just another day in queens

Yesterday I taught for nine hours--almost straight. I had 20 minutes for lunch and then an hour or so during which I did class preparation and graded quizzes. They needed a sub for a class that meets at night, and I, the glutton for punishment that I am, said I'd do it.

Then I came back to teach a pointless class today. My intensive grammar class took their big test yesterday, but we were scheduled to meet today anyway. I asked them if they'd actually show up, and they all promised, but only 5 people showed (all women). We talked about grammar and life, watched a rather silly video and ate chocolate and this yellow Chinese candy. It was okay, but I ate a lot of it, because I didn't want to hurt people's feelings. These women have done so much for me. They've brought me coffee, given me candy, a banana, etc. This was a good class of people. (One of the young guys had asked me several weeks where to look for jobs, and I told him about CraigsList. He got a job the other day, and came to shake my hand and thank me. How cute is that?) We haven't heard who passed the test, but I'm hoping the best. I think most of them will.

One of my students has taken this class twice, and she certainly didn't pass--I don't know for sure, but her quizzes are enough proof. I'm suspecting she has a learning disability. When I tell her to copy things I have written on her paper, she either writes letters that aren't there or just copies the first few letters and thinks she's done. I feel so bad for her. She asked me if I was interested in being her personal tutor, and I had to say no. I can only do so much.

I love the teaching. It's everything else that stinks. The grading, the planning, etc. And only being paid for the hours I'm in the classroom. The worst thing is I feel like I never have any free time. My weekends are spent working on everything for the coming week. I knew it was like this, since my mum's a teacher, but I didn't know, if you know what I mean. And I haven't written anything at all. But, now that the intensive class is over, I'll have more time. And less money.

dun dah dah daaaaaah!

The amazingest thing happened the other day--you know, the fact that BOTH the House and the Senate are once again in the hands of the Democrats. (My slip is showing on this, I know.) It was a nice feeling, back on the 7th when I pulled this over-large red handle and deposited my vote into a void, hoping against hope it would do something. Apparently, a vote does matter--at least in Virginia, where Webb beat Allen with merely 7,000 votes. Tom said last night, That's how many people live in this neighborhood. It really puts things in perspective.

There wasn't much of a contest in New York. The state now has it's new governor (a Democrat), Hillary's back in office--the only Democrat I was sad to see win is the state comptroller. It's come out in the last few weeks that he's had state workers drive his wife around for years with taxpayers' money--$82,000 worth. He said it was for security reasons and the fact that his wife is ill. I don't care if she's flat on her back! I've known plenty of people who are have long-term ailments--they don't steal people's money for transportation. They work it out themselves.

I couldn't stomach voting for him or the Republican candidate, so I voted for the Socialist Party's candidate--a guy named Willie.

The state may fire the comptroller anyway. I will be glad to see that.

Now the real race begins--for the Democrats to get off their asses and do something. I say, Let it all hang out. Actually have some kind of backbone!!!

I'll stop now.

boots cross paths

On the way home today, riding on the 7, my boots (pictured left) met their twin set. A woman sat next to me, and I saw them, proudly displayed with a pair of excellent jeans. She was reading this huge textbook, I was reading a worn out copy of Jane Austen's Emma. It was another of those crazy New York moments...

weirdos, take two

A man on the subway winked at me the other day. I don't think I've been winked (for real, at least) at in my life. Two days later, another man sat next to me on the 3 and plopped down a large bag of who knows what. He looked at a woman across from us and pulled his mouth up into a big smile with his fingers. Then he began digging in his bag furiously, muttering to himself: Yes. Yes. Here it is. He pulled out a pad of paper titled Model Release Form, tore off a sheet, scribbled, and wrapped the pad in a plastic bag. Then he pulled out another plastic sack covered in rubber bands. He slipped them off. For some reason my first thought was: oh no, a proselytizer. I quickly closed my eyes. I could hear him shuffle around; I peeked at what he would do next. The bag contained a little box with large negatives or something like that. He held them up to the light, muttering again. Then he packed everything up. We were about to stop at 42nd St. Ah, here we are, he whispered.