Wednesday, April 21, 2010

An Open Letter to the Cockroach I Saw in the Laundry Room

Dear Tiny Manifestation of Evil,

So, we finally meet.  You: the first naturally occuring cockroach I have ever seen.  Me: mild-mannered student teacher by day, part-time super hero by night.  There was a definite moment as I entered the laundry room and you paused in your scurry across the floor that our eyes locked.

We stared at one another, sizing each other up for a good few seconds.  Then, as we nonchalantly went our seperate ways, we continuously turned around to monitor each other's paths.  No doubt, you were considering the brute strength that must lie within each of my disproportionately toned arms (Hey, I'm working on the shoulders, alright?  Lay off.  LOOK AT YOUR LEGS, SHRIMP!).

Listen, let me lay this out for you in a language that you can understand.  I have no quarrel.  I do not bite my thumb at you, sir.  You pose no threat to me as you scamper across the floor, looking for God knows what (as it was past midnight, I'm forced to assume you were out looking for a lady friend).  I live on a much higher floor, whereas you live in the basement, or you were just visiting.  So long as you remain below ground level, in the land of dryer lint and the occasional pipe leak, we have no beef.

But I swear to Eric Clapton, if you so much as stick one little antennae into our hallway, I will sick the baby panther on you and she will rip you into a dozen nuclear-radiation-resistant pieces.  Sure, you might have the upper hand when it comes to longevity, but who is more likely to survive the swift justice of the bottom of my sneaker?  Me, that's who.  Don't ask questions.

Listen, bug, I've wasted enough of my time writing this patient, heartfelt letter that you can't read cause yous straight ignant.  You've probably already been smashed by someone since I started this tome, so I will wrap it up and wish you a good night far below my apartment, stuck to the squeaky wheel of a laundry cart.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Wednesday Morning

Editor's Note:  There used to be an entry here about the taxi cab that struck me on the sidewalk one morning. There are currently several legal cases pending, so I decided it was best to take this post down given my involvement in these cases.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Adventures in Education, Chapter 16

The administration at my student teaching site asked us to create a homework packet or research project assignment for our students for the public school spring break last week.  As a part of our unit on Night by Elie Wiesel, I asked students to select one of four project options for their research on Holocaust history.

Option #3 was a series of creative writing journals detailing, with some historical accuracy, daily life in the ghetto for an "undesirable".  I apparently did not specify that I meant the Warsaw ghetto, and I am currently reading through journal entries describing life in Bushwick, Brooklyn, and Hunts Point in the Bronx.

Tomorrow's class will be featuring a "teachable moment".  I'm still learning things, too.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

A Very Recentist List of One English Ed Grad Student's Fears (but not mine, certainly).

Level 1
- Being late for class
- Teaching the day after a Boston team bites it against an NYC team.
- Running out of Clif Bars
- Houston Street bicyclists

Level 2
- Forgetting to set the alarm
- Showing up to class unprepared
- Crossing the street the day after the Yankees win the World Series
- Not having a devastatingly witty response for Nigerian email scammers

Level 3
- Not being able to shake the feeling that I forgot to set the alarm
- The Lincoln Tunnel
- Taking the Ashmont Red Line instead of the Braintree Red Line, only to wake up and find out it was all a dream... as I miss the late night 1 train at 116th Street.
- Being called a phony as I teach The Catcher in the Rye

Level 4
- Being called a phony as I teach The Very Hungry Caterpillar
- Being placed at a Staten Island student teaching site
- Nigerian email scammers riding bicycles on Houston Street
- Whales

Level 5
- Men's rooms in Brooklyn
- The subway level of the Port Authority Bus Terminal
- The G train
- Dying alone

Level 6
- Having to drive through Connecticut even one more time.