sleeping together and kissing and wrestling. Probably how Adam knew I'd like it. [Note: because my MOM reads this blog occassionally, I should point out that the last sentence was a JOKE.]

This weekend was nice--50s and sunny. Adam and I got up Saturday morning and tacitly agreed to be super-productive. Check out all the stuff we did:

1) Laundry
2) Cooked a big breakfast of eggs, etc.
3) Cleaned the ENTIRE APARTMENT!!
4) Played many games of Mario Kart 64
5) Went for a run
6) Played catch in the park until the webbing of Adam's glove broke and the ball flew straight through and barely missed his face
7) Made a big lunch of tuna, salad, etc.
8) Went to a bar and drank
9) and drank
10) and drank
11) and drank
12) etc.

Short week this week, with Friday off for Evacuation Day. We're finishing up the poetry unit we've been doing for the past four weeks then I'm moving on to MCAS prep, since the students will be taking it at the end of the month. (MCAS is the Mass. state test to meet No Child Left Behind standards, and I teach tenth graders, which is the tested class.) I've been having fun staying after school every day with my favorite detentionees, Sheila and Nick. Sheila is this Haitian girl who calls me Mr. Broccoli and tells me every day that I'm a "loser." I think she actually likes me, because sometimes she shows up for detention even when she doesn't have one. Nick is a cool kid. He brought in his PSP on Friday and I was playing some Navy Seals game or something. I kept dying by blowing myself up with grenades. Nick was laughing at me. I wanted to be like, "Oh yeah, Nick? Well you're still FAILING MY CLASS." He's so fucking smart but he does no work (a common diagnosis of my students). Sad news, too: one of my nicest students, Jose, who hadn't been to school in a while showed up on Friday to say goodbye. I guess one day after school some students robbed him and cut him pretty bad with a knife, so he's transferring schools. (I don't mean to make it sound like that kind of thing is typical at my school--it isn't.) Jose lives by me and I used to ride the bus with him in the morning.

So tonight's prayer is that Sheila may show me how to teach her; that Nick may be on time to class; that Jose may stay safe and succeed at his new school; and that all my students may be healthy and rested tomorrow. Those kids have no idea idea how much I love them. Or how much they piss me off.

Goodnight.