Watching college football on a slow Saturday night at the Yacht Club bar and one regular turns from the television in disgust to ask for another Coor's Light and shout ...
"Only thing I hate worse than niggers is Alabama."
The room was filled and nobody said a thing in response. Just kept watching the game ... and drinking their beers.
teaching and learning
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
mo' drama
just had a moment and wanted to share.
wasting some time this afternoon and checked the ol' myspace page. had a friend invite from one of my students - definitely not the first. this one in particular is not in my class but is in my drama club. a club that was non-existent prior to this year, which i started and by the end of the year had anywhere between 20-40 kids at every twice-per-week after school meeting. we put together four "shows" this past year and i thought they were all pretty good. you can see some of our clips on youtube. we have a blast and in a school dominated by sports with no other after school organizations some kids have really seemed to find their niche here. its an amazing group and i'm excited about our plans for next year. i've had more than a few text or call so far this summer asking if we can get together over the break to start working on our upcoming performances.
so, reading this student's myspace page a bit, i noticed this section in their info ...
"Drama Club. Okay, call me a dork, but drama club has recently become.. my life. literally. I eat, sleep, and breathe drama club. It's my favorite thing about school, and i'm always 100% commited to it. Since i've joined drama club, i've become a completely different person. I've found my escape from the world, a place where i can be anything i want to be. Everday that i go to my drama club meetings, i can walk into the room without feeling like people or staring at me, or judging me. I've become more confident. The thing i love most about drama club though, is the people who are in it with me. I've gained so many friends, people that i never would have even imagined being friends with, and i've made friends with some of my enemies, just from being in drama club. We're a family, and i know that they all love me the way i am. I can be myself in drama club, and no one judges me. I'm so thankful for Mr. Doyle, because if it wasn't for him, there would have never been a Drama Club at Moss Point High School. And i would still be the shitty person, and have the shitty friends that i had in the past. I never want to go back to the person i used to be.I'm finally happy with my life."
i also had another invite, this one to join the Drama Club group that a bunch of them have created and use to post pictures, videos, etc of our shows and rehearsals. they crack me up and make me cry ... again, definitely not the first time. below are some pictures of the crew ...
Sunday, May 18, 2008
no expectations
saw something beautiful this morning ...
was walking my dogs near the park behind my house and non-predatorially spying on the little kids swinging. while marley was squatting in a patch of clovers, i heard a little dirty blonde boy who couldn't have been more than five and was probably a little less whisper to a girl about the same age with pigtails and popsicle all over her shirt, "i love you" ... and then run away with arms and legs flying in different directions to play with some other boys his age.
she looked at me, smiled then started making crooked hearts in the sand underneath the swingset.
reminded me of the last time i made sand hearts for someone, with our names scratched in the center ... alone on a beach in santa cruz while the sun slipped under the horizon, i drew them out carefully with a slip of driftwood and snapped a few photos. i had run away, too, and was trying to find the way back to the swingset for my popsicle girl.
was walking my dogs near the park behind my house and non-predatorially spying on the little kids swinging. while marley was squatting in a patch of clovers, i heard a little dirty blonde boy who couldn't have been more than five and was probably a little less whisper to a girl about the same age with pigtails and popsicle all over her shirt, "i love you" ... and then run away with arms and legs flying in different directions to play with some other boys his age.
she looked at me, smiled then started making crooked hearts in the sand underneath the swingset.
reminded me of the last time i made sand hearts for someone, with our names scratched in the center ... alone on a beach in santa cruz while the sun slipped under the horizon, i drew them out carefully with a slip of driftwood and snapped a few photos. i had run away, too, and was trying to find the way back to the swingset for my popsicle girl.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
warm beer and cold women
damn, one day later and they already are out of everything but balcony ... anyway, just bought my tickets.
Grapefruit moon, one star shining, shining down on me.
Heard that tune, and now I'm pining, honey, can't you see?
'Cause every time I hear that melody, well, something breaks inside,
And the grapefruit moon, one star shining, can't turn back the tide.
Never had no destination, could not get across.
You became my inspiration, oh but what a cost.
'Cause every time I hear that melody, well, something breaks inside,
And the grapefruit moon, one star shining, is more than I can hide.
Now I'm smoking cigarettes and I strive for purity,
And I slip just like the stars into obscurity.
'Cause every time I hear that melody, well, puts me up a tree,
And the grapefruit moon, one star shining, is all that I can see. (Grapefruit Moon, Tom Waits)
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Talking to Strangers I
this new project i'm taking on (because apparently i'm starving for things to do, currently spending much of my free time reading the classics that i once barely tolerated but now genuinely enjoy or scanning classic old emails from girls that used to like me and now merely tolerate me) came packaged in two separate parts of inspiration. while at williams, i was fortunate enough to land an interview with gregory david roberts, author of the epic shantaram. after hours of conversation, roberts excused himself to answer the door of his hotel room in new zealand. i could hear in the background familiar greetings, and upon his return was surprised to hear it was room service. when people are cleaning your goddamn toilet and shower for gods sake, you gotta look after them and theyre people you know? i want to know their names, their lives and while i was held captivated by these simple words and unconscious gesture, he picked up right where we left off, telling a story of johnny depp playing a game of sitcom charades in the bahamas.
in addition, it is inspired by a girl - the catalyst to all great endeavors according to roberts' himself. in this case, by an adorable ko-ed who left an impression on me after meeting her for the first time at a friend's "christmas" holiday get together years ago; someone i've never really gotten to know, but one of those of whom you can immediately sense their positive energy. for an art class, she was interviewing locals with whom she routinely bumped elbows and wanted to know more about. as a local, i was ashamed i didn't know half of what she uncovered.
i've often told others that the more of yourself you invest in a place, the more aware and knowledgable you become about a locale and its people, the stronger the bond. moss point is a special place, with its own simple miracles, iconic landmarks, ingrained issues and typical problems. i'm fairly sure i won't stay here much longer, but now that i've committed to one more year i owe it to experience to let the accent of marsh grass, the fisherman's religious forecasts, the grits, fried-chicken, mint juleps and ford trucks to seep into my soul just a little more than i already have ...
at least twice per month, i hope to sit down to talk with someone i've had minimal prior interactions with ... maybe the woman who bags my avocados at the market or the old man that walks his dogs on the beach every night. my own story corps.
in addition, it is inspired by a girl - the catalyst to all great endeavors according to roberts' himself. in this case, by an adorable ko-ed who left an impression on me after meeting her for the first time at a friend's "christmas" holiday get together years ago; someone i've never really gotten to know, but one of those of whom you can immediately sense their positive energy. for an art class, she was interviewing locals with whom she routinely bumped elbows and wanted to know more about. as a local, i was ashamed i didn't know half of what she uncovered.
i've often told others that the more of yourself you invest in a place, the more aware and knowledgable you become about a locale and its people, the stronger the bond. moss point is a special place, with its own simple miracles, iconic landmarks, ingrained issues and typical problems. i'm fairly sure i won't stay here much longer, but now that i've committed to one more year i owe it to experience to let the accent of marsh grass, the fisherman's religious forecasts, the grits, fried-chicken, mint juleps and ford trucks to seep into my soul just a little more than i already have ...
at least twice per month, i hope to sit down to talk with someone i've had minimal prior interactions with ... maybe the woman who bags my avocados at the market or the old man that walks his dogs on the beach every night. my own story corps.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
knock, knock
obama lists bob dylan and the fugees as two of his favorite musical artists. perfect.
san and i are building some sort of relationship, i think (see -itis). he comes by my room more often, at least once per day. he tends to walk in during that time just after the bell when nobody has arrived yet for the next period, hands tucked into the bottom of his pockets, eyes averted to the floor or nearest wall. but now he speaks ... usually it starts with a "so, what are you doing?" (which is usually picking up after my previous class and getting ready for the next) and then a limited exchange follows. i try to make meaningful conversation in the minute before he decides he has to run to his own class and it usually ends awkwardly.
what i've gotten from our brief meetings; san spends most of the time alone at his house, with his family working at a chinese restaurant in town. he wants to make friends but doesn't think he, nor they, can relate to one another. he "was trained to feel no emotions" and i'm trying to make sense of this without asking too many questions. he is very intelligent and articulate, but extremely closed. i've been encouraging him to come to a drama club meeting since i tend to have more time to really get to know those kids in the hours after the final bell rings, but he hasn't shown yet. i found him in the pacing in the hall near the auditorium after school last wednesday and, thinking he needed a little encouraging to come on in, went over to talk to him. i wish i had written down what passed between us, because it was one of the most peculiar conversations i've ever had. he asked what i did for run, and i told him teach. as always, i was doing most of the talking but he was listening and would occasionally ask the floor another question. at one point, i think he mumbled "we should hang out" but i couldn't really hear him. when i asked him to repeat what he had said, he turned and hurried away. i followed him out the front door of the school apologizing for not hearing him clearly and soon realized that whatever door was opened had closed, for now at least.
earlier this week, he came in my room after school while i was helping a senior write his research paper and told us a joke.
"what do you call a potato with glasses?"
... a spec-tater.
i almost fell out of my chair laughing. more so at the absurdity of san, sans any emotion (save nervous agitation or strained indifference), telling such a simple joke straight-faced and the unexpected delivery of afternoon humor. he told another one, which i can't remember right now but wasn't as funny. then left.
san and i are building some sort of relationship, i think (see -itis). he comes by my room more often, at least once per day. he tends to walk in during that time just after the bell when nobody has arrived yet for the next period, hands tucked into the bottom of his pockets, eyes averted to the floor or nearest wall. but now he speaks ... usually it starts with a "so, what are you doing?" (which is usually picking up after my previous class and getting ready for the next) and then a limited exchange follows. i try to make meaningful conversation in the minute before he decides he has to run to his own class and it usually ends awkwardly.
what i've gotten from our brief meetings; san spends most of the time alone at his house, with his family working at a chinese restaurant in town. he wants to make friends but doesn't think he, nor they, can relate to one another. he "was trained to feel no emotions" and i'm trying to make sense of this without asking too many questions. he is very intelligent and articulate, but extremely closed. i've been encouraging him to come to a drama club meeting since i tend to have more time to really get to know those kids in the hours after the final bell rings, but he hasn't shown yet. i found him in the pacing in the hall near the auditorium after school last wednesday and, thinking he needed a little encouraging to come on in, went over to talk to him. i wish i had written down what passed between us, because it was one of the most peculiar conversations i've ever had. he asked what i did for run, and i told him teach. as always, i was doing most of the talking but he was listening and would occasionally ask the floor another question. at one point, i think he mumbled "we should hang out" but i couldn't really hear him. when i asked him to repeat what he had said, he turned and hurried away. i followed him out the front door of the school apologizing for not hearing him clearly and soon realized that whatever door was opened had closed, for now at least.
earlier this week, he came in my room after school while i was helping a senior write his research paper and told us a joke.
"what do you call a potato with glasses?"
... a spec-tater.
i almost fell out of my chair laughing. more so at the absurdity of san, sans any emotion (save nervous agitation or strained indifference), telling such a simple joke straight-faced and the unexpected delivery of afternoon humor. he told another one, which i can't remember right now but wasn't as funny. then left.
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