Just..."ME" lately.

-If one more person pronounces supposedly like “supposebly” I am just gonna snap

-Why anyone would want their love life displayed on national television is beyond me

-However, I did nominate Jessie for the next bachelorette ;)

-To the kid in my ethics class during our discussion on abortion: bringing up how your dog & your girlfriend’s dog got together and got pregnant, then confessing that you and your girlfriend performed a puppy abortion is not only too much information, but entirely irrelevant and psycho!

-I like to walk through the city while listening to “Only Time” by Enya and “Vindicated” by Dashboard Confessional because it makes me feel like I’m an angel and no one can see me.

-If I ever have boy and girl twins, I want to name them Epic and Enya. ;)

-I’ve decided that math is a woman. Because it comes off as organized and absolute, but in reality is conniving and backstabbing. Just when you think you understand it, something changes. It gets away with breaking rules.

And then I think English is a man. Because you expect it to break rules, and you’re okay with it. It’s romantic and objective and frustrating yet brilliant. Once you understand it, you never stop loving where it goes. What it lacks in organization it makes up for in versatility.

So I guess that means I’m not a lesbian. Good deal.

-On the light rail, I often look at the other people on the train imagine what would happen if the train crashed and we all ended up in a deserted place. I observe each person and decide things like- who would take leadership roles, who would be a jerk, who would fall in love, etc.

-So I guess Chris Brown wrote Rihanna’s song “Disturbia,” which is kind of ironic and makes me think “FORE-SHADOWING!!!”

-Bigger or Better is the world’s best game.

-I find it hard to read The Onion in public because I always laugh out loud. Emphasis on LOUD.

-Today in English, my professor said, “Wow, didn’t I do good?” And I said “Technically, you did well.” She glared at me. : ( But the class giggled.

-Mr. Walsh got reinstated!!!!

-I am so excited for spring break ! Text for details. ;)

We Will Not Be Shaken

Tonight I went to a play called "We Will Not Be Shaken" starring my History professor Mr. Walsh, or "Walsh" as we are so chummily asked to call him. :)

Normally, I wouldn't take time out of my day to watch a professor act unless extra credit was involved or unless I really liked him.

Walsh is probably one of the best professors I've ever had. He's hilarious and innovative and unconventional and utterly relational with every single student individually.

Instead of taking tests, quizzes and notes like all the other classes, Walsh's methods of teaching rely heavily on class discussion and theatrical participation.
Instead of testing us on the books we read, he has us write a reaction essay, applying the books themes to the world today. Additionally, he assigns a group to each book and that group must make a theatrical production.

So far, the group presentations have been amazing. They are hilarious. They are personal. People share their own life stories. And they are moving. People cry in almost every group while telling their stories or just from the emotional impact of the themes.

Example--there's an older lady in the class who was a nurse in the Vietnam war. After we read "The Things They Carried" she gave a presentation on her experiences. She started crying when she told a story about holding a young man's hand while he was dying and begging for his mother. The whole class was tearing up.

As a result, our class--of various ages, backgrounds, majors, and beliefs--is so incredibly bonded. I walk into class and the hippie guy who looks like Jesus winks at me asks me if I have written the latest great American novel.
The blond pageant queen sitting behind me wants to continue the discussion we had last week about our siblings in California.
And Walsh asks how I'm feeling, as I missed class last week and e mailed him to tell him I was sick.

Class begins and everyone gets to talk. Everyone has a part of their lives to throw in.

That's the experience I've had in Walsh's class. And I've learned more about the history of working class America than I would ever learn from a textbook based curriculum.


Unfortunately, Mr. Walsh's unconventional methods have given the deans reason enough to ask him to not return next semester.
The news was devastating to our class. Because Mr. Walsh teaches taboo books, because he has us act out the books, he has been asked to leave.

His play tonight was about education reform. It was about teaching students things that matter. Not just CSAP preparation material.
His play was beautifully autobiographical. And inspiring.

After the play, fliers were passed out, advertising a protest to keep Walsh as a teacher. There is a demonstration on April 2nd at the campus, and I'll be right there along with hundreds.

For those of you who regularly read my blog--I believe Zack, Josie and Joy are the most regular--I just want to urge all of you to teach with Walsh's attitude. Do something that really makes kids get the material.
Josie, I know you teach and I'm sure that staying in a governmental-designed box is frustrating.
Zack, I know that teaching kids about God is hard, especially when they act like robots in a classroom or won't listen.
Joy- you may not get paid, but you ARE a teacher. To me, to other art students, to the world.

I personalize this blog because I think we all need to take a different approach to how our generation and generations after learn.

Walsh's words on the first day were:
"If I haven't convinced you to become a teacher after you are done with my class, I haven't done my job."

Being in Walsh's class has given me a new career path.
Not teaching (I haven't caved yet! lol) But activism.

I want to be an activist when I grow up.

That's a scary thing for a republican to say. I know that. But I also know that I believe in justice. Justice for education, justice for workers, justice for women, justice for minorities in every aspect.
Walsh's class has brainwashed me with that attitude. It may not fit in to my political agenda. But I don't care. I want to protest. I want to write letters and make a difference.

One thing that myself and the other members of my class have jumped on board with is Colorado Jobs For Justice. It advocates janitors and waiters and all kinds of people who are treated unfairly. The link is on my blog list. Anyone who is interested, let me know. We can go to a protest together. :)

Finally, I hope I don't sound fickle. Anyone who knows me knows that I already know who I am. I have had my mind made up about what I believe since I was a child, and I am never shaken.
A teacher like Walsh who shakes ME....now that, my friends, is a teacher.

Standing Outside the Fitting Room

Normally, I don't voluntarily accompany my mom and sisters to the mall--especially when I don't need anything myself.

So I'm not sure what came over me yesterday when my mom said "the girls need to get swimsuits and shorts for spring break. do you want to come?" and I said sure.

The first thing I should have remembered was that "swimsuits and shorts" never means just those things.

But let's back up. My sisters are like hangers. Any type of clothing you drape over them looks perfect. So when they see shirts and tank tops, they of course MUST try those on too. Just to let you know early on, our shopping trip was not short at all.

When I shop, I know exactly what I need, and I find it and leave. Period.

Anyway,

We went to Zumiez first where they got their swimsuits.

The problem I have with my sisters trying on swimsuits (other than waiting and listening to them whine and them demanding I go get them different sizes/styles)
is how oblivious they are to the look of their own bodies.
Emily, for example, is a sporty tomboy in most of her stylistic choices. Most of her clothing is baggy and casual.
When she tries on a swimsuit (especially a bikini from Zumiez) she is a bombshell.

When she swung open the dressing room door to show us, the two pervs working there were standing there too.
Now, I realize they're trying to make sales. Cool. But making comments like "looks nice!" and "I like the fit!" are not appropriate for a cornucopia of reasons. some being:

1. she's under aged
2. her MOTHER is right there
3. you're a punk
4. you're a guy who's a stranger. your (unsolicited) opinion is invalid. period.

And then there's Natalie. When she tries on swimsuits now, it's hard to believe that in six years she's going to be seventeen, six feet tall (according to our doctor) and wearing something like this suit--that looks a little more like underwear the more you consider it.

Since she's 11, I feel sort of okay with her swimsuit choice. But it just reminds me that I won't feel comfortable for long.

And I realize I'm a nostalgic person by nature. I hate change. But the reality that my sisters are growing up is still hard. I've never looked like them. I've never had guys all over me during spring break. I have no idea how to be the older sister in this case.


The rest of the mall trip was more whining, more derailing from our goal of shorts, and more of me standing outside the fitting rooms.

Standing outside the fitting rooms. That's an interesting place to me. Metaphorically speaking, for one. Kind of an illustration for life. That's where I've always been. Giving the opinions, getting new sizes, waiting, waiting, waiting. But never IN, never doing any of the trying on.

Literally speaking, I don't like being outside the fitting rooms either. Because it never fails. No matter what store--Zumiez, Pac Sun, American Eagle--one of their genius, 16 year old employees asks me "do you need a fitting room too?"

At some point, I am going to keep the blank expression on my face and say "Yes. I thought I'd walk in, empty-handed, and just look at myself." Or "Yes, I'd like to try on my purse."

Genius.

I'd also like to add that the adult employees of stores are obsessed with busting shoplifters. They ask me (a young, "hippie-looking" girl with a huge purse) if I need any help at least 6 different times.
I wish I could just yell at them: "I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE ANYTHING! YOUR CLOTHES DON'T FIT ME ANYWAY!"

Malls suck.

I like what my Political Science professor said once about a shopping mall mall proposal in Iraq: "You can't build a mall in a terrorist country until you establish peace. They will SHOOT the mall. They will shoot each other IN the mall!"

Malls really are a stupid invention no matter where you build them. Any place that attracts large groups of preteen girls can never be good.

Next time, I'm bringing a book and sitting at Orange Julius.

Vexed

Today in math class, I was there early (as most squares are) and waiting for the professor/rest of the class to arrive.

In the desk to my left, there's a guy named Lance who sits there. He's not gay (contrary to his name being Lance) and we don't ever really talk, but our professor is a really goofy guy so we always grin at each other and roll our eyes. We share pencils and calculators occasionally. Neither one of us are very talkative anyway.
We have a very non-verbal, close relationship. ;) I like to think that because he is just SO cute.

Okay so today Lance comes into class. He sits down very slowly. His face is twisted in pain. He finally comes to a seated position and tries to straighten himself.
He's wincing and holding his lower back with both hands.

It's kind of awkward, but also scary for me to watch. When we make eye contact, I asked him, "Uh...are you okay?"

He nods, but is still holding his lower back and making faces that indicate pain. "My back just hurts."

and I say "Oh geez...I'm sorry."

after a second I ask- "What happened?"

He says "Oh...my mom's boyfriend...." and trails off.

At this point I am confused, but utterly concerned. Because he doesn't look like the kind of guy who would ever be in real pain. He doesn't look like a guy who can be easily beat up. He's tall and toned. So whoever did this had to be pretty brutal, which is scary to think about too.

I say, "So did you call the cops?"

Suddenly, his pained expression is gone and he smiles and says "no," like it was a naive question.


Maybe it was.


What I realized tonight is that I really don't know what goes on everywhere. I really don't know the way that some people live. I don't know the complications of Lance's situation.
And yet I try and identify.
Hell, I try and write stories.
But I am a sheltered kid from a small town.

I asked him if he wanted any advil and he said no thanks. Probably another naive question.

I am one of the most empathetic people I know. When I was a kid, I'd cry about this Hallmark commercial about an old lady who never got any mail.

Sitting in class, I wanted to cry.

I don't have a right to, most likely. My compassion doesn't do any good for people. But our minute long conversation made me feel sick to my stomach. MY back started hurting. I couldn't concentrate in class.

In one class period, a casual classmate became someone I love.
And I hate that.
I hate that I so easily love people and hurt for people.
It sets me up for so much drama and heartbreak.

Now that I know this about Lance, this class is totally different for me.

And what sucks the most is that I can't do anything to help.