Goodbye, Baltimore! The last 3 years have been the most difficult ones of my life, thus far. I can't say that I will miss the Baltimore City School System, but I will miss many other things about this special place. Here are some lists that describe what I will miss in no particular order.
People:
1) The dog-whispering hobo of Mt. Vernon.
2) The city kids, especially my students.
3) Queen Nzinga and Ras Doobie.
4) Sean Preston.
5) Liza, my hairdresser.
6) The creepy Russians and Ukranians.
7) My Trinadadian mother.
8) My fruit man.
9) Everyone who ever called me "hon" with an authentic Baltimore accent.
10) All my friends: Ashley, Ed, Boson, Reggie, Mary, Joe (you've got my old room), Ben & Kim, Josh & Abby, Kara, Heather, Sara, Megan, Patrick, Sandy, and Potato.
Places:
1) The parking lot where you can stand and look at the old broken-down theater on Paca St.
2) Tyson St.
3) The roof of my old apartment building.
4) Potato's couch (with Potato).
5) The Korean place.
6) Very Little Italy.
7) Even smaller Greek town.
8) Krakus, the Polish deli.
9) Chestnut Street.
10) The U of M medical library and the Peabody conservatory library.
11) The park benches around the monument.
12) The soup place in Belvedere Square.
13) That Tai Restaurant place that I went to with everybody.
14) Lots of spots where you can watch the boats around the harbor.
15) All 3 Indian restaurants on Charles.
16) Bolton Hill
17) The colorful bridges.
18) The Dollhouse.
Things:
1) The way cops don't blink when you run a red light in front of them.
2) "zink" for "sink"
3) "dug" for "dog"
4) The way the letter "o" is pronouced.
5) The millions of festivals during the summertime.
6) Random arty stuff because of the over-abundance of art kids.
7) Touches of gorgeous architecture intermingled with decay and poverty (reminds me of home).
8) Southern sensibilities mixed with open-mindedness.
9) Amazing, shockingly bad taste.
Whoever, wherever, and whatever I forgot, sorry. I've got things to pack.
There was a dead girl at my school today. She was shot many times outside by the Pre-K classroom wall. A guy walking his dog noticed her a little past 6AM. Bumbling around because my principal wasn't there, the administrators decided to open school on time. Kids were escorted into the building by cops. News crews came. The body remained for a very long time in plain sight. One of the second grade teachers was in tears. I wasn't there because I reported to my supervisor's school today.
She was 16. I don't know her name, or why someone decided she should die, or anything about her except that she was 16 (that's what they said on the news).
Everyone went about their business like there wasn't a huge serious tragedy that deserved attention and respect. Like some lives are just disposable and don't deserve attention. Or maybe the issue is so big and bad that no one knows how to treat it... so they ignore it.
In a few weeks, I will be leaving you Baltimore. You are a brutal city.
Last year was the hardest year of my life. Starting my master's and trying to work as an SLP in a poor Baltimore City public school was a painfully difficult undertaking. I don't even want to talk about it.
But I had a really nice summer to recollect myself. That is, if you can call it summer. I was taking summer classes and working in a clinic for two months. But that was easy compared to the rigors of Balrimore City Public Schools. I had so much free time this summer that I achieved new and amazing heights of laziness. It was a glorious time.
I capped off the summer with a few days in New Orleans and Gulf Shores, Alabama. Surrounded by millions of nieces and nephews, I pretended to listen to syblings talking about their stock portfolios. I felt more at home than I've felt in a long time. I started longing for the city of my birth. At the beach I watched porpoises leap in the distance, swam with baby sharks within feet of my feet, and spotted a sting ray hovering over the sand near the shore. In my mind, I plotted my escape. It costs $38,000 to buy my freedom (I've signed a contract with the state saying that I will work a total of 7 years in the Baltimore public schools in exchange for a fully paid master's and a nice salary. If I leave a day sooner, I will owe them all the $$ they paid toward my degree). I hate money. I have no clue how to handle it. My family seems to know about money. They will be my accomplices in my escape, I decided.
Upon my return to Baltimore, I grabbed the mail in my over-stuffed mailbox dropped the pile on the floor of my messy unairconditioned appt. Like an ostrich, I pulled the covers over my head and used all of my will to ignore my impending doom. I report back to my job on Wednesday.
You see, I was once a young idealist brimming with energy and eager to use my talents to help disadvantaged kids. That was last summer. After a year of mind-boggling regulations, mountains of seemingly pointless paperwork that matters way too much, and endless threats from parents, supervisors, administrators, medicaid, the city, the state, the fed gov't, etc... I grew weary. Now I'm disenchanted and entirely too whiny about my disposition. Like so many before me who did similar things in inner city schools, all my oomf left. I hate that.
So when I finally dragged myself out of bed at noon today to confront the menacing pile of mail, I didn't expect good news. Apparently, I was awarded a handsome grant to perform research with my kids at school -- something that I all but forgot applying for last year. Hot damn! It's encouragement! Somebody values what I do and thinks I deserve money for it. (What a crock... .but not if I change my attitude)
Just at the moment when I was gonna throw in the towel, I get an incentive to stay. I'm hyper and excited about school starting again. I went out this afternoon and threw down my last few pennies on school supplies. I hope this momentum lasts and carries me through this year. I'm gonna need it in order to get my oomf back.
I had a dream about Jesus.
I was driving at night and I saw him standing on the steps of a church putting lipstick and mascara on and he was wearing long purple robes like a priest.
He was also wearing a hat like the pope with gold filligree all over it and he was shining a flashlight on his face to make the gold reflect.
I laughed at how silly he was.
Then he was embarrassed and started after me.
He was flying like superman alongside of my car.
I stopped and I said kindly, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you by laughing. You just looked kind of silly.”
Then he explained that he was Jesus and he came back because he figured it was about time -- because he feels out of touch with these times.
He gave the way he was dressed as an example.
He explained that the only people that talk to him on a regular basis dress this way.
He said he was putting on make-up so that he could look like the stained glass pictures of him.
Silly Jesus.
So I took him to Target and he had absolutely no taste in clothes... he was such a regular guy. By regular guy I mean a nice guy, but a simple guy.
He bought a pair of elastic waist pants.
I loved being around Jesus.
It was so nice being around someone so... good, I guess.
It was me and these two other pretty slutty girls I invented who all hung around Jesus. We were sort of his modern-day disciples.
well anyway I won’t go into some of the less interesting details.... His miracles were really technological.
He made a realistic voice sounding microphone thinghoobie for a guy with a laryngectomy
One night we were all hanging out. and I absolutely had to stay up late, instead of going to sleep like Jesus and the rest of the girls BECAUSE THEY WERE GOING TO SHOW BOBBY COHN PLAYING IN NEW ORLEANS on TV!!!
To me, that was really spectacular and worth staying up past 3am to see... but when I woke up, Jesus was gone.
He had fallen in love with Pam, my ex-boss who is a dwarf and has difficulty taking care of her kids.
He left to go and marry her.
He was going to take care of her children.
I thought that was amazingly sweet, albeit strange.
I was really happy that Pam got to have Jesus, who was really great guy, taking care of her kids and making her life so much better.
Still, I was sort of jealous.
Not that I wanted to be involved with Jesus.
But I'd sure miss having him around and having his attention.
He was really such a terrific guy. Elastic-waist pants and all.
I was drilling a 7-year-old who has trouble pronouncing the "ch" sound. I showed him pictures of cheese, a chin, a cheek, a check, etc. and he had to say the words out loud. I got to a picture of chalk and he said emphatically "cocaine!!"
I just got a job teaching English here. I would be teaching 5 and 6 year old French kids and they would be adorable and they would call me "Meees Angele".
I've dreamed of living abroad *especially* on the French Riviera since I went there seven years ago and had the most amazing magical experiences of all time.
Problems:
- I just signed a lease in a wonderful place in Baltimore.
- I paid a lot to furnish the appartment fully in order to start my new life in Baltmore.
- I am about to start graduate school in Baltimore.
- I signed a 7 year contract to the Baltimore public schools.... In return they pay for my master's, and I get a nice salary while getting my master's so I can afford this wonderful single appartment.....
eh... fuck it. If I'm not a sissy, I'll go to France.
So many of us have done it that it's almost cliche, but here is my last post. I just don't think I belong here, anymore -- not that I ever contributed much to begin with -- but it's time for me to stop hanging round here. Sorry, killoggs, but it's just the way it's got to be -- I'm a loner, a rebel. I leave you with the lyrics of "How Can We Be Against Each Other" by Gui Kirsch (my 8-yr-old nephew). If only I had the ability to make a live recording to put it in the MP3 section. At least the lyrics are moving enough without the compelling piano melody. So long.
How can we be against each other
I hate to do it
You're the only one who makes it correct
Because that happened
I can no longer live
Our parents on a trip
Just you and me
How can we be against each other
If it was may times
I could just say it the incorrect way
It was just you and me
How could it be so fun
If it was you and me
It would be going wrong
It would be you and me
How could we do it
Our parents wouldn't like that
Cause they just came from a trip
It's just me and you
I'm going to turn into a spy
And since I gotta turn into a spy
I'll just end up in the sky
My dreams never come true
If it was just for you
How many people come from time
It would be much more peaceful
Just me and you together...
A giant millipede fell off of the ceiling, landed on my ear, crawled down my face and into my shirt and got near my underwear before I could spot it and freak out at it's ugly disgustingness. These things are number 2 in my book next to cockroaches as far as things I can't stand crawling on me. Tonight I buy boric acid and declare war. Prepare for the holocaust, you nasty f**kers!!! I'll teach you to creep me out like that.
I roll into Penn Station tomorrow at 4:45. I decided to spend Saturday night in New York. I have no plans except for on Sunday afternoon when I get to see my best friend, Rini. Although I'd love to roam the rainy streets alone, I'd be happy (thrilled) to see any of you New York transplants. I'm excited to get away again. While I'm gone Loren and Josh and Ben will have the freedom to become REAL nerds.
So my nephew's been ripping my heart out of my chest, lately. He's been going through a tough time. He recently learned that his mother's mean and selfish behavior isn't his fault, after all. My parents laid him with the bombshell that his Mom (my sister) is severely mentally ill.
He currently lives with my parents because his Mom (my sister) is much too @#$! to take care of him. And his Daddy is much too... uh.. aging punk rocker-y to be a good daddy. I may live far away, but I mean a lot to him. This may be because when I did live in New Orleans, I was one of the few "grown-ups" he could count on to pick him up from school every afternoon, nurse him out of the flu, and generally give two shits about him. This was when he was 4. He's now 7 and he's since started to look up to me as some sort of authority on all things cool even though rarely sees me anymore. The duder really flatters me.
He called me the other morning, insistent that I had to teach him a song I played on the piano 1 (one) time last may when I was in town. I had no clue what he was talking about until it became clear to me that Gui (my nephew) wanted to learn how to play Home Sweet Home by Motley Crue!!!! For 30 minutes, I sat on the phone and taught my nephew about the different keys of the piano so I could teach him the 4 different chords. He was so persistent and adorable. He figured it out and made my day.
So I got to thinking: I oughta burn him a CD with that song on it. He's going around playing a song he's never heard in its full glory. I need to burn him a CD. But what should I put on it besides Home Seet Home?
Keep in mind that this is the nephew that has better taste in music than I do. he knew all the lyrics to most of Elvis Costello's songs by age 5. He stole my trainspotting CD because he liked to listen to" Lust for Life" over and over. I mentioned that I was gonna burn him a CD on the phone tonight and he said that he wanted there to be T Rex on it. Hearing him say that made me turn into a bananna peel just like in Ms. Pac Man.
So I hate to go on and on about Gui. But there's just something about this child that I can't help but to adore and miss him miserably. Very few adults in his life don't suck and I would hate very much to fall into his ever expanding "adults who suck" category. I need ideas for good songs to expose him to. But it is absolutely imperative that I follow through and make him a goddamn CD. I need to be like Horton, "I mean what I say and I say what I meant...."
I like words that sound the same and carry some of the same meanings. Just like how the sl in sloppy, slush, slip, slog, slack, slut make all these words similar in meaning somehow. Something that the sl evokes.
But what I wanted to write about is how I'm coming down to New Orleans This Thursday. I'll be there for a week. I'm sad that I missed Shelley, but I'm glad she gave us a taste of what she experienced down there. Any New Orleans folks want to come out and play?
Oh say my playmates
Come out and play with me blah blah blah blah blah -eee
Climb up my apple tree
Slide down my rainbow
Into my cellar door
And we'll be jolly friends
Forever more!
I am posting this in a big ol' hurry because I've got lots to do! At the request of Cricket and others I'm gonna tell you this story:
It was a glorious day when Cricket was visiting the Dirtfarm for Spring Break 2003 (wooo hooo!!) and I wanted to go play. But I was supposed to go to work. So....
I quit my job. The job sucked. I hate offices. I hate the unchallenging environment, paper cuts, rigid formality and especially the lame jokes people in offices regurgitate. No offense to those that work office jobs. Some office jobs pay you enough to sit in a chair and be bored. The job that I quit paid me shit.
So I was unemployed pimping myself out at $7 an hour at Politics and Prose Coffee Shop and Visions in the interrim. I was looking any job in my field. I checked out the bulletin board outside of the speech and hearing clinic of the University of Maryland and discovered there are tons of mothers in the DC area with autistic/ developmentally delayed children in dire need of help. I called about 20 numbers and left 20 messages about being a Speech and Hearing student interested in helping out with their children. Only one mother called me back.
The mother who called me back sounded very sweet and wonderful on the phone. She briefly mentioned having 2 children, a girl and a boy. The girl has Rett Syndrom. Rett Syndrom is a developmental disorder that is X chromosome related and mostly affects girls (95%). Children with Rett grow up normal until about 18 months of age (when most children have started saying their first words) and regress. They start to have terrible seizures, lose their motor skills and any language ability they may have developed. As they age, they become more and more autistic. From what I understood about Rett is that this little girl need LOTS of assistance and therapy. I was willing to take on the challenge. I scheduled to meet the mom of the little girl with Rett.
At the door I was greeted by a 4 foot tall dwarf. I wasn't expecting the Mom to be a dwarf she didn't mention anything of it on the phone, but why should she? She she brought me inside to her daughter who is about a full head taller than her. I began to get a better picture of what kind of help this child/woman needed and why.
The daughter with Rett's name is Emily, she is a beautiful and sweet 10 yr. old. However, she is not potty trained, must take medication and water through a feeding tube poking out of her tummy and must be fed thickened liquids because she does not swallow properly. Her medication regimen is lengthy and involved. She receives language, physical and occupational therapy drills 7 days a week.
Does all this phase me? NO WAY. I am happy to work with this lovely child and get to know all the other professionals who also help her.
However, Emily's family starts to seem a little weird. I learn that Emily is the normal-sized biological daughter of 2 dwarf parents, but her father and mother are now divorced. Her brother is an internationally adopted 9 yr old Korean dwarf who flies out to Illinois every weekend from Maryland to visit his dad. The dad is a millionaire "sociopath" who doesn't want anything to do with Emily and doesn't want to pay child support.
Ok, that's all really heavy. But that's not all.
Emily's brother, the 9 yr old adopted Korean dwarf, has been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder. THIS PISSED ME OFF. At the time, I think it was fair that a kid who 1) is going through a complicated, ugly divorce, 2) is a dwarf and has to deal with his differences, and 3) is Korean and living in a white family and obviously enduring identity issues should have to be labeled as "bi-polar" because he tends to act out a whole lot. Depacote ( the Rx of choice for "bi polar" kids ) is not a medication to be fucked with. Immediately, I make harsh judgments on this woman and see her as someone who cannot look at kids as individuals, but rather as their labels -- the sum of their problems.
I was being bad. Horribly unprofessional. I hinted to her that I didn't agree that children in rough situations should not automatically be pinned as "bipolar" (my own nephew was, but of course is not). But really, I should leave the diagnosis of whether or not her child is bipolar up to true professionals and not myself. DOH! I can be so horribly judgmental sometimes....
So I felt like stinky brown shit for a good long time. I was torn between whether I should take this job and learn to behave as a professional... or leave it because I have issues with the parent. Man this decision was hard. My parents and Ben all thought that I should not take this job because it sounded ghastly. But I know that the world isn't perfect and if I wanna be an SLP, then I'll have to get used to ugly situations when many patients will have MUCH worse backgrounds than this.
So I decided to be a bigger woman and challenge myself. I decided to take the job if the dwarf momma would hire me..... And she did... and I'm glad, too, because now I really like the job. It's incredibly rewarding, and I can put my differences aside and enjoy all the quirks of the dwarf momma.
Oh... and there's one more thing. I found out that the dwarf momma that I work for was E.T. in the movie. That's right. I work for E.T.
Hello everyone in New Orleans. I'm gonna be in town tonight and tomorrow night. Anybody up for hanging out? I was going to the Matador tonight to see the veins. I'm down for anything tomorrow night.
Sitting in a computer lab at school. Ben is at work and pretty soon i will be, too. We will both be working until about 1am. This kills me. I wish that I could do something... make rice crispy treats.... SOMETHING to make the day special. I suppose that Ben's birthday surprises will have to wait. I'll give him a wink on the stage of the Miss Applebutter beauty pageant in West Virginia.
A car just flew across 3 front yards at 50mph and landed into the side of our neighbor's car. The neighbor's car was parked just a few feet from the side of the house I was sitting in so the impact was really loud. The driver and the passenger, two hispanic girls who were no older than 15, were high-tailing it down street when I peaked outside the window. both cars are now wrapped around eachother. The car that the hispanic girls were driving still has its ignition on and both airbags are hanging limp, now deflated. A river of transmission fluid is now running down the neighbor's driveway. It looks a lot like blood. If only I had a digital camera to capture this with.
