Talk Don't Change a Thing

"Fader," The Temper Trap

"If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. This could mean losing girlfriends, wives, relatives and maybe even your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery—isolation. Isolation is the gift. All the others are a test of your endurance, of how much you really want to do it. And, you’ll do it, despite rejection and the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you’re going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods, and the nights will flame with fire. You will ride life straight to perfect laughter. It’s the only good fight there is."

-Charles Bukowski, Factotum

'Round the World We'll Go

"On Melancholy Hill," Gorillaz

I am certain you make your own luck. People must set out to find their own servings of happiness; etch their own places in the universe; create their own perfect moments. Win or lose, the score of our own lives is entirely up to the choices and figurative "plays" we make day to day. As Ray Bradbury said so poignantly: "All you umpires, back to the bleachers. Referees, hit the showers. It's my game. I pitch, I hit, I catch. I run the bases. At sunset I've won or lost. At sunrise, I'm going out again, giving it the old try."

I believe happiness and fortune and peace can be found in such a variety of different avenues and adventures. For me, falling asleep with sand in my sheets does the trick. So does reading a good book outside, or playing a board game on a rainy afternoon. Live music in the park on a warm summer day. Eggs over-easy. Watching a mother gray whale lazily make her way up the coast in early April. Some of my most perfect days end with 7-11 hot chocolate and a walk on the beach. However, I also know that travel is important to my life. Near or far, exploring the various corners of the world satisfies an unnamed curiosity in me. Together, Tim and I have been lucky enough to travel to some of our favorite spots:

 Avalon Bay, Catalina Island

 Library at Ephesus, Turkey

Heron Island, Great Barrier Reef, Australia

Mykonos, Greece

St. Lucia, Carribean

But we're not done. A few places we'd like to visit before the next life: 

Alaska

Madagascar/Seychelles, Indian Ocean

Trevi Fountain, Rome, Italy

 Galapagos Islands

 Guadalupe Island

 Milford Sound, South Island, New Zealand

Appalachian Trail (to Springer Mountain, Georgia)

Mount Kilimanjaro, Tanzania, Africa 

Whistler Blackcomb, British Columbia, Canada

This might take awhile.

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness..."

-Mark Twain

Wounds Always Speak Too Loud

"Citizen," Broken Bells

Today I had a bad day. I was having just a mediocre day until my fifth period class managed to throw every possible wrench and negative comment into what should have otherwise been an enjoyable and funny creative writing exercise. While I love them, my fifth period class is comprised of five girls and (yes, I promise this is true) 27 boys. Of which, approximately 25 are stereotypical "skater boys." Who are sweet. And kind. But also immature. And apathetic. And inappropriate. And stoned distracted and detached after lunch.

Sample conversations from today's class:

Isabelle [after reading the daily schedule]: We have a test today?!
Me: No, don't worry. It's not for points. I'll explain later. But please don't freak out.
Cody: You didn't tell us we had a test today! That's totally unfair.
Me: I know I didn't tell you. Did you hear me just tell Isa-
Eddie: Wait, we have a test today!?
Me: No...you guys, just listen. I promise I'll explain when we get there. It's nothing to worry about, it's meant to help you study for the final. You have my word, it can't hurt your grade. But right now it's time for the creative writing journal. So you need to take out a piece of-
Ty: What are we doing today? [Looks to daily schedule] Wait! We have a test today? It wasn't on schoolloop.
Me: I don't understand. Am I not being clear? You are going to take a test on-
Zach: THERE'S A TEST TODAY?!?!

*          *          *          *

Me [extremely irritated]: It saddens me that this class seems to be having trouble understanding how having fun with creative writing and being mature can go together. It looks like you can't handle the freedom that comes along with this unit, and I guess we need to end the year with some in-class essays. That is, unless whoever anonymously wrote "A 52-year-old rapist, who is a member of the Taliban" as a potential fictional character for one of the group stories can admit it to me after class.

(five minutes later)

Student: Yeah...I'll take the blame.
Me: Well that's pretty unclear. Are you saying you wrote it, or that you'll just take the blame for it?
Student: Uh, I wrote it.
Me: Why? I mean, what about this seemed appropriate to you?
Student: Uh, I don't know.
Me: Really? Do you really not know?
Student: No, yeah, uh, you're right.
Me: Look, I know you think this is funny, and your buddies got a laugh out of it. I don't care. It's still completely inappropriate, disrespectful, and in poor taste. And also, so immature.
Student: ...

(Sidenote: In retrospect, this is probably where I should have stopped with the reprimanding).

Me: So, basically, I guess I'm just pretty nervous that you're about to be a senior. I mean...I'm shocked that a seventeen-year-old would write something as childish as this. A "52-year-old rapist? In the Taliban?" Really?
Student: Yeah...I know...
Me: You're a smart kid. I mean, this is stupid. But you're a smart kid. I expected more. And you're going to be a senior. Come on.
Student: Yeah...it was stupid...
Me: So what do you have to say?
Student: I'm sorry?
Me: Is that a question?
Student: No. I'm sorry.
Me: And it's not going to happen again?
Student: Right.
Me: Goodbye.

According to the Broken Bells, "the high road is hard to find." That's for damn sure. I like to think I take it most of the time. But today, while giving my fifth period kids a guilt trip about their inability to focus, and then audibly informing my co-teacher they were the only class who couldn't handle the assignment, I'm pretty sure I was slumming my way down the low road. Perhaps with extra grenades of bitterness, contempt, and exhaustion.

The remedy? Fish tacos and Bud Light Lime. Pleasure reading before bed. And, of course, some of Emerson's wisdom to shake me into a better tomorrow:

Finish each day and be done with it.  

You have done what you could; 

some blunders and absurdities have crept in; 

forget them as soon as you can.  

Tomorrow is a new day; 

you shall begin it serenely, and with too high a spirit 

to be encumbered with your old nonsense.  

Empty Drawers of Other Summers

"Hard Candy," Counting Crows

Alice Walker said: "I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.... People think pleasing God is all God cares about.  But any fool living in the world can see it always trying to please us back" (The Color Purple, 1982).  

It's so true. Lately, perhaps because it's the end of the school year, I'm SICK of grading papers, and telling kids to stop talking, and I'm yearning more than ever for sun/surf/sand/beach/pleasure reads/summer. Instead, I find myself too easily complaining about a class or whining about lesson plans. I'm avoiding, ignoring, rushing, overlooking. Certainly, there are moments days where I'm completing failing to notice the (metaphorical) purple flowers. In a field. Somewhere.

Wednesday, I took a step back. To re-assess, to remember, and to reconvene my thoughts and the various parts of my life. I didn't go to school. Instead, we went up to Laguna, where Tim and Chris dove, and I kayaked and read. We spent the afternoon in the July-esque summer sun, lazing on the beach between bouts in the ocean. Serene and necessary, it was the perfect introduction into what I believe will be yet another California summer-to-remember...

However, if I was granted three wishes, I would never wish for a year-round, work-free summer. I thoroughly and passionately love my work, and I'm proud of the things I do in the classroom. The exhaustion and weariness and frustration and bewilderment are feelings I would wish for in any profession...without them, I believe it's impossible to find and nurture compassion, exhilaration, pride, and fulfillment.

That being said (and as much as I will, as always, inevitably miss my kids and my classroom and the in-depth discussions about quality literature during July and August), I am all too aware of my current eagerness for summer. The warm Carlsbad air and the smooth right breaks at Terramar are beautiful yet taunting reminders of the days that lie mere weeks away. I am painstakingly ready for Operation Summer: 2010. Mid-afternoon ocean swims. A thin layer of sand covering the living room carpet and couch. Sunburned shoulders and sore paddling arms. The front door yawning open at 1:00 PM on a Tuesday; inviting bright sunshine and entertaining the blissful sounds of Van Morrison. Ceviche made with freshly-caught halibut. Law and Order re-runs in the late afternoon. And the list goes on...

But for now, it's still May. State testing might be over, but we're still in the thick of Julius Caesar...(he only just died, after all-- my kids have yet to experience the real wrath of Mark Antony). Research papers have barely begun, and the 11th grade creative writing unit is around the corner. The successes and pitfalls of prom haven't occurred, and the yearbooks are still at the print shop. The summer weather might be emerging, but it's not quite time to spend weekdays at the beach...instead, it's time to dig in my heels and grade the Gatsby essays. To polish thesis statements and re-teach the Works Cited page. To make a kid switch his controverial research topic, since "legalizing marijuana for medical purposes" is no longer appropriate after he was busted for possession of drug paraphernalia last week. It's time to lose my words when a former student comes in at lunch to proclaim he read East of Eden because "you said it was good, so I trusted that." To laugh out loud at the variety of classroom bonding inside jokes that exist within the walls of my room. To award second period with donuts, because Wednesday's sub said he would "make a copy of this class to teach all day long" if he could. To remember these are the last weeks with these kids, ever. And when I remember that, suddenly four weeks seems like not enough time at all...

You must live in the present, 

launch yourself on every wave, 

find your eternity in each moment.

-Thoreau

Remember When the Days Were Long

"...and rolled beneath the deep blue sky..."
"End of the Innocence," Don Henley

My dad's horse ranch is located in Garner Valley, about 30 miles from Indio, and exists as a perfect sanctuary to escape from daily routines, alarm clocks, and to-go coffee. Currently (and a little ironically), it is horse-free, as my dad's three horses are residing temporarily in various ranches throughout Sacramento, being trained to cart, show, and the like. Thus, when we visit, for now it's up to us to put the dressage arena, round ring, and barn to good use.

There's something inherently unique in a ranch house. The broad expanses of land and trees, the smells of pine and dust, and the rich earth colors blend into the perfect refuge from Routine and Ordinary. Time lines don't exist, the fire's always burning, and the entire house is full of cedar and stone and comfort. I can't wait for my dad to retire there semi-full-time.

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, 

to front only the essential facts of life, 

and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, 

and not, when I came to die, 

discover that I had not lived..."

-Thoreau, from Walden 

You and Me Sunday Driving

"Two of Us," The Beatles

There are 6,470,818,671 people in the world. 

Some are running scared. 

Some are coming home. 

Some tell lies to make it through the day, 

others are just now facing the truth. 

Some are evil men at war with good, 

and some are good struggling with evil. 

6 billion people in the world, 

6 billion souls, 

and sometimes, all you need

is one.

The Ocean is on Fire

"The War," Angels and Airwaves

Saturday, 2:30 PM

I'm sleeping. What do you want?

Oh, you want to go to the beach! Of course I want to go to the beach! I can practice my ferocious bark at all of the the other dogs-- you know, the ones about 5 times my size!

Yes, yes, this is what I remember. I love the sand. Love it.

Hmmm....nope. Don't like this stuff. Looks like a bath. Feels like a bath, too, only colder. Plus there's plants and little animals that dart around in here. Let's stick to the sand.

I'm sorry. Perhaps you didn't hear me. I said, let's go back to the sand. Right now. Excuse me. Look down here, please.
 

This is AWFUL. I HATE it. I was SLEEPING, remember?
 

You bastard.

 

Please help me. That awful man is making me swim. In the ocean. And it's cold. Why do you people not realize I'm a freakin' Bichon?! Most people who own this breed make us wear goddamn bows in our hair!

You've got to be kidding me. You are just as bad as said awful man.

Yeah, this thing is dead. You know why it's dead? Because somebody stuck it in this goddamn water!

Jump? As is, move from this dry rock back into that liquid hell? How stupid do you think I am? Stop pulling the leash. Seriously, I said STOP PULL-

 

Oh hell no.

 Take me home immediately. I hate the beach. I hate the ocean. I hate the sand. You people are going to hell.